25

Claire dodged between other bodies hurrying to exit the building. Heather, Zoe, and their gang had dogged their walk home from school again on Tuesday. Closeted in their bathroom at home, she and Justin had discussed the situation. Mom didn’t need any more worries added to the financial mess Dad left. They’d fight this battle on their own.

Mom had arrived home from work yesterday too quiet. In an uneasy silence, they’d eaten the dinner Claire prepared. Mike rang her several times Tuesday evening, but Mom hadn’t picked up.

Her head ached with worry.

Worry about her mom in danger. Worry about moving and a new school next year. Worry about ever having a real friend again.

But maybe, she’d never had a true friend.

She dashed down the steps and out to the parking lot, scoping the area for the black BMW. She hoped to get a head start home before the harassment began. Justin motioned to her from his usual lookout spot. They set off at a brisk pace, not exactly running, but on the fast side of a walk.

Sure enough, as they rounded the corner out of sight of the campus, Zoe and her pack moved in for the kill. The engine revved, accompanied by catcalls. Jeering turned to profanity when she and Justin refused to acknowledge their presence. The BMW crept forward, braking and accelerating in an attempt to startle them into a response.

Reaching their street at last, Justin gripped her elbow. She darted a quick sideways glance at his face. A vein in his cheek pulsated with suppressed anger. He’d taken to driving golf ball after golf ball into the net each afternoon while she fixed dinner.

She feared he’d explode one day. In the cafeteria. In the hall. Or out on the field if he ever caught Tad or any of the others outside the safety of their pack.

Claire picked up her pace as they rounded the final curve toward home and stopped abruptly. Justin bumped into her.

His head snapped up. “What’s—?”

She pointed at Mike’s truck, parked sideways across both lanes of the street. He leaned casually, his arms folded across his massive chest, against the cab door. The BMW screeched to a shuddering halt.

Unwinding like a timber snake she’d once seen on a Girl Scout campout, he strolled over to Zoe in the driver’s seat and flashed his badge.

“I think I’m going to have to see your driver’s license, ma’am.” He drawled out the ma’am, bending to within inches of her face.

Zoe reared. There was a furtive click of seat belts from the backseat because North Carolina is a Click It or Ticket It state.

She fumbled for her purse, in her hurry dumping its contents into the lap of Tad. A burning cigarette hung midair in his hand.

Mike cocked his head and gave Ewell a slow, menacing smile like the timber snake that’d just caught sight of his dinner.

You could almost hear the crickets chirp with the sudden stillness of the passengers.

Zoe timidly extended the plastic card through the window to Mike. He made a show of scrutinizing it. She jumped as he whipped out his notepad and pencil.

“I believe I’m going to need to see everyone’s ID.” He smiled. Again.

There was a rush to grab backpacks and a search through pockets until eventually Zoe handed over four other ID cards. With excruciating precision, Mike pronounced each syllable of every name as he painstakingly wrote them down.

“I’d sure hate to have to haul you kids downtown to jail.”

Someone whimpered from the backseat.

“But you see, I’ve had complaints from the neighbors about excessive speed and noise on this street every afternoon.” He paused to let that sink in.

He leaned the entire upper half of his body through the window. Zoe recoiled over the gearshift and into Tad.

Mike’s face went granite hard. “I don’t want to see any of you so much as put a toe on this street ever again. Do I make myself clear?”

“Y-yessir.” Tad and Zoe stuttered in unison with a chorus of agreement from the backseat.

Claire’s lip curled. What had she ever seen in Tad Ewell? What a weasel.

Mike straightened, flipping his notepad shut. “Good. Now get out of here.” He slapped one hand against the door frame. “But take it slow and legal.”

He watched as Zoe did a careful one-eighty and returned from whence she’d come. Claire and Justin stood rooted like statues on the sidewalk. Mike gave a slight nod to someone behind them. Swiveling, Claire noticed Mrs. Lambert rocking her baby on her own front porch.

Inclining her head at Mike, Mrs. Lambert scooped up her baby and disappeared into her house.

“She kept my card when the uniforms and I interviewed her after your dad’s death.” Mike shifted toward his truck. “I’ll meet you in your driveway.” He gripped the door handle. “And both you kids have some explaining to do.”