Hometown Girl

by Margaret Watson

  “She’s in a couple of my classes.” He turned bright red again.

  This was dangerous, sensitive territory. Remembering her own teenage crushes, she prayed she’d handle it right.

  “That’s nice, but don’t try to start a conversation with her. She’s too busy to talk,” she said briskly, knowing that a conversation with the girl was Nick’s deepest fear. “Just ask her how she’s doing, then give her your order.”

  “Okay.” The panic eased in his eyes. He started toward the counter, then stopped and looked back at her. “You sure you don’t want to order?”

  “Positive. I’ll let you fight the crowd.”

  He glanced toward the counter, fear and anticipation swirling in his eyes. She gave him a reassuring smile, then watched as he squared his shoulders and walked toward the counter as if heading for a firing squad.

  As she threaded her way through the crowded shop, most of the people she passed smiled and said hello. She didn’t see anything more than warm welcome in anyone’s eyes. By the time she reached the door, she’d relaxed enough to smile back and murmur her own hellos.

  “Here’s your ice cream.”

  Slashes of red streaked his cheekbones when Nick handed her a sundae, but his eyes were animated. The knot of worry that had lodged in Claire’s stomach as he’d headed for the counter eased just a little.

  She watched, bemused, as he attacked his own sundae, remembering the enormous hamburger and the huge pile of fries he’d just eaten. Apparently even hormones and adolescent self-consciousness couldn’t interfere with a teenage boy’s appetite.

  “I guess you must have been starving, huh?”

  “Yeah,” he said, concentrating on his treat.

  “Are you ready to head home?” she asked.

  “I guess.” Nick glanced over his shoulder at the girl behind the counter.

  “What’s your friend’s name?” Claire asked, holding her breath.

  Instead of the explosion she’d feared, Nick shuffled his feet. “Caitlyn,” he muttered. “Caitlyn Burns.”

  “She seems very nice,” Claire said, glancing at Nick out of the corner of her eye. “I had a friend in high school named Molly Burns. I’d say they might be related, but Molly moved away before we graduated.”

  Nick shoved a huge spoonful of ice cream into his mouth, a signal Claire took to mean the conversation was over. She turned to go, but found the doorway blocked by a handsome older man with wavy white hair and a florid face.

  “If it isn’t Claire Kendall,” he boomed. “Welcome back to Monroe.”

  Claire froze. “Hello, Chief Denton,” she said, keeping her voice expressionless.

  “I’m not the chief of police anymore. We needed someone with more energy for that,” he said with a wink. “I’m the mayor now.”

  “Congratulations,” Claire said, her voice flat.

  “It’s always nice when our young people return to Monroe,” he said, his voice carrying over the murmurs of the crowd. “Brings new life to the town.”

  “It does bring back memories,” she said, her voice wooden.

  “Sorry about your sister,” he said. “A fine woman.”

  “Thank you, Mayor.”

  She nudged Nick toward the door, but the mayor had taken his hand, clasping it between both of his.

  “Dreadful accident,” he said to Nick, “dreadful. My deepest sympathies.”

  Claire saw the mutinous look gather on Nick’s face and stepped between the two. Until she’d had a chance to investigate, the last thing she wanted was to hear Nick tell Denton that his mother had been murdered.

  “We should go, Nick,” she murmured, putting her hand on Nick’s arm.

  For once he didn’t shake her off. “Yeah.”

  He edged around the mayor and followed her out the door.

  “Asshole,” he muttered, glancing back over his shoulder at the mayor.

  “Nick!” she exclaimed. “Don’t use that word.”

  “Why not? That’s what my mom called him.” Nick stuck his chin out. “She didn’t like him. She talked about him sometimes, said he was a nothing but a blowhard politician.”

  “He wasn’t the mayor when I lived in Monroe,” she said. “He was the chief of police then.”

  “I’ll bet he was an asshole police chief, too.”

  She should tell him again not to use that word. Instead, sighing, she said, “Yes, he was.”

