Penny For Your Thoughts

  Shadowy Solutions Book 5

  Nicky James

  Penny For Your Thoughts (Shadowy Solutions #5)

  Copyright © 2026 by Nicky James

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Artist:

  Natasha Snow Designs

  Cover Model

  Bryan Jordan

  CJC Photography

  Editing:

  Keir Editing and Writing Service

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without the written permission of the author.

  Contents

  Note to Readers

  1. Tallus

  2. Diem

  3. Diem

  4. Tallus

  5. Tallus

  6. Diem

  7. Tallus

  8. Diem

  9. Diem

  10. Tallus

  11. Tallus

  12. Diem

  13. Diem

  14. Tallus

  15. Diem

  16. Tallus

  17. Diem

  18. Tallus

  19. Diem

  20. Tallus

  21. Diem

  22. Diem

  23. Tallus

  24. Tallus

  25. Diem

  26. Tallus

  27. Diem

  28. Diem

  29. Tallus

  30. Diem

  31. Tallus

  32. Diem

  33. Tallus

  34. Diem

  35. Tallus

  36. Diem

  37. Diem

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader,

  More by Nicky James

  Note to Readers

  For a complete list of trigger warnings for this or any of my books, please visit my website.

  1

  Tallus

  “Idon’t think he’ll be joining us.” My gaze barely strayed from Diem as I spoke to Aaron Daily, the thirty-something-year-old event coordinator from Evergreen Estate.

  My burly six-and-a-half-foot-tall, two-hundred-and-sixty-pound boyfriend, who carried a metric ton of childhood trauma on his oversized shoulders and couldn’t help scowling at everyone who so much as said hello to him, was never more at home than on the days he visited his ninety-two-year-old grandmother at the nursing home.

  He smiled without strain. His muscles liquified, and he talked freely as though he was born with a story to tell. The lockjaw I’d been greasing for over a year and a half didn’t exist under this roof, and I struggled to look away, mystified that this was the same man who shared my bed every night, whose tongue knotted when he wanted to express complex emotions.

  Diem sat on a dated floral couch, his shins crunched against a laminate coffee table strewn with fishing and knitting magazines, Echo obediently at his side. Hazel, his grandmother, who suffered from late-stage dementia and couldn’t remember who he was half the time, sat beside him, shaking a trembling finger in Echo’s face, telling her to sit as she held a dog biscuit aloft.

  The poor dog was probably thinking, I am sitting, you crazy woman. I’ve been sitting for five freaking minutes. Give me the treat already.

  Three other Evergreen Estate residents looked on as though this was the best entertainment they’d seen in a decade. A liver-spotted man in a wheelchair with a crocheted blanket draped over his knee studied the exchange so intently someone might think it was the final seconds of a horse race he’d bet his entire savings on. Every so often, and for reasons I couldn’t discern, the focused gentleman let out a quiet woof.

  A plump granny in a beige nightgown, reminiscent of Little House on the Prairie, admonished Hazel, informing her she was “Doing it all wrong.” The woman extended her wrinkled hand, demanding, “Giver here. I’ll show ya how it’s done.”

  Hazel ignored her, or maybe didn’t hear. God only knew in this place.

  Diem patted the impatient woman’s knee and promised she could have a turn in a minute.

  The third onlooker sat on Diem’s other side, a shriveled and bony lady with thick-lensed glasses and cotton-fluff hair who was more interested in Diem than dog tricks. I couldn’t blame her. He was eye-catching.

  Every time my boyfriend glanced in her direction, she beamed—short a few teeth—and rubbed his arm, telling him, “You’re a big boy. I like big boys. My Alan was a big boy too, but he’s dead and gone now, so don’t you worry. He won’t be no trouble.” She added a wink.

  Diem’s cheeks flamed, and he whipped his gaze away, muttering, “She’s sitting, Nana. Give her the treat.”

  When Echo licked the biscuit from Hazel’s hand, Nana squealed like a schoolgirl, retracting her fingers and wiping them on her slacks. “She got me, Boone. Did you see that? Darn near took my fingers off.”

