Family Photos

Book 4: McKenna Mystery Series (10 books)

by Kate Anslinger

Genres: Supernatural suspense; Suspense; Police Procedurals; Crime Fiction

Synopsis

★★★★★ "Grace McKenna knows what you've done. She can see it in your eyes." —Author of Chasing Vega, Terry Shepherd

★★★★★ "Anslinger's attention to detail is incredible." — Amazon Reader

Detective Grace McKenna has a gift. When she looks into the eyes of criminals, she is inundated with glimpses of their crimes. In book four of the McKenna Mystery Series, Grace's gift takes her back to the 1950s, when Bridgeton, Massachusetts was run by high society families. When Grace and boyfriend, Mark Connolly, sign the paperwork on their newly purchased home, Grace learns things she'd rather not know about the seller and the family that formerly lived there.

A gunshot wound, old family photos with a mysterious woman, and a thousand pieces of shattered green glass, flash before Grace when she meets the seller, John Walsh. Recruiting the help of Mark, Barb, and a few other newly casted characters, Grace picks apart old family photos and gets tangled up in Bridgeton's past. Meanwhile, she is faced with living in a home that was the setting for chilling town secrets.

In Family Photos, Grace dissects a crime that is close to home, provoking the truth so the dust can finally settle.

 

 

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Release date: March 22, 2021

Publisher: Lighthouse Pen

Print pages: 234

Sample

PROLOGUE

The child wore a dirtied white short-sleeve shirt affixed with a navy blue tie, knee-length shorts that exposed knees encrusted with
mud, and blue and white saddle shoes over soiled white ankle socks. Looking every bit the proper schoolboy except for the tattered
flannel blanket he clutched to his side. He moped while seated on a rocking tandem swing. His round face then contorted into wide-
eyed horror with his mouth agape as he plummeted backward to the hard earth below. A rivulet of bright crimson seeped from a
bullet-sized chest wound. His face turned ashen and his full lips turned bluish-purple, slackening as his chest no longer rose and fell
with breath. His little body fell limp as his vacant hazel eyes released a trickling tear along the contours of his broad nose, blurring
a cluster of freckles along the way.

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS THE THIRD SATURDAY IN MAY. GRACE AND MARK HAD BEEN driving around Bridgeton with their real estate agent,
Stephen, all morning, and between the limited affordable houses for sale and the nonstop rain, they were reaching the
peak of frustration. Even Stephen, with his colorful and upbeat personality, was starting to lose patience.
Rain drummed the roof of the black VW Jetta and the dragging rubber of the windshield wipers worked overtime,
providing a sound‐ track to the awkward silence between agent and clients after a morning of disappointments. Grace
sat alone in the backseat watching the raindrops race down her window when she suddenly perked up at the sight of a
towering grey two-story Victorian with a charming, covered porch and a castle-like turret that accessorized the home.
“Okay, two more. Let’s hope we score with one of these puppies,” Stephen announced as he swung open the back door,
shielding Grace with a large umbrella bearing the Rocky Shores Realty Group’s logo of a home overlooking a grey,
rocky coastline, with the agency’s initials in a bold black font. Meanwhile, Mark jogged from the other side of the car
and the three of them speed walked up the cobblestone path to seek shelter on the porch. The house sat on Court Street;
a beautiful, tree-lined street in a family neighborhood known as the Highlands. On a whim Grace and Mark decided it
was time to purchase a place together and it just made sense to live in the community where they both worked.
“Think about the gas money and time we’ll save by being here,” Mark said, as he flicked his hands and toned arms free
of rainwater.
“I actually enjoy my thirty-minute commute. It gives me a chance to think about things and decompress,” Grace
responded while shaking out the umbrella Stephen had handed off to her so he could inspect something that caught his
attention.
“Well, we can get rid of your Jeep or my van and I’ll walk to work . . . saving on car insurance, oil changes, and
everything else that goes along with owning a vehicle.” Mark had been fighting his case hard. It wasn’t that Grace didn’t
want to simplify their lives by moving to Bridgeton, it was that she was set in her ways in a house she had grown
comfortable in. Like a favorite sweater, Grace’s home in Cabotville fit her well, she had gotten used to all the little pulls
and tears in it. What would hurt the most was saying goodbye to all of the memories she and her mother had made in
her home. All the dinners they’d shared, the squabbles they’d have over what to watch while they were tucked under a
shared Afghan on Grace’s couch. As an introvert, Grace would miss the seclusion of her home in Cabotville. She’d be
going from having a closest neighbor a distance of two houses away to practically sharing a back yard with a Bridgeton
neighbor. But Mark had sacrificed so much for her and he’d given up bits of his own career to help her solve cryptic
cases, all the while accepting her for who she was.