  Nick shot her a startled look. Clearly, he’d expected her to correct him.

  “Did your mom work for him?” Claire asked.

  “No. But she worked in city hall. She saw him around all the time.” Nick’s mouth tightened. “I think he was trying to hit on her.”

  “What did your mom think of that?”

  “She said he was married and that made him a slime-ball. And that even if he wasn’t married, she wouldn’t go out with him if he was the last man on earth.”

  “Your mom was a smart woman,” Claire said. “She knew how to handle men like that.”

  Nick gave her a careful, measuring glance. “I thought maybe Denton was the one who called her that night.”

  Claire froze, a spoonful of ice cream halfway to her mouth. “Really? Why did you think that?”

  “Because she wasn’t too happy about going out.”

  Claire glanced down and saw fat white splashes of ice cream hitting the asphalt. Shoving the spoon back into the melting mess, she tossed it in the nearest trash can. “Let’s not talk about this here,” she said quietly.

  Nick looked around again and nodded. Claire opened the car and slid in. Not even the heat rolling out the door could warm the chill that settled in her heart. Nick thought his mother had been killed.

  And he thought Fred Denton was involved.

  She stared at city hall as they drove away. She didn’t know what Janice had done there. But she’d find out.

  As far-fetched as Nick’s theory sounded, she owed it to him to find out exactly what had happened to his mother.

  And she owed it to Janice to make sure she hadn’t been killed. Janice had been denied justice for all the years of abuse she’d suffered.

  If her death had been anything but a tragic accident, Claire vowed, she’d find justice for that now.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CLAIRE PAUSED to toss another bunch of bananas into her cart, eyeing the growing mound of groceries with bemusement. Her normal trips to the grocery store were infrequent and hurried. A few frozen dinners, some fruits and vegetables, and she was on her way.

  Now her cart was filled with meat, vegetables, snack food, pasta, milk and more fruit than she’d eat in two months. And she’d be back in a few days to load up again.

  Nick’s appetite was both astounding and unnerving, and it didn’t seem to matter what she set in front of him. He ate an enormous breakfast and took a huge sack lunch to school. When he walked in the door after football practice, he’d devour anything edible he could find.

  The night before, she’d watched as he’d eaten a container of yogurt, an apple, more cookies than she could count and two glasses of milk. Then he’d announced he was starving and asked when they were having dinner.

  She glanced at her watch and pushed the cart a little faster. Nick would be home in a few minutes, and she didn’t want him returning to an empty house.

  Her cell phone chirped in her purse and she reached for it, frowning. It was too late for anyone from the office to call her. Nick had her cell phone number, but he’d never used it.

  “Ms. Kendall?”

  She recognized Tucker Hall’s voice immediately. Her hand tightened on the phone. “Yes?”

  “I need you to come and get Nick.”

  His voice sounded grim and fear grabbed her by the throat. “Is something wrong?” she asked, her hand trembling on the phone. “Is Nick all right?”

  “He’s fine. But you need to pick him up.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “Nick is fine,” he repeated. His drawl was odd
ly reassuring. “We’ll talk when you get here. Come to the trainer’s room.” He hung up without waiting for an answer.

  Her heart pounding, her stomach tight with fear, she abandoned the cart of groceries and flew out of the store. By the time she ran into the trainer’s room, she was sick with dread.

  Two treatment tables stood against one wall. A desk stood in the corner and cabinets lined the other walls. Nick was pushing a wide broom across the floor.

  “Don’t kick that towel into a corner, Kendall,” Tucker said sharply. “Put it where it belongs.”

  Nick flung the towel into a tall bin, but it caught on the side and fluttered there for a moment. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he nudged it into the container.

  “When you finish that, you can clean out the icing buckets,” Tucker told him.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, hurrying over to Nick. “Are you all right?” She grabbed his shoulders and turned him to face her, scanning him from head to toe.

  To her surprise, he didn’t jerk away from her. He looked down at the floor and muttered, “I’m fine.”

