“How many kids do you have here, Mrs. Warren?”
“Now only six. We’re licensed for eight. That’s fairly typical of group homes in Georgia. Few of them are very large, — . We have five youngsters and Jessamine, who is a teenager.”
“That’s a most unusual name, Mrs. Warren,” Stafford said. “The sheriff seemed to know her.”; ‘
“We call her Jess.”
“And Warren? That’s also the sheriff’s name.”
“Yes, Mr. Stafford.” She was giving him that faintly challenging look again. “John Lee and I were married, after I came back to Graniteville from the university. We’re divorced now, but it’s — what’s the word?
Amicable? It’s difficult to be anything else in a town and county as small as this.”
“Especially if he’s the sheriff,” Stafford said, trying to lighten it up a little.
She regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, as if still trying to decide whether or not to trust him with something. He heard noises from upstairs.
“Yes,” she said. “I suppose that’s true.” “And where do these kids come from?” he asked.
“The north Georgia mountains, primarily. The process begins when the state takes custody. These are basically normal kids who’ve been abused or neglected or even abandoned by their parents. The situations are usually bad enough that they’re never going back home.”
“So you don’t work with autistics, or things like that?”
Her expression changed to dismay. ” ‘Things’? Autistics aren’t ‘things,” Mr. Stafford.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean the kids were things. I meant conditions such as autism, Down’s syndrome, problems like that.” He concluded that she must be pretty nervous to have snapped at him like that.
“No. We’re not equipped to deal with the special cases. And the school part of it is a supplementary schooling. We mainstream our kids as quickly as possible once we can determine a grade age for them. But most of them need a great deal of remedial work, both academic and emotional, as you might imagine.”
There were definitely noises coming from upstairs.
“Naptime is over,” she said, glancing up at the ceiling. “Mrs. Banning will be bringing them down soon. The littles have their lessons in the morning, then lunch, then naptime. In the afternoon we usually do a group project with the farm animals out in the barn.”
“And Jessamine?”
“She’s in public school.” She rose.- “Why don’t I give you a tour?”
“Sure. But Mrs. Warren? Then you’ll tell me what this is all about?”
She eyed him warily. “If I think I can trust you, yes, I will.” She paused at the doorway, standing in a way that revealed the fullness of her figure. “That’s perhaps unfair,” she said. “Let me rephrase: If I think you can handle something that requires extreme sensitivity and discretion, and not act like some government cowboy closing hi on Ruby Ridge, yes. I know that’s perhaps impolite, but I don’t know you, and you do come from Washington.”
Stafford, taken aback by her vehemence, managed a game smile. “And neither of those things much recommends me, I take it.”
She did not return the smile. “That’s correct, Mr. Stafford. You’re in the north Georgia mountains now. People here have a low regard for Washington and all its works.”
Stafford nodded. “In my experience, Mrs. Warren, that’s a sentiment shared by more than a few people,” but I am a federal officer. My job is to ferret out fraud against the government, fraud committed by government employees, for the most part. In my small way, I serve the taxpayers. None of us in federal law enforcement, however, ever expects to mitigate the larger frauds perpetrated by the government”
She detected the exasperation in his voice. “I apologize if I’ve hurt your feelings, Mr. Stafford. But this matter involves a young girl who’s been through some very difficult times. I suppose what I’m saying is, I need to take your measure before I proceed with this. Please be patient with me, and I think you’ll understand.”
He felt like telling her to knock herself out; he had nothing else to do with his afternoon. And yet her-concern seemed genuine. She hadn’t asked him up here just to rail against the federal government and all its minions. Besides, she was interesting. He wanted to know more about her, the home, and what she was doing here. “As you wish, Mrs. Warren,” he said. “How about that tour?”
She took him through the lower floor of the house, showing him the classroom and the dining area, which was really just one big table rigged for small children in the kitchen area. There were play areas out on the left-hand porch, and a small playground outside, which he had not noticed when he arrived.
“What’s in there?” he asked, pointing to the closed double doors to the right of the main hall.
“That’s where I live, Mr. Stafford. I have a small suite of rooms on the ground floor, and that side of the porch has been blocked off.”
He nodded without comment She moved with unusual grace, and he found himself staring at the back of her neck as she turned away, the glimpse of smooth white skin beneath all that luxurious black hair stirring him.
At that moment a chattering group of children came flying down the main staircase, followed by an older woman who was telling them to walk, not run. They skidded to a stop, piling on top of one another on the last step when they saw Stafford. There were three boys and two girls, all somewhere between four and seven years old. Mrs. Warren made introductions.
“Kids, this is Mr. Stafford. He’s a federal investigator from Washington, D.C. Mr. Stafford, these are the kids. We use family nicknames here.”
She pointed in turn to each of the three boys. “That’s Crash, that’s Hollywood, and that’s No-No.” She then turned to the two girls, both of whom were trying to hide behind the boy known as Crash. “That is Too, on the left, and, last but not least, is Annie. And supposedly in strict control of this crew is Mrs. Benning, one of our teachers.”
Stafford nodded at them while putting a smile on his face. They all stared back at him as if he were from Mars. Mrs. Benning took charge and herded them all out the front door, where the noise level resumed at full volume. Mrs. Warren indicated they should follow.
“We have three elderly horses, six Nubian goats, chickens, some guard geese, and undoubtedly some other assorted creatures back in the barn,” she said. “The kids do projects out there in the afternoon. Mr. Jackson is the barn and grounds caretaker. He takes care of the animals and teaches the kids something about animal husbandry. We’ve found that caring for animals improves their chances for dealing successfully with people.”
He caught a faint scent of perfume as she walked in front of him. “And why do you suppose that is?”
“Because animals have personalities, needs, fears, and urges. They communicate these things, just not in English. By teaching the kids to be conscious of how the animals do communicate, they learn to pay attention to another being, to look for those manifestations I spoke about. If you catch them young enough, and they have the basic intelligence, they’ll eventually apply those same skills to humans, and if they do that, they’re more likely to succeed than people who don’t.”
“Which is most of us.”
“Well, you say you’re an investigator. I would imagine you pay attention, don’t you?” She said this with a hint of a smile, which softened her face. First the Iron Lady. Now a hint of the coquette? Was she flirting with him? He was confused, but he certainly was paying attention.