Promises to Keep

by Susan Crandall

  Two girls stopped to talk to Codi. Mickey was close, but not close enough to hear their conversation clearly.

  Then Codi spoke louder. “No, thanks, I’m waiting for Riley. We’re going to hang out by the dam.”

  Even someone as uncool as Mickey knew that’s where everybody parked and made out. Mickey pretended she didn’t hear.

  The other girls said something that Mickey really couldn’t hear, followed by girlish giggles. Nothing got under Mickey’s skin as much as stupid giggling.

  Then Codi said loudly, “Could be . . . if he doesn’t make me wait much longer.”

  More giggling.

  Mickey’s ears started to burn; she was glad she wore her hair down tonight. She moved farther away.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Codi get up and walk over toward Riley.

  Mickey knelt down to wipe up a puddle of spilled lemonade from the floor. From there she could watch without being seen. Codi leaned close to Riley and whispered something in his ear.

  He stopped in mid-motion, surprise on his face. Then he broke out in a grin—and his ears turned red.

  The girls next to the cash table twittered like a couple of ninnies.

  Codi took a single step back and looked at Riley for a minute, then turned around and walked back to her friends.

  Riley started moving faster.

  Codi returned to her perch. She caught sight of Mickey and gave her a catty smile before Mickey could turn away. It was all Mickey could do to keep herself from bitch-slapping her.

  She walked to the trash can, threw away the paper towels she’d been using to wipe up the spill and kept on walking right out the cafeteria door. Who gave a shit if it was raining?

  Molly was silent all the way home. She didn’t say anything when Dean drove straight to her house. At this point he didn’t really care if she questioned how he knew where she lived. For two days, he’d been fighting the obvious, trying to find deceit where there was none, cunning where there was nothing but an honest woman in a difficult situation. He’d recognized the type of person she was at their first meeting and hadn’t trusted his own instincts. But that all ended tonight. There was no way a woman who acted as selflessly as Molly did could have had anything to do with his sister’s murder.

  He’d already engaged his investigator to dig into Molly’s finances, see if there had been any big loan payoffs or unexplained deposits into her bank accounts. It was too late to stop it, so he’d just see what turned up. Still, he knew, Molly was not criminally involved.

  Now he had to decide. Would he finish this charade and creep quietly out of town? Or would he admit his duplicity to Molly, hope she wouldn’t kick his ass; that she’d take pity on him and share a glimpse into his sister’s last days? He just didn’t know.

  With the stopping of the car, Nicholas began to make little noises that reminded Dean of a kitten.

  Dean got out and opened the back door as Molly unfastened the baby seat. As she stood, a litter of soiled baby wipes fell from her lap to the ground.

  He bent to pick them up.

  “I didn’t want to risk getting blood on the baby’s things.” Then she started to lean back toward the car to get Nicholas.

  Dean put a hand on her shoulder and stopped her. “Go on and unlock the door. I’ll get him.”

  She looked up at him. “He’s gonna cry.”

  “I can take it.”

  She gave him a doubtful look, but stepped away from the car. Just as Dean stuck his head inside to lift out the seat, Nicholas found his voice.

  By the time they reached the front door, he was in full fury. Molly turned the light on in the kitchen. As Dean walked through the living room, he realized she hadn’t been exaggerating about the place being bare. There wasn’t a stick of furniture or a TV in it. He followed Molly into the kitchen and set the baby seat on the table.

  Molly looked at the front of her clothes.

  Dean read her concern and checked his own. The only blood on him was on the tail of the shirt he’d used to wipe Molly’s face. He said, “You go on and clean up. I’ll take care of the baby. What does he need? Diaper? Bottle?”

  “Both, diaper first. Thanks, I really don’t want to touch him like this.” She started out of the room. “I hate to impose—”

  “Just go. You’re starting to shiver again.”

  She nodded with a grateful look in her eye and left the room.

  Dean stripped off the wet and soiled shirt. He checked his T-shirt for signs of contamination before he washed his hands and picked up the crying baby.

