LITMIR.BIZ

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next to his clean handkerchief, but she hadn’t called him. What would she say? I’ve not thought of anything new to tell you about Aunt Binnie, but you have nice eyes?

      That was stress talking. Stress and grief-induced hormones. Detective Berry would call her. That was as much of a guarantee as the fact that she would cry at the funeral and Don wouldn’t. The problem was, she wasn’t entirely certain she’d give the handkerchief back.

      When she thought too long about the fact that she was holding on to the detective’s handkerchief, she questioned her sanity. Some strange replacement theory that people who took Psych 101 learned. Lose your favorite relative, gain a weird attachment to a piece of fabric because the guy who gave it to you was a stranger who saw you cry.

      Not healthy.

      “But I expect the detective will be visiting me soon,” she said, trying not to sound hopeful. Especially since a part of her was afraid of what she would feel when she saw him. Grief mixed in with...lust? Maybe it was the lust, combined with the easy way he’d comforted her, that made her willing to forget that he’d trapped her in a hot car to ask her questions. Maybe it also explained that damned handkerchief.

      “Julie—”

      “Don,” she said, exasperated, “you know I hate it when you call me Julie.” Not only that, but it was also a dead giveaway he wanted something.

      “But I’m your baby brother, so I get to call you whatever I want.” He looked smug when he said those words, but he also looked like their father, so Julianne didn’t correct him again. “What are you going to tell the detective about me?”

      When Don was in a mood to call her Julie, he was also usually too focused on himself to notice anyone else, but Julianne schooled her features as quickly as possible anyway. She didn’t want to give away that she’d already talked to Detective Berry about him. “I want Binnie’s murderer found, so I’ll answer his questions the best I can. Why?”

      He shrugged. “I’d prefer you didn’t tell him what I plan to do with Binnie’s money. Or, well, anything about me and money.”

      “Why?” Unease danced at the nape of her neck. Guilt, too, probably.

      “I don’t think it’s anyone’s business and I don’t want it making the papers,” he said, the reasonability in his tone confirming that he was up to something. Don only sounded reasonable after he’d spent time convincing himself. “You don’t want investors and possible clients to hear about it, do you?”

      She sat back in the chair, putting more distance between her and her brother. “I don’t need investors to make Bull City Starts happen. I want investors because I think it will be good for the company and good for the city, but I can do it on my own.”

      I’ve always been able to do it on my own, she thought. Her father had taught her how to be smart with business and people, a lesson he should have shared with both his children.

      “I’m more interested in what information you want me to keep from Detective Berry. If you know something that will scare away investors...” Her mouth was open, but she couldn’t say the words.

      “Julie.” Her brother’s tone was pretty enough that he probably fooled most people, but most people weren’t his sister. “You wouldn’t fire your brother, would you? What would people think?”

      If her father had taught her to be self-reliant, her mother had taught her to wonder if people noticed how well she was doing it.

      What will people think if you wear a dress like that to the movies? What will people think when you’ve got so much makeup on? What will people think if you don’t go to summer camp this year? If you were to judge based entirely on Julianne’s childhood, people—which people was never defined—had nothing better to do than consider each and every thing Julianne did, to the point where it had always seemed best to do nothing in many situations.

      Even when she’d walked in on Lewis having sex with his assistant on their couch, her first thought had been, “If I walk out on him now, what will people think?” She had put her hand on the doorknob, ready to walk out the door and go to a coffee shop until enough time passed that she could walk back in and she and Lewis could pretend like nothing had happened.

      It had been winter and, even in the heated apartment building, the doorknob had been cold. She’d kept her hand on the metal long enough that it warmed under her touch and she eventually wondered if someone was literally holding a candle to the other side.

      Then she’d realized that the heat was her anger and that if anyone should care what people thought, it should be Lewis—he should have cared about her and what she thought.

      So Julianne had walked out of her apartment that day, but not to go to a coffee shop and compose herself. No, she had walked out and only walked back in to pack up her things.

      Hearing her brother say those words—what would people think?—made her hot enough to burn a hole right through the chair she was sitting in. “I don’t much care what people think, Don. I still have enough of my money to buy their opinion. I care about finding Aunt Binnie’s murderer and getting Bull City Starts off the ground. And I care about them in that order.”

      Don pushed back from his chair, more indignant than angry, Julianne thought. Whatever he was hiding, he seemed to know he had no right to anger. “If you think so little of me, why did you ask me to be your partner? Remember, Julie, you asked me.”

       Because I let Mom and your wife convince me I needed you.

      She needed to stop thinking things she wasn’t willing to say. Or suck it up, say the damned thing and shrug off the consequences. But she wasn’t there yet and she might never be. Because the world didn’t need people who never cared what anyone said any more than it needed a woman who only ever cared what people said. And despite the new condos going up in downtown and the restaurant features in the New York Times, Durham needed more people to care about it. People who wanted to take root in the city and stay planted through thick and thin. People who cared about making a long-term difference, not just a quick buck. People who could stick to their dreams, even when their reputation took a beating.

      Julianne wanted to be one of those people.

      Besides, Don was her brother. When he wasn’t being a total shit, he could be fun.

      Without Don’s impulsiveness, Julianne might have slid through her childhood without getting mud on her dress. And she needed his sense of fun to keep Bull City Starts young and fresh. He’d suggested the slide after all, and the Super Mario Bros. themed cubbies.

      So she would keep her thoughts to herself for now.

      “Don, I’m sorry. We’re both saying rash things. Words we’ll probably regret later.” She gripped the bridge of her nose between her index finger and thumb. “I’m sad and stressed out, and whatever you’re keeping a secret isn’t helping.”

      “It’s not that bad,” he said. Even though he was probably lying, Julianne decided to believe him. “But if we’re not going to get anything done today, I’m heading home. I can work from there.”

      “That’s probably a good idea,” she said, managing to put as much understanding in her voice as possible, while keeping the relief at bay. She even gave her brother a hug before he left.

      As soon as the door shut, Julianne looked at the table covered with her dreams. In the days since Binnie’s death, those plans had been the thing she’d clutched to her heart whenever grief had threatened to overwhelm her. Don had robbed her of a little of that today.

      The temptation to sweep all the papers onto the floor in a tantrum was strong enough for her to clench her fists and look away. Only when the feeling passed did Julianne turn her head back. Not that her tantrum would be satisfying; she would be the one to clean up any mess she made. And Don left enough messes without her adding to her own workload.

      If

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