  Boone. Always Boone. Never Diem anymore, much to his dismay.

  My boyfriend no longer openly fretted over her confusion. Deep down, I knew it broke his heart. He begrudgingly plowed forward, taking what he could get of the time he had left with his Nana, no matter who he had to be.

  With Hazel’s girlish glee, my often ornery and perpetually snarly boyfriend smiled. It lit up his face in a way I rarely saw. Witnessing their connection warmed my heart.

  “I need another.” Hazel held out her hand, demanding a biscuit.

  “Can someone else have a turn, Nana?”

  “No. Me again.”

  “Last one, then we’ll let Ethel try.”

  Ethel, the woman in the nightgown, jittered and clapped her hands.

  For whatever reason, among the seniors at Evergreen and with Echo at his side for support, Diem’s stress took a vacation. He was calm. At peace. I dare say he was happy.

  “Is it always like this when he visits?” I asked the coordinator, not specifying what I meant.

  “No. Hazel’s having a good day today. It’s nice when she’s able to be in the common room. She can visit with the other residents. Socialization is important, but not always possible with her dementia. Everyone enjoys Echo’s company, too, so it’s a nice treat for them all.”

  Aaron hugged a tablet and seemed anxious to get on with business. The man’s outfit was sublime, and I suspected the price tag would make me wheeze. Since the day I’d begun party arrangements, he’d shown me a lot of attention. Flirty attention. I suspected knowing I was dating Diem put a stick in his craw. His problem. Not mine. Aaron didn’t understand the profundity of the moment.

  It was nice to hear about Hazel having good days, but I had been referring to Diem’s happiness, his relaxed state of being, his smiling eyes, and the way he grew flustered every time the lady with the glasses winked suggestively, but how would Aaron know what I meant? He didn’t live with Diem.

  Like everyone else in the world, he judged my boyfriend based on what he saw on the outside. He didn’t know the beautiful man underneath. He didn’t see the drastic contrast between visits with Nana and Diem’s everyday life, where he fought an endless war with anxiety, stress, addiction, and PTSD. Where smiles were priceless gifts I hoarded.

  I let it go.

  Diem dug another biscuit from a plastic zip bag he kept in his pocket and handed it to Hazel. “Tell her to lie down now. See if she’ll listen.”

  Hearing Diem’s words, Echo didn’t wait for Hazel’s instructions and lay at her daddy’s feet. Her eyes never left the treat.

  I turned to Aaron, whose gaze was on me and not the dog show. The man had rearranged his busy schedule to meet with me today, and I was holding him up. Regardless, when I apologized, his return smile was genuine.

  The day we met, he introduced himself as “Aaron Daily at your service.” The lax handshake, soft lisp, and coquettish once-over stirred a memory. For a time, I was certain that we’d met a few years back at Gasoline, but I’d since dismissed this theory. Aaron was simply a flirt like all the past hookups I’d once enjoyed.

  Diem either didn’t notice the excess attention or pretended not to. The fact that Aaron was good-looking and emitted a distinct vibe identifiable by most gay men should have pinged on my boyfriend’s overprotective, often jealous, radar, but, for whatever reason, it didn’t.

  At some point over the past year, Diem had found comfort in our relationship. He no longer snarled at Memphis when he came over, and he’d stopped making claims that he didn’t deserve me.

  Trust. Diem was learning to trust. Himself and his worth more than anything.

  Baby steps.

  “Better drag me out of here, Aaron, or I’ll stand and watch the show all day. At my age, excitement over a dog doing tricks for biscuits is concerning. I swear I have a social life.”

  Aaron’s fingers grazed my elbow as he motioned with the tablet to a nearby hallway. “Come on. I’ll show you the room we have available. I think your big boy will be fine for five minutes by himself.”

  Aaron’s administrative position involved plenty of duties, which included organizing various functions for the residents. He was Evergreen’s self-proclaimed Event Coordinator, among other things, and had agreed to assist me in planning Hazel’s ninety-third birthday.