  Molly stuck her head back into the kitchen. “The bottles are in the fridge.” She paused as she ducked back out. “Can you do a diaper?”

  He made a pfft of dismissal. “I’ve seen commercials. How hard can it be?” He cradled the squalling baby in one arm and picked up the diaper bag with his free hand. The child felt unbelievably small against his ribs.

  Molly said, “You can lay him on my bed to change him.”

  He followed her into her bedroom. At least this room looked like someone lived here. The bed had a sunny yellow comforter, there were a couple of books on the nightstand, and the crib had a colorful mobile hanging over it.

  He laid the baby on the bed and dug around in the bag for a diaper and wipes. He looked at Molly, hovering nearby. “Really, I can do this. Get in the shower; your teeth are chattering.”

  She looked apologetic. “I didn’t mean to imply . . . I just . . . oh, never mind. You’re doing great.” She left the room.

  “Thanks.” Great. He hadn’t done anything but put the kid down and locate a dry diaper. Pretty hard to screw that up.

  He unsnapped the sleeper and wrangled the baby’s feet free, then pulled the tape tabs of the old diaper and took it off. Nicholas was red all over from crying. He stiffened his little legs. Dean couldn’t believe something so small could be so strong. Those legs were like two boards glued together, making it impossible to shove the bulky diaper between them.

  Dean looked over his shoulder to make sure Molly hadn’t snuck back in to watch the show. They were alone. Dean got an idea; he rubbed the baby’s tummy trying to get him to relax. “Come on, little guy. Give me a break here.”

  Nicholas cried louder and peed all over the front of Dean’s T-shirt.

  “Whoa!” Dean flipped the dry diaper over the baby too late to save much of the mess. He screwed his mouth to the side. “That wasn’t fair. A sneak attack—totally ungentleman-like. Is that the kind of man you want to grow up to be?”

  Nicholas quieted and kicked his legs.

  “Ah! That’s the way.” Dean shoved a new diaper under Nicholas’s bottom. After getting the tape stuck on the baby twice, Dean managed to get the diaper affixed in a close proximity to where he thought it should be. When he picked the baby up, he saw the wet spot on the comforter. He dabbed it with a couple of Kleenex and hoped it would dry before Molly noticed. Then he went to the kitchen to get a bottle.

  Nicholas was sucking his fist, apparently not overly judgmental about the diaper job.

  When Dean pulled the bottle out of the refrigerator, he realized Molly hadn’t said anything about heating it. Weren’t baby bottles supposed to be warm—something about putting the milk on the inside of your wrist to make sure it wasn’t too hot? He looked around the kitchen. There didn’t seem to be anything that shouted “bottle warmer” to him.

  Nicholas was becoming unhappy with the fist. Before he started yowling again, Dean went to the bathroom door and knocked.

  “Sorry!” he shouted. “How do I warm the bottle?”

  “What?”

  “The bottle,” he yelled louder. “How do I warm it?”

  The baby broke into a howl.

  The door opened just a crack. Molly’s hair was lathered and she had a towel wrapped around her that didn’t cover very much.

  Dean cleared his throat. “Um. I don’t know how to warm the bottle.”

  “Hot tap water in a pan. Just let it sit fo
r a couple of minutes and give it a shake.”

  “Right.” He turned around before she caught him staring at things he shouldn’t.

  By the time Molly entered the kitchen several minutes later, dressed in a light blue sweatsuit and bare feet, Dean was sitting at the table proudly feeding a very happy baby.

  Molly raised her brows and gave a nod. “Well done, Mr. Coletta.”

  He was pleased with the praise. “I wrapped him in this blanket, trying to keep him from getting too wet from my shirt.”

  She smiled and tilted her head slightly to one side. She looked like a kid standing there, barefoot with wet hair and no make-up. Suddenly he wanted to hold her.

  She sat down heavily in a chair across from him, looking very tired. As she pushed her hair away from her face, she said, “You must be freezing.”

  Lifting a shoulder he said, “Nothing a little hot cider won’t fix.”

  Her eyes widened slightly. “I’d forgotten about the cider . . . and your car! I’m sorry, I’ve been holding you hostage here.”