Even in the rain, Stephen had gotten sidetracked and took his time surveying the landscaping and upkeep of the yard.
Grace and Mark had reached their limit for the day and hadn’t even looked at the specs on this house. As far as they
were concerned, they were walking into a box of spiderwebs.
“We could get money knocked off for this,” Stephen said, using a toe to lift a section of loose pavers lining the path, as
he pulled the hood of his yellow raincoat forward to prevent the heavy droplets from pelting his face. “Remember what
I said . . . even if you love it don’t show it, okay?” He gave Mark and Grace his best serious nod as he joined them on the
porch at the front door.
By this point in the day, Grace had lost all hope of finding an affordable home that didn’t require a ridiculous amount of
work. Two houses prior the owner was trying to sell a 1,400-square-foot home with a little yard, chipped paint, and a
1970s kitchen for half a million dollars. Any hope she had, had deflated from her. She felt like the wilted flowers sitting
in the boxes framing the windows of that home.
Just as Stephen was about to pull the brass knocker on the white door, with an accent window at the top, a thirty-
something female, with black hair piled high on her head, pulled the door open. Curly tendrils escaped from her
topknot and danced along her jawline as she opened the door, revealing a friendly smile highlighted by rasp‐ berry-
colored lips.
“Hello, Stephen!” It was clear she was more excited to see him than previous selling agents had been.
“Mel! Oh my goodness, look at you!” He held her shoulders and twirled her around before planting a kiss on her cheek.
“I lost all that baby weight finally . . . Lord knows I get enough steps in just by chasing the twins around, when I’m not
slinging houses.”
“You are beautiful.” A sincere look was caught in his pale blue eyes. “What are you doing here!?”
“Oh, well, let me tell you . . . we’ve had some crazy turnover lately, and I’m covering for André who had to help with
some condo showings in Boston. So, you’re stuck with me!” Mel raised her arms with bent elbows and palms up,
offering a toothy smile.
“Well, I was looking forward to gazing into Andre’s smoldering brown eyes but I’m glad to see you too, honey.” Stephen
turned toward Mark and Grace, extending an introductory arm in their direction. “These are my amazing clients . . .
Detective McKenna and Gym Guru Mark Connolly.” Much to Grace’s chagrin, Stephen insisted on introducing her as
Detective. He claimed it put fear in the selling agents and made them less likely to lie about the property.
“I know you . . . you own Imperial Fitness!” Mel’s small eyes expanded, transforming them into two green olives.
“When I’m not busy with the twins, I get out and hit up Alyssa’s kickboxing class on Tuesday nights. Best class I’ve ever
taken and it helps me get my frustrations out.”
“Awe Alyssa, she is one of our best instructors. She really loves what she does.” Mark, in his comfort zone, reached into
his pocket and pulled out one of the free class passes he carried with him.
“Is this the original hardwood?” Stephen interrupted.
“Yes, all original . . . that’s what I love about this home.” Mel flipped a switch, producing a dome of warm light from the
chandelier over the entryway. She turned back to Mark to thank him for the card.

