Hometown Girl

by Margaret Watson

  “It has been. We got some new asthma medication, and he doesn’t mind the taste,” she said. “And he looks so happy,” she said, unable to tear her gaze away from her nephew. He looked like the carefree child she remembered from her last visit with Janice.

  “He seems to be. He’s always one of the first ones out to practice and one of the last to leave.”

  “If he likes it so much, why didn’t he use his inhaler?” She looked at him in the gathering darkness.

  His eyes softened. “I think it’s a control issue. His life is in turmoil right now and there’s not a lot he can do about it. His mother is dead, he thinks it wasn’t an accident, he’s living with an aunt who’s a virtual stranger. You want to take him back to Chicago, which is another thing he can’t control. When and where to use his inhaler is something he can control. I’m not surprised he refused to use it.”

  “You like working with these kids, don’t you?” she asked, her voice soft.

  He gazed out at the kids in the yard and his eyes darkened. She couldn’t read his expression, but it made her want to reach out and touch his hand. Before she could move, he shrugged and the smile was back in his eyes.

  “They’re a lot of fun. I was a teenage boy once and I remember what it was like.”

  “You went out of your way for Nick,” she said.

  “He was desperate to play football.” He gazed out into the yard, where the boys were indistinct shadows. “He reminds me of myself at that age.”

  “Cranky, contrary and argumentative?” she said in a light voice.

  “Oh, yeah,” he said. “I was a major pain in the butt.”

  “That’s hard to believe,” she said. Instead of the teasing she’d intended, her voice came out softer, more tender. More intimate.

  He turned to her, studying her through the darkness for a moment. Then he shrugged. The smile curving his mouth didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I was a typical teenage troublemaker. Football gave me the discipline I needed.”

  The night air was fragrant and still around them, and the darkness wrapped them in intimacy. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to reach out and touch his hand. “Thank you for noticing Nick. Thank you for reaching out to him.”

  Before she could draw her hand away, he slid his palm against hers and twined their fingers. “It was my pleasure,” he said. “Meeting Nick’s aunt was an unexpected bonus.”

  Her heart hammered against her ribs, and she told herself to take back her hand. But awareness swirled around them in the dark and she didn’t move. The sweet, heavy scent of a night-blooming flower drifted on the breeze, and the air between them thickened with anticipation.

  “Hey, Coach! Come and play!”

  The excited voice ripped through the spell binding them together, and Tucker slipped his hand away from hers.

  “Nah,” he called. “You guys are too fast for me. I don’t want to be publicly humiliated.”

  As the boys hooted and jeered, Claire stood up. “I should go,” she said, nervously tugging at the hem of her shorts. “Should Nick come home with me?”

  “Nope.” Tucker stood up. “That’s part of the tradition. The older guys on the team drive the younger ones home after the party.”

  “All right.” She stared into the darkness. It was impossible to identify any of the dark shapes running through Tucker’s deep back yard.

  “Don’t worry. The team captains will break it up in a few minutes. All the kids have homework to do.”

  Tucker followed her into the kitchen. He waited while she picked up her purse, then settled one hand on her lower back to guide her to the front door.

  The warmth of his palm burned through her T-shirt and she could feel the separate imprint of each of his fingers. When he pushed the door open, his arm brushed her chest and she sucked in a breath.

  He looked down at her, his eyes heating. Then he stepped aside to let her pass in front of him.

  By the time she settled herself in his car she’d managed to control her breathing. When he slid in the driver’s side, he watched her for a moment, then started the car.

  “Thanks for helping out tonight,” he said. “Consider this your baptism by fire.”

  “It was fun. I liked watching the kids goof around. Watching Nick act like a kid,” she admitted.

  “They were a little more wild tonight than usual,” he said. “They needed to blow off steam. They’re all excited about the first game.”

  “You’re very good with them,” she said.

  “I learned from the best. My high school football coach was one in a million.”

  “I’ll bet he’s proud of what you’ve done,” she said.