  Without letting him go, she turned to Tucker, who stood watching them as he methodically folded elastic bandages into tight rolls. Claire glanced at his hands as they moved quickly and competently, then looked away.

  “What’s going on? What’s wrong with Nick?” she demanded.

  Tucker placed another rolled bandage into a drawer. “He’s fine now,” he said. “He wasn’t so fine fifteen minutes ago.”

  Her hands tightened on her nephew, and she studied him frantically. He wouldn’t meet her eyes.

  “Nick didn’t use his inhaler before practice today,” the coach said. “He had an asthma attack fifteen minutes before practice ended.”

  “Nick!” Her hands tightened on his shoulders. “Are you all right now? Can you breathe?”

  “I’m fine.”

  There was a catch to his voice, as if he was going to cry. He turned away from her and resumed pushing the broom across the floor.

  “Kendall.” Tucker’s voice was sharp. “Tell your aunt what happened.”

  Nick kept his head turned away from her. “I couldn’t breathe. Coach had to stop practice early.”

  “That’s right.” Tucker leaned back against the trainer’s table, his face hard. “Not only did he endanger himself, but he ended practice for the rest of the team.”

  She gently turned Nick around to face her. “Why didn’t you use the inhaler?”

  He slid his eyes away. “I don’t like it,” he muttered.

  “What don’t you like?” she asked.

  “I don’t like the way it tastes. And I don’t like the way it makes me feel.”

  “How does it make you feel?”

  “It makes my heart race. I feel all jittery.”

  “Then we should go back to the doctor, see if there’s some other kind of medicine you should be using.”

  He shrugged. “I guess.” He stepped away from her and continued sweeping.

  Claire watched him, feeling overwhelmed. She had no idea how to handle him, what to say or do.

  “I’ve handled the team part of the problem.” Tucker said. “How you deal with Nick is up to you.”

  “What do you mean, you’ve ‘handled the team part of the problem’?” she asked.

  “Instead of practicing tomorrow, Nick will help Mr. Tracy clean the training room. And he’s benched for the first half of the game on Friday.” He glanced over at the boy. “I sure hope we won’t need any punts or field goals.”

  Dull red swept up the back of Nick’s neck. “I’m sorry, Coach,” he mumbled without turning around.

  “So is the rest of the team, Nick. They’re sorry you won’t be able to help them on Friday. They’re sorry they didn’t get to practice that last play today. Now go collect your gear.”

  Nick put the broom into a small closet and slipped out the training room door. Claire gazed after him helplessly.

  “It’s not the end of the world,” Tucker said as the door closed behind Nick. “He’s not the first kid who didn’t want to use his inhaler.”

  She looked up at Tucker, who was standing close enough to touch. “But it’s the first time I’ve had to deal with it,” she said.

  He studied her, his face softening. “It must be tough becoming an instant parent,” he said. “You seem to be doing okay so far.”

  “That depends on your definition of okay,” she said wearily. “Nick and I butt heads constantly.”

  A smile hovered around Tucker’s mouth. “That just means he’s a teenage boy. Some of your friends in town must have teenagers. They’ll tell you the same thing.”

  “I don’t have a lot of friends in town,” she said stiffly. “I lost contact with them when I moved away.”

  “Really?” He tilted his head as he watched her. “That surprises me. I took you for the social type.”

  “Why is that?” she asked, her voice cool. But she was surprised at his perception. She was social when she was home in Chicago.

  He held her gaze silently, his eyes heating as he watched her. An answering response trembled inside her and she finally looked away.

  “I’ll take Nick home,” she said, feeling awkward as a teenager herself. “I’m sorry he disrupted your practice.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said, holding her gaze. “I don’t think it’ll happen again.”

  “Thank you,” she said with a sigh. “I’ll talk to him tonight.”

  “Good.” He straightened from the training table, and suddenly he was in front of her. She’d never seen a man as big as Tucker move so fluidly. Or so fast.