  “I’m not planning on going anywhere for a while. Not until I’ve demonstrated my cider-making prowess.” And he realized in that moment, he’d much rather spend the evening here in this barren house with Molly than in his own warm and comfortable cottage alone.

  “Burp,” Molly said.

  “Pardon me?”

  “It’s time for a burp.”

  He tried to pull the nipple from the baby’s mouth, but Nicholas sucked harder. “He won’t let me.”

  Chuckling, she said, “He’s not the boss.”

  “But he’ll be mad.”

  “If you don’t, he’ll have a bellyache and I’ll be mad. Who are you more afraid of?”

  He looked at her seriously for a long moment. Then he looked at the baby. Then back at her. Finally he said, “Him.”

  She laughed. “Wrong answer.” She put out her hands and stepped forward. “Do you want me to take him?”

  “Nope. I like to finish a task once I start it.” He scrunched up his face. “Here goes.” He took the bottle away and Nicholas began to fuss.

  “Up on the shoulder,” Molly coached.

  Dean shifted the baby and before he even got him to his shoulder, Nicholas let out a robust burp.

  “Damn, I’m good,” Dean said with a satisfied look on his face.

  Molly said, “Yes, it’s all in the technique, Dr. Spock. I’m going to dry my hair.” She left the room.

  As Dean finished feeding Nicholas, thoughts of another baby crept into his mind. Where was Julie’s child? Was it being well cared for? Worry pinched a place deep in his heart. Now that he realized he was looking in the wrong place for his sister’s killer, he needed to find a new direction as quickly as possible. Somewhere, there was a child as tiny and helpless as the one he held in his arms that needed him.

  A squeaking noise signaled the end of the formula.

  Dean put the baby on his shoulder. “Time for another burp.”

  Molly came back in the room. “Weren’t you two doing that when I left?”

  Dean patted the baby’s back. “We ran out of milk. What if he’s still hungry?”

  “Trust me, if you fed him any more, it’d be running down your shoulder right now.”

  Nicholas rewarded Dean with another burp, followed by a warm wet feeling on his shoulder. “I think it did anyway.”

  Molly took the baby. “Think of it as a christening. Now you’re duly qualified to feed a baby.”

  Dean suddenly felt like a traitor for taking pleasure in feeding this baby when his own niece or nephew might be hungry. That thought surprised him, but not for the reason he would have expected: he had been enjoying himself.

  She looked at his T-shirt. “If you want, you can put that in the dryer. It’s in the basement. I’m going to give this guy a bath.” She threw him a challenging look. “Wanna help?”

  “No, thanks. I think I’ve added enough new skills to my repertoire for one evening. I’ll make the cider. That way I’ll be sure you’re not peeking and discovering the secret ingredient.”

  She paused on her way out the kitchen door and asked, “Will you feel too cheated if I renege on the cookies?”

  “Not if you promise to make them another time,” he said. Suddenly he felt oddly sad; there most likely wouldn’t be another time.

  Chapter 12

  Codi kept her eyes on Riley while he stacked chairs. Before he finished she was shifting with impatience. He knew she was getting pissed, but what was he supposed to do? He couldn’t take off before the clean-up was finished, not with his mom right here.

  He worked as fast as he could, his urgency fueled by Codi’s whispered promise. He finished his job, then helped Clay haul trash out to the Dumpster to move things along more quickly. Finally, his mom gave him the nod of approval to leave.

  He grabbed his jacket and Codi met him at the cafeteria door. They held hands as they raced to his car through the rain. There really weren’t too many left in the parking lot, so when they got inside and Codi leaned across and kissed him, he wasn’t too worried. But then she slid closer and added some tongue. He felt her breasts press against him and he about shot out of his pants.

  When she put her hand between his legs, he started to get nervous. His mom and Clay hadn’t come out yet. The last thing he wanted to think about tonight was a lecture from his mom about how girls should be “respected.” This whole thing was Codi’s idea, after all. He hadn’t asked for it . . . directly.