Grace made her way over to Stephen as he was scrutinizing the well-lit foyer. He already slipped off his wet shoes and
was sliding his argyle socks along the hardwood floor. He bent down and used a hand to glide across the wood’s texture,
assessing the quality. Fine grain light maple wood with dark streaks and a few subtle blemishes reflected the ceiling
lighting; making the area feel larger, brighter, and more spacious. Grace had trouble telling if he was happy about what
he saw or if he found a flaw. Even in front of a selling agent that he knew, he had on a determined game face. The man
loved his job.
“Looks like they’ve already moved out?” Stephen made his way to an empty living room. Front and center was a
stunning brick fireplace that took Grace’s breath away. She couldn’t help but picture Brody sprawled out in front of the
fire as she and Mark snuggled up on the couch on a snowy night. The dog loved nothing more than being as close to his
people as possible.
“Yeah, U-Haul trucks were here two days ago, it’s been a busy couple of days for him.”
“Upgrading homes?”
“Actually, quite the opposite. My client is looking to downsize. Sick of the upkeep with an old house—” Mel caught
herself, stopped, and twirled around as she pulled open two cream-colored solid wood doors to a sunroom extending off
the living room. Even in the pouring rain the room filled with natural light, brightened up even more by the white tiled
floor.
“This is nice. I bet the owners spent a lot of time out here . . . especially in the summer.” Mark stepped down and ran a
hand along the oak windowsills. Grace was already thinking about how she would want to brighten up the room with
lighter paint colors, transforming the natural oak tones to a cheerful white.
“Owner. Believe it or not, only one person lived in this massive house. I’ve got twins and a pretty decent-sized husband
and my house is half this size . . . and I’m in the business.” Mel laughed, throwing a wink in Stephen’s direction.
“Amen, sister, same here.” Stephen swatted a hand in her direction and skated across the room toward the windows. He
tapped on the glass of a window overlooking the back yard. An old, peeling forest- green swing set was situated just off
to the right, its vacant swing eerily swaying in the driving rain, causing a muffled screech of its rusty hinges.
Grace’s eyes were glued to the lone swaying seat held by two thin oxidizing chains. The metal slide had dents and burrs
along its scuffed path. Clusters of tall grass and unwieldy weeds grew up beneath and around the metal set, so tall they
protruded through the slats of a face-to-face glider swing rocking gently on the opposite end of the slide. A broken
tandem swing dragged the ground, partially obscured by the overgrowth. A shiver dispersed up Grace’s spine.
On the other side of the yard, in front of an age-worn white picket fence, was a pale blue and white metal shed leaning
slightly sideways. One side sunk deeper into the ground than the other. Rusty patches were peppered along the elevated
vertical ridges making the blue look even more faded against the russet tones of the flaking oxidation. Instead of a door
that swung open and closed, like the sheds of today, this one had sliding doors. Age, or poor design, made the bottoms
of the doors fall off the hinges and billow out. Grace imagined how easy it would be for rodents to creep in through the
exposed crack. A small latch, where a lock was once placed, joined the two sliding doors, holding the lock loop
tight—partly due to the rusty corrosion all around it. A slight hill rose up in the center of the yard, making it less than
perfect, but Grace wasn’t much for perfection. It was one of the reasons she immediately shot down the cookie-cutter
neighborhoods that had to follow strict guidelines for lawn maintenance.
“Why the swing set if the guy was solo?”

“I believe it was his from when he was a boy. The house has always been in his family. Perhaps he intended to one day
have a family of his own or didn’t have the heart to remove a piece of his past?” Mel skimmed across the room in a pair
of fluffy pink slippers. “They don’t make ’em like that anymore. That was even before my time. Now it’s all plastic and
wood. A kid isn’t happy nowadays unless they have an attached treehouse.”
The house was nearly 3,000 square feet and the thought of so much space started to make Grace second guess the visit.
“Do you think it’s too big?” Grace asked Mark under her breath.
“Let’s see the rest of it before we jump to any conclusions. I can think of a lot of things that would fit in this space
nicely,” Mark joked, clearly not the least bit embarrassed about his hoarding tendencies.
“New windows?” Stephen kept his game face on, but Grace knew exactly how new windows made him feel. A few
houses prior he nearly did a happy dance when he opened a kitchen window that rose and shut with such ease it
wouldn’t wake a sleeping baby.
Mel came back with a quick and proud response. “Brand spankin’ new.” She skated across the room, her furry slippers
adding a childish look to her polished real estate-agent attire. “These are some of the best I’ve seen.”
“You’re not lying. Pella Architect Series. These babies are the Cadillac of historical home windows.” Stephen flashed a
confident nod with raised eyebrows in Grace and Mark’s direction. Grace caught the confirmation before she headed
back into the living room. Walking with arms hugging her chest, in her habitual stance, she made her way across the
creaky floor toward the hallway connecting the living room and kitchen.
Upon stepping into the kitchen Grace’s first reaction was utter awe. A large kitchen was on her list of non-negotiables
and based on the expansive, bright kitchen before her, this one passed the test. Both she and Mark agreed the kitchen
needed to be spacious enough to hold a gathering, if necessary. While Grace wasn’t super keen on hosting house
parties, she knew Mark’s popular gym owner status would require them to commit to a few gatherings a year, showing
appreciation for the wealthy clients who continued to keep Mark’s salary growing. It was just one of the things she’d
have to deal with as his girlfriend.
“Oh, ohhhhh.” Grace took several steps into the room, spinning around as she took in the gleaming white and grey
cabinets, the pris‐ tine appliances, and the expansive island central to everything. The lower cabinets were a pale shade
of grey that pulled the grey tones of the granite countertop together. As if plucked from her very own internal Pinterest
board; the upper cabinets were a gleaming solid white with a column of open shelving centered on each wall. Grace was
already deciding which framed photos would offset the kitchen supplies to add some flair to the space; a tip she learned
in one of Ellen’s old Better Homes & Gardens magazines.
“What happened here?” Stephen stood opposite Grace; his composed game face ripped from his expression as an
obvious look of impressed surprise etched itself in his wide eyes.
Grace looked over at Mark, already front and center, running a palm over the cold, smooth granite.
“What happened here is the owner got sick of the dark wood and decided to lift up the aesthetics of the place,” Mel said,
flourishing her hands.

