Noah studied his friend, searching for clues as to the correct interpretation of that line. But Baxter’s benign expression suggested he should take it at face value and Noah felt it was in the best interest of their friendship to let it go. “You like a good time, too, don’t you?”
“Sure,” he said.
Noah grabbed a bowl from him. “Good. I’ll tell her to come this weekend, and bring a friend.”
Baxter met his gaze. They were only a few inches apart and Noah got that odd feeling again, but he refused to step away. He shouldn’t have to. This was his best friend, damn it.
“Why would you have her bring someone?” he asked. “Now you’re into threesomes?”
“No. The friend is for you.” Noah clapped him on the back and smiled, waiting for him to beg off. These days, that was what he normally did. He’d say he had to work, he was in the middle of a project at home or he’d be out of town. Noah had started hanging out more with Riley and Ted, especially if there were going to be women present.
But Bax didn’t offer up the typical excuse. Although he didn’t seem as pleased as Noah thought he should be, he accepted. “Why not?”
“So, if she can do it, we’re on?” he asked in surprise.
“As long as it’s not tomorrow night. Tomorrow’s the big game, remember?”
It was Homecoming at the high school, but that didn’t mean what it used to. They didn’t attend the Friday-night games anymore; they were too old to hang with the high school crowd. But he had to go to this game. He, Cody and a lot of the friends they’d grown up with, including Baxter, had been part of the football team that won state during their senior year. Those who lived in the area had been asked to return and help present a memorial plaque to Coach Nobis, who was retiring and would be moving to Arizona in a few months. They were also going to retire Cody’s number. Noah’s father would be on hand to speak, in his capacity as mayor and as Cody’s father and, because he was his brother’s best receiver, Noah was expected to say a few words, too. But he wasn’t looking forward to it. Cody was too emotional a subject for him. He hated speaking about the loss of his brother, especially in public.
“Right. The big game. Trust me, I’m not likely to forget.”
Obviously picking up on his sarcasm, Baxter studied him. “You’re spending too much time dreading it. It won’t be that bad.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You never do.”
Noah rounded on him. “Why should I have to? Why does everyone want to hear about Cody?”
“It’s been fifteen years, Noah. How much longer can you put off dealing with it?”
“Dealing with it? You’re kidding, right? I have to deal with it every day of my life! I just don’t want to dwell on it.”
“So you’d rather talk about people who mean nothing to you. Lisa, for instance.”
“Sure, why not?” Lisa was an uncomplicated subject. He’d been honest with her about his level of interest and owed her nothing. But Cody. That was a different story. With Cody he had to ask himself too many what-ifs. What if he’d attended that party? Would he have been able to keep Cody safe? What if he’d gone to his parents and told them Cody was using drugs? Would they have been able to change the situation before it was too late? Would they have restricted him? Kept him home that night? And what if he hadn’t pointed out the Jepson mine to Cody in the first place?
“Should we ask Gail if she’ll let us use the cabin Saturday night?” he asked.
Baxter hesitated but allowed Noah to return to their former subject without complaint. “You mean the mansion?”
One of their best friends, Gail DeMarco, had married box-office-hit Simon O’Neal, who’d recently had a cabin built back in the hills. It must’ve cost eight million dollars, but that was mere pocket change to them, and the O’Neals often let friends or family use it.
“We could grill steaks, watch a movie, lounge on the deck,” Noah suggested.
“Drink a few bottles of wine?”
“If you want,” he replied, but this suggestion surprised him. From what he could tell, Baxter had quit drinking. At least, he never drank around Noah. He’d started taking life more seriously, had become all about making money, for himself and his clients, and renovating his house. And then there was that scare, when they thought they’d lose Callie, another friend, to liver disease. Baxter had been singularly devoted to her for most of the summer, even after the transplant that saved her life. He’d probably be at her farm this weekend, helping improve the place, if Callie wasn’t on her honeymoon. “But...you don’t drink anymore.”
“I haven’t quit entirely,” Baxter responded. “I might as well enjoy myself. It’s not like I have anything to lose.”
As far as Noah was concerned, that was as strange as any of his other comments, because there was an element of anger, maybe even hurt, to it. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Baxter smiled. “It means I’m looking forward to it.”
If what he said was true, why did Noah get the impression he meant just the opposite?
7
Gran did a great job of keeping the locals at bay, at least until dinnertime. By then she’d fielded so many calls, she was getting too tired to deal with the onslaught and took her old-fashioned phone—the kind with no voice mail or answering machine—off the hook. Everyone in Whiskey Creek wanted to show their concern. Several neighbors had brought casseroles, flowers, cards or a combination of the three. Chief Stacy had checked in to tell Adelaide he’d be working late, that if she remembered anything, anything at all, to contact him right away. And Ed Hamilton, from the Gold Country Gazette, had pleaded with Gran to have Addy call him before the day was through. He wasn’t about to miss the deadline for this week’s paper. He wanted to take advantage of having something bigger to report than the completion of movie star Simon O’Neal’s cabin not far from town.
That wasn’t how he’d described it, of course. He’d told Gran he wanted to use the power of the press to alert the community to possible danger and enlist their cooperation in apprehending the man who’d hurt Adelaide.
With a sigh at the effort moving required, Addy forced herself to come out of her bedroom in time for dinner. She was sore but somewhat rested, not that her long nap had changed her outlook. If she had her preference, she’d return to Davis until the firestorm ended. But she couldn’t leave Gran so worried and upset. It was better to stay and act as if she was as desperate for the police to find her attacker as everyone else. That meant she had to at least pretend to be cooperating.