Chapter 15

“Sarah?”

Sarah looked up when her mother came into the kitchen. “You’re early for dinner, Mama.” She wiped her hands and crossed the room for a hug. “Did you have a good nap?”

“Like a log.” Hilda settled herself at the table. “It seems like sleep is the only thing I can do right these days.” Her voice was bitter.

Sarah put down the knife she’d been using to slice carrots and sat. “Hey. What’s this about?”

“That business with the refrigerator this afternoon. I was so sure I’d ordered a crib.”

“It’s not important, Mama. Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t be silly, Sara. Of course I’m going to worry about losing my mind.”

This was the matter-of-fact, sensible parent Sarah had always depended on and loved, but she had no idea how to respond to such a statement. “You’re just a little forgetful at times. We all are.”

“No specious reassurances, please. I know what I did today. Tomorrow I might not remember, but right now I do. I think that you need to be sure that I’m not left alone to do things like that anymore, dear.”

How many times could a heart break? Sarah looked at her mother’s dear face, worn and lined with worry now. “Oh, Mama,” she said.

“You know I’m right.”

Sarah laced her fingers together and stared at them. “I love you, Mama.”

“I know, dear. And you’re very good to me. That makes me feel cherished, and it makes being a burden on you that much worse.”

“You are not a burden. Don’t talk like that. You could never be a burden.”

Her mother smiled, that mother-knows-best-now-don’t-argue smile that Sarah remembered from childhood, and struggled to her feet. “You’re a good girl.”

After her mother left the kitchen, Sarah went back to slicing carrots. After a few minutes she gave up pretending she wasn’t crying and wiped her eyes.

Christine came into the kitchen, tying an apron around her bulging middle. “What’s wrong, Sarah?”

“Oh, just the old-age thing,” Sarah said. “Of all times for her memory to be perfect, my mother remembers about this afternoon, and she’s worried sick about being senile.”

“Hard. Here, give me that knife before you slice a finger in with the vegetables.” Christine bumped Sarah aside with her hip and took over the slicing and chopping. “Go do something harmless.”

Miranda came into the kitchen. “Is there any sherry, Sarah? This seems like a good evening for some.”

Sarah got the bottle down and set in on a tray. “The glasses are in—”

“Yes, I know. In the dining room.”

“Is Mama with you?”

“Yes. We’re going to sit in the conservatory until dinner is ready.” Miranda swept out of the room.

Christine giggled. “Queen Miranda strikes again.”

Sarah laughed.

Christine clapped a hand over her mouth. “She’s really very sweet, you know. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“Relax. I know. She’s really mellowed since she moved in here. But we can’t expect the tiger to change her spots completely.”

“That’s leopard, I think.” Her gaze met Sarah’s and a grin dimpled her cheek.

Sarah laughed.

Rob tapped at the door and came in. “Sounds happy in here.”

“Dinner’s about ready. I’m going to mash the potatoes. Rob, the moms are in the conservatory.”

“I’ll do the water glasses,” Christine said, and followed Rob out.

Miranda sailed into the kitchen. “Sarah,” she said, and paused, making the moment dramatic.

“Yes, Miranda?” Sarah pounded at the potatoes with the masher.

“Violet and I have been talking with your mother,” Miranda said. “And we have decided.”

Oh, God. Now what? She hunched her shoulders, waiting. “Yes?”

“Your mother should not be left alone for long periods of time,” Miranda announced. “I hope you do not disagree from any feelings of false pride.”

“No.”

“Good. We thought it best to inform you of our plans.”

Was she supposed to be upset? What she was, was thankful she had people to help. Assuming of course that their plans weren’t Violet-inspired weirdness. “And your plans would be?”

“For one of us to be around so that your mother isn’t left alone too much. Since there are five of us, we should be able to manage. And since we all live here, it should be unobtrusive enough that your mother won’t feel she’s being watched. She knows what we’ll be doing, of course, but don’t want her to feel like a prisoner.”