  The celebration was my idea—how often did a person
turn ninety-three?—so although Diem had begrudgingly agreed, his preoccupation with entertaining his grandmother and the other residents was a clear sign I was on my own, and he wanted no part of the planning phase.

  Aaron guided me along a corridor and past a vast dining room, where a few residents shared tea, cookies, and conversation. The scent of cafeteria brought me back to my high school days, and I suspected meat loaf might be on the menu that evening if my sniffer-recall was correct.

  Eww.

  Someone tinkled clumsily on the piano in the corner. A battered upright grand. It was painfully out of tune, but no one seemed to care. Another resident stood to the side, swaying as he sang. I didn’t recognize the song, but I suspected anything from the bygone era of its birth was not appearing on my Spotify recommendation list.

  We left the dining room behind, passing what I assumed was an administrative office, a medical supply room—or so claimed the plastic sign on the door—and a janitor’s closet. A middle-aged woman in blue scrubs with yellow gloves to her elbows carried a mop and pail from within. The sudsy water sloshed as she shuffled her load, so she had a free hand to close the door.

  Upon seeing us, the woman beamed and greeted Aaron with a warm, familiar smile. “Hey, sweetie. Cleanup in aisle three.” She motioned to the mop leaning against a nearby wall and tittered. “Someone didn’t make it to the bathroom.”

  “I see.” Aaron offered the woman a tight smile, a hint of color rising in his cheeks as he ushered me along. The janitor headed back the way we’d come, humming as tunelessly as the music bleeding from the dining room.

  Once she was out of earshot, Aaron muttered, “Sorry. That’s my mother. She doesn’t understand that addressing me as sweetie at work isn’t professional and might come across wrong if people don’t know we’re related. Or maybe she lives to embarrass me. Probably the latter.”

  “Ah. I understand. I have a mother too. I’m sure she means well.”

  At the end of the hall, wooden wedges propped open a set of double doors that led into what Aaron called the Event Room.

  “Here we are.” He guided me ahead. “When there’s nothing on the schedule, we use the room recreationally. All the shelves and whatnot can be rolled out of here at a moment’s notice. We have a surplus of tables and chairs in storage, so these aren’t all of them. Do you know how many you’ll need?”

  “Um… no. Not yet.”

  At present, four folding tables and matching chairs occupied the rectangular room. Standard fire safety protocol and building maps were pinned to the wall at both exits. A fire extinguisher hung beside the door. Several mobile shelving units contained a collection of battered paperbacks and board games I’d enjoyed as a child. Scrabble, checkers, Sorry, Yahtzee, and more. Another shelf contained an array of crafting materials, organized in white plastic bins.

  Two elderly gentlemen played backgammon at one table, a trio of women surrounded another, scrapbooking and cackling like hens. Alone in the corner, a cardigan-wearing man with a shiny pate surrounded by a ring of neatly trimmed gray hair, chicken pecked at a laptop, his youthful eyes gleaming and reflecting the light of the screen.

  “Do you know how many people you’re expecting?” Aaron asked.

  “Not exactly. It will be a small affair. Maybe a dozen?”

  Kitty promised to scrounge up a few of Hazel’s knitting companions from over a decade ago, but celebrating a ninety-third birthday meant that many of the friends made over a lifetime were long gone.

  “I’m not sure if she’s close to anyone here, but the residents who want to attend are more than welcome.”

  “That’s a lovely offer. I’ll be sure to let everyone know.”

  When I suggested that Diem contact distant relatives—aunts, uncles, cousins—to see if they would like to attend, he told me there were none. None he wanted to associate with, I suspected. When I asked if we should invite his mother and father, he spewed an alphabet soup of colorful curses before informing me that if I did that, I had better hire security.

  Diem’s family put the D in dysfunctional. His father made my father look practically saintly, and my birth father was a homophobic jackass.

  So yeah, the guest list was limited.

