Mitch opened his mouth, but Julia got there first. “No, ma’am. We don’t live nowhere.”
“Anywhere,” Mitch corrected. “And we’re fine.” He emphasized the last word with another meaningful look at Julia. She scowled at him.
Mrs. Blunt seemed to sum up the situation. “I’m sure you are, but I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t thank you properly. I’ve got chocolate chip cookies downstairs.” Julia’s eyes lit up. “If you’ll just wait until I can get Sara Jean dried off…”
Jules took his hand and tugged him away. “Be happy to.” She smiled.
But when they were in the hallway, Mitch yanked his hand away. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re damn right. Because we’re going.”
She hopped down the stairs and plopped onto one of the chairs that sat on either side of a table in the foyer. Crossing her arms and setting her mouth, she shot him a “make me” look.
He knew that look. “Come on, Junebug,” he wheedled. “You know the rules.”
“I hate your stupid rules,” she said. “One of these days, I’m gonna be old enough to make my own rules.”
“Well, until then you’re living by mine. And rule number one is we don’t talk about our troubles, and rule number two is we don’t get involved in other people’s.”
“Then why’d you jump in the river?”
“That’s different. I couldn’t exactly watch Sara Jean drown.”
“Well, I can’t let her poor mother feel guilty about not thanking us properly.”
“Okay, that’s it.” He pulled her up. She weighed no more than a pea, so it wasn’t hard. “We’re going.”
“I’ll scream. I’ll tell them you beat me.” He dragged her toward the door. “Mrs. Blunt! Mrs. Blunt!”
“Stop that.”
“Oh,” she groaned at the top of her voice, “I’m sooo hungry. Can’t remember when I ate last.”
“You little—”
“Mrs. Bluuuunnnnt!!”
Mitch threw up his hands. “Okay, okay.” He held up a finger. “One cookie.”
“And a glass of milk.”
“All right. One cookie and a glass of milk. And no talking about us.”
The commotion brought Sara Jean’s mother running down the stairs. “Everything all right?”
“Just fine,” Mitch said, a wary eye on the kid.
Sara Jean’s mother brightened a bit. “I put Sara Jean to bed. She”—the mother’s eyes darted away and back again—“she wasn’t up to talking. Would you mind?” She gestured for them to follow her into the house, and they walked through the rooms with their heavy farmhouse replicas, the rugs and ceramics, not to mention family pictures. Julia’s eyes popped and a look of worshipful awe crossed her face.
The kitchen was large and bright. A dining area was carved out of one corner, where a window looked out on a tree-filled backyard. In lieu of chairs, a wooden bench sat below the window, and Julia bounded onto it, gazing at the yard’s October harvest of gold and red leaves.
But Mitch knew her focus was probably on one tree in particular, where a homemade swing hung alone and idle.
Sara Jean’s mother made coffee, and while they waited for it to brew, she brought a plate of cookies to the table. Mitch thought it better all around for Julia to be gone for this part, so he let her take a cookie, then gestured toward the window.
“Go ahead,” he told her.
She didn’t need a second invitation. She whooped, grabbed another cookie, and dashed out the back door. He sat across from the window, where he could keep an eye on her. She leaped onto the swing and was airborne in seconds.
“She’s adorable,” Mrs. Blunt said with an edge of wistfulness. “You and your wife must be very proud of her.”
Mitch nodded, his gaze still on his girl. “I am. But my wife… Julia’s mother passed away.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you. It was a long time ago. Julia was just a baby.”
“Well, you’ve done an amazing job with her. I wish… I wish Sara Jean could be that happy again.” She brought Mitch his coffee, which he sipped gratefully. He was still wearing his wet clothes, and his skin was icy.
Mrs. Blunt noticed the shiver that went through him. “Good gracious,” she exclaimed. “I can’t believe I’ve left you in those wet clothes.”
