by Mary Stone
Oh, well. Latham’s funeral. Noah, without hesitation, would help her bury him. Winter would too.
Speaking of Winter, he swung his legs off his desk and tiptoed back to their bedroom. Cracking open the door, he was pleased to see that Winter was still asleep.
She whimpered, her eyes closing tighter.
A damn nightmare.
She’d been having more of those lately. He sat on the side of the bed, resting a hand on her shoulder to reassure her. She moved closer to him in her sleep, and he stroked her hair.
I’m still here.
And hopefully, Autumn would be here soon.
After Winter settled, Noah strode back to the living room to pace. He was anxious.
He might not have the intuitive powers that both Winter and Autumn did, but he could smell trouble from a mile away. Two thousand miles, give or take, in this case.
There was a serial killer on the loose in Oregon, and one of his best friends was trying to take him down. With a creepy boss on her heels.
Yeah, he was anxious.
And he had a bad, bad feeling about it all.
16
Helen was sliding the last tray of chocolate chip cookies out of the oven just as the knock came at the door. She straightened, put the cookies on top of the stove, closed the door, and turned the dial to “off” with a snap.
“Just a moment,” she called, turning on the coffeepot. She reached up to the ceiling to stretch and her back crackled. Something along her spine had been pinching something fierce, and she sighed as the pressure released. “I’m too tired for this,” she complained to herself.
She still had so much to do before bedtime. And right now, she was down one set of hands. But it couldn’t be helped.
Lessons must be learned.
But she’d agreed to meet with them when Sheriff Morton had called earlier that day. A promise was a promise. And it never hurt anyone to be helpful and bake a tray of cookies to sweeten cross tempers. A lot of the evils of the world could be solved by stopping for a cup of tea and something sweet to eat.
Young people tended to like their coffee, though, so coffee it was. Coffee was too stimulating for someone of Helen’s gentle disposition, but she supposed she would have to drink at least a small cup to be sociable.
She brushed the wrinkles out of the front of her housedress, ran her fingers through her gray curls, and went to the door. “Hello! You must be here from the sheriff’s office. Carla said you would be coming.”
The two people on her doorstep were dressed in professional clothing, the man wearing a suit that had been tailored for a slightly slimmer man, and the young woman wearing an olive green blazer and a dark gray blouse underneath, with a gold leaves on a long chain that probably cost more than Helen spent on chocolate chips in a year.
The young woman smiled. “Hello, Ms. Mathers. I’m Autumn Trent with Shadley and Latham. This is Dr. Adam Latham and we’re here to—”
“You’re a doctor?” Helen said, beaming at the man. “Just my luck. You see, I have this rash…” She began to unbutton the top of her dress. “It is just so bothersome that—”
He held up both hands, like he was trying to stop an oncoming train. “I’m not that kind of doctor.”
Helen couldn’t tell if the man was on the edge of passing out or having a coronary at the insult. Either would work for her.
Beside him, Miss Trent had her lips pressed together tightly, her shoulders hitching slightly as she tried to control her laughter. That nearly made Helen smile, but she was a pro at maintaining her composure. She hadn’t gotten as far in life as she currently was by not having control of her emotions or facial muscles.
Her fingers paused on the third button, and she forced a look of disappointment onto her face. Men were so typical.
“Oh…” she started buttoning back up, “then what kind of doctor are you?”
“A psychologist.”
Helen feigned disappointment. “Oh, well, that’s…nice.”
She was rewarded when his jaw muscles popped out.
The young woman, Autumn Trent—Helen mentally repeated the name several times so she would remember it—continued to stare at her, and the hair prickled at the nape of Helen’s neck. The woman was…peculiar. Helen nearly fell backward when the young woman extended her hand.
Helen shook her head, ignoring the gesture. She didn’t want to touch it, and she didn’t really know why. “A real shame. Are you lawyers?”
The hand stayed firmly between them. “We’re from a consultancy firm. We’re helping Sheriff Morton assess and locate a suspect of a crime.”
