Stepbrother Thief(42)
“Fine, thanks,” he says, his voice thick with suspicion as he approaches the fridge and opens it, reaching in and grabbing some kind of smoothie drink in a bottle. “I'm still looking into the shooting on Regina, but there's something about it that doesn't make any sense. I know you're all anxious to get on with your lives,” Gill stresses the word anxious enough that I can tell he's tense, “but you'll have to bear with me a little longer.”
“It's not a problem,” Cliff says, smiling tightly and then refocusing his attention on Solène. “You like living here, don't you?” he asks, reaching out and tugging down the black and white striped sweater dress that she's thrown on over red leggings. That girl has a fashion sense that's all her own, always one step ahead of the crowd. “You told me last night that this house has a positive vibe.”
“She said that?” I ask, my lips quirking up in a smile.
“Oui,” Solène says, finishing her croissant and then reaching for another. “I can feel the history here.” She pauses and cups a hand around her ear. “Listen, the walls talk. Can you hear what they're saying?”
“Enlighten us,” I say, parking my chin on my hand and raising a brow in question.
“Il n’y a pas plus sourd que celui qui ne veut pas entendre,” Solène responds proudly, winking and saluting us before disappearing back into the living room. Cliff and I get a chuckle out of that, and I can't seem to resist glancing over to gauge Gill's reaction. A small smile teases his lips before he turns away and opens a cabinet next to the sink, searching around inside for something.
“And that means …” Aveline asks, gesturing at me for an explanation.
Gill shuts the cabinet and turns, a granola bar in one hand, answering before I get the chance to.
“It more or less translates to: no one is as deaf as the man who will not listen.”
I can almost swear he's talking about himself when he says it.
The next night, I'm parked in my now usual spot on the couch when Gill comes in and tosses something at me. I catch it out of reflex and feel a surge of joy when I see that it's a new cell phone.
“Thank God,” I groan, swiping my finger across the lock screen and feeling my stomach drop when I see that the background has already been changed from the default. I'm Sorry, Can You Ever Forgive Me? is printed in a speech bubble next to a little girl in a large floppy hat. She's bending down, a flower clutched in hand, and offering it to a sad faced basset hound. The whole thing is in black and white and reeks of old school Gilleon. He used to grab those sappy old fashioned cards from the store and scribble silly things in them before slipping them under my bedroom door.
My chest tightens, but when I turn to look at him, his face is pinched and unhappy. What's going on now? I wonder as I wait for him to explain. He's still standing by the front door, eyes tight and mouth set in a thin line.
“You can call whoever you want,” Gill tells me and then turns, giving me his full attention. His expression shifts from angry to … sad. That can't be good, can it? “Do you mind if I sit down a moment?” I nod, wary of what's to come, and gesture to the overstuffed armchair that Cliff's claimed as his own. Right now, though, he's upstairs sleeping and I don't think I can handle having his son any closer than three feet away.
“Everything alright?” Aveline asks as she walks in and pauses, arms crossed over her ample chest. As soon as she sees Gill's face, she nods once, and turns back to head into the kitchen. The hell is going on here?
“Gill, you're scaring me,” I tell him, but he swallows once and lifts a hand, palm up.
“I have everything under control,” he tells me, but those words only serve to further freak me out.
“What is there to have under control?” I start thinking about the authorities, about them zoning in on this place, surrounding us with SWAT team members or something. I mean, how serious is an international jewelry heist anyway? Ugh. I sit up straight and tuck some blonde hair behind my ear. “Tell me, Gilleon. I have a right to know.”
“You do,” he says, and I breathe a small sigh of relief that I won't have to wrestle with his stubbornness today. He's wearing his gun again, right out in the open in a shoulder holster. Seems to be a normal part of the uniform as of late. Aveline tells me that the neighbors all think Gill's a detective who does a lot of undercover work. Go figure. “But I have good and bad news. Which one do you want first?”
“Always the good,” I say, because the good can always temper the bad. I don't want my happy news tainted and tossed in as an afterthought. I clutch my cell in my lap and meet his eyes, relieved that he's decided to treat me like an adult for once. I know how stingy Gill can be with information.