“That’s okay. We’re not stay—”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Let me get you something of Tommy’s, my husband…” She was already pushing him out the door and into a laundry room off the kitchen. “Stay here and I’ll bring you something. Then we can just pop this stuff into the machine and be done with it.”
She was back in a few minutes with a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, which he dutifully put on, though the shirt barely covered his midsection and the sweatpants reached only to the top of his ankles.
“Well, at least they’re dry,” she said when she saw him.
He padded back to the kitchen in bare feet and saw Julia still happily ensconced on the swing. A few minutes later, Mrs. Blunt came back, poured herself a cup of coffee, and joined him at the table.
“Now,” she said brightly, though there was the glisten of tears in her eyes. “Tell me what really happened at the river.”
Mentally, he groaned. The house with its cozy warmth was like flypaper—no matter how hard he tried, his feet kept sticking. But he couldn’t bring himself to lie again.
When he was done, tears snaked down her cheeks and she put her hand on his arm. “God bless you,” she said. “If you hadn’t been there…”
“I promised her I wouldn’t tell you. She seems to think you wouldn’t understand.”
Sara Jean’s mother sighed sadly. “She’s right. I don’t.”
“Maybe she needs someone else to talk to.”
“Someone else? Oh, you mean a therapist. I don’t know. We’re not much on that kind of thing here.”
Mitch remained silent. Wasn’t his problem.
The front door slammed closed. “Bitsy?”
Mrs. Blunt—Bitsy—rose. “In here!”
A worried-faced woman rushed into the kitchen, toting an overstuffed briefcase and an armful of binders. She dropped everything on one of the counters and flew to Bitsy, who burst into tears and rushed into her arms. The two women hugged, the newcomer tall and rangy next to the petite redhead.
“Is she all right?” the newcomer asked.
Bitsy nodded, sniffing and swiping at her eyes.
“What on God’s earth happened?” She suddenly seemed to notice they weren’t alone. She stopped short, looked pointedly at Mitch. “Who are you?”
“Oh, God,” Bitsy said. “That’s… that’s—” She reddened, and clamped a hand over her mouth. “I don’t even know his name,” she wailed. “My manners, my head just… just—”
He rose, extended a hand. “Mitch Turner.”
“Hannah Blunt,” the taller woman said. “Sara Jean is my niece.” She looked him up and down, taking in the too-short shirt and pants. “And you are?”
“He saved her,” Bitsy rushed in. “He’s the one who pulled her out of the river. If it wasn’t for him, Sara Jean would be… would be—” She dissolved into sobs, and Hannah put an arm around her.
Another door slammed, and a third person ran into the kitchen. Mitch assumed this was the husband, Tommy. He threw his briefcase on the counter, too, and, as Hannah had done, ran to hold his wife.
The resemblance between the two newcomers was plain, and Mitch judged them to be brother and sister, though the woman—Hannah—was the taller of the two and clearly the one less interested in first impressions. While Tommy looked like he owned Brooks Brothers, she looked like she’d spent the last week in the shapeless black dress she wore.
But if her clothes were dull, her intelligence was not. She gave him a sharp look and took him aside.
“What happened? And tell me exactly. Don’t leave anything out.”
That intense look, the firm tone, and the intent of the question were all too familiar. “You a cop?”
Her brows rose. “A lawyer.”
Cop. Lawyer. Different sides of the same coin. And not one he wanted to get near.
He held up his hands. “Look, all I did was pull the girl out of the river. If Mrs. Blunt hadn’t insisted, we’d already be on our way.”
“We?”
He thumbed over his shoulder. “Jules and I.”
Hannah looked out the window and back at him. He didn’t like the suspicion in her face. In fact, he didn’t like anything about her.
3
Julia pumped higher and higher, watching the house careen up and down in a breathless, windswept arc. She could be a bird—like in the Once and Future King, when Merlin changed Wart into a hawk and they flew high over the kingdom. She closed her eyes to get the full, soaring feel of it, and it made her dizzy.