  Her heart tripped in her chest, then began to pound.

  “Is Nick going to the team pasta party on Thursday?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.” Her mouth was suddenly dry. “He hasn’t said anything about a party.”

  “The guys have a pasta party the night before every game.” He smiled, and her heart fluttered. “A different parent hosts it every week. It’s great for team bonding. See if you can get him to go.”

  “How is he doing?” she asked impulsively. “Is he making friends on the team?”

  Tucker turned his head toward the door, and she heard footsteps approaching. Nick had collected his gear.

  “Let’s have dinner together on Thursday and we can talk about it,” he said. “I’ll pick you up at 6:30.”

  Before she could answer, Nick pulled the door open. The mesh bag that held his equipment was slung over his shoulder. “Let’s go,” he said.

  She looked at Tucker. She should refuse, she told herself, but didn’t know how without sounding churlish. She’d asked him about Nick, after all. The twinkle in Tucker’s eyes told her that he recognized her dilemma.

  “See you later, Kendall,” he said, his voice easy. “You too, Ms. Kendall.”

  His mouth curled into a grin as he turned away, and Claire stared at him for a moment. They were going to discuss Nick, she told herself firmly. It was a parent-teacher conference.

  It was not a date.

  NICK THREW HIS BAG of gear into the back seat and slid into the car without looking at his aunt. He jammed the seat belt together and stared out the windshield, determined not to blubber like a baby in front of her.

  “I’m sorry this happened,” she said softly. “Can we talk about why you did it?”

  Oh, man, he hated when she used that quiet voice on him. He pressed his lips together as his eyes tingled. Why couldn’t she yell at him like his mother had?

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know why you didn’t use your inhaler?”

  She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, and he squirmed in the seat. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know much, do you?” she said with a sigh.

  He braced himself for the yelling. But she pressed her lips together and waited.

  “No.” He was ashamed of the short, surly answer, but he banished the feeling. S
he didn’t want to be stuck in this Podunk town, he reminded himself. The sooner she figured out that he didn’t need her, the better.

  She didn’t say anything for the rest of the short trip home. When he got into the house, he headed for the stairs and the safety of his room.

  “Nick,” she said. “Come back down to the kitchen.”

  He stopped on the stairs but didn’t look back at her. His hand tightened on his bag of gear.

  “I want to talk to you, Nick.”

  “I don’t feel like talking right now.”

  “I don’t care.”

  She was standing at the bottom of the stairs now, and he slowly turned around. He knew that voice. That was the same voice his mom used when he was in trouble.

  “Fine,” he said, dropping the gear deliberately on the stairs. She looked at it but didn’t say anything.

  She had a glass of milk and a carton of cookies on the table, and his stomach reminded him how long it had been since he’d eaten. He threw himself into a chair and looked away from the cookies.

  She sat down across from him and took a cookie, then pushed the box toward him. “How about a cookie, Nick?”

  “Fine,” he muttered. He ate one cookie and was reaching for the next before he caught himself. But she wasn’t looking at the damn cookies. She was looking at him, with disappointment on her face.

  He shoved another cookie into his mouth and slouched lower on the seat.

  “I remember hearing Coach Hall tell you the rule about using your inhaler,” she said. “So why didn’t you?”

  “I told you. It makes me jittery. And it tastes like sh—it tastes bad.” He flicked a tiny piece of chocolate chip onto the floor.

  She frowned. “I thought football was important to you. I thought you wanted to be on the team.”

  “It is. I do,” he muttered. She was making him feel stupid. She was doing it on purpose, he told himself as he fanned the embers of his temper.

  “I don’t understand,” she said. “I’m just trying to understand why you did it. Can’t you tell me that?”

  He shoved the chair back and heard it crash to the floor. “Because I did, okay? I didn’t want to use the f—the inhaler, okay?” Tears burned in his eyes. “Just forget it.” He moved away from the table, caught his leg on the chair and stumbled.