Nothing but Trouble

by Susan May Warren

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Surely there was a wink coming. Something scandalous and Boone-ish. Only PJ didn’t like this joke, not at all. What was his problem that he had to skulk around town after her, arresting the people in her vortex? Was he trying to pull the world out from under her? knock her off her feet and hopefully into his arms?

  But it had to be a joke. Jack might have had a dark moment last Sunday at the country club, but didn’t they all at one time or another? Or more often than they liked . . .

  Most of all, something about the way Jack played with Chip and how he adored Trudi told PJ in her bones that he wasn’t a killer.

  Only Boone didn’t wink. Didn’t smile.

  “Boone—,” Jack said.

  “You have the right to remain silent,” Boone started, and PJ watched in disbelief as he pulled Jack into the office away from the kids, whirled Jack to the wall, and cuffed him, an edge of anger to his movements.

  “Boone!”

  “Stay out of this, PJ,” Boone snapped before he finished Mirandizing Jack.

  “You’re doing it again; I can’t believe it!”

  Boone rounded on her, something sharp in his expression. “Doing what? My job?”

  PJ took a step toward him, refusing to let the anger pulsing off him intimidate her. “You know what you’re doing—accusing someone of something they didn’t do.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t I?”

  For a long, brilliant moment, pain filled his eyes, lethal and deep. Well, he wasn’t the one who’d been on the wrong end of a false accusation. He didn’t seriously think that she’d stand here and watch while he marched Jack—Trudi’s Jack—off to the slammer, did he?

  PJ’s voice levered low. “I’m not letting you do this again.”

  Boone tightened his jaw, and his Adam’s apple plunged quick and hard. When he spoke, his voice matched hers—only with an edge of warning that sent a tremor through her. “Stop, before you say something you wish you hadn’t.”

  Oh, she couldn’t count the things she wished she’d said. “Just stop for a second, Boone. Think about this.” Please don’t wreck another person’s life. “Jack might have been angry with Ernie, but certainly he’s not the type to commit murder.”

  “You don’t want to get between me and my job here. You’re the one who’ll get hurt.” Boone’s eyes flashed, and for a second she saw him as she always knew he’d be—passionate and resolute, serious and able.

  “Oh, I know all about how it feels to get in your way.”

  He flinched, but she didn’t care that she’d hurt him or that she’d let something ugly stir to life and sour in the pit of her stomach.

  “Wait—” Trudi lunged toward them as Boone pushed Jack toward the door. “I heard about Ernie.” Her voice dropped to a horrified whisper. “But what does Jack have to do with it?”

  Boone stopped, glanced back, as though seeing Trudi for the first time. His gaze slid over to PJ, his eyes in hers, as if waiting for her to fill in the blanks even as he spoke to Trudi. “Jack didn’t tell you that he attacked Hoffman on Sunday? At the country club?”

  PJ tried not to hear accusation, as if for some reason, she should have told Trudi.

  Or maybe it was simply guilt, rushing up to knee her in the kidneys.

  No. This wasn’t her fault.

  Trudi turned to Jack, who stared at the floor.

  “Yeah,” PJ said softly, painfully. “At Connie’s wedding. Right after Ernie bought Davy an ice-cream cone.”

  “You were there?”

  PJ didn’t even have to nod before the air flushed out of Trudi. She stumbled back against the massage bench set up in the office. “They said he was strangled . . .”

  Boone hadn’t yet taken his eyes from PJ, and now he sighed, as if by just being here with Jack and Trudi, she’d become part of a world he hadn’t invited her into, a side of himself he didn’t want her to see.

  Perhaps they all just wanted to live in a pocket of time when everything felt whole and fresh and bulletproof. PJ knew, right then, that she did. At least long enough to get her bearings, to figure out who might be telling the truth.

  Finally Boone faced Trudi. “He died from a broken neck. Denise, his son Tucker’s wife, found him on his massage table at his home Monday afternoon. ME says he’d been dead since that morning.”

  “What makes you think I’m involved?” Jack had found his voice.

  “You have a weekly appointment on Monday mornings, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. I showed up, but his door was locked. He never answered. I called him but didn’t get an answer.” Jack looked at Trudi as he spoke, his tone saying so much more than his words. I didn’t do this.

