“Why didn’t Emily?” Brian asked. “You’d have thought she would want to go someplace where there wasn’t a painful memory around every corner.”
“She can’t leave. This was the only home Daniel knew. As long as the case is unsolved, she’ll stay here.”
Brian felt the pain of it. “She’s a prisoner, then. That’s doubly why I should question whoever I can find.”
John remained skeptical. “Memory fades, after all this time.”
Brian disagreed. “It’s not like we’re asking about a random day on the calendar. Everyone who was living in town at that time knew when Daniel Arkin disappeared. My guess is that anyone who had a potential lead hasn’t forgotten a thing.”
“Do you think the boy might still be alive?”
Brian dropped into the chair. “No. But I don’t see the harm in questioning the people we missed the first time around. I’d also do a computer enhancement of Daniel’s picture, to come up with something of what he might look like today, and I’d do a fingerprint match.”
“Huh. Where you gonna get a fingerprint.” It wasn’t a question.
“From one of the little boy’s picture books. They’re still in his room. Fingerprints spread as they get larger, but the points and loops stay the same. I’d also do a computer cross-check on kidnappers who were at it when Daniel was taken. And I’d work through a list of Grannick’s sex offenders.”
John drew back.
“Doesn’t it make sense?” Brian asked.
“We weren’t thinking that way in the seventies.”
“There were sex offenders then.”
“Sure. But we didn’t blame them for every crime, and we didn’t put their names on a list. Not in Grannick. Not until two years ago.”
Brian was astounded. “Why not?”
“Because these are our people. We don’t like compromising them. If one of our own does something wrong and serves his time, we feel he has a right to come back here and start over with a clean slate.”
“So why’d you start doing it two years ago?”
“Had to. The college appointed a professor who had served time for rape, the locals learned about it, and made a stink. Personally, I had no problem with him. He’d been five years at another school before coming here, and his record was spotless. Stayed spotless, too. But a lot of people were nervous. So the right to public protection took precedence over the right to privacy.”
“I take it your list is confidential.”
“Sure.”
“So the right to privacy is respected, too.”
“Except if guys like you want to dig up the list and start questioning the people on it.”
Brian couldn’t not look at that list. “If someone abducts a little boy and never sends a ransom note, you rule out greed as a motive, right? So what’s left?” He thought of Emily’s dream. “It’d be real nice if it turns out that someone just wanted a baby to raise, but the chances of that are slim. The truth is that among kids abducted by strangers, the majority are sexually violated.”
“He was just a baby.”
“No matter, to a crazy.”
John was scowling. “Have you mentioned this to Emily?”
“Christ, no.”
“Don’t. It’ll make her sick.”
“You think she hasn’t imagined it?” When John didn’t answer, he said, “You can be sure she’s following every missing child case that gets coverage, and what she doesn’t imagine on her own, the media paints in living color.”
John was quiet.
“Let me give it a try,” Brian urged. “I’ll be subtle. There doesn’t have to be a formal reactivation of the case.”
“Start questioning people,” John warned, “and word will spread. It always does, in Grannick.”
“I’ll say we’re cleaning up loose ends, tidying up the files, and in a sense that’s all we are doing. I’ll say I’m new here, that the case fascinates me, and I thought this would give me a chance to meet some of the townsfolk. They’ll buy it.”
“What about Emily?”
“Not a word. She accepts that he’s dead. I can’t raise her hopes, what with the odds against us after all this time.”
John looked torn. Finally, he grumbled, “Keep it quiet and unoffensive. If word gets back to me that you’re antagonizing people, I’ll call it off. Hell, it’s not like something new just came up. It’s not like we suddenly have a concrete lead. It’s just you, falling hard for Emily Arkin.”
Brian held up a hand. “Hold on. The lady’s married.”
“Try to remember it, huh?”
It was one thing to remember that Emily was married, and another to stop thinking about her. Brian liked her a lot. Something about her made him feel calm, even now, when he knew that her life was as unsettled as his. When he saw her, or thought about her, he felt a deep, curling warmth.
It wasn’t sexual. At least, he didn’t think it was. He doubted he could be thinking about sex, with Gayle barely cold in her grave and Julia a full-time occupation on top of the other.
If he was ready to be interested in sex, he could be interested in Emily. But he wasn’t ready for that. Just for friendship. And as Emily’s friend, he was worried.
That was why, with Julia happily chasing dandelion fluff beside the white picket fence, he rapped on the kitchen door on his way home from work that night. Oh, yeah, a deep, curling warmth. There it was, when she opened the door.
“Hi,” she said softly.
He studied her face. “You look better. I wanted to make sure.”
“I went back to bed after you left.”
“And slept?”
“And slept,” she acknowledged.
Her smile lingered, toying with the corners of her mouth in a way that heightened the deep curling warmth he felt, and at that moment it struck him that the attraction was sexual after all—unless he was misinterpreting what he was feeling down low, the pooling that came from her smile, or from her petiteness, or from the hint of breasts under her sweater, or from the memory of their feel against him night before.
“So.” He cleared his throat. “What did you do, today?”
