“Then you’re in luck. Help yourself and take your time. I’ve got the bar covered.”
“Thanks, Aunt Tar.”
Patrick fixed himself a plate and joined Riley and his younger cousin Rory at the big family table. He’d eaten more meals at this table than he had at his own.
Riley looked up when he sat down, her eyes asking the question she didn’t voice aloud.
Find anything?
Oh, yeah, Patrick answered silently.
She shot a glance at her younger brother. Patrick understood.
Later.
Later, he agreed.
“Hey, Rory,” Patrick said.
“Patrick. How’s the house coming?”
“Work in progress.”
“I’ve got time this weekend if you need an extra pair of hands.”
“Can always use an extra pair of hands.”
Rory nodded and went back to scrolling.
They ate in the comfortable silence of siblings who had done this a thousand times or more.
It was much laterwhen Patrick had a chance to fill Riley in. He’d gone to the storeroom during a lull and she’d been right behind him.
“So.”
“So,” he said.
“The campground.” She aligned a row of glasses with unnecessary precision. “Tell me you went out there.”
“I went out there.”
“And?”
He told her about the notebook. The seal. M. Sullivan. The research, the directory result, the drive out to the Old Miller Road address they'd already found together at the kitchen table two nights before.
“You went to Frank Sullivan's house,” she said, when he'd finished.
“I returned a lost notebook.”
“ToFrank Sullivan'shouse.” She looked at him. “Was he there?”
“He was. We had coffee.” He paused. “His granddaughter was there too. She's the one who owns the notebook.”
Riley set down the bar cloth. “M. Sullivan is Frank’s granddaughter? And she’s an MDI?”
Patrick nodded.
“What was she doing at the crime scene?”