When she opened her eyes again, something was there that wasn’t before. She let the swing slow as Sara Jean backed out a window onto an overhang, crawled to the edge, and then onto a nearby tree limb. She perched there in a long nightgown, swinging her legs and staring at Julia.
“What’s your name?” she said at last.
Julia told her. “You can call me Jules if you want.”
“That your dad, Jules?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’ve never seen him before.”
“We don’t live around here.”
“Where do you live?”
Julia never could come up with an answer to that one. “Around.”
“Around where?”
“Just… around. In the truck.”
“You live in a truck?” Sara Jean’s voice was full of awe instead of scorn.
“Sometimes. When he’s working, we live in a house or an apartment.”
“When he’s working? Doesn’t he work all the time? My dad does.”
“Nah, he only works when he wants to. Or when we need the money.”
Sara Jean seemed to find that fascinating. “What’s he do?”
“Tons of stuff.”
“Like what?”
“Pumps gas. Washes dishes. Fries stuff on a grill. He’s built houses, railroad bridges…”
“Wow.” The list seemed to overwhelm her. “My dad works in a bank.”
“Does he have an office where he hands out money?”
“I guess.”
“My dad doesn’t believe in banks. Says he doesn’t like people knowing his business.”
“My dad knows everyone’s business,” Sara Jean said glumly.
Julia nodded solemnly, and Sara Jean plucked a red leaf off a branch, which she proceeded to shred.
“At the river, why’d your dad… Why’d he do… what he did?”
Julia shrugged. “Why’d you jump in?”
Sara Jean shrugged, too. “I don’t know.”
They sat in silence for a while. Julia was back on the ground now, using her feet to turn in a slow circle, twisting the ropes that held the swing.
“Must be cool always going to new places,” Sara Jean said. “No one knowing who you are. When I’m older, I’m going to travel all over the world.”
“If I had a house, I’d never go anywhere.”
“You’d get bored.”
“No, I wouldn’t. I’d love it.”
They looked at each other, each recognizing what the other had said.
“We could switch places,” Sara Jean said.
Julia stopped circling. “Like in The Prince and the Pauper.”
“The what?”
“It’s a book my dad read to me. In it, a prince and a beggar who looks like him switch places.”
Sara Jean drew her legs up under her nightgown and leaned back against the tree trunk. “You’d have to dye your hair red.”
“You’d have to dye yours black.”
Sara Jean smiled. “My mother would hate that.”
“My dad’s eyes would pop out of his head.”
They started giggling, but a voice called from the house.
“Jules!”
Sara Jean stopped laughing and put a finger to her lips.
Mitch stuck his head out the back door. “You okay out here?”
“Fine.”
“You’re talking to yourself.”
“No, I’m not. I’m talking to Merlin. He wants to turn me into a turtle.”
“Not on my watch.”
“See? That’s what I told him.”
Mitch glanced at the twist of rope over her head. “You’re going to make yourself sick.”
“I know.”
He shook his head. “Just don’t upchuck all over the Blunts’ yard.”
“I won’t.”
“You need me, I’ll be in the laundry room.”
When he’d disappeared back into the house, Julia gave Sara Jean the all clear.
“I think your dad’s right,” Sara Jean said when she’d crawled back out. “There’s always too many people knowing your business. Especially when you’re a kid.”
Julia didn’t say anything. Truth was, she didn’t mind it at all.
“Who’s Merlin anyway?”
“A wizard.”
Sara Jean laughed again. “You’re even weirder than me. So… you going to unwind or what? Bet you throw up all over the mums.”
“Mums?”
Sara Jean pointed to the flowers edging the patio.
“Bet I won’t.”
Sara Jean giggled. “Give you ten dollars if you do.”
Julia grinned. And let the swing go.
Mitch had hoped his little foray outside would have dislodged Hannah, but she was firmly planted in his way when he came back. Tommy and Bitsy were still hovering together, and it didn’t look like rescue was coming anytime soon, so he tried another tactic. “I’m just going to”—he backed toward the laundry room—“see if my clothes are ready for the dryer.”