“This and that. Lazy things mostly. I talked with Jill. She sounded good. That always gives me a lift.”
“When will I meet her?”
“Two and a half weeks and counting.”
Julia ran over, holding up a partly denuded dandelion.
“Ohhhh, pretty,” Emily said, going down the steps, dropping to her haunches, and drawing her close. “Did you blow?” She gave a noisy demonstration, then moved the flower close to Julia’s mouth. “You try. Blow. No? Okay. How about we shake it?” She gave the flower a sharp shake. When the fluff flew in all directions, Julia squealed in delight, reaching, jumping, squatting. Emily laughed at her, then gave the flower another shake, setting Julia off again. When the flower was nothing but a stem, Julia ran off for more.
Brian was smiling when Emily stood. “It’s good to hear her laugh. Good to hear you laugh, too. Are you meeting your friends tonight?” It was Monday, after all.
“Uh-huh.”
“Will you talk with them?” He meant, about the weekend, about Doug.
The waning of her smile said she understood. “I think so.”
“It helps to share,” he said, and because she was a friend and he felt the need, he drew her into a quick, close, bolstering hug, before returning to Julia.
• • •
Myra saw the hug from her dining room window and couldn’t have been more pleased. She didn’t for a minute think that Emily was doing anything improper—not Emily—but the closer she and the detective grew, the better.
He was the key. Myra just knew it. She could feel it in her bones, along with the arthritis that kept reminding her of her age and frightened her no end, given all there was still to do.
Back in the kitchen, the table was set, the ham ready. She cut a neat slice for herself and two for Frank, and arranged them on plates, put a smal
l potato on her own and a large one on Frank’s, then added green beans and a dribble of raisin sauce. Pleased with the pretty picture, she put the plates on the table.
“Dinner’s ready, Frank!” she called and began to eat. “This is very good. What a perfect size ham. I’ll be able to make a package for Emily and one for the detective.” She took another bite. “And I’ll mash the potatoes for the little girl. Children love mashed potatoes.”
She wondered when Julia’s birthday was, thinking that a party under the willow would the most delightful thing. But something told her that the birthday wasn’t until spring. She couldn’t possibly wait that long.
October was already here. If she didn’t do something soon, the ground would freeze and the snow would come, and then all hope would be gone until the thaw. But she couldn’t wait that long.
A tea party wasn’t right. The detective wouldn’t be interested in that, any more than her sons had been, and she had certainly invited them often enough. Dinner, perhaps. Or a cookout. Yes. A cookout. Emily would bring the grill, and Myra would do the rest.
But it had to be soon. Fall was here. The leaves were changing.
She glanced out the window toward the pond, and in the next instant was jumping up from her chair, scurrying out the back door and down the steps.
“Shoooo! Shooooo!” she cried and watched the Canada geese fly off. “Messy little pests,” she muttered, “doing their business under my willow.” She scrutinized the grass there, relaxing marginally when it appeared to be clean. She bent to pluck up the few bits of lint that had gathered in the short time since she had last been out. Then she sat down on the scrolled wrought-iron bench and envisioned the day when she could relax completely, when she would be unburdened and safe. She ached for that day, ached so badly sometimes that she terrified herself, thinking that she was having a heart attack, or a gall bladder attack, or an arthritis attack that would paralyze her for good.
A cookout. That would be just the thing. A hamburger would lure him if he was anything like her sons, and then once he was here, he would know. She wouldn’t have to say a word.
That was the way she wanted it.
ten
ANOTHER LONG WEEK PASSED. EMILY WAS PLODDING along in a state of limbo when she arrived at the Eatery Monday evening. After being buffeted in turn by highs and lows, she was emotionally bruised, and there were no answers in sight.
Grateful, at least, to know where she was headed at this very moment in time, she zeroed in on Kay and Celeste and headed their way, only to stop when she found Brian and Julia in a booth along the way.
Her heart skipped a beat, then resurged with a spill of warmth. Brian affected her that way. He was the one most often responsible for her highs.
“Hey,” she said, smiling. Two pairs of pale blue eyes touched her, both mellow and warm. “How are you guys?”
“Not bad,” Brian answered for the two. “Thought we’d eat out tonight.” He shot a look around. “I figured this place would be empty on a Monday, but half the town’s here.”
“Recuperating from the weekend,” Emily said. When Julia offered up a french fry, she took it. “What a sweet little girl. Thank you.” She took a bite. “Mmmmm. This is good. Are you sharing with your daddy?” She smiled when Julia pushed a fry toward Brian’s mouth, and kept smiling when he sucked it in like a piece of spaghetti.
Oh, he was bad, and sexy, and dangerously attentive, looking into her with those appetizing eyes of his. She half-wished she could scoot in and have dinner right here.
But she had more proper plans. With a glance over her shoulder, she said, “My dates are waiting. See you later?”
He nodded, and as she turned away, she thought about twists of fate. The tenant she hadn’t wanted was turning out to be a lifeline for her. Brian was easygoing, understanding, and appealing—for which reason she should be keeping her distance, but she couldn’t. She awoke each morning looking forward to seeing him.
Proper? No. Exciting? Definitely.