Who would have believed that Miranda could be so sensitive? “That’s perfect, Miranda. I was going to ask you if you could help me do just that. Except that Rob doesn’t live here.”

“He’s here every night, until goodness knows how late. That’s good enough. Although, if he were to move in...”

Sarah almost dropped the potatoes. “Uh,” she stammered.

“I’m glad you agree,” Miranda said. “It’s all settled then.” She swept out of the kitchen without waiting for an answer.

If Rob were to move in... If Rob...

Christine hustled back into the kitchen. “Sarah! You’ve pounded those potatoes half to death. Let’s get dinner served. I told Rob to get everyone into the dining room.”

Sarah handed her the mistreated potatoes and took the chicken from the oven. She and Christine and the food made it to the table just as Rob finished seating Miranda.

Chicken, potatoes, gravy, green beans, cole slaw. Sarah had remembered everything, everyone was present, no problems. They were getting good at this family meal thing. It felt like they really were a family.

If only it could last.

****

“Are you going to the grocery now?” Christine asked Sarah two weeks later.

“On my way. Where’s the list?”

“Refrigerator door.”

“Not here.”

“Maybe your mother doesn’t have it ready yet,” Christine said. “She was working on it in your office.” She started to rise.

“Don’t get up. I’ll get it.” Sarah set her purse on the table and went down the hall. Her mother wasn’t in the office, but the list lay on the desk. She picked it up and tried to read it as she walked back to the kitchen. The shaky writing was almost impossible to decipher and words ran off the margins.

“Milk,” she said to Christine. “Ong mmm? And this looks like roller skates. Oh, dear. Can you translate any of this?” She thumped into a chair next to Christine and put the list on the table. They bent over it and managed to come up with a reconstructed list.

“I don’t think your mother can do the lists anymore,” Christine said tentatively. “Do you think she’ll mind if I do it instead?”

“She needs to feel useful, Christine. She minds terribly not being able to do things. Let’s find a way to keep a duplicate without her knowing.” Sarah went out to the car, her heart heavier than usual because she wasn’t all that sure she was right. Her mother’s increasing vagueness might mean that she wouldn’t even care.

****

When she returned an hour later, the driveway was blocked by a large black car that shouted power and money. She parked in the street and stormed up the driveway, ready to read the riot act to whoever had been so thoughtless. It would take four or five trips to get all the grocery bags in the house.

By the time she got to the back door, she could hear shouting from the kitchen. Casey hurled herself at the gate of the dog run, barking hysterically. Sarah bolted up the steps and into the kitchen.

At first glance, the room was overflowing with people. She set the two bags she’d carried in on a counter. At second glance, the crowd was only five. Her mother sat at the table with Violet, Christine cowered by the refrigerator, and Miranda stood in the middle of the room bristling with fury and glaring at an equally angry man who leaned against the stove.

Her mother sat silent, looking from combatant to combatant and frowning. Tear tracks marked Christine’s face, but she looked too shocked and afraid to speak or even cry. Everyone else was yelling.

Sarah slid into the chair next to her mother and put an arm around her, silently reassuring her. “Quiet, everyone,” she shouted, and knew that no one even heard her. She picked up the small kitchen timer that she’d selected for its powerful buzzer and set it to go off more or less instantly.

By the time the timer shut off, the room was quiet. “That’s better,” Sarah said. “Are you all right, Mama?”

Her mother nodded.

“Well then. Miranda, what’s happening here?”

“This person,” Miranda said with masterful disdain, “is trying to kidnap Christine.”

“That’s a lie, you interfering old bitch,” the man yelled at full volume. “I’m trying to take my daughter home where she belongs. And there’s no way a pack of stupid old women is going to stop me.”

Sarah turned in her chair, reached up to the wall phone, and dialed a familiar number. “Uncle George? Could you come over right away, please? We have an Alas Babylon,” she said, using the old family code for emergency situations. “No, not medical. Thanks.” If she knew George, he’d hit the siren and be here in about three minutes.

