“I—I guess so,” she said on the other end. “But I have to be home at eight. We’d only have an hour.”
“That’s better than nothing.”
“Well, what happened?” She sounded as disappointed as he was.
Through stop-and-go traffic, Dylan told her everything—about the destruction of Sheila’s garden, the shouting match between Sheila and Eden, the flare-up between Hannah and Eden, and now, this appointment with Eden’s high school advisor.
There was a long silence after he finished talking. “Are you still there?” Dylan asked.
“Yeah,” she said, subdued. “I’m just thinking we should skip tonight. I mean, c’mon, don’t you think so, too?”
“Not necessarily,” he said. “We’d still have an hour. And I’ve missed you. I’ve been looking forward to this since Wednesday night.”
“Dylan, your wife and family need you now—”
“And I need you.”
“That’s sweet. But it sounds to me like your family is going through a real crisis. You should be there for them. I’m just making things worse and more complicated for you.”
“No, you’re making things bearable for me,” he said into the phone. His other hand tightened on the steering wheel. “If it weren’t for you right now—if I didn’t have these minutes talking with you—I’d completely lose it.”
“Go see your daughter’s teacher,” she told him. “Be with your family tonight, Dylan.”
“What about this weekend?” he asked desperately. He held the phone closer to his mouth. “Can you get away? I don’t think I can wait until Monday. I want to see you before that. Please?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Tell you what. Text me tomorrow, okay? Let me know if you can get away sometime. I’ll see what I can do. I can’t promise anything, Dylan.”
“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow or Sunday.”
“Maybe,” she said. “I better let you go. You shouldn’t be talking on the phone and driving at the same time.”
“Thank you, Brooke.”
“What for?” she asked.
“Anyone else would have been pissed off at me for screwing up our date tonight. And here you are, patiently listening to me go on about my wife and kids, and our troubles.” He let out a little laugh. “You’re pretty amazing. You should be the last person to remind me of my duty to my family.”
“Yeah, well, I warned you I was going to be bad at this ‘other woman’ business,” she said. “And I’m not pissed off at you about tonight. I just really want you right now.”
Before he could respond, he heard the click on the other end.
*
Miranda Warren stayed late at the high school because she was in detention.
All the teachers got stuck pulling two separate weeks of after-school detention duty every year, and this was Miranda’s first week. She felt like a prison guard—or that hotheaded teacher from The Breakfast Club—sitting from 3:30 until 5:15 in front of a classroom full of students being punished. Most of the kids were well behaved. She let them read, text, do their homework, or listen to music. They usually ended up in detention for minor offenses. Hard-core offenders got suspended or reprimanded some other way. So it was a passive group—no Judd Nelsons among them.
Miranda usually graded papers during the sessions, making the most of her detention time. But after five afternoons in a row, she felt as if she were being punished, too. Repeatedly leaving the school when the place was quiet and nearly empty had started to take its toll. There was something creepy about all those dark classrooms. She’d gone home exhausted every night this week. It would have put a real crimp in her social life—if she’d had one. Miranda was divorced with two sons, ages eleven and thirteen.
Right now, she was eager to go home, put her feet up, and order home delivery. The boys were spending the weekend with their father.
Unfortunately, Miranda had to stay in the empty classroom a little longer. She had to meet Eden O’Rourke’s father, who was late for his 5:30 appointment. She knew the child’s situation and wanted to sympathize. But after only one day with her, Miranda loathed the smart-ass, raccoon-eyed street punk. She probably should have sent Eden to the principal for her performance in English Lit this morning. Miranda always had at least one pain-in-the-ass, rebellious student every year who thought they were coming up with the revolutionary idea that the “stupid teachers” should be assigning popular fiction—everything from graphic novels to Fifty Shades of Grey—instead of the classics. Miranda had taken pity on Eden and merely given her a writing task as punishment. But then, after asking some of Eden’s other teachers how they’d fared with Ms. Rebel-Without-a-Clue, Miranda had learned that the girl had ditched all of her classes after lunch. So Miranda had put in a call to the father.