“Damn . . . he must’ve paid a pretty penny for this.” Mark circled around the large eight-by-three-foot island, smoothing
a hand over the granite countertop and taking it all in. Grace caught the look that Stephen passed to Mark. Shut up about
money.
“Are these new cabinets or just painted?” Stephen pulled open a cabinet, letting it shut in a silent, soft close.
“Brand new. Everything you see in this one room is brand new. In fact, the guy who lived here before probably hasn’t
used this stove more than once. He just had it done three months ago and from what I hear he was a heterosexual
bachelor so . . . figure that one out.” Mel walked toward a closed door on the opposite side of the galley portion of the
kitchen. “The house is over one hundred years old, so it’s to be expected that some major renovations were due to take
place. Maybe he hired a designer.”
“Hey, just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I like to cook,” Stephen joked.
“My bad. False stereotype got the best of me.” Mel winked at Stephen.
“Now, I don’t know if you two like to cook but . . . I’ll save this little beauty for last.” Mel pulled the door open, and
Grace’s jaw dropped for the second time in two minutes. In front of Mel stood a pantry nearly the size of Grace’s
current bedroom.
“Oh my . . . you don’t have to like to cook to appreciate that. Look at the space, Gracie.” Mark nearly leapt into the
room, his frame now surrounded by rows of shelving and cutting-edge cabinets with brushed nickel knobs. A matching
granite countertop separated the upper shelving from the lower cabinets, a place to stash décor or small appliances.
“Mark don’t get any ideas . . . this won’t house your fitness equipment,” Grace interjected with a sly smirk, trying to
keep him in line.
“No, but it could very well house my supplements.”
As if a magnet were pulling her into the colossal pantry, Grace walked toward Mark and stood beside him, feeling just
as mesmerized as he looked.
“Do you have any supplements that will get rid of this?” Mel pointed to the deep eleven lines forming between her
brows.
“Or this?” Stephen came into the room rubbing his bald head.
“Bald is beautiful, Stephen,” Grace said, as she sidled up to Mark, completely giddy with the house. She looked around at
the four of them standing in the center of the oversized pantry and suddenly felt like she was home, and she hadn’t even
seen the second floor yet.
As if Mel had read her mind, she asked, “How about we make our way upstairs?”
“After you.” Stephen motioned for Mel to lead the way, letting Grace and Mark file in behind her, as he took the last
place in line. Grace rested her hand on the smooth railing, the sound of her silver bracelet tapping gently on the wood
in between the parade of footfalls moving up the creaky stairs.