She was still holding out her hand.
Helen forced a small laugh as she wiped her hands on her apron. “I’m sorry, dear. You don’t want to shake my hand just yet. I’ve been baking, and I’m an absolute mess.”
It wasn’t true. Helen’s hands were as clean as her conscience.
But she had suddenly sensed, very strongly, that she shouldn’t shake hands with the woman. The woman seemed off somehow. It made Helen uneasy, almost afraid.
Which was silly, she told herself as she led them into the sunny kitchen. She gestured toward the big table in the dining area where she held all her meetings with her foster parents and where she fed her children. It was a big, sturdy table that could seat at least six, and it was covered by a delicate lace tablecloth, a family heirloom, under a clear protector. That table had seen a lot of love, a lot of despair, and a lot of anger.
Only time could tell what it would see this day. Helen reminded herself to keep her temper, no matter how badly it was tested. She saw her two guests seated and offered them some coffee, which they both accepted.
Making a show of washing her hands thoroughly, she fixed a tray filled with a little porcelain cow pitcher full of cream, a dish of sugar cubes, and a plate of cookies, and sat down opposite them with a cup of her own. “Help yourselves, and soon.” She smiled, using the one she knew was most motherly. “Once the children get to the cookies, there won’t be anything but crumbs.”
Dr. Latham smiled and patted his stomach through his suit jacket. “Thank you, but I’m on a diet.”
“That’s nice,” Helen said, all sweetness and light. “Your suit will fit better if you drop ten or twenty pounds.”
Miss Trent made a choking sound, then coughed into a paper napkin she snatched from the holder on the side of the table. “I’ll have one, thank you.” She selected one of the larger ones, and for a moment, Helen thought she was about to dunk the cookie into the coffee—a practice she could never abide. Instead, she raised it to her lips and took a nibble. “Delicious.”
The red-faced doctor leaned forward across the table. He was clearly ready to get down to business. “About Gina Webster? We’d like to ask some questions.”
He could ask, but Helen had no intention of answering anything truly personal in nature about that silly girl. She would say what she had to say, but she didn’t trust these people. Her gaze flicked to the Trent woman again. She was watching her closely. Too closely. A small shiver raced up her spine.
Helen wrapped her cold hands around her warm mug. “I’m not sure how I can help you. She was a good girl when she was here. They say to look for the helpers. She was one of the helpers, whether you wanted her help or not.” Helen chuckled to herself. “She thrived here. The poor girl was desperate for attention. I was hopeful for her future. It seemed as though she had a nice one waiting for her when she left here. I hope you find her.”
Dr. Latham’s expression didn’t waver. Some men were like that. One-track minded. He wanted answers and wanted them now. Men didn’t understand that some situations called for more tact. “If we can find her. Ms. Mathers—”
“Missus.” Helen rubbed at a spot on the tablecloth, cleaning away an almost-invisible smudge obscuring the heirloom lace. “I never could get used to the other. It makes me feel as though I should be wearing a suit.”
While she spoke, she watched Miss Trent’s
eyes, which roved around the kitchen like a small, curious child with sticky hands.
“Mrs. Mathers,” Dr. Latham corrected himself, his tone patronizing. He sounded as though her having been married and all that implied didn’t matter to him. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but another couple has been killed. Gina could be in danger.”
“Oh, no!” Helen exclaimed, adding a generous dollop of cream and two lumps of sugar to her coffee. “That is terrible. Who was it?”
“I’m not at liberty to say as it is an ongoing investigation. I’m sure you understand.”
Having studied the entire kitchen as though memorizing the contents, Miss Trent finally turned her attention to Helen, sizing up her features, her clothes, and her hair. Helen returned the favor, noticing the scar at the young woman’s temple, and the way she seemed to be constantly alert. Every movement the man beside her made, Miss Trent subtly adjusted her body language to. She seemed to be unable to get comfortable around him.