She’d had Hannah O’Rourke in her English class last year and thought she was a bit of a princess, but pretty and nice enough. Her brother, Steve, reminded her of a lamb because he was so sweet and cute. Miranda hadn’t met either of the parents. She hadn’t had any of the O’Rourke kids in her advisory—until now.
She wasn’t sure what to expect with Mr. O’Rourke, but she figured he must be pretty sleazy since he’d knocked up Eden’s mother while married to someone else. Sleazy and stupid. He’d done all his dick-swinging about seventeen years ago, so Miranda imagined him as an ex-jock hunk, now fat and bald. Or perhaps he was the wormy, pompous professor type. Whatever. She would give him an earful about his delinquent daughter and get out of there so that she was home by six-fifteen.
The students in detention had filed out twenty minutes ago, leaving Miranda alone in a classroom that still smelled of teenage B.O. Kids didn’t shower after gym anymore.
She finally stood up to open a few windows.
“Ms. Warren?”
“Yes?” She turned and saw him in the classroom doorway.
He was handsome, tall and lean in a blue suit with his striped tie loosened. He smiled. “I’m Eden’s dad, Dylan O’Rourke.”
She automatically touched her hair to make sure it was in place. “Oh, hi, I—I’m Miranda Warren.” She turned and opened the window, furtively checking her reflection in the glass. Then she pointed at a desk in the center of the front row. “Won’t you sit down, please?”
He sat in the desk chair. “Before we get started,” he said. “I have to apologize for Eden’s fashion choice today. When she left the house, she had a sweater on. My wife and I had no idea what she had on underneath until our daughter, Hannah, told us.”
Miranda usually sat down at her desk during these parent-teacher meetings, but she took the seat next to his. She smiled and gave a little shrug. “Well, on the bright side, not one boy fell asleep during my English class with Eden today.”
He laughed. “I’m glad you have a sense of humor about it.”
Sitting just a foot away from him, Miranda felt like a high school girl again, sitting beside the class hunk. She found herself downplaying his daughter’s every transgression today, even trying to make excuses for her. Nevertheless, he kept apologizing—and he seemed sincere, too. A couple of times, she reached over and touched his arm while she was talking. A part of her knew it was sort of inappropriate, but she couldn’t help herself.
It wasn’t just because he was handsome. He had an aura about him—a friendly, easygoing warmth. He seemed to pay attention to every word she said. He exuded a certain laid-back confidence without being cocky about it. Most of all, he was clearly attracted to her. She’d gotten that vibe from plenty of middle-aged fathers during these conferences, but it had never been a turn-on—until now.
“You know,” she said, leaning in closer to him. “With everything Eden has been through lately, have you considered getting her into some kind of counseling or therapy? Maybe all she needs is someone she could talk to . . .”
“That’s so funny you should say that, because I was driving around with her the other day to buy stuff for her new room, and that very thought hit me. But
I wasn’t sure how to bring it up with her. I mean, maybe she’d be offended if I said something. So I sort of dismissed the idea, and I shouldn’t have. I’m really glad you made that suggestion, Miranda. Thanks.”
“I’m sure you would have come back to the idea soon enough,” she said, resting her hand on his arm again.
He put his hand over hers for a moment and then stood up. “I have to be honest with you,” he said. “I was dreading this meeting. But you’ve been terrific. I’ve really enjoyed talking with you.” He let out an awkward laugh. “By the way, are we done here? I don’t want to rush you. At the same time, I don’t want to keep you. I wasn’t sure . . .”
Smiling, Miranda got to her feet. “It’s okay, we’re done.”
“Well, I’ll make sure Eden gets that paper turned in on Monday, and I promise, she’ll be properly dressed when you see her.”
Miranda moved to her desk to gather her bag and her coat. “You have my number in your phone now. So feel free to call me—if I can be of any help, that is.”
Miranda thought about the night alone at home ahead of her. She wasn’t seeing anyone currently. She’d never gone after a married man before. It had been five weeks since her last date, and nine weeks since she’d had sex. Those numbers raced through her mind as Dylan O’Rourke came around behind her and helped her on with her coat.