  “According to Ben Murphy, he saw your car there Monday morning.”

  “Sure, I was there, but like I said, he didn’t answer. I did some paperwork in the car and then went on to my next appointment in Edina.”

  Boone shook his head and gave him a small shove. “Give us your alibi down at the station.”

  But Jack wouldn’t be moved, not yet. He looked at Trudi, and everything in his face made PJ tremble. “I haven’t done anything wrong, especially murder someone.”

  Trudi edged up beside Jack, took his arm.

  PJ glanced at the kids. They’d gathered at the entrance to the office and now stood in a clump of wide-eyed horror, glued to the drama. “Why don’t you guys go into the next room?”

  “We’re going to the station,” Boone said.

  “I was talking to the—”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Jack snapped.

  “Boone, you’re scaring the kids.” PJ returned to the day care kids. “C’mon, Davy.” But Davy had frozen and apparently lost all feeling in his limbs, because when she reached out to take his hand, he didn’t so much as snarl at her.

  Clearly all of them had entered the twilight zone.

  Trudi covered her mouth, sucking in broken sobs.

  “We’ll figure this out, honey,” Jack said, a second before Boone pushed him out the door.

  Trudi crumpled onto the floor next to the door.

  PJ’s eyes burned as she grabbed the graham cracker box and pushed Play on the DVD player. On the screen Barney began clapping, jumping up and down, delirious over some happy song. PJ felt a little delirious herself, although she felt more like wailing. As if something perfect and wonderful had been torn, ripped to tiny, fraying shreds.

  By Boone . . . again.

  The kids wandered back into the room and sat down, wooed by Barney and his enthusiasm. PJ returned to the office in time to see Trudi cover her face with her hands, shaking. The sight of her dredged up the too-raw memory of the rainy night she crumpled on the front stoop, eyes puffy, with the dark news that she’d been thrown out of the house by her father. “I think I’m pregnant.”

  PJ stood over her with the fresh realization that once upon a time she’d left Trudi behind to wrestle her troubles on her own as PJ slunk off into the night.

  “Do you need a paper bag?” PJ asked in a tone reserved for a small child. “Maybe you should put your head between your knees?” She got up, went to the small refrigerator in the day care, and pulled out an apple juice.

  Trudi rose and followed her, propping herself up against the doorjamb. PJ handed her the juice and Trudi’s hand shook as she drank it. Then she leaned her head against the doorjamb, closing her eyes.

  Outside, PJ heard Boone’s patrol car pull away.

  “Remember on Monday, when the grocery store refused my ATM card?” Trudi said, her voice quavering. “I went down to the bank to straighten it out. All our accounts had been drained.”

  “By whom?”

  “I don’t know. But Jack wouldn’t answer when I asked him about it. He told me . . .” She shook her head as if the words wouldn’t fit, as if she wouldn’t let them. “It’s . . . nothing. I’m sure it’s a mistake.” Then her voice brightened into something otherworldly, full
of pageantry. “Who wants to go outside and play?”

  “Trudi.”

  But she pushed past PJ and tapped the Pause button on the DVD player. Barney froze midclap. “Outside, please, everyone.” Trudi’s voice screeched, high and on the edge of breaking.

  “Trudi—” PJ grasped her arms—“stop. What did Jack tell you?”

  She met PJ’s eyes, then looked at the floor as the kids scrambled outside. “Just that he’d given Ernie some money to buy something for him—you know, on eBay. But maybe . . . You don’t think that Ernie would have stolen . . . No, that’s not possible.”

  “What was he going to buy?”

  Trudi shook her head. “He said it was a surprise.”

  “Yeah. Well, surprise. Listen, you’re going down to the police station. Now. I’ll stay here.”

  Trudi’s eyes focused, finally, briefly. “With the kids?”

  “No, with the sheep. Of course with the kids. Are you okay to drive?”

  She nodded, but it was wobbly and reminded PJ too much of their tailgating days. “Maybe I should call someone to drive you?”

  “No . . . I’ll be okay. I’ll take the baby.”

  Oh, that would be in everyone’s best interests.