Still high when she reached Kay and Celeste, she slid into the booth with a grin. “Hi, guys.”
“Is that Brian?” Celeste asked.
Emily slipped out of her jacket. “Uh-huh.”
“Nice-looking guy. Very masculine.”
“He has a child,” Emily reminded her. “You’re not interested.”
“He has great eyes. I saw them on my way in. They stop you in your tracks, know what I mean?”
Did she ever. “Heeey, lookin’ good,” she said, scrutinizing Celeste’s face.
“Well, I thought so,” Celeste complained, “which is why I agreed to eat out again.” She shot a disparaging glance at the Eatery’s clientele. “Would you believe no one’s noticed?”
“Isn’t that good? You don’t want them to notice. You want them to think you look wonderful but be too shy to say so, lest they imply that you didn’t look good before.”
“Emily’s right,” Kay said.
But Celeste remained doubtful. “There’s still some swelling. They’re probably thinking something’s wrong with me.”
Emily glanced around. She saw familiar faces, one after the other, and acknowledged a few before turning back. “Is anyone staring? No. And you know they would if they thought something was wrong.”
“The surgeon told me to allow six weeks. It’s only been four and a half.”
“So, there you go,” Emily said.
Kay turned to her. “You’re chipper. Does that mean things went well with Doug?”
But Emily wasn’t ready to talk about Doug. “First, you guys.” To Kay, “How’s school?”
“Great. The kids are finally getting into the swing of things. Summer vacation sets them back. It takes a full month to get them working up to speed again.”
“Hi, Mrs. Arkin,” said their waitress, Jenny Yeo. “Can I get you a drink?”
Emily saw iced teas sitting in front of Kay and Celeste. “I’ll have the same. Are we ready to order?” she asked the others. She hadn’t eaten an actual meal since brunch the day before, and she knew the Eatery’s menu by heart. “I’m starved.”
Celeste ordered the Southwestern salad, Emily chicken fajitas, and Kay nachos with extra hot cheese and jalapeño peppers, “Because I’m in a daring mood,” she explained, and, when Jenny had left, said, “I’ve been lobbying for it for years, and the go-ahead just came through. We’re starting a debate team.”
“In eighth grade?” Celeste asked.
“Sure. Okay, so the debates won’t be polished, but it’s a great introduction to public speaking. We’ll be competing around the state on Saturday afternoons.”
“We, as in you, personally?” Emily asked.
“I am the adviser.”
“Does John know?”
“No, but he won’t mind. He doesn’t count on me on Saturdays.”
Emily wondered if that was by choice or default. Kay always seemed to have something to do on Saturdays that kept her occupied and out of reach. One year it was a community service project, another year a class-wide internship with the local newspaper, now the debate team. As noble as those activities were, Emily didn’t know that she would immerse herself so totally, if she had as kind a man as John waiting for her at home.
“If we start the kids younger,” Kay was saying, “we’ll get them involved before they reach that disgusting stage where they’re either too self-conscious to speak before a group, or too social to want to bother. Which was it with our kids?”
Emily thought back several years. “For Jill, a little of both. The self-consciousness came from social awareness. She wanted to blend in, not stand out.”
“Marilee was self-conscious, long before she was socially aware. She didn’t like her hair, didn’t like her complexion, didn’t know what to do with the things growing on her chest.”
“Dawn never had that problem,” Celeste said dryly. “She is small-busted to this day, but defiant enough not to care.”
“That’s precisely why she won
the Shakespeare competition last year,” Kay suggested. “She isn’t inhibited. She just went out there and gave it her all.”
“Yeah. On two days’ notice and with little preparation. I felt bad for those kids who spent weeks rehearsing. It didn’t seem fair. I told Dawn that. She’s going to want something someday and assume that it’ll come just as easily, but it won’t. She’s in for a fall.”
“She’s very bright,” Emily argued on Dawn’s behalf.
“So are the other kids she’s competing with now. If she doesn’t study, she’ll find herself at the bottom of the heap.”
“So, is she studying?”
“She says she is. She says she loves it. I told her that if she wants to keep on loving it, she’d better buckle down, or she’ll find herself booted out and back home with me, in which case I will be furious with her.”
“What did she says to that?”
“She says she’d run away first.”
“With a laugh, naturally.”
“Unfortunately.”
“But you have to hand it to her,” Kay said. “She has guts.”
“She gets those from me.” With a flourish, Celeste drew a large manilla envelope from her lap and opened the clasp. “Are you ready?”
“Uh-oh.”
“Responses to your ad?”
“My God, that’s some pile.
“I’m not sure I want to hear.”
“They’re interesting,” Celeste said and picked up the first. “ ‘Dear GC403’—that’s my mailbox at the magazine—‘I am forty-eight and tall, and I do like fine wine, good music, and adventure. My ex-wives say that I’m no knight in shining armor, but I’m working on that.’ ”
“Ex-wives, plural?” Kay asked.
Celeste turned to the next letter. “ ‘Dear Sexy Blond DWF, Everything about you sounds great, only you don’t say how much you weigh. If you are at all ashamed of your body, we aren’t for each other. I am a practicing nudist.’ ”
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