“It’s getting dark out,” he said. “May I walk you to your car?”
Good manners—and good-looking, she thought. “Well, I’m not in the teachers’ lot. Ever since one of the other teachers got her tires slashed three years ago, I’ve parked in a secluded spot about four blocks away.”
“Well, then, all the more reason I should walk with you, Miranda,” he said. “If you don’t mind my company.”
She smiled at him. “Oh, I don’t mind a bit.”
*
She wasn’t kidding about the secluded parking spot for her older-model silver Toyota Camry. It was beside a huge pine tree on a poorly lit cul-de-sac. The walk had been more like five blocks, and several times along the way, she’d leaned into him and casually bumped her shoulder against his. For most of the walk, Dylan had to keep his hands in his pockets to camouflage a hard-on.
He couldn’t help it. She was beautiful and giving him all the signals that she wanted him. That would have been tough to resist in almost any kind of situation. But he hadn’t shared a bed with his wife in four nights. Everyone in his life was disappointed in him. And his plans for tonight—to be with the one woman he really wanted— had been derailed. Brooke had said she wanted him, too. He could have been with her right now, inside her.
But now he had to wait.
Having Eden’s teacher flirt with him was a nice consolation prize.
As they approached her car, Miranda pulled the key fob out of her purse and pressed the unlock button. The Camry’s lights blinked. “Well, I’m not sure what I’m going to do with myself tonight,” she said. “I’m all alone. Maybe I should just pamper myself, take a bubble bath or something, you know, do it up with candles around the tub and soft music playing . . .”
“Sounds pretty great,” was all he said in reply.
She nodded and let a silent moment pass. “Listen, I’ve probably taken you blocks away from your car. Why don’t you get in, and I’ll drive you to wherever you’re parked.”
“You sure it’s no trouble?”
“I wouldn’t ask if it was.”
“Well, thank you, Miranda.” He moved around to open the driver’s door for her.
“So polite,” she murmured, climbing into the car.
Dylan got in the passenger seat and closed the door.
But she didn’t start the car.
Her hand moved to his thigh. “Are you in a hurry to get home?” she whispered.
“I probably have about an hour,” he replied.
“We could do a lot in an hour.”
She leaned over and hungrily kissed him on the mouth.
He thought of kissing Brooke the other night. This wasn’t quite the same, but it wasn’t bad, either, this consolation prize.
Her tongue slipped past his lips. Dylan felt her hand moving up his thigh, lingering on his erection. Then she pulled at his belt buckle.
Dylan reached inside her coat and started to unbutton her blouse.
He told himself that what Sheila and Brooke didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Friday—6:38 P.M.
Sheila usually liked the slightly acrid, earthy smell of her garden. It meant new plants, recently shifted soil, and things growing. But now, as a chill rolled in with the night, her once beautiful flower beds stank of rot, destruction, and mud. She’d been working in the garden for two hours, collecting the broken flowers and uprooted plants, trying to determine if anything was salvageable. It was all mostly compost now. She raked the displaced topsoil from the lawn back into the garden, tossed the dead plants in a wheelbarrow, and collected some of the stones that had been scattered across the grass.
For a while, Steve and Gabe had been helping her. Gabe had gotten bored quickly and headed back inside. With just Steve and her there in the backyard, he’d started defending Eden, saying she couldn’t have wrecked the garden because she would have been covered head to toe with dirt this afternoon. And according to Eden, even if her boyfriend were still in town, he wouldn’t have sabotaged the garden without telling Eden about it. At least, this was the gospel according to Eden, as told to Steve during their brief walk together.
Sheila listened to Steve’s defense and had to agree with his first point, at least. But, if neither Eden nor her obnoxious boyfriend had destroyed her garden, then who had?
For a great deal of the time while Sheila and Steve were talking quietly in the backyard, they’d had to contend with Trudy barking incessantly next door.