  He stilled and she could see his hands tighten on the steering wheel. “I hope so.”

  “How could he not be proud of you?” she asked. Tension rippled through him and she wanted to reach out for his hand again. But she didn’t move.

  He rolled his shoulders as he drove down the deserted street. “I’ll never measure up to Coach Bo,” he said.

  His quiet words were tinged with pain. She wanted to know why, to dig beneath Tucker’s charming surface for the man he kept hidden. But before she could ask him anything, he pulled into her driveway.

  He slid out of the car and came around to open her door. When he settled his hand at her waist again as they walked to her front door, she wanted to lean into him.

  Get control of yourself. What on earth was she thinking? This was Nick’s teacher, a man who was part of the fabric of Monroe. He wasn’t leaving this town, and she wasn’t staying.

  She moved away as she unlocked the door. Before she could step inside the house, he took her wrist.

  “I’m sorry I made you work for your dinner.” He drew her hand up to his mouth and kissed her palm, and her heart fluttered in her chest. “I’ll make up for it next time.”

  “Next time?” She raised her eyebrows. “You’re so sure there’s going to be a next time?”

  He smiled, heat and temptation in his eyes. “Oh, yeah. There most definitely is going to be a next time.”

  He cupped her face in his hands and pressed his mouth to hers. The kiss was quick and light, but it left her shaking.

  He smoothed his thumbs along her jaw, then stepped back. “You’ll want to go in and turn on the lights before Nick gets home. I’ll see you at the game tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CLAIRE WAS too fidgety the next morning to work. It was the perfect time to keep her promise to Nick and talk to the police about Janice’s death.

  At least she wouldn’t have to deal with Fred Denton, she told herself grimly as she got into her car. The glad-handing old windbag had looked the other way at anything that would inconvenience the powerful in Monroe. Apparently, his willingness to do so had gotten him elected mayor.

  Maybe they’d hired a police chief from outside the department. It would be easier to talk to someone she’d never met before, someone with no history in Monroe.

  It didn’t matter who was chief, she reminded herself as she slid out of the car at the tiny police station on the edge of the downtown area. She’d promised Nick she’d talk to him. And she was determined to keep her promises to Nick.

  She suspected that he’d had too many broken ones in his young life.

  A middle-aged woman looked up from a desk as Claire walked in the door, a start of recognition in her eyes. “Claire Kendall, isn’t it?” the woman said, her eyes warming. “I heard you were back in Monroe.”

  “Yes.” Claire pasted a smile on her face and looked at the woman’s name tag. Josie Williams. She vaguely remembered her family. “Hello, Josie. How are you?”

  “I’m just fine. How about you?” Josie settled back in her seat, preparing for a long chat.

  “I’m good. Is the chief of police available?” Claire asked, her voice polite.

  “Yes, he’s here.” Disappointment flickered in Josie’s eyes. “I’ll see if he has time to talk to you.”

 
“Thank you,” Claire murmured.

  Josie pushed away from her desk and disappeared into an office. A few moments later, she reappeared, followed by a tall, broad-shouldered man Claire didn’t recognize.

  “Ms. Kendall?” the man said. “I’m Seth Broderick, the chief of police. You wanted to talk to me?”

  “Yes.” She walked over to the man and shook his hand. Broderick had a face that looked lived-in, with lines around his eyes and a cleft in his chin. But his brown eyes were shrewd. She’d guess he, unlike Fred Denton, didn’t miss much. “Can we go into your office?”

  “Sure.” He led the way, then closed the door after her. “Have a seat,” he offered.

  “I’m here about my sister, Janice Kendall.”

  Broderick nodded. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you.” Claire knotted her fingers together. “Can you tell me the details of the investigation?”

  Broderick’s eyebrows rose. “There aren’t a lot of details to tell. It was a rainy night, the roads were slick and she skidded off the road into the lake. There’s a fifty-foot drop-off where she went in, and it looked as if her car bounced a couple of times on the way down.” He paused. “If it’s any comfort to you, or her boy, she was probably dead before she hit the lake. Her neck was broken.”