Helen wondered if the girl had grown up in a bad home. She certainly seemed like it. Old scars, sharpened alertness, and half-flinching from being too near another person. She might seem charming and professional, but she must be a real prickly-pear cactus to have to work with.
And no wedding ring.
Give her a husband and a couple of children, though, and she would settle down all right. Helen had seen her type before. High-strung women needed a strong hand. She would have been one of those girls who was quiet until you got her to open up, and then you wouldn’t hardly be able to keep her quiet.
Helen smiled at her.
Miss Trent smiled back. “We heard from Nancy Gaines at the community center that you volunteer there.”
“Not that much. I bring in cookies for the kids every week or so. I’ll talk to the parents, too, when Nancy or one of the others asks me to.”
“You’re a real resource in the community, from what I hear.”
“Thank you, dear.” Helen sipped her coffee. Even though she tried to keep a good brand of coffee on hand for the parents who came to see her, she had never quite got used to the taste. No amount of cream or sugar could disguise the bitterness for her. She shook her head. “I had so hoped that Gina would be in good hands once she was back in her parents’ care.”
Miss Trent nibbled at her cookie again, as if showing Helen that she was a good little girl who would not allow a single crumb to fall. “What makes you think she wasn’t?”
Helen sighed. “We all knew about Marcus and Olivia splitting up. They had always fought like cats and dogs. It was a shame, a real shame, after all the work Marcus put into his marriage. A broken home is always a bad situation for a child. And, before you tell me that Gina Webster is a grown woman, let me assure you that it’s almost as easy to break a girl at that age as it is at the age of fifteen. Just as they’re starting to spread their wings, they find out that the home they thought they had never existed. It can wreck a young person’s happiness forever.”
Miss Trent placed one hand on the table. Had she moved it a couple inches closer to her? “I understand. A loving foster home can make all the difference.”
Helen picked up her coffee cup in one hand and put the other in her lap. “Are you speaking from experience?”
Miss Trent nodded but didn’t speak further on the matter. Instead, she smiled again, as though she were fully aware of how uncomfortable Helen was with her presence. There was just something about this young woman that was disturbing. “I’m sure that no one could possibly doubt that you’re making a positive difference in your foster children’s lives.”
Helen’s skin prickled. What was the girl trying to imply? Nothing good, Helen was sure. “Of course. There’s no doubt at all.”
Feet pounded above them, heading for the stairs. The kids must have finished cleaning their rooms. They appeared like magic at the kitchen door, following their noses.
Helen turned toward them. “I have cookies for you after my guests leave, and if you have washed your hands.”
Benji, her sweet little blond boy of twelve, bounced on his toes. “I washed mine!”
Nicholas, his extra year of age, dark hair, and serious nature making him look much older than Benji, was watching the two people at the table, studying them. He would probably have a thousand questions about them after they left. Lisa, the oldest of the three, hair pulled back in a bobbing ponytail, shirt half-tucked in, shoes untied—on purpose—and carrying all the attitude of her sixteen years, stayed back against the kitchen wall, smiling widely at Dr. Latham.
Helen nodded toward her guests. “Say hello, children.”
Benji waved at the two adults. “Hello, I’m Benjamin Young, but everybody calls me Benji!” Miss Trent smiled broadly at him. Yes, she would do well with a couple of little ones under her care. It would cure what ailed her.
Adam Latham’s eyes were fixed on Lisa, and Helen couldn’t help but notice that the girl backed away from Nicholas so Mr. Latham could see her better. To Helen’s astonishment, Lisa winked at the much older man, then played with a lock of hair that had escaped the tie and was falling down into her cleavage.
It was completely inappropriate.
Helen could expect such nonsense from Ashley, but Lisa…?
Nicholas gave the adults a serious nod. “Hello. My name is Nicholas Barnes. I’m thirteen years old, and I’m studying to become an engineer. I would like to work on unmanned spaceflight vehicles and…” He drifted into silence, blushing as he realized he was telling the adults far more than he had meant to.
