“Oh, you’re such a kidder, Marshal.” She looked at Carter, who was finally smiling. “And what about you, young man?”

  “I’ll have my usual and a side of fried onion rings.”

  “Fried onion rings and cheese fries?” She eyed him over the glasses that sat precariously on the tip of her nose. Wanda never wrote anything down. She could take an order for a table of ten, including appetizers, entrees, sides, beverages, and dessert, and never miss a thing. It was remarkable, a gift very few possessed.

  Carter looked at his dad and nodded like a bobble-head, asking for permission.

  “Go for it. If you need some help, I’ll be happy to oblige.” Chris was relieved Carter was behaving more like himself.

  “Awesome!” Carter smiled at Wanda.

  Chris waited until Wanda was no longer in earshot. “Carter, I want you to try to remember that first conversation you overheard about Chicago.” Chris realized he was interrogating his child, but maintained a kind, safe tone.

  “Like I said, it was about a week ago. I was in the bathroom, and they were in their bedroom. She asked him when they expected him in Chicago. I thought maybe it was a trip or something, but then she said there was a lot of planning to do, packing, finding an apartment.”

  “An apartment?” Chris did not like that idea one iota.

  “Yeah. I guess until they can find a house or something.”

  “Is that what she said?”

  Carter furrowed his brow. “I really don’t remember, but I just figured.”

  “What about school? Did she say anything about school?”

  “I think they heard me, because they started talking real low so I couldn’t hear anything else.” Carter looked down at the table. “Dad?”

  “Yeah?” Chris’s intonation matched his son’s.

  “Was it a bad thing that I put my ear up against the shower to try to hear more?”

  Chris burst out laughing. “Son, I am an investigator.”

  “But it’s not polite to eavesdrop, right?” Carter looked embarrassed and confused.

  “No, it’s not, but there are exceptions. In this case, it was an exception. You want to know what is planned for you and your life, right?”

  “Well, yeah.” Carter seemed surprised and relieved.

  “Okay. Not that I am encouraging rude behavior, but I want you to pay close attention to anything that they say about Chicago. I need you to do some reconnaissance for me. Okay?”

  “Sure.” Carter was delighted to be in on a secret mission with his father.

  “If and when your mother brings it up to you, I want you to act surprised. Can you do that for me?”

  “Uh, yeah.” Carter rolled his eyes.

  Wanda returned with a Sprite for Carter and a mug of beer for Chris. One was his limit, and he was going to savor it. He now had an “inside man.” He knew it was time to let his son know his plans for custody. “Carter, I have to tell you something very important, but you must promise me you will not let your mother know we talked about this. You got it?”

  “Got it.” Carter stared into his father’s eyes.

  “I filled out papers to file for full custody.”

  Carter’s eyes widened, and his voice got louder. “You mean I don’t have to move to Chicago?”

  “Shh. This is a secret operation, remember?”

  Even though Carter was about to become a teenager, his father’s occupation as a U.S. Marshal held him in awe. “Got it.” Carter bit his upper lip.

  Wanda blasted through the swinging kitchen doors, balancing a large tray on her shoulder. Chris marveled at how agile she was, considering how many years she had been doing the job.

  “I wonder if she ever dropped anything,” Chris whispered to his son.

  “Want me to ask her?” Carter was definitely acting more like himself now.

  “I dare you.” Chris sat back while Wanda placed their food on the table.

  “Hey, Wanda? Did you ever drop anything?” Carter asked with an innocent face.

  “Are you kidding? One time I decorated a couple with two orders of spaghetti, including the meatballs!” She cackled. “They put up such a fuss. The lady was hollerin’ about just getting her hair done, her new dress, and all that.” She finished placing the cholesterol buffet in front of them. “Boss took the dry-cleanin’ money out of my paycheck.” She tsk-tsked. “I’ve been pretty good since.”

  “Wanda, with your memory and your balancing act, you are truly one of a kind.” Chris grinned and ripped one of the ribs off the rack.