When the four of them made it to the landing at the top of the staircase, Mel expanded on her role as realtor as she
effortlessly described the layout of the second floor. “This hallway leads to two bedrooms at the front of the house,” she
said, as she extended her hand down a narrow hall running parallel to the banister. The end of the hallway spilled out
into a stretch of added living space, accented with a stunning window seat. A faded peach cushion, that looked like it
was designed specifically for the mahogany perch, ran the length of the bench. The cheery color a charming element
against the dark wood tones.
“Look, Mark, a window seat,” Grace said in awe, as she advanced toward it. She dropped onto the cushion, positioning
herself so she was leaning against the side wall and able to look out the rain-spattered window. Droplets raced down the
glass, blurring her vision of the street below, distorting the neighboring houses into smudges of yellow, red, white, and
blue. The seat was exactly what she had envisioned when she dreamed about passing the hours reading a book, pressed
up against a window while snuggled under a blanket. A cup of coffee was always a given in those daydreams as well,
held with both hands in front of an open book on her bent knees. Angling her head upwards she observed the height of
the windows, the base starting at the top of the seat and stretching all the way up to a strip of dark crown molding. The
wood was accented with etchings that swirled and dipped into an intricate pattern centered above the window.
“Just what you’ve always wanted, Gracie.” Mark sat beside her, twisting his head so he was looking directly into her eyes
and taking her right hand in his left.
Grace couldn’t help but think about the truth in his statement. This was everything she’d ever wanted. Her career, her
boyfriend, and now this house. She stood up, eager to see what else the second floor had in store. She kept his hand in
her grip and hefted him up along with her.
Three steps to the left and they were in a small bedroom in the shape of a near-perfect square. White walls greeted
wood flooring identical to the first floor, with less wear and tear.
“If you plan on having kids, you may want to use this as a nursery.” Mel suggested as she stepped toward the closet door
on the back wall. She pulled and twisted the glass knob, the loose hardware let out a slight groan as it dropped back into
place when it was fully open and she released her grip. “Enough closet space to store diapers and supplies.” She added.
“Back when this house was built, occupants typically relied on wardrobes and dresser space for storage and, from what I
hear, they traveled a lot lighter.”
“That’s probably why my grandmother always gives me a hard time for the massive quantity of shoes I own,” Stephen
said, as he padded toward the front window. Grace could tell he was pleased by the brand of window by the way he
raised an eyebrow and assessed the quality, similar to how he had reacted on the first floor.
As they made their way past the window seat once more and into the bedroom on the opposite side of the hall, Grace
picked up on a familiar scent. Christmas came to mind; her suspicion confirmed when she spotted the plug-in air
freshener, filled with green pine- scented liquid, in the room that was slightly bigger than the last one. In the previous
houses they had a plate of freshly baked cookies on the counter, for the purpose of what Grace assumed was, to stir up
the sensation of feeling at home. Nearly identical as the previous room, with one additional window that overlooked
the front yard, the four of them spent little time assessing what this room had to offer.
Mel led them back to the window seat. “Would you like to see the attic?”
“Absolutely,” Stephen answered for all of them.

“Is that where this leads to?” Grace rested her hand on the glass knob on the opposite side of the window seat, flush with
the hallway. She wiggled it gently and pulled it open, feeling the ridges of carved glass in her palm as it settled back into
place.
“They are hard to manage sometimes, but you could make a fortune on these vintage doorknobs if you tried to sell them
on eBay,” Mel said.
The three of them watched as Mel disappeared into the darkness until the sound of a subtle click created a flood of light
illuminating another flawless hardwood floor. Grace expected to see a dusty old attic space, with cobwebs strung in all
corners, but her mouth dropped when she saw how pristine the space was.
“Now, I’m sure you could use this space for storage but, personally, I think it’s a great escape from the kids.” Mel spun a
full revolution, coming to face the others with a pleased grin. Grace wasn’t sure if it was the sound of Mel’s soft laughter
or the room that made her feel a sense of comfort.
“I can think of a lot of things I could put in this room,” Mark said, stooping as he entered, ascending to full height once
the angled ceiling gave way to vast openness.
“I think the key word is what we would do with the space, honey, not what we would put up here. So if you’re
envisioning stashing away more unusable fitness equipment then I’m going to override that decision right now.” Grace
established herself with raised brows and a slight tilt of the head in a knowing stance. Mark diverted his eyes, whistling
in mock innocence as he continued to survey the space. Grace couldn’t help but smirk at his veiled attempt at
cluelessness.
Stephen walked over to a small octagonal window framed in a seafoam green border. “Looks like you could get a bit of
air circulation up here if need be,” he said with a nod, as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his black skinny jeans,
continuing to survey the space that could pass for a small bedroom.
“Yeah, as you can tell, it’s not that stuffy up here and it’s well-kept,” Mel said.
Grace couldn’t help but think of how perfect the private room would be for her mother, but she was too far down the
dementia tunnel to even leave the assisted living home for a day visit, let alone move in with them. Thinking of the
advice her therapist gave her, she allowed the thought to pass through her, acknowledging it made her feel the sad
emotion, before she accepted it and let it go. Only because she was in the presence of others did she manage to fight off
the tears threatening to escape.
She still felt heavy with emotion after she allowed the thought to pass by. The four of them stood in the center of the
room. A matching octagonal window sat on the opposite wall making Grace feel as if she was on a ship, the porthole
her only access to the outside world.
“What’s the deal with all the octagons?” Grace asked, as she sauntered over to one of the windowed walls and ran her
palm over the thick wallpaper. A black fan pattern sprouted upwards on a white backdrop. A few slight bumps in the
material gave way to its age and there were a couple of raised, curled-up edges.
“That’s another fabulous question.” Mel rested her hands on her hips, adjusting her black pencil skirt. “For whatever
reason, whenever I show one of these old houses, I notice there is always a pattern or a theme. Sometimes it’s flowers,
sometimes it’s paisley.”