  “Thank you,” Claire said in a low voice. It was painful to hear the details of her sister’s death recited so dispassionately. “But I wondered if you investigated the possibility that her death wasn’t an accident.”

  The chief’s eyebrows went up again. “Do you think it was a suicide?”

  “Not at all,” she said. Her hands were cold, and she pressed her palms together. “My nephew said she got a phone call just before she went out that night. He said she didn’t want to go, but apparently she was supposed to meet someone.” She swallowed, suddenly fighting back tears. “I want to make sure she didn’t have help going into that lake.”

  “There was no evidence that it was more than a tragic accident,” the chief said.

  “Did anyone search for evidence?”

  He studied her for a moment, then wheeled his chair around. “I’ll get the report.”

  He opened a file cabinet and pulled out a manila folder. She could see, even from the other side of the desk, that it was painfully thin. After reading it, he looked up. His eyes were cool. “There’s no mention here of evidence that would indicate foul play. But there’s also no mention of anyone looking for evidence.”

  “I’m not trying to embarrass you or the department,” Claire said. “My nephew and I just need answers.”

  The chief’s eyes softened a bit. “It’s hard for a child to lose his mother.”

  “Yes, it is. Especially when his concerns are brushed over by the authorities,” she said, her voice even.

  The softness disappeared from his eyes. “No one brushed aside his concerns,” he said.

  “Nick told the officer who came to the house that he was afraid his mother had been lured away that night. As far as he could tell, the officer never followed up.”

  The chief glanced back down at his notes. After a moment, he looked back at her, his jaw clenched. “There’s no mention of your nephew saying anything to my officer.”

  “My nephew didn’t lie.” Her voice was firm. “If he says he talked to the officer, he did. I suggest you ask the officer.”

  “You can be sure that I will.” There was no sympathy in his eyes now. He looked like a typical police officer, his eyes cold and flat, giving nothing away.

  “What happened to Janice’s car?” she asked.

  “It was totaled.” He glanced down at the report. “The responding officers had it towed to C&J Wrecking. That’s in Bakersville,” he said, naming the large city closest to Monroe.

  “Thank you, Chief,” Claire said, reaching to shake his hand. “Will you get back to me after you talk to the officer who spoke to my nephew?”

  He gave her a curt nod. “Count on it.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  She walked out of his office and continued out of the building. She was shaking with reaction.

  Fred Denton was no longer the police chief, but it seemed as if nothing had changed in the Monroe Police Department. They still saw only what they wanted to see.

  Maybe that wasn’t fair, she conceded. She assumed the new police chief was just like Fred Denton, but maybe she’d been mistaken about Seth Broderick. The new chief of police hadn’t ignored her concerns. And he hadn’t patronized her.

  Had Janice been murdered? Had her “accident” actually been carefully arranged?

  Nerves jumped beneath her skin and dark whispers of foreboding stirred as she drove back through town. Apprehensive, full of edgy energy, her eyes narrowed when she saw a familiar figure walking into the Dixie Diner. Andrea Vernon, Roger’s current wife.

  And she was alone.

  Before Claire could stop and think, she pulled into a parking spot. Hurrying down the street, her attention focused on Andrea and the diner, she jumped when someone reached out and touched her arm.

  “Hey there, Claire,” Tucker said, his eyes warming. “You look like you’re in a hurry.”

  Yanked out of her thoughts, she stared at Tucker, disoriented. Finally she managed a smile. “I was thinking about something.”

  “I could see that. I’ve been thinking about a lot of things lately, too,” he answered, shoving his hands into his pockets and smiling down at her. “And then you appeared in front of me. Like magic.”

  Her heart thumped against her ribs at the barely hidden heat in his eyes. “That’s pretty smooth. And so early in the morning. I’m impressed,” she said. Her voice sounded breathy and weak.