  “You’re gonna need some extra napkins.” Wanda reached in her pocket, pulled out a wad, and plunked it on the table. “I’ll get you some of those wipes before you leave.”

  Chris muttered a “thank you” as he gnawed on the juicy rib.

  “So, Dad. If you’re going to file for full custody, will I still get to see Mom?”

  “We’re going to have to work that out. It’s going to be a little rough getting used to, but I think keeping you here is in your best interest, wouldn’t you say?”

  Carter nodded his approval as he stuck his fingers in the onion rings.

  “I have to ask you this.” Chris thought he knew the answer, but just in case. “If you could choose who to live with, who would you pick?”

  “You mean here or Chicago?”

  “Yes.”

  “Here. For real.” Carter confirmed his father’s hopes.

  “Good. I don’t know if the judge will let you decide, but there is going to be a lot of stuff he’s going to want to hear about.”

  “Like what?” Carter was licking his fingers.

  “Like, does Bruce help you with homework?”

  Carter made a face. “You can’t be serious, Dad. Bruce barely knows I sorta live there.”

  “I don’t remember the last time he went to one of your games.” Chris squinted.

  Carter shrugged. “Me either.”

  “Does it bother you?”

  “No biggie. Dad, I don’t hate the guy or anything, but he’s just one big annoyance.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I dunno. He’ll ask me if I did my homework, but he’s never asked me if I need help with it. Heck, he hardly talks to me. Ya know, things like, ‘How was your day?’” Carter said it in a deep voice, trying to mimic Bruce.

  “Does he ever refer to you as son?” Chris had to ask.

  “As if. And even if he did, I wouldn’t pay attention. He’s not my dad. I’m not his son.”

  Chris was impressed with the strong stance Carter took.

  “What about your mom? Does she help with homework?”

  “Nope. Only asks if I did it.”

  “Very engaged parenting,” Chris muttered.

  “Listen, Dad. I’d rather live with you all the time and just visit her. She’s not mean or anything, she’s just not there.” Carter pointed to his temple.

  “Are you saying your mother is a little off?” Chris leaned in.

  “Not exactly. She’s just got her own stuff she’s always busy with. Most of the time, she’s out with Bruce, or she’s out and Bruce is in his office. Honestly, I feel like a visitor.”

  “Why haven’t you said anything?”

  “I guess I’m used to it.”

  “Does it make you feel bad?” Chris asked.

  “No, not really. I mean, I know she loves me and all that, but she is not like most other moms. She doesn’t participate in any school activities. Sure, she’ll come to a game, but she’s not baking any cookies,” Carter snorted.

  Chris laughed out loud. “I’m really sorry.”

  “About what?”

  “That you feel like you’re a visitor at your own mother’s.”

  “Not your fault. I always tell people I live with you. I mean, I do most of the time, so it’s not a lie.”

  “Just a stretch of the truth.” Chris eyed him.

  “Dad. Look. My room at your house is my room. She doesn’t even let me put anything up on the walls just in case they have guests.” He grabbed another handful of onion rings.

  Chris thought about the first time Luna had spent the night and slept in Carter’s room.

  As if reading his father’s mind, Carter said, “I know Luna slept in there once. But you know what I mean.” Carter was much more mature than Chris was giving him credit for.

  “I’m really sorry you feel that way about staying at your mother’s. You should feel it’s your home as much as you do when you’re with me.”

  Carter shrugged. “Like I said, it’s no biggie. As long as I have my room in your house, I’m good with it.”

  Chris’s shoulders relaxed for the first time in days. He didn’t realize how much stress he’d been holding in. “So how are we going to play this?” Chris asked, wondering how much of a sleuth he’d raised.

  “I’m going to keep my eyes and ears peeled. I’ll text you anything that seems a little goofy.”

  “No texting. No emails. No electronic fingerprints.”

  “Right. I guess I’m gonna have to start writing things down,” Carter joked.

  “Funny, dude. I bet you are the only one in your class who has a signature.”

  “And I can write cursive, too.” Carter opened his eyes wide.