At one point, they’d gone inside so Sheila could prepare dinner. It was pasta night. She’d gotten the spaghetti sauce started with sausage, leftover meatloaf, and whatever else she could find and left it to simmer. Then she’d gone back out to the garden to work alone—though not completely alone. She’d still had Trudy’s barking and yowling to keep her company. Hannah had briefly come out to the backyard, asking if she could borrow some of Sheila’s makeup. “Eden’s skin tones are closer to yours than mine,” she’d pointed out, “which is kind of weird, since she isn’t even your daughter.”
Sheila had told her to take whatever she wanted.
Hannah was in heaven. Somehow, her agreeing to let Eden borrow a few items of clothing had escalated into Hannah performing a makeover. “I told her that the Goth, urban nightmare look is so yesterday,” Hannah had explained. “Anyway, you won’t believe how different she looks already.”
That had been about forty minutes ago. It was obvious to Sheila that Eden had ingratiated herself with the kids now. She had Steve bamboozled into believing she was this wrongly accused innocent. And by letting Hannah play Pygmalion for a teen makeover, they were bonding. Gabe was in his own little world and, therefore, neutral. And Dylan was her father, so it was obvious whose side he was on.
That left Sheila as the only one in the family who didn’t trust her.
It was getting too dark outside to keep working, and Sheila figured Dylan would be home soon. So she started gathering up the yard tools.
The backyard lights went on, making the ravaged garden look even sadder. She noticed a girl coming out through the kitchen door. It took Sheila a moment to recognize Eden in Hannah’s old jeans and a black turtleneck. Her face and hair actually looked clean. Hannah had obviously spent a lot of time and effort applying just the right amount of cosmetics to make the girl appear naturally pretty and unspoiled.
Eden approached her tentatively. She almost looked desperate for approval.
A rake in her hand, Sheila just stared at her. Dylan’s daughter had been hiding a lovely face behind that awful Goth makeup.
But as far as Sheila was concerned, she was s
till a monster.
“I thought I’d start cooking my dinner—if that’s okay with you,” Eden murmured.
“Fine,” Sheila said.
“Listen, I’m really sorry about what happened to your garden,” she said, her voice quavering a little. “I know you don’t believe me, but I had nothing to do with it. Anyway, I’d like to help tomorrow, getting it back to the way it was.”
“It’ll be a long, long time and a lot of work before it’s back to the way it was,” Sheila said coolly.
“I’d like to help out just the same.”
Sheila figured this was her cue to toss aside the rake and hug her. But she couldn’t. She kept thinking of Eden and that burnout creep stalking her, the texts, the spider in her bed, the tainted cranberry juice, almost dying of electric shock, and today, the garden.
“Go make your dinner,” she said, tightening her grip on the rake. “And I’d like you to keep something in mind.”
“What?”
“If one of my kids gets sick or hurt, if some sort of freak accident happens to any of them, I’m holding you accountable. I promise, I’ll make you pay.”
Tears came to Eden’s pretty eyes. She looked like she was about to say something.
“Now, leave me alone,” Sheila said, cutting her off. She went back to gathering up the yard tools and didn’t even look at Eden.
A few moments later, she heard the kitchen door shut.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Friday—7:40 P.M.
Issaquah, Washington
Brodie stood at the information desk at Swedish Hospital with a flower arrangement in his hand. The fiftyish, blond receptionist was talking to someone on her phone headset. She held up her index finger to let him know she’d be with him soon.
Brodie wore an ill-fitting white shirt, a secondhand tie, and dirty khakis. He didn’t have on his army camo jacket. He figured people were on the lookout for a guy wearing one. From reading online accounts of the Rattlesnake Mountain shooting, he knew the police were asking potential witnesses for a description of anyone who might have been seen with the victim, Arthur Merrens, on Thursday afternoon. So in addition to ditching his trademark jacket, Brodie had also cut his shaggy, dark-blond hair and dyed it black. Unfortunately, he hadn’t mixed the dye right, and his hair came out a dull charcoal color that didn’t look natural.
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