“Uncle George,” sneered Christine’s father. “Some old duffer isn’t going to help you. My daughter is coming home with me.”

Christine made a faint whimpering sound.

“My guess is that Christine doesn’t want to go anywhere with you, and you are not taking her without her consent,” Sarah told him. “You’re her father?” she asked, playing for time.

“Of course I’m her father, and if she isn’t out in my car with all her bags packed in fifteen minutes. I’m calling the police.”

“Interesting bluff,” Sarah said. She turned to Christine. “Do you want to go with him?”

Christine clutched at the refrigerator as if she could take root there. She shook her head.

“Well then, Mr. Christine’s father,” Sarah said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt, “I think you’re out of luck. You might as well move your car. I have groceries in my car and I can’t get them unloaded with yours in the way.”

“I’m not moving an inch until I have my girl back. And I meant it about the police.”

Sarah heard sirens coming down the street and checked her watch. Two and a half minutes. She raised an eyebrow. Excellent. Heavy footsteps pounded onto the front porch and someone banged on the door. “Well, here you go. Instant cops,” she told him and smiled at his sudden paleness. “Come on in,” she yelled. “We’re in the kitchen.”

Brent ran past the kitchen window and his footsteps thudded across the back porch. He skidded to a halt just inside the door, eyes narrowed, gun drawn, looking much more dangerous and official than usual. “Aunt Violet?” he said, but his gaze was fixed on Christine’s father.

George came heavily down the hall. “Put the gun away, Brent,” he said. He looked at Christine’s father. “I think. Who’s this, Sarah, and what the hell is going on here?”

“Donald Pelletier, officer.” Christine’s father stepped forward and held out a hand to George. “Thank goodness you’re here.”

George ignored the hand.

Hilda plucked at Sarah’s sleeve. “You’re not going to let him take Christine, are you?”

“Of course not.”

“Well, then, everything is all right. That awful man is so loud that I can understand every word he says. And he’s simply not a very nice person.”

“No, he’s not. As long as you’re all right, I’ll just go see if I can calm Christine down, Mama.”

“That’s nice. She really shouldn’t be upset right now, should she?”

“No.” Sarah went to Christine and put an arm around her. “Why don’t you sit down, honey? You’re shaking like a nine point oh earthquake. Come on.” She urged Christine into the chair farthest from her father.

“Perhaps you can restrain these ladies while I help my daughter pack,” Pelletier said.

George grunted. “That what you want, young lady?”

Christine shook her head.

“Guess you’re out of luck, then. You might just want to get in that fancy car of yours and leave these people alone.”

“But she’s my daughter. She has to come with me.” Pelletier sounded petulant.

Out of the corner of her eye, Sarah saw Brent shift his weight forward slightly.

“How old are you, Christine?” George asked.

“You know she’s eighteen, Uncle George,” Sarah said.

“Hush, Sarah. I need to hear it from her.”

“Eighteen,” Christine said. “I’m eighteen, and I don’t want anything to do with him ever again.”

“Christine.” Pelletier’s voice was pleading. “I’m your daddy. You know how much I love you.”

Christine shuddered and turned her face away from him.

Brent’s radio cackled and he murmured a response into the microphone on his shoulder. “Zidell’s here,” he said to George.

“He might as well come on in,” George said, and turned back to Pelletier. “Looks to me like your daughter’s an adult and she doesn’t want to go with you.” George rocked back on his heels and smiled, a shark-like smile with not a single trace of humor. “Looks to me like you might want to be leaving town right soon.”

“But she’s not eighteen. She’s—she’s seventeen. I have a right to take her home. A right and a duty. She’ll need help once she has that baby.” Pelletier folded his arms and looked at George, a smug look of triumph on his face.

Christine half rose. “You’re not getting near my baby,” she shouted. “Never!”

George scowled at her and she sank back into her chair. “Seventeen. Hmph. What do you say to that, Christine?”

Christine gripped the edge of the table. “He’s lying, Chief Arliss. I’m eighteen, really I am. You can see my driver’s license.”