  “I’m a morning person,” he answered, a gleam in his eye. “Always have been. Mornings are the best time for so many things.”

  She raised her eyebrows, trying to ignore the sharp stab of hunger. “They’re also the time for school. Are you playing hooky?”

  “I wasn’t, but it sounds like a good idea. Want to sneak off with me?”

  She was shocked by her urge to say yes. And relieved to see the teasing light in his eye. He wasn’t serious.

  She hoped.

  “Afraid not,” she said, clearing her throat. “In fact, I’d better steer clear of you. You’re a bad influence, trying to tempt me away from work.”

  The corner of his eyes crinkled as he gave a wicked grin. “A bad influence? Honey, you have no idea how bad I can be.”

  She was afraid she had a very good idea—and appalled to realize she wanted to find out. “Why aren’t you in school?” she asked, trying to change the subject.

  The twinkle in his eyes told her that he recognized her ploy, that he’d let her get away with it. For now.

  “This is one of my free periods,” he said. “I needed to pick something up at the sports store.”

  “I’ll let you go, then.”

  When she tried to move past him, he laid a hand on her arm. “What are you doing after the game tonight?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. Her skin warmed beneath his touch. When she found herself leaning toward him, she moved away. “I hadn’t thought about it.”

  “A lot of the kids go to Sparky’s for pizza,” he said. “So do some of the parents.”

  “I’ll ask Nick if he’s interested.” She smiled up at him. “Thanks for letting me know. Is that another one of the football team’s traditions?”

  “You got it.” He smiled easily at her. “We’ve got a million of them.”

  “Good luck tonight,” she said.

  “Thanks.”

  Neither of them moved for a moment, then they both moved at the same time. He reached out to steady her, then stepped back.

  “Take care, Claire,” he said, his voice soft. “Maybe I’ll see you tonight.”

  His voice was husky with promise, a promise she acknowledged she wanted to explore. She swallowed, nodded and slipped past him. She could feel his eyes on her back a
s she stepped into the Dixie Diner.

  She stood by the door for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the dim light, letting her thundering heart slow down. Putting Tucker firmly out of her mind and taking a deep breath, she stepped up to the hostesses’ station and scanned the restaurant.

  Andrea was sitting at a booth in the corner with a cup of coffee. Claire smiled at the hostess and nodded toward Andrea. “I’ll just join Mrs. Vernon,” she said.

  “Okay.” The hostess gave her a puzzled smile, as if no one ever met Andrea Vernon at the restaurant. As she walked toward Andrea, Claire resolved to make sure the young woman knew she wasn’t alone.

  She was involving herself in Monroe by talking to Andrea. That was a good thing, she realized with a spurt of understanding. She’d been a child when she left. Now she was an adult, and it was time to act like it.

  “Hi, Andrea,” Claire said in a low voice.

  Andrea looked up and eyed Claire warily. “Hello.”

  “Do you mind if I join you for a moment?”

  Andrea’s eyes flickered anxiously to the front of the diner. “Um, I’m not sure. I’m, um, meeting someone.”

  Claire knew that expression far too well. It meant that Andrea didn’t want to be caught talking to her. Her resolve hardened. “Are you expecting Roger?” she asked.

  “No,” she said. “He’s in court today.”

  “Great. Then you won’t mind if I sit down until your friend joins you, will you?”

  “Ah, no.” Andrea bit her lip and looked out the front window of the diner again. “I guess not.”

  She was checking for Roger, Claire realized with a burst of anger. Andrea was afraid Roger would see his wife talking to Claire.

  As soon as she was seated, the waitress came over, bright curiosity in her eyes. “Can I get you something?”

  “A cup of coffee, please,” Claire said.

  Andrea’s eyes followed the waitress away from the table, and Claire recognized the expression in them. Andrea was sick with fear that the waitress would tell Roger that she’d talked to Claire.

  “Did you grow up in Monroe, Andrea?” Claire asked.