  “Has your mom ever mentioned Luna?” Chris tried to sound casual.

  “I heard her say something to Bruce about her name. Something about how ‘hippy-dippy’ it sounded. Then Bruce told her the only difference between her name and Luna’s were two consonants and a vowel. They start with the same two letters and end with the same one.” Carter snickered. “I thought it was kind of cool of Bruce to come up with that.”

  “Ha. That never occurred to me,” Chris mused. Some investigator. “Listen, there’s something else. You are going to have to sit down with a psychiatrist.”

  “A shrink? Why?” Carter held up a rib midair.

  “So they can evaluate you. Make sure you are having happy thoughts,” Chris said. “Seriously, they want to make sure you’re well-adjusted, and if you are capable of making a decision on your own as to who you’d rather live with.”

  Carter nodded. “What if I just tell them?”

  “Not that easy, son. Just answer the questions honestly. Don’t try to fake anything. It’s their job to see through the bunk. But I have complete faith in you.” Chris squeezed a lemon wedge into his palms and wiped them with a napkin. He noticed Carter watching him. “Gets the sticky stuff off. And the smell.”

  “How come I never saw you do that before?”

  “Maybe you just weren’t paying attention while you were stuffing your face.” Chris grinned.

  Wanda sauntered over with a basket of wipes and the check. Chris pulled out a couple of twenties and placed them on the plastic tray. “Ready, partner?”

  “Ready.”

  Chris walked behind Carter and placed both hands on his son’s shoulders. “We’ve gotta make a stop on the way home.”

  “Ice cream?” Carter crossed both fingers.

  “I have some in the freezer.” He leaned in and whispered in Carter’s ear. “But first we gotta get you something for that zit that’s about to explode.”

  Carter instinctively touched the part of his face his father was referring to. “And don’t keep touching it,” Chris instructed him.

  They pulled into the lot of a national pharmacy chain. “I hope you’re not eating too much junk,” Chris said, as they walked past a very long aisle filled with chemically treated snacks. Chris jerked his thumb at the rows of chip-filled bags. “There isn’t one thing on those shelves that’s good for you.” Chris had had this conversation with his son many times, but the boy was a burgeoning teenager, so it didn’t hurt to drop some reminders.

  “Yeah, I know.” Carter frowned. He didn’t want to tell his father that his mother sent him to school with a packet of MSG-and-sodium-enriched snacks all the time. But Carter wasn’t a dummy and rarely broke open a package. Normally, he’d toss the bag over to someone sitting at the same cafeteria table. Then Carter wondered, by not telling his father, was he technically lying? He decided to broach the subject. “Dad? If someone leaves out information, does that mean they’re not telling the truth?”

  “It depends. In court, they want you to tell the whole truth, but again, it depends on what information they’re seeking.” Chris thought he might be talking over his son’s head. “What’s on your mind? Can you give me an example?”

  “If Mom does something that I know you don’t like, and I don’t tell you, is that a lie?”

  Chris was growing suspicious. “For example?”

  “She packs one of those snack bags in my lunch all the time.”

  Chris chuckled. “As long as you don’t eat it.”

  “Not usually.”

  “Well, if you want to keep that complexion of yours clear, you’ll steer away from junk, including soda. Sugar, too much salt, and preservatives aren’t good for you. I mean, you probably won’t die from it, but an apple or a handful of nuts are a better option.”

  “Got it.”

  They approached the section that carried dozens upon dozens of different brands of facial cleansers, treatments, serums, and lotions. Chris grabbed a jar of charcoal facewash and Axe aqua and bergamot body wash, the same as he used at home. “You like this stuff, right?”

  “Yeah. Mom always says I smell like you when I come back after spending a weekend with you.”

  Chris laughed and realized he had been using the same personal hygiene items for years. “Does she get bent out of shape about it?”

  “Nah. I think it’s kinda funny. I think I smell better than Bruce.” Carter snickered. “Maybe she’s trying to give him a hint.”