The back door banged open and Rob catapulted into the kitchen with Zidell hard on his heels. “What’s wrong?” Rob demanded, skidding to a stop when he saw George and Brent. “Sarah? Mum?”

“I’m fine, dear,” Violet said. “As is everyone else. George has the situation well in hand. Sit down and be quiet. I’ll explain later.”

Rob leaned against the door frame, looking ready for action. His gaze met Sarah’s and he raised an eyebrow.

She nodded, warmed by his concern.

“If we could get back to the subject at hand,” Pelletier said. “Chief, surely you of all people know how easily these youngsters can get forged identification. You’re not going to be taken in by that false fear and innocence, I hope.”

“Don’t reckon I am,” George said.

Christine hauled herself out of the chair. “No,” she cried. “I won’t go with him.” She broke for the back door but found it blocked by Hank Zidell. He wrapped his arms around her and she burst into tears. “I won’t! You can’t make me!” she shrieked, and clawed at him.

Sarah flew to her side. “Christine. Stop. Stop that right this minute. Think about your baby. No one is taking you anywhere.” She crossed her fingers and sent a silent question to George.

Christine cowered in Hank’s arms.

“I’ll keep you safe,” Hank assured her.

“Now, Chrissy,” Pelletier said and started toward her.

George reached out a casual arm and bounced him back against the stove. “You just stay put right there.” He turned to Christine. “And you calm down, young lady. We’re going to do right by you here, you know that. If you’re really eighteen, you don’t have to go anywhere with anyone, and if this bozo tries any funny stuff, he’s going in the lock-up. If you’re seventeen like he says, I’m going to find out why you’re so set on staying away from him, and maybe he’s going in the lock-up anyway. Got that?”

Christine looked up at him, her face tear stained and hopeful. “Yes, sir.”

“And just how do you expect to prove her age?” Pelletier asked with a sneer in his voice. “I’m her father. I certainly know how old she is. And you, young man, take your hands off my daughter.”

Hank didn’t move, except to shift Christine slightly to the side, freeing his gun hand.

George frowned at him and shook his head. “No violence.”

“You’re her stepfather, for starters. And you’re known to be something of a smooth talker,” Miranda said. “I wouldn’t believe you if you said the sky was blue. Not without proof.”

Pelletier sagged back against the stove.

“I reckon I can just do a little checking and maybe we can settle this fight now. Being as how we’re in the middle of business hours here, it shouldn’t take too long,” George said.

“Where were you born, Christine?”

“Wait. You can’t do that,” Pelletier sputtered.

George picked up the phone.

Pelletier collapsed like a punctured balloon. “All right, all right. She’s eighteen. But she needs special care. She’s not normal. “

“I do believe you’ll be wanting to leave town, Pelletier. Unless you want to give me some cause to arrest him, Christine?”

She shook her head.

“Like I said, you’ll be leaving. We don’t tolerate child molesters in this town.”

“You told!” Christine was on her feet, glaring at Miranda.

“She didn’t tell.” George sighed. “It sticks out a mile,” he said, his voice heavy and somber. “You want to prefer charges?”

“No. I just want him to leave me alone. Forever.”

“Reckon that sums it up. You’re not wanted in Crowley Falls, Pelletier. Not by the law, unfortunately, and not by anyone else. Don’t come back. There’ll be a restraining order on you as soon as I call the judge.” George fixed him with a steely glare. “We don’t want your kind around here.”

Sarah had never seen him look so intimidating.

“Wait,” Christine said.

Everyone turned to look at her.

“Ask him how he found me, Chief Arliss.”

George shifted his stare to Pelletier. “Well?”

Pelletier smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

George and Brent each took a step forward. “Yeah. That’s why I asked,” George said. He looked suddenly larger and meaner.

Pelletier folded. “Some creepy kid named Charley called me. He said she called the cops on him for no reason.”

“Charley. Of course,” Christine said. “Boy, do I have luck with men.”

