When Charlie nodded, Dorothy flipped open her cell phone, hitting the code for the inn’s kitchen. “The shrimp melt okay?”
Charlie nodded enthusiastically. “And hot tea?”
Dorothy gave her chef the order, and as they strode out together past the courthouse gardens, Dorothy glanced at her. “Those people taking pictures of our children…That really scares me. Max called me last night after the Greenlaws’ break-in, and then, just now, he showed me the pictures-the copies he made-to see if I could add anything.
“I feel better knowing he’s doubled his patrol around the school. But to take pictures of the children…In my book, that means only one thing,” Dorothy said with disgust. “I’m glad they have the woman’s fingerprints-the tenant in that house where the pictures came from. Max said he was hoping to get an immediate hit on them, something about having to get an expert to examine them, and he didn’t know how long it would take.”
Charlie hadn’t known about the prints. Was that what Lucinda had brought in? But how had Lucinda gotten the woman’s prints? Why had she…? Oh, Charlie thought, maybe it wasn’t Lucinda who retrieved that evidence. And the scene in Max’s office, earlier that morning, played back to her: The officers’ mention of the prints. Kit’s sudden excitement, the little cat hardly able to contain herself, she was so wild to race away. This time, Charlie thought, this time, those cats sent Lucinda Greenlaw as their courier.
But to Dorothy she said, “It’s great when AFIS can get back with an immediate reply, but if the prints aren’t clear, someone does have to do a visual exam. And if the prints are close to a lot of others on file, finding a match can take some time.” She studied Dorothy. “Have you talked with the children, about those people?”
“Oh yes. As soon as we knew about the pictures. We don’t like to keep things from the children. We all get together after breakfast in the central hall, before classes, talk over anything that needs discussing.”
She looked seriously at Charlie. “We told them about the pictures, and we described the two men and the woman as well as we could from the photos that the intruder shot. Described the car in their driveway, the old green Dodge. Told them not to play alone, anywhere in the school yard. Not to leave the grounds without one of us, for any reason. It’s hard to get the message across to the little ones, and not give them nightmares. Takes a lot of hugging and reassurance.
“But our kids are pretty wise,” Dorothy said. “They all know what to do if they’re approached. That’s part of the survival course Patty designed-self-protection, managing their money, good health practices, making positive choices in life-and, of course, values.”
Dorothy laughed. “We’ve had several teachers apply for jobs who said they wouldn’t be caught dead teaching values to the children.”
“And? What did you do?”
“We sent them packing,” Dorothy said. “Values are a part of survival, and that was important to Patty, after her little grandson was so brutally murdered. She told me the main reason she left Hollywood was the brutality and glitz and false values, the way the entertainment industry changed, over the years she was a star.”
Turning in through the inn’s wrought-iron gate, they crossed through the patio gardens. The sprawling, Spanish-style building, with its pale stucco walls, red tile roof, and generous inner patio, looked as if it might have stood during the days of the Spanish ranches and the first missions. It had, in fact, been built in the late years of the nineteenth century and had served as an inn since its beginnings, under half a dozen owners. Patty Rose had bought it when she retired from Hollywood and moved to a quieter environment. Having always loved Molena Point, she soon became a comfortable part of the village family.
They went in through the tearoom that wouldn’t open until midafternoon, when formal tea would be served. The cheerful, chintz-curtained room was chilly, with no fire burning on the hearth to warm the little round tables and the Mexican tile floor. Dorothy led her on through, to her office.
Nothing had changed in Patty’s office. Dorothy liked it just as Patty had designed it, the wicker-and-silk sofa, the big leather chair facing the desk, the hand-carved desk and bookshelves that had been made by a Mexican craftsman Patty had known during her Hollywood days. The carved screen behind the desk that, Charlie knew from talking with Joe Grey, concealed a wall safe where each day’s receipts were held.
“Ryan and I have an appointment with the mayor at three,” Dorothy said. “His secretary said he was at a meeting up the coast. I think that was an excuse, to give him time to talk with the building inspector and get their ducks lined up. Against us, of course. I did my best to-”
There was a knock at the door, and a tall young waiter wheeled in a cart bearing two covered plates of the inn’s famous shrimp melt, a pot of hot tea, and a selection of small, rich desserts. Reaching deftly past Charlie, he pulled out the sliding tray at the back of the desk and set her place with a linen mat and napkin and heavy silver flatware, then he set Dorothy’s place on her side of the desk. Charlie found it interesting to see Dorothy in this new light, all spiffed up and so businesslike, and yet so comfortable in her new role. Patty had trained her protégée well.
When the waiter had gone, Dorothy said, “Even though Max has more men patrolling, I’m hiring more guards. I find it incredible that someone, planning to abduct a child, would have the nerve to come here in daylight and take pictures. Incredible that none of us saw him, that none of the children did.” She shivered. “But those telephoto shots of our little girls. You can tell just about where the photographer stood, behind the cypress trees across the street. Max said that Dallas photographed the area and made casts of some shoe prints.” She looked at Charlie. “Does everyone get this much attention? Is it because we’re friends? Or because this involves children?”
“It’s the children,” Charlie said. “The whole department is on the watch, they hate this kind of predator. I wish…This is just so sick. And now, at Christmastime, when little kids should be happy…When innocence should be a good thing, and not a safety problem.”
“We try our best to keep the kids informed, but not to scare them unduly. The little ones are tender, and kids dramatize everything. But they have to be alert, Charlie. We’ve stressed that they’re better equipped than most children, if they use common sense and stay together. We have to trust what we’ve taught them. We’re hoping, too, that the excitement of the Christmas pageant and the playhouse contest will give them a heightened sense of community, of being together.”
Dorothy was quiet for a moment; then, “It’s less than a year since Patty’s vindictive murder, and I keep wondering if someone wants to take out that same hatred on the school…”
They had all been at the theater that night, at a retrospective of Patty Rose’s old movies. It was the one night that Patty herself hadn’t attended. They returned from the theater to find her dead, lying in blood on the exterior stairs that led down to the parking garage. It was Kit who had found her. It was the kit who, all alone, had tracked and found her killer-and had subsequently been locked in the house with him, trapped and terrified.
Charlie finished her lemon tart and sipped her tea, puzzling over her feeling of almost knowing something, something she wasn’t seeing. She looked at Dorothy. “This is such a strange set of events. I keep wondering, Are we all missing something? Something right in front of us, that we all should recognize? Something I can’t bring clear.”
Dorothy thought about that. “Did your cleaning girls mention anything unusual, when they were up here?” Ever since Dorothy lost three of her cleaning staff, in September, Charlie’s crew had done most of the work while Dorothy interviewed for new hires.