“But how will we qualify for a loan?” Myra asked. “With you not working—”
“Ed’s very busy right now,” Joni Fletcher broke in. “He can use Marty. I know he can.”
Myra saw her husband’s expression darken, but then he shrugged. “If he’s got a job, I’ll take it. I say we go for it.”
Angel, her heart suddenly racing, turned to her mother, waiting.
Once again Myra moved through the rooms of the house, even going upstairs for one more look at the rooms on the second floor. At last she came back down and spread her arms in submission. “Okay,” she said. “If we can figure a way to swing it, I don’t suppose I should object. It’s not like we have anything to lose, is it?”
Five minutes later they were back in the old Chevelle, getting ready to follow Joni Fletcher back to her office to work out the details of making an offer. Angel, alone in the backseat, peered out the window at the little house at 122 Black Creek Road. Now that it might actually be theirs, it seemed to look different — as if it knew someone was coming to live in it again.
Just as her father pulled away from the curb, she looked up at the window of the room that would be her own. And for just an instant she thought she saw someone looking back at her.
So distracted was she by what she thought she’d seen in the window that Angel didn’t notice Seth Baker, standing in the shelter of the tree across the street from the house, taking pictures.
Chapter 7
ETH?” JANE BAKER CALLED, KNOCKING SHARPLY ON her son’s closed bedroom door. As she waited for a response she glanced at her watch, then tapped her foot nervously on the floor. They were due at the country club in twenty minutes, and it was a ten-minute drive.
And she’d told Seth to be ready ten minutes ago.
When he didn’t answer, she rapped again, harder this time, then turned the knob and pushed the door open. “Seth, we have to—” she began, and abruptly fell silent.
Seth was sitting at his desk, staring at the computer screen, still dressed in the same ratty jeans and stained shirt she’d told him to change when he came downstairs that morning. Not that he ever listened to her, which Jane supposed was her penance for having given birth to a boy, instead of the girl she’d been counting on.
“Really, Seth,” she said, making no attempt to hide her annoyance. “Didn’t I tell you what time we had to leave? And you haven’t even started getting ready yet!” Quickly turning off the monitor, Seth turned to look at her, and Jane could see by his expression that there was going to be an argument.
An argument she was in no mood for, given how badly her day had gone so far. First, she’d been late getting to the Gardening Club luncheon, and was certain from the moment she walked into the restaurant that the other women had been talking about her. Then the lunch itself had run late, and as the last to arrive, she hadn’t dared be the first to leave.
This, in turn, made her late to the Junior League Membership Committee meeting, which was to have been her first as chair of the committee. But when she arrived, LuciAnne Harmon had already begun conducting the meeting, and instead of sitting at the head of the table, Jane had to content herself with the only chair left — at the foot of the table.
And now she was going to have to contend with Seth.
“Why did you turn off the monitor?” she asked, her eyes narrowing. “Were you looking at something you shouldn’t have been?”
“I don’t—” Seth began, but his mother didn’t let him finish.
“Turn it back on,” she said. “Now. And don’t look at me that way, young man,” she added as Seth’s brows knit into a deep scowl.
Sighing heavily, he pushed the power button on the monitor, and a few seconds later the screen lit up. On it was a picture of the old house out on Black Creek Road by the Crossing where that man — Jane couldn’t remember his name — had murdered his wife and daughter.
“Where on earth did you get that?” she asked.
“I took it, Mom,” Seth said, closing the program with a quick mouse click.
Jane gazed at her son in puzzlement. Why couldn’t he be like the rest of the boys; why couldn’t he at least play tennis? There was a wonderful pro at the country club — she’d seen to that when she was on the Tennis Committee three years ago, and it was one of the few things the new members on the committee hadn’t tried to change. But even Rick Stacey hadn’t been able to get Seth to pick up a racket. “Can’t you find something better to do with your time?” she finally said. Before Seth could reply, she plunged on. “I want you to shut that computer off and change your clothes — you won’t have time to take a shower. We have to leave in—” She glanced at her watch. “—seven minutes, exactly.”
“Why do I have to go at all?” Seth asked. “Why can’t I just stay home?”
Jane felt another surge of annoyance. “Because it’s Saturday afternoon, and that’s when families get together at the club. You know that perfectly well!”
“But it’s just the Dunnes, isn’t it?” Seth complained.
“And Mel Dunne is
“Mr. and Mrs. Dunne won’t care if I’m there or not.”
Jane lifted one of her carefully plucked eyebrows. “And what about Heather?”
Seth felt himself flushing, but could do nothing to stop it, and when he spoke, his voice was an unintelligible mumble.
“For heaven’s sake, Seth! Speak clearly!”
“I said, Heather doesn’t even like me!” Seth replied, his face burning now. “And none of her friends like me either.”
“And whose fault is that?” Jane shot back. “If you’d just make a little bit of an effort to—” Her words were cut off by her husband’s appearance at Seth’s door. Jane could see that Blake was even more annoyed than she was.
“What the hell is going on in here?” Blake Baker demanded. “Do either of you know what time it is? The last thing I need is—” Seeing how his son was dressed, his face darkened. “Goddamit, didn’t I tell you to be dressed and ready to go by three?”
Seth paled in the face of his father’s anger, but said nothing.
“Didn’t I?” Blake repeated, taking a step closer to Seth, who shrank back in his chair. When he still didn’t answer, Blake glanced at his wife. “Leave us alone, Jane,” he said in a tone that made Seth’s eyes widen.
He turned to his mother. “I’ll be ready in just a minute,” he said, finally getting up.
Jane shook her head. “Too late,” she said. “Maybe next time you’ll learn to keep track of time and do as you’re told.” Turning her back on her son, Jane left the room, pulling the door closed behind her. She didn’t want to know about her husband’s disciplinary methods. She’d turned her back on them before, and she knew she’d do it again.
“Turn around and drop your pants, Seth,” Blake Baker said. Though he spoke quietly, Seth began to tremble, and when his father unbuckled his belt, Seth’s eyes glistened with tears. “And don’t cry,” Blake added coldly. “For once in your life, be a man.”
Silently, Seth turned around, dropped his jeans and underwear around his ankles, and bent over.
A moment later he heard his father’s belt whistle as it lashed through the air, and felt the sting of the thick leather against his bare flesh. He clamped his jaw shut, stifling the scream of agony and allowing only a low grunt to betray the pain he was feeling.