  Codi had him all but coming by the time she slid back to her seat.

  She smiled, dipping her head shyly. “Let’s swing by Papa’s to see if Jen and Jeff are there.”

  “Why?” What they were going to do didn’t require company.

  “Because I need to tell her something.” Codi sounded like she was bordering on getting her panties in a bunch.

  “Use your cell.” He wasn’t sure he could wait until they got out to the dam, let alone drive all over hell’s half-acre looking for Jen.

  “Riley!”

  “Okay.” He didn’t want to piss her off and have her change her mind. He started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.

  He didn’t buy her story for a second. There wasn’t anything that urgent that she had to tell Jen. She was punishing him for making her wait by making him wait. Not that getting what she promised wasn’t worth driving around and wasting a little gas.

  He’d just turned onto Grant Street when Codi said, “Oh, look! There’s Mickey.” She pointed to a lone figure hurrying along the sidewalk, huddled against the rain.

  “It is not.”

  “Slow down!”

  Thinking he was in danger of splashing a puddle all over the person, he braked.

  Codi rolled down her window. “Mickey! Hey, Mickey!”

  When the girl on the walk turned, Riley saw it was Mickey. He felt like sliding down in his seat, hiding. Not that it would do any good—he had the only Mustang in school.

  Riley hissed, “Shut up!”

  Codi ignored him and called, “You want a ride home? C’mon, get in!”

  Mickey raised a hand.

  Was she giving them the finger? Riley’s mouth fell open.

  “Bi-a-tch!” Codi yelled. She rolled up her window. “Go on. You just can’t be nice to some people. She is such a freakin’ loser.”

  When the Mustang accelerated past, Mickey’s brief sense of victory leached away in the rain. Shame replaced it. What was wrong with her? She wasn’t acting any better than those stupid girls at school. It really wasn’t like her to flip people off. Even if they deserved it as much as Codi Craig did.

  Still, she felt embarrassed doing it in front of Riley. He knew she was a better person than that.

  As she stepped off the curb at Sycamore Street, she stomped as hard as she could into a puddle. Cold, muddy water shot up her pant leg and flooded her already soggy shoe.

  She trudged on, her left shoe squishing loudly with every step.

>   She was so pissed at herself. Why did she give a rat’s ass what Riley Holt thought of her? He sure wasn’t giving her any thought. She didn’t, she told herself. She didn’t care what he thought, who he hung out with, or who was going to give him a blow job out at the dam.

  Suddenly, she was short of breath and a little dizzy. Maybe she’d given herself a stroke or something. She nearly sat down right where she was, on the brick retention wall at the edge of the sidewalk in front of Mrs. Jacobi’s house. It didn’t matter if she went home, or stayed out in the rain all night. Nobody cared.

  A huge lump stuck in her throat. She walked on, raising her face to the rain so she could deny her tears.

  By the time Molly had Nicholas bathed, sung to, and put down in his crib, the entire house smelled like mulled cider. When she stepped into the living room, another surprise awaited her. There was a crackling fire in the fireplace.

  Dean sat on the floor in front of the hearth, the flickering flames lighting the angles of his handsome face. It caught the gold in his hair, which had curled from his dousing in the rain. It was strange, how comfortable she felt with him—especially considering their initial meeting. Maybe it was because he was so comfortable with himself. She studied him for a long moment, until he looked up and caught her at it.

  She put her hands on her hips and said, “Please tell me you’re not burning my kitchen table.”

  With a shake of his head, he alleviated her fear. “You’ve had enough trauma for one night. Burning your only stick of furniture would be too cruel.” He lifted his chin in the direction of the Fultons’ house. “I borrowed some firewood from your neighbor.”

  Molly thought of Karen’s cruel words to her daughter and of the lonely girl who had joined them for dinner. “Good. I hope she misses it.”

  The wind blew rain against the window, the sound giving Molly a little chill.

  Dean beckoned her. “Come and sit down and warm up by the fire. You look exhausted.”

  She was exhausted. Since her shower, she felt completely drained. She sat next to him and he handed her a mug.