“You went to live with your grandmother and got to know her.”

Brad just couldn’t take a hint. I swung to face him. “Yeah, and I got to go to prison when she died. Where’s the good in that?”

“You decided to fix up houses for a living when you got out.”

“And what’s so good about that?”

“You came to Rawlings.”

“Please. I’m beginning to think that’s the biggest mistake I ever made.”

“No it’s not. You met me.”

I drew a sharp breath and looked out the window. Brad couldn’t mean what I thought he meant. He was merely being cute with a pompous comment.

He couldn’t possibly be serious. Brad and me? No way.

32

The SUV pulled into a vacant space in front of the same strip mall that housed Goodman’s Grocery. I’d never noticed the café before. A rectangular lighted sign said Sam’s Coney in red letters. A hot dog wearing a diner hat and holding a cane danced beside the words.

“How often did you say you ate here?” I had a hard time imagining I’d find any reasonably healthy items on Sam’s menu. It was bad enough I splurged on pastries at the Whistle Stop. I didn’t need to clog my arteries with dancing hot dogs.

“Couple times a week.” Brad opened his door. “Come on. I want you to meet someone.”

I followed him past the plain brick façade and into a dimly lit interior. Square tables cluttered the center of the room, each one accented with a tiny white vase and a fake red carnation with a sprig of pine needles. Someone’s interpretation of Christmas decorations, I supposed. A row of red-upholstered booths lined the perimeter. Stark white walls held art that commemorated dead movie stars.

The title on one poster caught my eye. boulevard of broken dreams. I stared at the drawing. Elvis Presley, Marilyn Monroe, and Humphrey Bogart were among those that huddled at the far end of a diner bar. I swallowed, surprised to find myself fighting back tears and battling a lump in my throat. With a few brushstrokes, the artist could add my mother, grandmother, and one day me to the scene. Boulevard of Broken Dreams. Yep. I lived there.

“What do you see?” Brad asked.

I shook my head and cleared my tears. “Nothing. Sorry about that.”

He put an arm loosely on my shoulder and looked at the rendering. “That’s all of us, Tish. We’ve all got dreams we’ve set aside or given up on. It’s part of life. You get a new dream and keep moving ahead.”

“I thought you went to school to be a cop, not a psychologist.”

“Same difference. It’s all about what makes people tick.” He dropped his hold and moved toward the counter. “Let’s sit over here.”

We sat on retro red stools. He ordered a Coke. I ordered the diet version.

“Tell Sam we’re here, would you please?” Brad said to the waitress. She scurried off to the kitchen.

“To answer your question,” he said with a smile, “I’ve lived in Rawlings all my life. The house I live in now belonged to my grandmother. She died when I hit my early twenties. I moved in and fixed it up over the years.”

So Brad lived in a family heirloom. That explained his lousy choice of location. “You’ve never wanted to leave Rawlings? You know, shake its dust off your feet and move on?”

“I owe a big debt to my hometown. It’s why I am who I am today. I love giving back to the area a little bit of what it gave me.”

“You must have had a good childhood experience to say that. Most people can’t wait to get out of Dodge.”

“Too many roots. Here’s one of them now.” Brad stood for the arrival of a stunning, tall brunette wearing a tight T-shirt with the diner’s logo across the chest. She leaned over the counter, held Brad’s cheeks between her hands, and kissed him on one eye.

“Hey, bro,” she said with a grin.

Brad pretended to wipe spit out of his eye. “Sam. I want you to meet my neighbor, Tish Amble.”

She extended her hand and gave me an unwavering gaze. “Nice to meet you, Tish. I’m Samantha Walters, Brad’s adorable little sister.”

Samantha’s adjectives for herself fell far short of an accurate description. I came up with beautiful, leggy, lippy, sexy, funny. Adorable and little never made the list.

Her grip felt firm but not stifling. I liked her. “Hi.”

“So what can I get you two for lunch?” She pulled a pen and pad out of her apron pocket.

“I’ll have the usual, please,” Brad said.

I hated to think of the fat content in something called “the usual.”

“I’ll have a tossed salad, ranch dressing on the side, and a cup of the chicken noodle.” Sometimes you had to show by example the right way to eat, regardless of how hungry you really were.

“Comin’ up.” Samantha sashayed to the kitchen, leaving Brad and me in awkward silence.

“So . . . is she the Sam from the sign?” I asked.

