me.'
'It is? How long has that been the rule?'
'Since Mr. Westbrook divorced his first wife.'
'I see. Then perhaps you can help me.'
The firm line of her mouth told me that she had no intention of helping, but I gestured toward the hall, counting on her desire to know what everyone was doing. After a moment she followed me, and I closed the door behind us.
'Mrs. Hopewell, what do you remember about the day Ashley died?'
Her short eyelashes flicked. 'Good employees do not gossip about their employers' personal business.'
'It's my business too,' I pointed out, 'since my mother was investigated for the death.'
'This sounds like Joseph's nonsense. You're a fool to believe him.'
'Adrian confirmed it.'
Not a muscle moved in her face, but her hands tensed.
'Where were you that day, when we were looking for Ashley's rabbit?'
'What an absurd question to ask! How would I remember?'
'How could you forget?' I replied. 'It was a rather dramatic day. Where was Robyn?'
The woman's thick fingers curled into her palms. 'There is no reason I would know that.'
'You just told me everything is cleared through you. Even if you didn't know beforehand, I am sure you pursued the details afterward.'
The blue vein again, pulsing like a warning light before a structure blows.
'That's why you came here, isn't it,' she said, 'to stir up the past, to pry into matters that were settled long ago. I knew you meant trouble.'
'Then you're prophetic, Mrs. Hopewell, for I came simply to return a ring to Adrian.'
'What ring?'
'But you gave me such a difficult time,' I continued, I had to devise an excuse to get inside the house and see him. I decided I liked my excuse-it would be interesting to work here. Since then, I have discovered some unsettling things about the time when Ashley was alive. I have remembered a few things as well.'
'Things such as what?'
'You didn't like Ashley,' I went on. 'Why? Were you jealous, as Robyn was? Perhaps it bothered you that you couldn't control Ashley.'
'I controlled that child better than anyone,' she said between her teeth.
'You tried,' I replied, 'but she wasn't afraid of you. She wasn't afraid of anyone or anything.'
Mrs. Hopewell's flat voice chilled. 'Only the foolish and the dead have no fear.'
'As proven by Ashley, who ended up dead,' I replied.
I knew she was warning me, hoping that fear would keep me from prying into family secrets. Unfortunately for Mrs. Hopewell, when I become afraid I find it unbearable to pull the covers over my head. No, I am the kind who, when frightened, must open the closet door.
My rental skates had blades as blunt as butter knives. Not that it mattered-Patrick and I weren't going to be ice dancing anytime soon. He had been given a beautiful pair of skates at Christmas, but the time to take him skating was something no one in the family could seem to afford. He had never been on the ice, and his legs went every which way but forward.
After ten minutes of brave effort he hung on to the side of the rink like an exhausted swimmer hanging on to a pool wall. 'This is kind of hard, Kate.'
'I know. Everything is at first. Rest a moment and, when you're ready, we'll try again.'
I needed the break as much as he. I had made Patrick wear thick pants, knee pads, and a padded snow jacket, which had protected him from the tumbles we had taken. But I, dressed in thin, stretchy pants and a sweater, was starting to feel like a mashed frozen vegetable.
Fortunately, there were few people using the rink that evening. The guy who had stamped our hands had said the college was on spring break. The high school team moved off the ice at 5:30, and the college team didn't practice until 7:15. I had dawdled a bit, reading athletic plaques aloud to Patrick, to make sure we didn't run into Sam. My anger had faded with the phone call this morning. Having learned since then that Mr. Koscinski had had a legitimate reason to suspect my mother, I was embarrassed.
'Ready,' Patrick announced.
'Take my hand,' I said. 'Remember, push, glide, push, glide.'
He faltered, then surprised me, all at once figuring it out. He had his balance, and we were moving steadily forward.
'I'm doing it!' he shouted.
'Good! Keep it going. Push, glide. Easy now. Easy!' I warned.
With a burst of confidence, Patrick took off, dragging me by the hand. Suddenly, he discovered his feet weren't under him. His arms rotated like propellers. I reached forward to steady him, and we went down in a heap.
'Are you all right?'
He nodded. 'I guess I went too fast.'
'You guess right.'
He scrambled halfway up on his feet, then fell back down. 'The wall's too far away,' he complained. We had been using it to pull ourselves up.
'Okay. Let me stand first.'
But before I was all the way up, he pulled on me, eager to get going. I lost my footing and came crashing down with him.
Others skaters laughed.
'Patrick, you must wait,' I said, attempting to rise again.
Something in him just couldn't. We landed on the ice once more.
'Patrick!'
'I didn't mean it!'
'I know, but you must listen to me.' I rubbed my backside and glanced around the rink. At that moment, my body hurt a lot more than my pride. 'Why don't we crawl to the wall,' I suggested. 'Come on, make like a dog.'
Patrick thought that was funny, and barked and crawled. I reached the wall first and pulled myself up.
'Hello, Kate.'
Sam. He was sitting in the first row, his arms draped casually over the seatbacks, his school pack on one side, his skates and sports bag on the other.
'Sam, you're here!' Patrick said joyfully, using me and the wall to pull himself up. 'Guess what, I'm skating!
'Is that what that is. And what is Kate doing?' Sam asked.
'She's teaching me. Want to skate with us?'
Sam glanced at his watch.
'I'm sure he's too busy, Patrick.'
'Are you?' Sam replied. 'Do you know my scheduler 'Well no, of course not,' I sputtered. 'I simply didn't want you to feel as if you had to.'
I never feel as if I have to do something,' he said, then laughed at himself. 'I'm cool. Here's the situation. I've got a pile of homework, but I'm waiting for Dion.' He pointed to a guy skating backward on the ice. 'He was late today. Coach assigned him laps. So, maybe I can give you a few pointers, Patrick' he glanced at me uncertainly-'or maybe not.'
For Patrick, this was better than Christmas. 'That would be very nice,' I said.
Sam slipped the plastic guards from his skates, then pulled them on. His sweater sleeves were pushed up, revealing the muscles in his forearms. I watched his strong fingers as he quickly laced his skates. He glanced up,
