“I enjoy what I’m doing. Sure, it can be frustrating sometimes. But I’m happy being a resident trooper. I feel like I’m helping people. Although I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I’m thinking about transferring to a different community. Some place where they don’t know every single damned thing about my private life.”
Lisa raised her chin at her slightly. “Does this have to do with you and that nice Jewish boy you were seeing?”
Des lowered her eyes, nodding.
“Then you’ve answered my next question.”
“Which is…?”
“Have there been any major changes in your life? The answer is Hell, yes. You’ve ended a serious relationship and taken up again with your ex-husband.”
“Are you suggesting that Brandon is hazardous to my health?”
“Not at all. But there’s no way you aren’t feeling conflicted, possibly even a bit freaked out about your decision. I know I’d be.”
“And that’s why I’ve been blacking out?”
“You want my best guess? Yes, it is. And if you were someone else I’d write you a prescription for a mild antianxiety medication.”
“No way, Lisa. I’m a first responder. I carry a loaded semiautomatic weapon that I’m expected to be-”
“Down, girl! I know this. So I am not even going to bother. But I am not happy about your blood pressure. If you’re anywhere near a clinic in the next few days I want you to stop in and have it checked again. Keep track of your numbers. If your systolic continues to average around one-forty with a diastolic of over ninety then we will have to consider putting you on medication. Let’s talk again when you call me to discuss your blood samples, okay?”
Des nodded unhappily. She was not used to warnings. Or anything short of perfect health.
“This other man you were seeing…”
“His name was Mitch. Still is.”
“Are you still in contact with him?”
“No, not at all.”
“Would you like to be?”
“It’s over with Mitch, Lisa. Brandon and I are getting along great. I’m very happy.”
Lisa flashed Des her gap-toothed smile. “Then go home and be happy.”
So Des followed doctor’s orders. Stopped off at The Works on her way home and picked up the fixings for a major romantic supper. A thick porterhouse steak for two from Paul the butcher. A wedge of Cato Corner Farms Hooligan from Christine the cheese lady. Baby greens and fingerling potatoes from Ben the produce man. And a sinful strawberry cheesecake from the bakery, where Jen Beckwith was working the counter. Little Molly was parked on a stool at the adjacent coffee bar, basketball on the floor at her feet, her nose buried in a library book.
“How goes it?” Des asked as Jen boxed up her cheesecake, face set tight with determination.
“Molly’s all excited that her dad’s coming home today. Well, not home, but you know what I mean. Nana’s hired Fred to drive her to the hospital to get him.” Dorset was too small a place have a commercial taxi or car service. What it had was Fred Griswold, a retired chimney sweep who chauffeured Dorseteers to and from the airport or wherever in his Buick Regal. “Nana wanted me to drive her,” Jen went on, “since she paid for my car and is, like, incredibly cheap. But I have to be here all afternoon. It’ll be really great for Molly, her dad being walking distance away. And I know my mom will be thrilled.”
“Your mom? Why is that?”
“She has a major, major thing for Professor Procter. Goes into her whole cocker spaniel deal every time she sees him.”
“Her cocker spaniel deal is…?”
“Mom’s way of gazing oh-so-adoringly up at a man. She cocks her head to one side and her eyes get all huge and swoony…” Jen treated Des to a demonstration, complete with slackened jaw and shallow panting. “It’s totally embarrassing, believe me.”
“Does Professor Procter have similar feelings for her?”
“I really wouldn’t know.”
Another customer joined at the bakery counter now-old Rut Peck, Dorset’s apple-cheeked retired postmaster, who was a loyal chum of Mitch’s. Des smiled at him. Rut wouldn’t smile back.
Des sighed inwardly before she said, “Jen, why don’t you take care of Mr. Peck first? I’m in no rush.”
Jen thanked her. Rut didn’t. Just pointed a stubby, wavering finger at what he wanted.
Molly was totally absorbed in her book, which was Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird. Her half-eaten doughnut lay forgotten at her elbow. “This is due back at the library tomorrow,” she explained urgently, barely looking up from it. “I absolutely have to finish it. My dad doesn’t believe in overdue fines. He calls them the hallmark of a sloppy mind.”
Des slid onto the stool next to hers and said, “Molly, you mentioned to me yesterday that you don’t much care for Clay.”
“No, I didn’t.” Molly’s eyes remained glued to the page. “I said that I hate him.”
“He isn’t real fond of you either, is he?”
“Which is fine by me.”
“Has Clay ever ordered you to stay out of a certain part of the house? Told you not to go in a particular room or anything like that?”
The child looked up from her book, studying Des curiously through those bent wire-framed glasses of hers. “Why are you asking me that?”
“Just curious.”
“Are you investigating a crime? Because I’ve got awesome skills, you know. I always help my mom figure out what happens next in her books. Tell me, what did Clay steal?”
“Who says he stole anything?”
“I do. He’s bad news. I just know he is. What are looking for, Trooper Des? Come on, you can tell me.”
A dozen or so rambunctious, sun-browned high school boys and girls joined them at the coffee bar now, full of banter and laughter. They were lively, good-looking kids. Although one of the boys, a tall, blue-eyed blond, did wear his hair braided in exceptionally silly-looking cornrows. Glancing over at the bakery counter, Des noticed Jen coolly watching the kids as she rang up Rut Peck. This was her crowd, Des figured. The ones who’d been at her Rainbow Party. Des wondered which one of the boys she liked. Fearing it was Mr. Blond Boy from the ‘Hood.
Molly was tugging impatiently at her sleeve. “If I tell you what I know will you promise to let me help you?”
“I promise.”
“Okay,” she agreed. “He ordered me to stay out of the root cellar under the kitchen. Told me there are snakes down there. Which is, duh, total bull. I’ve been down there a million times.”
“Have you gone down there since he told you not to?”
Molly shook her head, eyes widening with fright.
Des looked at her in concern. She didn’t doubt that Clay would threaten this girl to keep her out of there. What else was he capable of doing? “Molly, I know things seem pretty messed up right now but it’ll all be better soon, I swear. Just promise me one thing, will you?”
“What is it?”
“Don’t get too curious.”
“About what?”
“Stay out of that root cellar.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s important, that’s why. And I am not fooling around, hear? Promise me.”
“Okay, okay. I promise you,” Molly said sullenly.
Des patted her on the shoulder, then went back to the bakery counter. “Feel like taking a break?” she asked as Jen rang her up. “I’ll buy you a smoothie.”
“Can’t,” Jen answered. “I’m all alone here until five. Responsible for everything.”
While her friends goofed around over coffee, not a care in the world. Jen was still watching them, her jaw clenched, eyes wary. Such a bright and promising girl if only she’d learn to lighten up a little. But Dorset’s teenagers came in only two flavors, Des was learning. Either they cared too much or they didn’t care a goddamn about anything or anyone.
“How are you doing, Jen? Going any easier on yourself?”
“Why, is that what you do?” she demanded. “Go easy? Just smile and, ta-daaa, everything is all right in the world?”
“No, that only works in old Frank Capra movies.” Damn, there was Mitch again, right inside of her head. “Besides, you wouldn’t want to go by me. I’m strictly a work in progress.”