“Sort of. This was my dad’s diner. Believe it or not, when I was in high school, I used to flip burgers and dogs back there on the grill.”

I smiled at the picture he brought to mind.

“When Dad died, Sam Junior there took over the restaurant.”

“How does she do it? Didn’t she have plans of her own?” I thought of my own plans that had been forever boggled by my grandmother’s illness and eventual death.

“I’ve never seen anybody happier. She runs the diner, plays in a band, writes songs. She has more friends than King Solomon had gold. Life always looks good to her no matter what she’s going through.”

I swallowed. “I could sure use some of her outlook. Does she sell that here in the diner?”

Brad grinned. “No, but she could probably tell you where to get some.”

I felt my face turn red.

“Church,” Brad said quickly. “She goes to a really great church. I go to the same one, actually. Maybe you’d like to come with me Sunday?”

I shook my head. “Thanks, but no. I’m taking a spiritual hiatus. I have a lot of healing to do before I can head back to organized religion.”

“Then you’re taking a church hiatus. Nobody gets off the hook on the spiritual part. That’s just a part of being alive. You’re on a journey whether you want to be or not.”

“However you want to put it.”

Sam dropped our drinks in front of us and disappeared. I unwrapped the straw and started slurping, hoping to put an end to the discussion.

I watched Brad take the paper off his straw. I liked his hands. Wide across the palm with long, agile fingers.

Neither Walters sibling wore a wedding band, a quirky fact for two so attractive people. “How is it that you two have managed to stay single? Or were you married before?” I asked.

Brad looked in my eyes. “I’ve waited a lot of years to find the right bride.” He looked away. “Sam was married when she was young, but got dealt a dud. She hung in there longer than any of us thought she should. I think she’s still getting over the sting. But I have to say, I’ve never known anybody as happy to be single as Sam.”

Seeing Brad’s brotherly devotion to his little sis, I struggled with David’s accusations against him. How could this sweet, sister-loving guy be a big-time philanderer?

Of course, no one could, by simply looking at me, say, “There goes a grandma killer.” Unless they’d read about it in the papers.

Secrets. Everybody had them. Mine happened to be tough to keep.

But like Brad, some people out there excelled at keeping secrets. Such as the person who murdered Dietz and Cellar Dweller.

“So where do you call home, Tish?” Brad’s voice interrupted my brooding.

“Um . . .” His question stumped me. “I spent most of my youth in Walled Lake with Gram. But I guess if I think about it, home’s up north, where I was born.”

“Up north. Like Traverse City?” Brad asked.

I bit my tongue. I got really irritated with people who thought Michigan ended at the Straits of Mackinac.

“No. Up north, like Escanaba,” I said.

Brad raised his eyebrows. “An Upper Peninsula Girl, huh?”

I geared up for the insults I’d grown accustomed to hearing whenever I mentioned my place of origin. Sure, the U.P. had its problems. But so did the rest of the world.

Brad cleared his throat. “I went to the academy with a guy from Gladstone. Mike Segerstrom. What a great sense of humor. He’s a state cop in Manistique now.” He shook his head. “Man, is it beautiful up there. I spent a couple weeks fishing with Mike after graduation.”

I sighed in relief. No insults. “I barely remember it,” I said. “I was only seven when I moved downstate.”

I closed my eyes and saw gentle waves licking a rocky shore. Heard leaves fluttering in a playful breeze. Smelled fresh earth and pine needles. Felt hot sand running through my fingers. All memories of a happy childhood, before Mead Quarry rose up that night and swallowed my mother.

“Maybe I’ll take you back there one day.” Brad nudged my shoulder and smiled impishly.

“Maybe.” I looked toward the kitchen, avoiding Brad’s eyes.

I didn’t like the way he got to me. I shouldn’t want to know more about him. Or want to have lunch with him again. Or even feel comfortable around him.

But there was something about Brad that ate away my defenses, made me trust where I shouldn’t, made me hope where I mustn’t.

Sam glided to the counter and set our meals in front of us. Hot steam from the soup hit my nose and I grabbed for a napkin. I looked over at Brad’s fare. A Coney dog and a bowl of the chicken noodle. Not bad looking, actually.

I watched Brad take a bite out of the juicy chili-n-cheese-covered dog smothered with onions. I dipped a fork into my salad, spearing a chunk of lettuce. Brad chewed the spicy-scented Coney. I crunched away on iceberg.