Like, soon?” Jeremy asked, dumbstruck. He was pulling a carton of orange juice out of the refrigerator. “In the next couple weeks.” “Why?” Bianca had come out of her room at her mother’s request and was as shell-shocked as her brother. “You can’t.” “Why not?” “But . . . but . . . is he going to live here? Because I’m not moving!” Her little face was set and she tossed her dark curls away from her face. Blue eyes thinned suspiciously. “Why now?” Here came the lie. At least a partial lie. “Because life is short. That really came home to roost this past week or so.” Jeremy let the refrigerator door close. “Because of Sheriff Grayson.” He took a big swallow from the carton. “Glass, please,” Pescoli said automatically. “Don’t talk about that. Too depressing,” Bianca said with a shudder. She was dressed in skinny jeans and a sweater that hung off one shoulder, showing the strap of her black bra. “It is depressing,” Pescoli agreed. “You’re getting married and he’s moving in here?”