  “Well, now you can smell like me all the time. You’re taking this stuff to your mother’s.” Chris slapped the bag against Carter’s chest.

  “Cool.”

  As they were nearing Chris’s house, Carter turned to his father. “Dad? Are you and Luna ever going to get married?”

  Chris was stunned by the question. “I . . . I don’t know. Why?”

  Carter shrugged. “You’ve been seeing each other for a couple of years.”

  “I know, but she lives two hours away. One of us would have to move, and I’m not in a position to do that now. Besides, you don’t want to move, right?”

  “Correct. But if she wanted to move, would you ask her?” Carter was digging for info.

  “I wouldn’t expect her to give up her life in Asheville.”

  “Why don’t you ask her?”

  Chris was solemn for a moment. “How would you feel if I did?”

  “It’s okay with me. I like her. She’s fun and funny.”

  “Let’s see. If I get full custody, and I marry Luna, all three of us would be living together.”

  “Yep.” Carter was nonchalant.

  “And you wouldn’t mind?”

  “I wouldn’t. But maybe she would!” Carter howled.

  Chris broke into a chuckle. “Very true.” Then his thoughts went to what life might be like for the three of them. Together. A family. It was definitely something he should seriously consider.

  Chapter Eleven

  Buncombe County

  Cards on the Table

  Cullen was unusually nervous. Was it because he’d planned a ruse to get his sister and her boyfriend together? Or was it because he was planning on having “the talk” with Chi-Chi? In either case, he couldn’t stop pacing the back of his workshop. Luna brought him his usual breakfast treat of scones and a latte. Normally, Cullen would grab the scone from the plate and take a huge bite, but not that morning.

  “You okay?” Luna eyed him closely.

  “Yes. Why do you ask?”

  She was still holding the plate with the untouched scone. “Because you usually dive into this.” She held it up in front of his face and then set the coffee on the workbench.

  “Stomach is a little off.” Cullen wasn’t lying. He’d had butterflies all morning.

  “Oh, I know—you’re excited about your date with Chris,” she teased.

  “Aren’t you the funny one?” He grabbed the scone from the plate. “It’s about tomorrow night.”

  “What about it?”

  “You know. Dinner. Me. Cooking. Chi-Chi. And all the rest.”

  “Ah. Right. Cullen, it’s going to be fine.”

  “Are you sure about that?” He knitted his brow.

  “I know I’ve been a terrible judge when it comes to my own romances, Chris notwithstanding. I just happened to luck out with him.”

  “It took you an entire year to ‘luck out.’” He made a finger quote with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around the pastry.

  “True. But look how long it took for you to ask Chi-Chi out to dinner. Several months. And now you’re a couple.”

  He brushed the crumbs from his mouth. “I suppose.”

  “Don’t be daft.” Luna rolled her eyes and shook her head.

  “Okay, so sue me. I’m nervous.” Cullen slowly ate the rest of the scone to avoid further conversation.

  “Well, don’t be. If anyone should be nervous, it’s me.”

  “How so?” he mumbled.

  “Chris wants to talk to me about something.”

  “And that’s bad, why?”

  “Same reason you’re nervous. We’re insecure.”

  “Yes, you mentioned that the other day. Must be in our DNA.” He finally smiled.

  Luna took the empty plate, turned, and walked toward the showroom. “Don’t forget the boutonniere. Turquoise.” She chuckled. True, she was nervous, and that strange feeling hadn’t left her. Was it the old memories? No, because she’d had that sense of discomfort before she saw the dresser. Maybe the tablet would help. She sat behind her easel, shut her eyes, and began to draw. When she felt she was finished, she opened her eyes and saw a stick figure of a boy holding hands with a stick figure of a man. Chris and Carter, perhaps? Well, that wouldn’t be unusual. She heaved a big sigh. Granted, she felt less of a sense of foreboding than she had earlier that week, but there was something in the air. Something wasn’t quite right. She looked at Wylie, who was sitting at her feet. “Do you have any clues you could share?”