29

In the office, late afternoon shadows reached like sinewy fingers across Alison’s desk piled high with application forms and papers. Her shoulders slumped.

Retrieving her purse from the bottom desk drawer, she checked her messages. There were two from Mike and one from home. She’d deal with him later. She replayed the message from home.

Claire’s voice echoed in the office, enhanced by the twelve-foot vaulted ceiling. “Mom, Mike wants to talk to you. Now. He wants to know why you’re not returning his calls.”

She frowned. Who was the mother here? Obviously, Mike was giving Claire her marching orders. What was he doing at her house?

“He says you better call him im-me-di-ate-ly.” Claire stretched out the syllables.

Who did he think he was?

Claire’s voice choked. “Something happened after school today.”

She straightened. Claire didn’t cry easily and never much at all until her dad died.

Her daughter’s voice quavered on the message. “Can you come home now? Please?”

She scrambled to her feet, knocking her shin against the open desk drawer. Grabbing her keys and purse, she shut down her computer.

What on earth had happened? And why was Mike involved?

The crank caller rose to her mind. And, Jasper’s drawings.

“Oh, dear God,” she whispered. In her haste, she dislodged a few papers from Ivy’s stack. She stopped, watching them flutter to the floor. Ivy had wanted this done today.

A not-so-nice phrase flitted through her mind about what Ivy could do with her paperwork. Irrational visions streaked through her mind as well of Justin and Claire, hurt and in trouble. She had to get to them.

Now.

On the way to the parking lot, she whirled past Ginny and a group of tourists. Spinning gravel, she put the car into drive and flew out of Weathersby as if the demons of hell nipped at her heels. She slammed on the brakes, almost hitting a car as Winnie turned into Weathersby. Winnie’s mouth hung in an open O.

Alison’s hands shook on the steering wheel.

Too close.

“Oh, God,” she prayed. “Help me get home in one piece.” Taking several deep breaths, she managed a weak wave of apology to Winnie and then, trying to maintain a more sedate and legal pace, hurried home as fast as she could.

Pulling past Mike’s truck parked in her driveway, she raised the garage door and screeched to a halt mere inches from the wall of the house. Leaving the car door open and the keys in the ignition, she dashed into the kitchen.

“My, my, Miz Monaghan.” Mike leaned against the granite counter, watching Claire brown hamburger in the skillet.

Did the man ever stand up straight?

“What’s happened?” She touched Claire’s head. “Are you okay? Where’s Justin?”

Claire exchanged a guilty look with Mike. “We’re okay. Justin’s hitting balls in the backyard.”

She grabbed a handful of Claire’s hair.

Claire’s eyes widened. “Ow, Mom. Let go.”

She tugged harder. “Do you mean to tell me, young lady, you scared the life out of me and made me leave a pile of work at the office for nothing?”

“Mom! Please. Mike’s going to think you’re violent or something.”

She glared over Claire’s head at him. “I feel violent.”

Mike backed away from the counter, both hands up in surrender. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. I figured as their mother you needed to know what was going on.”

She released Claire’s chunk of red hair. Claire scooted out of arm’s reach.

“What exactly has been happening, Claire Irene Monaghan?”

Claire flicked her gaze to Mike, a plea for help in her eyes. He shrugged and strolled off toward the family room.

“I’ll get Justin,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ve done my duty.”

Five minutes later, two subdued children in fits and starts explained what had been going on after school this week. Mike leaned against the chair railing.

Anger and fear warred for supremacy within her. She was a terrible mother. She should’ve known that after the bad publicity, this week would be difficult. She should’ve asked more questions, only she’d been caught up in her own little detective drama.

Who did she think she was, Miss Marple?

She was their mother, first and foremost. Nothing else in life could or should ever take priority over that.

Alison gripped her stomach with both hands. “I should’ve been there for you guys. I’ve let you down.”

“It’s not your fault, Mom.” Claire shot an angry look at Mike. “This is why we wanted to handle it ourselves. Mom doesn’t need this on top of everything else.”

Justin’s eyes dropped to his sneakers. “I should’ve taken better care of Claire.”

Mike laid a hand on Justin’s shoulder. “Not your job, bud. This was way out of your league. I just wish I’d found out sooner.”

Falling to her knees in front of them, Alison took each of their hands in her own.

This was her fault.

And Frank’s . . .

The anger at Frank, as lava hot as the day she’d found that cursed photograph, kept her tears at bay. Just when she thought she’d forgiven him, something happened to show her how far she still had to go. She could almost forgive him for her own hurts, but her children’s?

“Not there yet, God,” she whispered.

Justin touched her hair. “What’d you say, Mom?”

