Stranger in the Lake(43)

“Nuts and cheese and some strawberry preserves, a little bit of powdered sugar. I thought we’d have it on some French toast tomorrow.” Chet grins, leaning back on his heels. “You really like it?”

“No—I love it.” I give the spoon one last good lick and hand it back. “Seriously, Chet. This tastes like candy. Where’d you learn this stuff?”

He lifts a shoulder, suddenly bashful. “Annalee was always watching those cooking shows. You know, the ones where they give you half a coconut and some peanuts and you have to use it to make a gourmet meal. I guess some of it rubbed off.”

“You’re really talented. If I owned a restaurant, I’d hire you in a second, and I’m not just saying that because I’m your sister.”

But because I’m his sister, I’m also counting the places in town that would be lucky to have him. The diner, Buck’s Bistro, even the pub puts on a decent Sunday brunch. Paul knows all the owners. When he’s back, I’ll ask him to put in a good word.

And just like that, my cheerfulness bursts like a soap bubble.

Because what’s going to happen when Paul walks through the door? After the relief at having him back in one piece, I mean. We can’t just pick up from where we left off, those innocent moments before my early-morning trek down to the dock. I need answers, and to questions I’m terrified of asking. Especially now that there’s a baby on the way. He can’t keep me in the dark, can’t keep holding me at an arm’s distance. I need more from him.

Chet drops the bowl onto the desk and sinks onto the calf hide lounger by the window, swinging his feet up and crossing them at the ankle. “I know I’m supposed to be the ignorant one, but—”

“Don’t do that, Chet.” I shake my head, my shoulders slumping. “Don’t make those kinds of jokes about yourself.”

“Word on the street is it’s no joke.” One side of his mouth lifts into a half-cocked grin. “Anyway, you’re supposed to be the smart one in the family. So how come you’re acting so dumb?”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“Well, your husband skips town two seconds after you find a dead lady in the lake, and you’re running around here trying to pretend that you’re okay with it, even though anybody with a set of eyes can see that you’re not. Let me see if I’ve got this straight.” He pulls one hand from behind his head and ticks his points off on his fingers. “Lady asks about Paul. Lady turns up dead. Paul splits. You provide cover.” His hand wriggles back underneath his head. “You gonna tell me what’s going on here, or are you gonna lie to me like you did with Sam and Micah?”

I stare across the space at my brother, so much more observant than anybody ever gives him credit for. Chet didn’t come in here for my opinion on his latest food creation or help in finding him a job. He’s seen me poking around the house all afternoon, heard the silent debate raging in my head. He knows there’s something bothering me I’m not telling him.

I realize with a pang that I want his opinion. I need another person’s honest, no-holds-barred take, and I want that person to be Chet.

“You can’t tell anyone. I mean it, Chet—not a soul. If Sam or Micah or anybody else asks, you have to play dumb.”

“We’ve already established I can do that.” Another slow grin, more deadpan tone.

I roll my eyes. “This is serious. I’m being serious. You have to promise and swear you won’t say a thing.”

He draws an X on his chest. “Not one word, swear to God.”

I tell him everything. About finding Paul talking to Sienna the day she was murdered. About his lie to the police, and me following his lead. About him taking off with a backpack stuffed with food and a nylon hammock to find Jax, all the ways I’ve covered for him since. About Jax pressing his face to the window just last night.

Chet swings his feet to the floor and sits up, frowning. “Jax was here? What for?”

“I’m not entirely sure. At first, I thought it was to tell me something happened to Paul, which is why I opened the door. He knew about the woman drowning—even knew her name—and then he told me to watch my back.”

“Dude. That’s...that’s crazy. Weren’t you scared?”

“The weird thing is, it didn’t feel like a threat. He wasn’t aggressive, like, at all. I think he was trying to warn me.” I think back to his words about Paul and the body count, his expression when he looked through the woods to Micah’s, the way he shifted from foot to foot. “He seemed more spooked by me than I was of him.”

“He’s at the receiving end of a manhunt. Of course he’s spooked.” Chet leans back into the recliner, watching me from across the room. Particles of dust dance in the air between us, glittering in a beam of sunlight. “But I guess the bigger question is, are you?”

“Am I what, spooked?”

Chet nods, and I don’t have to think on my answer for long. Micah and Sam might say Jax is dangerous, but I’m less sure. If he’d wanted to hurt me last night, he could have, and in a thousand different ways. He didn’t seem like a killer, just a lost and tortured soul.

“I’m not afraid of Jax.”

Chet gives me a meaningful look. “I’m not talking about Jax.”