“Jake, ha!” she said dismissively. “He is so much like your father it’s not funny. Why would I waste a good woman on that?”
“Yeah, well, don’t waste them on me, either,” Sean said flatly. “No fix-ups.”
“That’s not even why I called in the first place. Sean, you got such a chip on your shoulder, I swear.”
“So why did you call?”
“I need you to come over as soon as you can get here,” she whispered, hissing into the phone. “I think your father is having an affair.”
“Oh, man.” This was even worse than another fix-up. “Ma, you know there’s no way Dad is having an affair.”
Michael Calhoun, one of five deputy superintendents of police for the city of Chicago, was as straight an arrow as they came. An affair? Yeah, right. That would be way too interesting for his by-the-book old man.
“I got evidence,” his mother contended.
“Yeah, okay, well, I’m already late to meet Jake,” he explained, trying to be patient. This affair thing was a new one for his mother, but not entirely surprising. She had a tendency to be jealous and to keep her husband and her sons, especially Sean, on a short leash. “Jake and I are supposed to pick up Cooper and head to Wisconsin, to the fishing cabin, remember? So it’s not a good time.”
“Your brothers will just have to wait. This is important.”
“Listen, I have a message from Jake here. Let me see what that is and call you right back, okay?” Without giving her a chance to object, he disconnected her and punched in the code to hear his message.
“Something’s come up, Sean,” Jake’s voice growled in his ear. “Sorry. Dad’s sending me on this weird errand and I’m not going to make it to Wisconsin. You and Coop go ahead without me, okay? Have a great time.”
“Damn it, Jake.” Sean clenched his jaw. First Mom and the craziness about Dad having an affair, and now Jake was bailing on him, leaving him with custody of their flaky younger brother Cooper. At times like this, he was really sorry he was a Calhoun.
And his phone was ringing again.
“Sean?” his mother asked. “You didn’t call me right back.”
“I didn’t get a chance.”
She made a harrumphing noise. “I’m expecting you within the next ten minutes. Get over here.” She hung up on him this time.
Funny that Jake had said their dad was sending him on some kind of errand he couldn’t get out of. When Dad called, Jake jumped. But when their mother needed something, it was always Sean who got the call, whether he wanted to or not.
His father constantly got on his case about being the family rebel. Some rebel. Hadn’t he ended up on the police force like all the rest of them? Wasn’t he constantly at his mother’s beck and call?
Frowning, wondering if it was too late to become an only child or an orphan, he quickly dialed Cooper, the only member of the family still unaccounted for, but got voice mail. “Hey, Coop, it’s Sean. I’m tied up. Jake says he’s off on a mission for Dad and Mom is giving me grief about something else. You can go ahead to the cabin if you want, and I’ll try to meet you there later.”
He dropped his phone in his pocket, shrugged into his jacket, and made tracks to his car. Might as well see what bee Mom had in her bonnet.
He laughed. Dad having an affair. Yeah, right.
“I THOUGHT YOU’D NEVER get here,” Yvonne Calhoun declared, swinging open the door before he had an opportunity to knock. He noticed immediately that her face was red, her eye makeup was smudged, and she had chewed off her lipstick, all of which was very unusual.
So she was very upset. It didn’t take a detective to figure that out.
“Mom, you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. Just come in already, will you?”
Sean ducked in the door, feeling eighteen and surly, like he did every time he came back to the Calhoun family house. It was impossible not to revert to a teenage attitude under that roof. Wipe your feet, say please and thank-you, don’t eat or drink in the living room… Remembering all the rules made him want to do every single thing he wasn’t supposed to do.
Jamming his hands into his pockets, Sean ambled into the immaculate living room, avoiding looking at the stern pictures of his mother’s parents, Grandma and Grandpa Bergner, on the piano. Next to that were framed pictures of three generations of Calhoun men in their Chicago Police Department uniforms. The True Blue Calhouns. Sean curled his lip. Yeah. Whatever.
“Okay,” he began. “I’m here now. So what’s this junk about Dad having an affair?”
“It’s not junk. He is having an affair,” his mother said quickly. “Bebe saw him.”
“Your friend Bebe saw Dad having an affair?” That was a nasty image. Not that he believed it for a minute. “With who?”
“Well, I don’t know who she is. A bimbo.” His mom scurried off to the kitchen, but she stopped in the doorway. “Do you want something to drink? A cookie?”
“No, Ma. I want to know what this is all about.”
“Sit down. Bebe is here. She’ll tell you,” she called out from the kitchen. “Bebe, go into the living room and talk to Sean while I get the coffee. And take the pictures with you.”
Pictures? Could this get any worse? He had the fleeting thought that maybe it was just pictures of more prospective dates. Maybe this was all subterfuge. But Mom seemed awfully hopped up for just another scheme to marry him off.
“Hiya, Sean,” Bebe offered, patting her hair with one manicured nail as she waltzed into the living room. Bebe was not just his mother’s best friend, but also her hairdresser, and her hair had been every color in the rainbow in the short time Sean had known her. Today it was kind of a deep maroon and flipped up on the ends.
“Hi,” he returned. “What’s this all about?”
“Your mom needs you, honey,” she said soothingly. She handed over a stack of photos and then took a seat next to him on the sofa. “I’m real sorry and all, but I saw what I saw. What can I say?”
Sean glanced down at the top picture. “Dad sitting on a park bench wearing a trench coat, with a woman next to him and about three feet in between them. So?”
Bebe tapped the photo with one purple fingernail. “I was at the park, just minding my own business walking my sister’s dog—I was dog-sitting, just in case you wondered what I was doing up there, because that is not my part of town—and who do I see but Michael Calhoun, schmoozing with this chickie who is half his age and has a terrible dye job.” She rolled her eyes. “The roots!”
“And you just happened to have a camera?”
“No, that was the second time,” she told him.
“A second time!” his mother chorused grimly, coming back carrying a mug of coffee and a plate of cookies. “Have a cookie.”
“I don’t want a cookie. And since when do you let people eat or drink in the living room?”
She waved away his objection. “Everything has fallen apart. Your father is cheating on me. What do I care about a little spill in the living room? Bebe saw the schmuck twice with his tootsie. I told you I had evidence.” She sat next to him on the couch, pushing him over from the other side, so that he was squashed between the two women.
“Mom, I really think you’re making a whole mountain range out of a molehill here,” he tried, setting the photos down in his lap. “So he went to the park and some woman