“Jail’s too good for that kid,” Rob muttered.

“I reckon we can get Judge Hazelton to sign an extra restraining order for you, honey,” George said. “If either one of them comes back here, my men’ll be on him like white on rice. That make you feel better?

Christine nodded. “Oh, yes. Thank you.” Her tears had disappeared magically.

“Brent, why don’t you and Zidell show Mr. Pelletier here to his car? And maybe you’ll just want to stay with him and make sure he gets outside the town limits while you’re at it.”

“My pleasure, Chief.” Brent took Pelletier’s arm in a not-too-gentle grip and ushered him out.

Hank squeezed Christine’s shoulder. “Okay?” When she nodded, he followed Brent.

Sarah swallowed a smile. Mr. Pelletier wasn’t going to enjoy his trip out of town.

“Guess that takes care of things.” George looked around the kitchen. “Good riddance, hey?” He went to Hilda’s side. “You okay, Hilda? These girls treating you right?”

“Yes, thank you, George. And I’m glad that man is gone. He is not a nice person.”

“No argument there. Well, I got to get back to the office. See you later.”

Sarah showed him out and came back to the kitchen. “Miranda? How did you know that stuff about Christine’s dad?”

“Hilda and Violet and I decided we should investigate him. I must say I’m glad we did.”

“But how did you do that?” Sarah asked.

“A private detective I have used sometimes in the past, Sarah,” Miranda said, her expression shuttered.

“Oh, yes, Sarah,” her mother said. “And it was such fun. My first conference call.”

“Yes, indeed,” Violet added. “Mine too, and such an interesting man to talk to.”

“Wow.” Sarah sagged back in her chair. “I’m impressed.”

“You okay, Sarah?” Rob asked.

“I think we’re all just fine. Thanks to Miranda and Violet and my mother. You three really saved the day, you know.”

Miranda smiled regally.

Violet smirked.

Hilda shook her head and plucked at one hearing aid.

“Sarah? I think I need new batteries in these stupid things.”

Sarah went around the table and bent over her. “You have them in backwards again, Mama.” She turned the tiny aid over and slipped it in correctly.

Situation back to normal. “I think we need tea,” Sarah said. She certainly did. The familiar ritual comforted her, and by the time the water boiled, her hands had stopped shaking.

“To our heroines,” Rob said, lifting his cup to Miranda, Hilda, and his mother. “Miranda, congratulations on the background check.”

“It seemed like the least I could do for Christine,” Miranda said with an uncharacteristic expression of modesty.

“How did you know? How did George know—?” Sarah glanced at Christine and bit off the rest of the sentence.

“That my step-father abused me? I told Miranda. And I guess George is used to that old story.” Christine laced her fingers together and stared at them.

“Christine and I have spent quite a bit of time talking lately,” Miranda said. “I recognized the symptoms and asked her. “

“You recognized—Miranda?” Sarah said incredulously.

“Yes, Sarah. Me. But I never told anyone. I never had any help.”

“Oh,” Violet whimpered, one hand over her mouth. “The judge?”

“The judge.” Miranda nodded at Violet, her face stern. “The high-and-mighty, straight-laced, puritanical judge.”

Hilda tilted her head, frowning slightly.

“So you see, I had bad luck with men also,” Miranda said to Christine.

“Your husband was a stinker, too?” Christine asked.

“Yes. He ran away with his secretary, most of the bank’s money, and a good deal of mine. Not a good choice. I’m afraid. My only consolation is that I didn’t choose him. He was my father’s selection. I’ve always wondered,” Miranda said with a faraway look, “if he chose Griscom because he knew he would be...unsatisfactory.”

Rob squirmed in his chair.

“Too much information?” Sarah murmured with a grin.

He nodded and grinned at her.

Warmth washed through her. Warmth and a feeling of safety.

“We are all lucky,” Sarah’s mother said. “We have each other now.”

Yes. But for how much longer, Sarah wondered, looking at the age that lay on her mother like an afghan.

How much longer?