“Back in the day they had a thing for themed patterns,” Stephen interjected. “It’s not like today’s styles where we have an
anything goes kind of mentality. Homeowners were very particular about their patterns back then.”
“Apparently, whoever lived here loved octagons.” Mark’s words came out somber, as if he was retelling a story of a long
lost relative.
“Although, I will say, wallpaper is coming back . . . and with wall‐ paper comes patterns.” Mel took a step forward,
naturally moving the three of them along.
“Guilty as charged.” Stephen raised a hand while crouching behind Grace as she took the first step down. “I actually just
chose a wall‐ paper pattern for my new place. Black-and-white old newspaper. And I love it.”
When they got to the bottom of the attic stairs Mel led them back to the master bedroom, likely saving the best for last.
Much bigger in length and having the added bonus of an additional double window overlooking the back yard, this
master bedroom seemed to be triple the size of the others.
“And this is where the magic will happen,” Mark said, with a boyish chuckle as he glided his way across the floor,
toward the back window. Grace playfully rolled her eyes while shaking her head in an I can’t take you anywhere
embarrassment. Stephen shot Mark another one of his don’t act like you like this house that much looks.
By the time Grace’s foot hit the bottom stair her eyes were feeling heavy thanks to the overabundance of homeowner
information she and Mark had been inundated with over the past few hours. She had to admit there was something
about this particular house she felt compelled to. The price, while in one of the better neighborhoods in town, was
doable for their combined salaries, and she couldn’t help but think of all the extra space Brody would have to romp in.
Her house in Cabotville was a decent size, but the wide-open living room here was guaranteed to provide countless
peaceful slumbers for the oversized fur baby. She could picture Brody sprawled out in the sunroom during both the
summer and winter months. He’d have a front row seat to the parading turkeys said to inhabit the area, and the tiled
floor would keep him cool underneath his thick black coat.
AT THE BOTTOM of Court Street, Stephen turned right at the corner onto Somerset Avenue, hardly pausing to see if
anyone was coming from the left-hand side of the one-way street. The rain had miraculously cleared, replaced by rays of
brilliant golden sunshine breaking through the dull grey clouds. Grace’s right arm was hanging out the window of
Stephen’s Jetta, bracing herself whenever he hugged the corners too closely or failed to come to a complete stop. He had
somehow forgotten he had a cop in the back seat of his car.
“I mean, seriously . . . that house is perfect.” Mark craned his neck to face Grace in the back seat. She couldn’t stop the
giddy feeling tugging at the corner of her lips, making her break out into a megawatt smile. They were so in love with
this house they opted to cancel their next appointment.
“Okay listen, I’m as happy as the next agent when my client wants to drop a good chunk on a home but don’t get too
excited yet. I want to make sure we’ve crossed all our t’s and dotted all our i’s.” Stephen rested a heavy foot on the break
as he pulled into the parking lot of Imperial Fitness. “And you better believe we’re gonna get some cash off for that
shoddy landscaping.”
Grace laughed. She hadn’t even noticed the landscaping; her thoughts so preoccupied by that breathtaking kitchen. She
would have to start cooking now or maybe she would let Mark take the lead on that. She pictured herself sitting at the
island, with both of them enjoying an elaborate feast, and Brody at her feet collecting the scraps that fell to the floor. ...