Miss Trent smiled at him in return. “I’m sure you will become an excellent space engineer.”
“Thank you, miss. I appreciate you saying that.” He swallowed loudly.
Helen was proud of her two boys. No matter what anyone said about how difficult it was to raise boys, she had always found it much easier than raising girls. Girls always wanted to test a person. No matter how sweet and gentle they seemed, there would eventually be problems.
But Helen was used to that.
Lisa had gone back to staring at the floor. She was blushing from the attention Dr. Latham was so innocently giving her, and she still hadn’t brushed the lock of hair away. “Hello. My name is Lisa Hill. I’m sixteen.”
Helen almost sighed in frustration. Sixteen. The worst age for a girl. But they all had to live through it.
Miss Trent smiled at the girl. “What do you want to do when you get older?”
Lisa’s smile stiffened. “I don’t know.”
“That’s fine. You have plenty of time to decide later.”
Dr. Latham was still smiling at Lisa, charmed by the attention she was secretly giving him. “Hello, Lisa.”
Lisa glanced flirtatiously at him, then away again. “Hello, sir.”
“How do you like it here at Mrs. Mathers’s?”
Helen held her breath but kept the motherly smile on her face.
Lisa’s eyes flew to her, but only for a second before responding, “Miss Helen is a good foster mother. I like being here.”
Helen allowed the breath to release. The response was perfect, just like they’d practiced.
“Are you dating yet?”
Miss Trent’s eyes popped open wide at her boss’s question, and Helen decided not to interrupt the little play going on before her.
“Oh, no.” Lisa giggled and began to twist the long strand of hair around her finger. She shot a look at Helen. “Mrs. Helen says I’m too young.”
Dr. Latham glanced down at his notes, frowning. “You’re sixteen. How is that too young for—”
Miss Trent cleared her throat and picked up her phone, making a show of looking at the screen. “Dr. Latham, the sheriff asked me to ask you to call her.”
Latham frowned. To his credit, the poor man probably wasn’t even aware that he was leering at a young girl, and he was probably as equally unaware that the young girl was leering right back.
But Helen had noticed.
Miss Trent h
ad clearly noticed too. She was busy typing in a message while the doctor did as she had asked.
Latham stood, his phone in his hand. “Of course.” He smiled. “Can’t get a moment of peace. Excuse me, ladies.” Shoulders back and stomach sucked in, he headed for the front door.
Helen took it back. He wasn’t oblivious at all. He was enjoying the attention. Mid-life crisis.
Men would be men. They couldn’t help it if a young woman didn’t know how to behave.
Helen held the tray out to the children, watching closely as they each took a single helping. “Off you go, young ones. I’ll be another few moments and we need some privacy.”
Miss Trent smiled, but the gesture seemed forced this time. Helen wondered if the redhead and the shrink were having an illicit affair, and Miss Trent was jealous by the attention he was giving another female.
No doubt the two of them would have to have a talk on the way back to the sheriff’s office. Men might be charged to keep order in this world, but they would be wise to listen to women about situations they didn’t fully understand.
“So, about Gina Webster.”
Helen bit back a sigh. They were back to that. “As I was saying, Gina was—”
Miss Trent’s phone started buzzing on the table. With a look of apology, she grabbed it but made the mistake of glancing at the screen before tucking it away. She froze.
“Anything wrong, my dear?”
She was on her feet in an instant. “Yes, I’m sorry but we have to go. Perhaps we can talk without any disturbance later.”
When pigs fly.
“Of course, my dear. Would you like a cookie for the road?”
“That’s so very kind of you, but I’ll leave them for the children to enjoy.”
Helen followed her to the front door and out to the porch. It was Helen’s turn to freeze. On the steps, Dr. Latham stood smiling down at Lisa. The girl’s hand was on his tie, stroking the expensive silk between her fingers.
The pretty redhead gasped, and Lisa jumped back in surprise. Latham, for his part, looked nonplussed by the entire event.