Alison changed the topic. “Remind me, kids, to take Mrs. Lambert some of my roses. We owe you a great deal, Mike. Who knows how far this could’ve escalated by the end of the week?”

Claire shrugged off her mother’s arm. “Are we done here? I’ve got to put dinner on the table.” But she stumbled over Justin’s feet, dumping her schoolbag. All of them bent to retrieve the contents.

A familiar paper covered in bright lurid crayon colors caught Alison’s eye. She gasped and straightened.

Claire snatched at the drawing but wasn’t quick enough.

Feeling sucker punched, Alison wasn't sure she could continue to breathe with her stomach hurting so badly. “Where did this come from?”

Claire tried again to grab it from her, but Alison had the height advantage. She passed it over Claire’s outstretched hands to Mike. “Where did you get this?”

“I found it in my locker that first day after break.” Claire lowered her eyes to the floor, studying the carpet. “I stuffed it in the bottom of my bag and forgot it was there. Stupid Zoe and Heather up to their tricks.”

Mike looked at Alison, his eyebrow cocked like a question mark.

“It wasn’t them.” She closed her eyes. “Not Zoe and Heather.” She licked her dry lips and coughed to clear the bile from her throat.

First, Frank. Please, God. Not her children, too.

She told Mike about the drawings she’d found that afternoon in the toolshed and about her scary encounter with Jasper. “How could he get into the school and do this? How did he know about my children? Why is he doing this to us?”

“Whoa.” Mike held up a hand. “I realize you’re freaked. Let’s not panic and jump to any conclusions.”

Her nostrils flared. “Not panic? He’s threatened my children.”

Claire sat on the sofa, her face white. Justin collapsed beside her. They huddled tense and frightened shoulder to shoulder.

Mike whipped out his cell phone. “I’ll deal with that psycho son of—sorry for the language, kids.” He squeezed Alison’s arm. “I promise you I’ll make this okay. I’ll be right back.” Hitting speed dial, he stepped into the kitchen out of their earshot.

God protect us. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the nausea to subside.

A few minutes later, Mike returned to find her on the sofa sitting between the children, with an arm around each. Glints of fire sparked in his eyes. Anger darkened his features, and for the first time, she felt a little sympathy for Jasper Delaine.

A little, but not much.

“Patrol car will be stationed on the street till we locate and detain our suspect for questioning. Officers are being dispatched as we speak to search that shack at Weathersby.”

He waved the drawing in the air. “This gives us all the probable cause we need. An officer will follow you kids home from school every afternoon.” At Claire’s quick motion of protest, he added, “Discreetly, Claire, I promise. I remember what it’s like to be in high school, believe it or not.”

Justin gave a long sigh. “I guess this nixes my plan to go to youth group with Aunt Val tonight.”

Alison put tonight’s board meeting out of her mind.

Mike shifted his weight. “I’m not about to let that slimebag ruin your lives. If you want to go, I’ll escort you myself.”

Justin perched on the edge of the sofa. “For real?”

“Might be interesting. Haven’t been to one of those since my granny stopped being able to drag me there.” Mike searched Alison’s face. “If it’s okay with your mom. A patrolman will be right outside the house all night for you and Claire.”

“Please, Mom? Can I go?” His eyes pleaded for her approval.

This group had become important to Justin. They were his support network, helping him work through the maze of his father’s betrayal and death. Was this the hand of God working in her son’s life as she’d prayed?

She sighed. “All right, since Mike will be with you. But come straight home.”

Justin nodded his head in quick agreement. With a quirky, lopsided smile, Mike gave her a smart salute. She grimaced, feeling like both of their mothers.

“Could I come, too?” Claire leaned forward, her hands gripping her knees. “I need to thank Sandy and the other girls for their support at school this week.” She darted a look at her brother’s grinning countenance. “As Mike said, it could be fun.” She pursed her lips. “Although I doubt it.”

Alison resisted the urge to laugh. Good luck, Lord, with that one.

Claire would be Claire come hell or high water, as Alison’s daddy used to say. He’d have gotten a kick out of the granddaughter he never met.

All she usually got was a headache.

She surrendered to the inevitable. “Homework?”

Justin patted her arm. “Mike stood over me while we were waiting for you to come home and helped me finish my essay in English.”

Mike winked at Justin.

She raised her eyebrows, trying to suppress a grin. “And what, pray tell, was the topic?”

Mike turned all sheepish and coughed. “How to Win Friends and Influence People.”

She gave him a sideways glance. “And what did you suggest to my son, Detective Barefoot?”

Ducking his head, Mike followed Claire into the kitchen. “What time did you say dinner was going to be ready?”

Justin laughed. “Talk softly, but carry a big stick.”