The Man She Knew. Loree Lough

       CHAPTER ONE

      “MALEAH, YOU WANT to explain this?”

      She placed the bowl of mashed potatoes on the dining room table. “Explain wh—”

      When she saw what her brother held in his big hands, the words froze in her throat.

      “Tell me you’re not still mooning over this low-life criminal!”

      “Mooning.” She forced a laugh. “You’re picking up old-people talk from Grampa.”

      “You can’t distract me.”

      She’d made two mistakes: thinking the buffet’s silverware drawer was a good place to hide the photograph, and saying yes when Eliot offered to set the table.

      “It’s no big deal.” Maleah shrugged. And there it was... Eliot’s I’m a decorated cop and I can tell when someone is lying look.

      Maleah shoved a serving spoon into the potatoes. She and Eliot had gone round and round on this subject too many times to count, and she’d lost every round.

      “Only one explanation makes sense. You’ve stayed in touch with him, even though the whole family asked you not to, haven’t you?”

      “First of all, no one asked anything.” Their relentless demands had been the primary reason she’d traded the comfort of her childhood room for a noisy, crowded dorm room at the University of Maryland. “How any times do I have to tell you I haven’t had any contact with him in...” Years had passed since she’d scrawled Leave me alone! Please! across Ian’s final letter. “Why won’t you believe me?”

      He dropped the picture into the drawer and closed it, hard. “Maybe because that creep turned you into an OCD control freak. You can’t sleep with dishes in the sink. And name me one other person who alphabetizes the contents of her pantry and spice rack? Or color-codes and hangs stuff in her closet in order by length.”

      Maleah didn’t bother to explain it was because she’d learned how much one mistake could alter a person’s life—and the lives of everyone close to them.

      “So I like things neat and tidy. Last I checked, it isn’t against the law.”

      He aimed his pointer finger at the ceiling, preparing to add to his big brother tirade, but she cut him off.

      “Eliot, let’s not spoil Grampa’s birthday dinner, all right?”

      “What. Ever.”

      An hour later, her mom suggested getting the dinner dishes cleaned up while the rest of the Turners relaxed in front of the evening news.

      “And then we’ll have coffee and cake while Grampa opens his presents!”

      Maleah’s tension heightened; if she left the room, Eliot would invite a repeat of the for-your-own-good lectures they’d been delivering since that horrible day.

      “Let’s leave them.” Facing her younger brother, she said, “Joe, will you get the TV trays out of the front hall closet while I—”

      “Maleah, honey,” her mother interrupted, “those mashed potatoes will harden like cement if you don’t rinse the plates soon.”

      “I’ll soak them overnight and load the dishwasher in the morning.”

      She’d tackle the job just as soon as her family left, but her mom didn’t need to know that.

      Joe returned with two TV trays under each arm. “Where do you want these, sis?”

      “You can put them right back where you found them,” her mother said. “We’ll have cake and ice cream at the table, like civilized people.”

      He began setting up the trays. “Mom, this is Maleah’s house.”

      Their mother’s lips formed a thin line. “Fine. Do whatever you please.”

      “Happy birthday to me,” Grampa sang off key.

      “Sorry, Grampa,” Maleah said, grinning. “I’ll get the cake.”

      She’d barely had time to turn toward the kitchen when her father said, “Eliot says you have something to tell us?”

      Traitor.

      “As a matter of fact, I do.” Maleah sat on the sofa arm beside Joe. “Got a promotion and a pay raise day before yesterday.” The perfect cover-up.

      Her dad beamed. “That’s wonderful, sweetheart. New title, too?”

      “Assistant Vice President for the School of Autism Services at Washburne-Albert Institute.”

      “Whew. That’s a mouthful!” Joe