service. What it had was Fred Griswold, a retired chimney sweep who chauffeured Dorseteers to and from the airport or wherever in his Buick Regal. “Nana wanted me to drive her,” Jen went on, “since she paid for my car and is, like, incredibly cheap. But I have to be here all afternoon. It’ll be really great for Molly, her dad being walking distance away. And I know my mom will be thrilled.”
“Your mom? Why is that?”
“She has a major, major thing for Professor Procter. Goes into her whole cocker spaniel deal every time she sees him.”
“Her cocker spaniel deal is…?”
“Mom’s way of gazing oh-so-adoringly up at a man. She cocks her head to one side and her eyes get all huge and swoony…” Jen treated Des to a demonstration, complete with slackened jaw and shallow panting. “It’s totally embarrassing, believe me.”
“Does Professor Procter have similar feelings for her?”
“I really wouldn’t know.”
Another customer joined at the bakery counter now-old Rut Peck, Dorset’s apple-cheeked retired postmaster, who was a loyal chum of Mitch’s. Des smiled at him. Rut wouldn’t smile back.
Des sighed inwardly before she said, “Jen, why don’t you take care of Mr. Peck first? I’m in no rush.”
Jen thanked her. Rut didn’t. Just pointed a stubby, wavering finger at what he wanted.
Molly was totally absorbed in her book, which was Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird. Her half-eaten doughnut lay forgotten at her elbow. “This is due back at the library tomorrow,” she explained urgently, barely looking up from it. “I absolutely have to finish it. My dad doesn’t believe in overdue fines. He calls them the hallmark of a sloppy mind.”
Des slid onto the stool next to hers and said, “Molly, you mentioned to me yesterday that you don’t much care for Clay.”
“No, I didn’t.” Molly’s eyes remained glued to the page. “I said that I hate him.”
“He isn’t real fond of you either, is he?”
“Which is fine by me.”
“Has Clay ever ordered you to stay out of a certain part of the house? Told you not to go in a particular room or anything like that?”
The child looked up from her book, studying Des curiously through those bent wire-framed glasses of hers. “Why are you asking me that?”
“Just curious.”
“Are you investigating a crime? Because I’ve got awesome skills, you know. I always help my mom figure out what happens next in her books. Tell me, what did Clay steal?”
“Who says he stole anything?”
“I do. He’s bad news. I just know he is. What are looking for, Trooper Des? Come on, you can tell me.”
A dozen or so rambunctious, sun-browned high school boys and girls joined them at the coffee bar now, full of banter and laughter. They were lively, good-looking kids. Although one of the boys, a tall, blue-eyed blond, did wear his hair braided in exceptionally silly-looking cornrows. Glancing over at the bakery counter, Des noticed Jen coolly watching the kids as she rang up Rut Peck. This was her crowd, Des figured. The ones who’d been at her Rainbow Party. Des wondered which one of the boys she liked. Fearing it was Mr. Blond Boy from the ‘Hood.
Molly was tugging impatiently at her sleeve. “If I tell you what I know will you promise to let me help you?”
“I promise.”
“Okay,” she agreed. “He ordered me to stay out of the root cellar under the kitchen. Told me there are snakes down there. Which is, duh, total bull. I’ve been down there a million times.”
“Have you gone down there since he told you not to?”
Molly shook her head, eyes widening with fright.
Des looked at her in concern. She didn’t doubt that Clay would threaten this girl to keep her out of there. What else was he capable of doing? “Molly, I know things seem pretty messed up right now but it’ll all be better soon, I swear. Just promise me one thing, will you?”
“What is it?”
“Don’t get too curious.”
“About what?”
“Stay out of that root cellar.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s important, that’s why. And I am not fooling around, hear? Promise me.”
“Okay, okay. I promise you,” Molly said sullenly.
Des patted her on the shoulder, then went back to the bakery counter. “Feel like taking a break?” she asked as Jen rang her up. “I’ll buy you a smoothie.”
“Can’t,” Jen answered. “I’m all alone here until five. Responsible for everything.”
While her friends goofed around over coffee, not a care in the world. Jen was still watching them, her jaw clenched, eyes wary. Such a bright and promising girl if only she’d learn to lighten up a little. But Dorset’s teenagers came in only two flavors, Des was learning. Either they cared too much or they didn’t care a goddamn about anything or anyone.
“How are you doing, Jen? Going any easier on yourself?”
“Why, is that what you do?” she demanded. “Go easy? Just smile and, ta-daaa, everything is all right in the world?”
“No, that only works in old Frank Capra movies.” Damn, there was Mitch again, right inside of her head. “Besides, you wouldn’t want to go by me. I’m strictly a work in progress.”
Jen didn’t respond. Just put Des’s boxed cheesecake in a shopping bag and handed it across the counter, her tight, narrow face a blank.
Des tried a different approach. “I’m kind of worried about Molly.”
“Don’t be. I totally look out for the little squirt. She’s perfectly…” Jen halted, frowning at her. “You don’t think her dad might hurt her or something, do you?”
“No, no. It’s nothing like that.”
“Then it’s Clay, isn’t it? You think he might do something.”
“She just needs a friend is all I meant. The Sullivans told me she’s been sleeping in a damned tree.”
“I thought we were going to be honest with each other,” Jen shot back, her cheeks flushing with anger.
“Well, we are, aren’t we?”
“Not one bit. You’re not telling me something. I can see it in your eyes.”
“Jen, I’m merely trying to-”
“Damn, it is always that way with you people!”
“By ‘you people’ you mean…?”
“Adults.” Jen made it sound like the dirtiest word in the English language. “You are all such hypocrites. You came at me the other night like you wanted to be my friend. Gave me all of this blah-blah about how I can confide in you and trust you. But it’s nothing but a one-way street. You are so holding out on me. And I know why, too. Because you don’t trust me. So why don’t you just do me a humongous favor and take your cheesecake and go, okay? Because I am never going to be your friend. Not now. Not ever. I don’t make friends with anyone who is so totally and completely full of shit.”
CHAPTER 8
In his wildest film fantasies, Mitch could not have concocted a better blind date than Cecily Naughton.
She told him over the phone that she was tired of eating out and wanted to cook him a proper meal at his place. She insisted on bringing all the groceries. Even the wine. All Mitch had to do was be home on time to let her in. And it was a good thing he was because Lacy’s new dance critic was exceedingly punctual. Showed up at seven o’clock sharp clutching shopping bags that were filled with loin lamb chops, eggplant, onions, tomatoes, salad
