“It’s kind of like a halfway house for foster teenagers who can’t find homes. Mrs. Diaz runs it.”
“Wait… Dane works with foster kids?”
“Well, teenagers… yeah. He keeps the house in order for Mrs. Diaz, stops in to do repairs and stuff, hangs with the kids, teaches them how to fix leaky faucets and running toilets, that kind of thing.” She hesitated. “I think it’s because of how he grew up.”
The thought of Dane growing up in foster care and spending his free time as an adult helping other foster kids made me want to ugly cry.
“I didn’t know.” It wasn’t the first time a revelation about Dane had thrown me for a loop, but it was definitely the biggest loop. It was hard to imagine Dane — gruff, cold Dane — acting like an older brother to a bunch of teenagers living in a foster home.
“I’m not sure anyone knows, except for Mrs. Diaz and the kids. I only know because the house is next door and Mrs. Diaz told my gram that she didn’t know what she would do without Dane. Apparently he pays for the repair supplies and everything, and the kids love him.”
“Wow…” I looked at my lap. “I feel so stupid.”
“Don’t feel stupid! You must really like him.”
“Like” wasn’t the word that would have come to mind even an hour ago when thinking about Dane, but now I realized she was right.
Ididreally like him.
He could be aloof and critical and thorny, but he cared about the people around him. It wasn’t a show-off kind of caring — he didn’t want credit for it or even attention — but it was the kind of caring that counted.
A brings-flowers-to-the-cemetery-when-no-one-is-looking caring.
A gets-you-out-of-a-tight-spot-even-when-you-don’t-ask caring.
A shows-up-to-help-without-fanfare caring.
“I guess I do really like him.” I laughed a little. “I don’t think I realized it until just now.”
She grinned. “You could do a lot worse.”
I took a deep breath and realized I felt better. “Thanks.”
“That’s what friends are for. Now, you said you found something on the slides from the meeting?”
I took out my phone and pulled up the picture I’d taken of the image from the slide. “The slides had plans for the Hearthstone development, not just plans for the gated community but for a marina and a golf course too.”
She peered at the picture on my phone. “A golf course?”
I nodded. “And there are other notes too, suggested relocation of power lines and water access. And look…” I pointed to one of Harold’s initials.
“‘HP…'” Her eyes widened. “Wait… are you saying Harold Pembroke was working with Hearthstone to get the development approved?”
“Is there anyone else you can think of with the initials HP?”
She furrowed her brow. “I mean, I’m sure there’s someone in town with those initials, but no one on the town board, no one I can think of that would have anything to do with the Hearthstone development.”
I chewed my lip. “What if it was someone at Hearthstone? An executive signing off on proposed changes?”
“It’s possible,” Lena admitted. “But if it wasn’t, if Harold was workingwithHearthstone instead of against it… well, it changes everything.”
“Exactly.”
“Shit.” Lena looked at me. “You should take this to Sheriff Crowe.”
“It’s not proof it was Harold though.”
“She can sort that out,” Lena said. “It’s her job.”