  Trudi stood there too long, however, rooted, and PJ wondered if she’d heard her at all.

  “Trudi.”

  She looked up, and PJ saw her, ten years ago, hair stringy around her wet face, holding herself as her future roared up, dark and ugly before her.

  “Don’t leave me.”

  PJ pulled her tight, held her with everything she had inside, and more. “No, Trudi, not this time.”

  * * *

  “I wanna go home!”

  Davy wasn’t the only one. For a moment, PJ let him go as he pushed away from their Play-Doh garden, complete with red snakes and green lizards and blue flowers. She smelled like paste, and dough mortared her fingernails.

  Two hours. No wonder she hadn’t lasted more than two weeks as a camp counselor, preferring instead lifeguarding and nature hikes. The graham crackers had long since run out, and PJ just wanted to climb to the tall tower outside and pull up the gangplank. Clearly she wasn’t cut out to entertain preschoolers with grace and charm. Although, until Davy had decided to jump ship, she’d had her little sailors singing right along with Barney.

  “Davy, don’t you want to play with the Play-Doh? I’ll teach you how to make a snake.”

  “It’s yucky. It sticks to my fingers.” He made a face. “I want a cookie.”

  Of course he did. But she’d set a rather deplorable precedent over the past few days and perhaps it was time they all straightened up. “After supper. We have to wait until Daniel and Felicia’s mommy arrives; then I’ll make you some macaroni.”

  Davy glared at her. PJ held in a retort to the effect that it was either that or leftover vodka-soaked walleye. Just once, she wanted to see him choke down the alternative.

  “Is my mommy going to be here soon?” Felicia, a little girl with golden brown cornrows that must have taken her mother hours of painstaking braiding, stood on her chair, raising her skirt over her head. Showing off her pink My Little Pony underwear.

  PJ grabbed for the hem of her dress. “Sit down, honey. And yes.” Please yes. With the exception of the Hudson twins—Felicia and Daniel—the children had all been picked up within an hour of Jack’s arrest, something PJ could only credit to the Kellogg grapevine. How PJ looked forward to telling Trudi that most planned on finding alternative child care.

  Just one more minute with Boone, preferably in a closed room without witnesses—that’s all PJ wanted.

  Four-year-old Daniel sat at the table, his big brown eyes huge and full of vigor as he pounded his pile of dough to an indiscernible mess.

  “And what about Miss Trudi? Will she be back?” Felicia hopped off her chair and twirled in a circle, her sundress flying out around her. She giggled and fell into a heap.

  PJ had the inexpressible urge to join her, giggling insanely in a heap. “I hope so.”

  “Knock, knock!”

  The woman accompanying the accented voice was beautiful and dark-skinned, her hair in enviable spirals to her shoulders. She wore hospital scrubs.

  “Mama!” Felicia bounced to her feet and sprinted for her mother.

  Daniel squeezed his dough between his fingers like the blob.

  PJ brushed off her hands. “Hi there. Trudi had an emergency. I’m PJ—Davy’s aunt.”

  “Maxine Hudson. Thank you for staying and watching the kids. I hope everything is okay with Trudi.”

  PJ opened her mouth, not sure how far the news had traveled. Maybe hearing it from someone in Trudi’s corner would be better.

  Or not. No matter how “her husband’s been arrested” came out, it only sounded dark and painful. “I’m sure she’ll be back tomorrow.” PJ crouched next to Daniel. “Honey, your mommy’s here. Time to clean up.”

  Daniel smiled at his mom, then started to smash the dough into the container.

  “You help too,” Maxine said to Felicia.

  Oops, PJ’s turn. “Davy?” He lay in the fetal position on the floor. “Davy, can you help clean up too?”

  “No!”

  PJ cleared her throat, Maxine’s gaze heavy on her neck. “Davy—”

  “Go away!”

  “What should we do with these salt-dough hearts?” Maxine asked, transferring her daughter’s creations to a cookie tray, neatly deflecting attention from the drama.

  “Uh . . . Felicia can keep those to dry off and paint tomorrow.”

  Maxine carried the tray to the counter and placed it next to the other drying art projects.

  PJ turned back to Davy. Please.