  “We’re having the event catered, and a friend of Hazel’s is making carrot cake. Will I be able to come in ahead of time to decorate the room?”

  “Absolutely. We have a dated stereo system I can roll out if you’d like. It’s crackly and only plays CDs or cassette tapes. The folks in here like it when it’s set to the a.m. radio station mostly. No Bluetooth hookup, but if you wanted music, it’s available.”

  “Thanks. I don’t expect it to be a hoedown, but it’s something. I’ll mention it to Diem and see what he wants to do. Do you have CDs or cassettes to go with it? I’m not sure what elderly people listen to, but I suspect it won’t be whatever we have on hand.”

  Aaron smirked. “Not unless you have a secret stash of golden oldies CDs, and by that, I mean tunes from the forties and fifties. We have a collection you can borrow. They aren’t in great shape. A lot of them are scratched, but it might help.”

  “I’ll see what I can come up with, too.”

  Maybe Kitty had something we could borrow. Diem owned a handful of CDs, but grunge and heavy metal weren’t likely to go over well with this crowd.

  “How about a projector? I have ambitious plans to put together a slideshow. It means gathering old pictures, so it might not happen, but I’m going to give it the old college try. Maybe this time I won’t flunk out.”

  Aaron grinned. “That we have. You might check the boxes in Hazel’s closet. Oftentimes, when our residents move in, they bring old albums. Sadly, whatever isn’t framed and displayed usually grows mold in a box until they… aren’t here anymore. Sorry.”

  “It’s fine. None of us is getting out of this alive, right? We can only hope to get ninety-three years like Hazel.”

  A muffled ringing cut the conversation short, and Aaron withdrew a phone from his pocket, checking the screen. He hesitated, looked like he wanted to dismiss it, but changed his mind. “I should take this. Have a look around. I’ll be right back.”

  He aimed for the double doors as he pressed the phone to his ear. “Hey, Babe. I’m at work…”

  Babe? I huffed, wondering if Babe knew how flirty Aaron could be.

  Alone, I glanced around, picturing the setup for the party. The blank wall on the far side would work well for the projection—if I could find the materials for a slideshow. I wondered if anyone would object to wheeling the piano down the hall. I could hire a high school kid to play, maybe find a music book with classic, recognizable pieces. People could dance. Hazel might like that.

  The women crafting cackled again, their joyous banter filling the room. The gamers had shifted from backgammon to Battleship, but I wasn’t sure they understood how to play. The gentleman at the laptop rubbed his hands together, still radiating excitement, his gaze pinned to the screen.

  Before meeting my cunning coworker, Kitty Lavender, and witnessing her far superior computer skills—despite her advanced age—I would have thought the elderly and technology didn’t mesh. She’d proven me wrong.

  Curious what had Mr. Cardigan so enraptured, I wandered to the lone man at the long table, circling it to see what he was up to. He’d selected a seat close to the wall. I suspected it was to be within range of an outlet. The laptop was clunky and dated. Its battery was probably past its prime, much like the user.

  “Mind if I join you?” I asked.

  The gentleman was so involved in what he was doing that he didn’t seem to notice my approach.

  I raised my voice. Although I didn’t see hearing aids, many of the residents were hard of hearing. “Mind if I join you?”

  Seeming perturbed, the man dragged his attention from whatever he was doing and shoved his wire-framed glasses up his nose with his index finger. “I can hear you fine. No need to yell.” After evaluating me thoroughly, his brow dipped. “Who are you? I don’t know you.”

  “I’m Tallus. A friend of Hazel’s grandson. Do you know Hazel?”

  “Good grief. I’m not senile. The gears are grinding, same as they always have. Got all my teeth still, too. Hazel Krause. Ninety-three at the end of the month. Was married to Boone Krause in forty-six. He’s not around anymore. Died a decade or so ago. One son. Leroy Krause. He comes in from time to time. One grandson. Diem Krause. He’s in weekly. Has a dog. He’s queer. You say you’re the grandson’s friend? You queer too?”