happen? Will the police come?”
“I don’t know,” Anne said. “Dennis Farman’s father is a deputy. He said I could take Wendy and Tommy home. Maybe the sheriff’s office will call later. He didn’t say.”
“This is just awful. We moved here to get away from crime. And smog and traffic. I never think twice about letting Wendy walk home from school. Do you think the dog could have killed the woman?”
“That doesn’t seem very likely,” Anne said.
Sara Morgan turned to her daughter again. “If you touched that dog—”
“I didn’t touch the dog!” Wendy insisted, irritated.
“Should I take her to see someone?” she asked Anne. “My husband’s uncle’s ex-wife’s sister is a therapist in Beverly Hills.”
“Whatever you think is best.”
“I don’t know what to think,” she admitted. “There’s no chapter for this in the parenting manual.”
“No,” Anne said. “It’s not in the How to Be a Kid manual either.”
“No. God, I’ve never seen a dead person myself. When I have to go to funerals, I won’t look in the casket. The whole idea creeps me out.”
“I should get Tommy home,” Anne said. “I wasn’t able to reach his mother by phone.”
“I can call Peter at his office,” Sara offered. “He’s our dentist. He and my husband golf together.”
“If you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. And thank you for bringing Wendy home.”
Anne got back in her car and looked into the backseat where Tommy sat looking at his hands in his lap.
“Do you think your mom will be home by now, Tommy?”
He consulted his wristwatch. “Yes.”
“She’ll be worried about you.”
“I’m supposed to have a piano lesson,” he said looking worried. “Maybe we should go there instead.”
“I think your piano teacher will forgive your absence when he hears what you’ve been through.”
The boy said nothing.
“Do you want to talk about what happened?” Anne asked as they drove.
“No, thank you.”
Why would he share his feelings with her? She had been his teacher all of two months. From what she had observed of Tommy, he was by nature reserved. He was very bright but did nothing to call attention to himself. If anything he seemed to do his best to be invisible.
Anne wondered why. She had met his parents. His father, the dentist, was charming and outgoing. His mother was a little intense but had seemed nice enough at conference time. She was proud of her son’s talents and academic abilities. She sold real estate and served on charity committees. The Cranes were the All-American Yuppie Family.
They lived four blocks from the Morgans in a beautiful two-story Spanish-style stucco house with lush landscaping and a big spreading oak tree in the side yard. As daylight faded, lights glowed invitingly in the front windows and along the sidewalk.
Through one window Anne could see Janet Crane in a fuchsia suit, pacing, speaking into a portable phone.
Tommy got out of the car and lingered by the door. Anne reached out her hand to him, and he took it. He hung on a little too tightly as they went up the sidewalk together.
The door flew open before they made it to the front steps. Janet Crane’s eyes were a little too wide, the white showing all around the pupils.
“Where have you been?” she demanded, her fierce look on Tommy. “I have been out of my mind trying to find you! You knew you had a piano lesson—”
“Mrs. Crane—,” Anne started.
“Don’t you have any consideration for Mr. England’s time? For
“Mrs. Crane,” Anne said more firmly. “Didn’t you get my message?”
Janet Crane looked at her as if she had only just appeared. “Message? What message? I haven’t listened to the messages. I’ve been trying to find my son.”
“Could we step inside, please?” Anne asked.
Tommy’s mother took a deliberate breath and calmed herself. “Of course. I’m so sorry. Please come in, Miss Navarre.”
Tommy still clung to Anne’s hand as they went into the foyer. His eyes were on the Mexican tile floor. No warm hugs from Mom. No concern for his welfare. Concern for the piano teacher.
Anne leaned down beside him. “Tommy, why don’t you go wash up while I talk to your mom?”
He went across the hall and disappeared into a powder room with wildly colored parrots splashed across the yellow wallpaper.
“I’m sorry,” Janet Crane said. “I’ve been out of my mind with worry. It isn’t like Tommy to miss a piano lesson. He’s always very punctual.”
As Anne was sure his mother was, as well. Punctual, buttoned up in her fuchsia suit with the big shoulder pads and crisp peplum. Her dark hair was bobbed, puffed up, and spritzed hard. The word “brittle” came to mind. The parent-teacher conference persona had cracked a little under the stress . . . of her son missing a piano lesson.
Anne went through the story of the kids finding the body in the park, Tommy having actually fallen directly on the grave.
Janet Crane’s eyes showed a lot of white again. “Oh my God!”
She turned abruptly and walked into a
“I think Tommy is a little in shock,” Anne said. “He’s hardly said anything since it happened.”
“I-I-I don’t know what to do,” his mother announced. “Should I call a doctor?”
“He doesn’t seem to be physically injured, but you may want to get him some counseling.”
“Why didn’t someone call me?” she asked, trying to work up some indignation. She seemed more comfortable with anger than with concern. “Why didn’t Principal Garnett call? Why isn’t he here?”
“Mr. Garnett was out today.”
Tommy came to the doorway. His face and arms were clean, showing off the scrapes and scratches that had resulted from his tumble. He had wet and combed his brown hair as neatly as he could considering a couple of cowlicks. But his clothes were still dirty, and there was a tear in the knee of his jeans. Anne wondered if he would be allowed to sit on the furniture.
“Tommy!” his mother said, going to him. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea what happened.”
Anne watched her touch her son hesitantly, as if she were afraid of catching something from him as she examined his wounds.
Through the front window Anne watched a sleek, dark Jaguar pull into the drive beside her little red Volkswagen. Peter Crane got out and walked toward the house.
He was a handsome man, medium height, lean, well-dressed in dark slacks, a shirt and tie. He called out cheerfully as he came in the front door.
Sara Morgan hadn’t managed to catch him at the office, Anne thought.
Tommy turned abruptly away from his mother and went to his dad, hugging him around the waist. Peter Crane looked a little confused. His wife went into the foyer and told him what had happened.
Anne watched the shock cross his face.
“It was a terrible thing to see,” she said, moving into the doorway.
“Miss Navarre brought Tommy home,” Janet Crane said.
“You were there?” he asked.
“I went to the park as soon as I heard what had happened.”
“Oh my God,” he said.
“I’m going to go call Mr. England,” his wife said. “To let him know why Tommy didn’t make it to his lesson.”