  “Is he okay? Maybe he’s just having a hard day.”

  PJ instantly liked her. Which could be why the words just seemed to spill out, unguarded. “He’s tired of me, I think. His mother is on her honeymoon.”

  “Oh.” Maxine lifted Daniel from his chair, brought him to the sink to wash up. “He’s new here, right?”

  “He is. He was in Fellows, but . . . I thought it was too constricting. So, he’s here now.” She didn’t have to unearth everything for Maxine, who apparently was not only a superb mother but looked good doing it too.

  Maxine glanced over her shoulder, and PJ spotted a sisters-in-arms smile. “I looked at Fellows for the twins, but they have so much stress in their lives, I thought another year of playtime instead of preschool might benefit them.”

  See, she knew she liked this woman.

  “I couldn’t agree more.”

  Maxine returned to the table to finish cleaning up. “Are his parents divorced?”

  “His dad died a few years ago. His mother is a lawyer.”

  “I see,” she said cryptically, then crossed to Davy and knelt next to him, actually laying her head on the floor so she could look him in the eyes. “Davy, your aunt PJ wants you to help her. Can you be a big boy and get off the floor?”

  “No.”

  Maxine glanced at PJ. She shrugged. Welcome to her world.

  “Did you have fun here today, Davy?”

  He turned away from Maxine, but undaunted, she climbed over to the other side, smiled at him as if she had his number. “Do you want to come back tomorrow?”

  Davy’s little lips squished together, resembling a fish. He managed a barely perceptible nod.

  “Well, if you want to come back tomorrow, you have to clean up today. Can you help Daniel and Felicia pick up the Play-Doh so it doesn’t get yucky?”

  PJ held her hopes, or at least her breath, clenched against her chest.

  Davy pushed himself off the floor. Walked to the table. Grabbed Play-Doh and shoved it into a container.

  Maxine sat up on her knees. “Wow, you’re a really good picker upper.” She gave a little clap.

  He grinned at her, full on, without a hint of extortion in his expression.

  “Who are you . . . Supernanny?”

  Maxine l
aughed. “Child Psychology 101. In a previous life, I was a child therapist.”

  “Oh, that’s an unfair advantage, but I’ll pick your brain any day.”

  “You’re welcome to it, whatever’s left after having twins.” Maxine stood and grabbed Daniel’s backpack. She glanced at Davy and pitched her voice lower. “Must be hard to be alone, without siblings. I’ll bet his mother works a lot. And now that she’s on her honeymoon . . . well, I’ll bet the little guy has big questions.” Her voice stayed soft as Davy, Daniel, and Felicia moved toward the kitchen set to put away toys. “He’s probably afraid you’re her replacement.”

  “He does kick me a lot. And his new grandparents are staying with us, but they don’t speak English. I can see why that might be frightening. Add to that the fact he’s got a new daddy, and he spent three days in a Fellows straitjacket. I’d be craving sugar and kicking people too.”

  “Maybe he just needs to know that you’re not going anywhere.”

  PJ moved to pack up the blocks and put away the DVDs. She had been essentially dumping him places and throwing cookies at him since the moment they’d met.

  Davy stood at the door waving as Maxine left in her minivan with Daniel and Felicia. Outside, the sky had finally given over to drizzle. A low rumble of thunder rippled through the early twilight, and across the street, a car—a red Geo—drove past slowly, then roared away.

  “Want to come back here tomorrow, little man?”

  Davy didn’t answer.

  * * *

  “They officially arrested Jack for murder.” Trudi’s voice sounded as though it had been through a meat grinder, probably along with her sanity, after an afternoon at the police station. PJ knew too well how Rosie’s scrutiny could chew up a gal’s insides. Even when said gal was innocent.

  PJ sat on a wicker chair on the screened porch, her legs pulled up, redoing her fuchsia toenail polish, the phone pinned to her shoulder. The wind and rain had dampened the fringes of the patio porch, and moisture glistened on the fronds of a rubber plant in a wicker basket in the corner. A cup of Earl Grey steeped on the glass table next to her. Finally, finally, she’d gotten Davy to sleep, after a round of Horton, Green Eggs and Ham, and Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel.