All That Really Matters, Nicole Deese [best detective novels of all time .TXT] 📗

you, Molly. Silas can be . . .” Glo pursed her lips and dropped her gaze to her tapping foot. “Hmm . . . I could get used to this sound.”

I laughed.

“He can be a bit rigid at times.”

I bit the insides of my cheeks to keep from saying one of the fifteen hundred comebacks currently scrolling through my mind.

“But,” she continued, “he has integrity. More than anybody you’ll meet this side of heaven.” She paused and looked at me straight on. “We’re lucky to have him—not only for all he does at The Bridge, but for the way he believes our world can be.” She shook her head, sadness creeping onto her face. “It’s a special person who can see all he’s seen and experience all he’s experienced and still have faith for better days ahead.”

Her praise of Silas pinged against a tender place in my subconscious, one I hadn’t visited or explored in a very long while. I shook my head, brushing away the lingering impressions of a young girl who so badly wanted to believe that she, too, could be worthy of the praise her family members so often received for their good works and selfless callings.

“Do you think I might be able to meet with him for a few minutes? I have something I’d like to hand him in person, if possible.”

Glo smiled. “You’re in luck. Our residents are all away at school or work at this time of day, so Silas is actually out on the grounds tending to a few things.”

“Oh . . .” I turned uncertainly, attempting to catch a glimpse of him through the windows.

“I’m happy to point you in the right direction. Last I checked, he was doing some repair work in the girls’ cottage. I can find out for sure, though.”

She lifted her phone, and I held out my hand to stop her. “Actually, if you don’t mind, I’d like to just pop in on him for a minute. I won’t take up too much of his time. Promise.” Also, I was ninety-nine percent sure that if she called to alert him of my presence, Silas would have zero qualms about sending me packing.

Glo hesitated, then seemed to make peace with something in her mind. “How about I walk you to the path that leads to the cottage. Jake, his younger brother, is with him today.” The woman’s mouth quirked a bit as she opened the front door and gestured for me to follow. “You’ll like Jake. Everybody does.”

Glo gestured to the path leading to a frothy white and lilac cottage, set off from a gazebo and a common area with a picnic shelter. “Let me know if you need anything more, Kitten Heels. Good luck. And this time, don’t take no for an answer.” She gave me a wink.

Regulating my breathing to one of high-level confidence, I rehearsed the pitch I’d come up with the night before. He’d be crazy not to say yes to me this time, right? He couldn’t keep turning away free help, and if he didn’t get another mentor soon, his summer life skills program wouldn’t get off the ground.

Lavender Cottage—as the pretty sign read—wasn’t large by any stretch of the imagination, but the outside looked charming enough. Did all the girls share this one house? If so, I wondered where Wren’s room might be.

I knocked on the door. Waited. No response.

“Hello?” I called out, but again, no one answered.

On my third knock, I twisted the handle. It was unlocked. Using the tip of my pointer finger, I tapped the door just enough for it to groan open. Immediately, the scent of imitation vanilla and drugstore hairspray confirmed I was in the right place.

“Mr. Whittaker—Silas?” I wasn’t sure which name he’d respond to best today. Perhaps neither, since I was the one calling out for him. “It’s Molly McKenzie. Are you in here? I was hoping we could talk. I don’t need more than five minutes.” Ten, tops.

I crept through the silent, super-sparse living area, noting the lack of art on the off-white walls. It wasn’t that no one had tried to decorate this space—just nobody with an eye for interior design.

I rotated until I spotted a gas fireplace surrounded by river rock in the corner. Okay, so the room wasn’t a total loss. This, at least, looked classy and sophisticated. It should be the focal point of this entire space, yet on top of the mantel was a single red candle flecked with gold glitter. I desperately hoped it hadn’t been left up since Christmas.

My feet shuffled across the open space, and then I saw . . . Oh, Great Aunt Wanda. What had happened to that fridge? The stainless-steel door appeared to double as a weekly menu, chore list, and message board for missing items. Strangely, there wasn’t a found list.

Missing:

Red flats, size 7—Jasmine

Necklace with gold heart pendant—Wren

Bluetooth earbuds—Amy

iPad for school!!!—Felicia

Black marker was literally all over the refrigerator. I smudged the edge of one of Felicia’s corkscrew letters with the tip of my finger and sighed audibly. At least it wasn’t permanent. But come on, ladies. You have enough wall space to set up a theater screen. Why not get a cute menu board and a chore chart display and add to the charm of this darling space? I made a note to look up some options when I got back home.

Much like the first time I’d visited The Bridge, something outside caught my eye as I looked through the sliding glass door near the kitchen. A man. No, two men. Throwing something at each other.

I moved closer, my lips parting at the sight of Silas pitching pinecone after pinecone at a man who looked close to seven feet tall. Was that the Jake Glo had spoken of? He gripped a rake and looked to be encouraging the onslaught, egging Silas on and smashing four out of the five pinecones in quick succession. These two were brothers? Did Glo mean they were like brothers, as in the spiritual sense? Or perhaps they only