But Hannah followed, blocking the doorway while he transferred the clothes into the dryer.
“On the phone, Bitsy said Sara Jean fell into the river. Is that what happened?”
“Look, you talk to Mrs. Blunt—Bitsy—about it, okay? Up to her to tell you what she wants you to know.”
“She’s my niece. You can feel free to tell me what happened.”
But Mitch had already broken his promise to Sara Jean once. He wasn’t going to do it twice. “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll just let her parents handle that now.” He opened the lid of the top-loading washer, turned his back, and buried his arm inside. Maybe she’d take the hint and leave.
She didn’t. “So, Mitch Turner, what do you do?”
He hauled out the wet clothes, chucked them into the dryer.
Lie or don’t lie? He took the ambiguous route. “Whatever comes my way.”
“Got a place to stay?”
“Got my truck ’til we get to where we’re going.”
“Oh?” She smiled, but it didn’t feel as innocent as it looked. “Where to?”
This was all beginning to sound more like an interrogation than a conversation. “South.”
“No permanent residence, then?”
“Like I said, we’re in transition.” He punctuated his answer by slamming the dryer door closed.
“What about your daughter?”
He traded her stare for stare. “What about her?”
“She should be in, what, fifth or sixth grade now?”
“When we have to, we homeschool.”
“Don’t you mean truck school? Or on-the-road school?”
“We do fine, Ms. Blunt.”
“Hannah. And I’m sure you do. But children need stability.”
“Yeah? Where’d you hear that?” He took a stab in the dark. “You have any kids of your own?”
“No.”
“So your opinion is based on, what, hearsay?”
“Common knowledge.”
“Well, you don’t see Julia
jumping off any bridges, do you?”
He realized his mistake instantly, and she went for the kill. “Is that what happened to Sara Jean?”
Damn. “I told you to talk to—”
She smiled. “I will. You can bet I will. In fact, I’ll just go and check on Sara Jean now.”
She swept out of the room, and he realized he was sweating. He’d been leaning against the dryer, and the thing was damn hot. Except it wasn’t the machine that made him uneasy.
He checked the timer. Thirty minutes. Then he’d collect Jules and they could keep on keeping on.
A head popped into the room. “Mr. Turner?” Tommy Blunt stood in Hannah’s place, making Mitch feel like he’d never shake these people.
“It’s Mitch.”
Sara Jean’s father entered, his hand extended. “I don’t know how I can thank you.”
“No need. I just did what anybody—”
“I don’t think so. And I want you to know we’re grateful. My wife tells me you’re looking for work and a place to live. I’m sure I can hook you up with something. And we’ve got a small carriage house you and your daughter can stay in until I get things settled.”
“That’s not necessary. Really—”
“I insist. Won’t take no for an answer. We owe you our daughter’s life. It’s the least we can do. And I’m afraid your daughter’s already agreed.” He grinned. “You’ll stay for dinner, of course, and then we can get you moved in.”
He slapped Mitch on the back and disappeared.
A minute later, a loud whoop came from the kitchen. Julia.
His heart sank, and that old saying came back to him a hundredfold: No good deed goes unpunished.
4
After dinner, Tommy mentioned staying in town again, but Mitch insisted on heading back on the road.
“Why do we have to go?” Julia asked plaintively as Mitch ushered her out of the kitchen, the Blunts following.
“We’ll talk about it later,” Mitch told her.
“But I like it here,” Julia said. “And they want us to stay. Don’t you?” She appealed to Bitsy, her blue eyes pleading.
“Of course we do,” Bitsy said to her. And to Mitch, “Are you sure you won’t stay? Even for a few days?”
“Look, you have plenty on your plate right now with Sara Jean.” Mitch steered Julia toward the front door. “You don’t need two more bodies to worry about.”
Two Lethal Lies Page 2