Safely Home

by Ruth Logan Herne

  “You mean when I fell on my butt or when I was stomping around, muttering incorrigible words of anger because physical therapy sucks?”

  That brought a smile to Gran’s face. “Sounded just like the temper tantrums you threw when you were a little girl.”

  “Wrong girl.” Cress shook her head, her chin firm. “Kiera was the temperamental one. I was the good child.”

  Gran snorted. “You were a corker then, you’re a corker now. Time don’t change some things.” She shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe softens them a little.”

  “Not in every case, though.”

  Cress turned toward Alex’s voice, hoping the jog of anticipation that jump-started her heart didn’t show in her response. “You here for coffee, Counselor, or money? I think Gran’s tapped out at the moment.”

  He tossed her a look that said ‘stuff it’, then bent to give Gran a nice, big hug which made Cress more than a little bit envious. When he released the old gal, she leveled a stern look to Cress. “You leave Alex alone. He’s a good friend.”

  Cress put her hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, Gran. Whatever makes you happy.”

  “Hmph.”

  Alex reached out for the box he’d set inside the door before greeting Gran. “Donuts. An assortment. I wasn’t sure what kind you liked,” he jerked his head Cress’s way, eyes down, “But they had one called an ‘attitude’ donut. Figured it would be perfect for you, Crescent.” He reached into the box and pulled out a white-frosted, chocolate donut. A scowling face topped the white glaze, piped in dark chocolate frosting, ragged eyebrows and all. Alex held the donut up, facing him, his gaze shifting from Cress to the pastry as if weighing differences. “Just what I thought.” He offered a nod of approval as Cress’s frown deepened. “Spitting image.”

  “You’re not funny.”

  “No?” His gaze noted the tilt of humor she couldn’t quite hide. “I think you’re wrong, Detective. I’m quite funny. And hungry. Got coffee?”

  Gran stood, flapped her apron at him when he started to protest that he could get his own coffee, and moved to the counter. “Nice and fresh, just like you like it.”

  “You spoil him.” Deliberately ignoring the scowling donut, Cress reached into the box for a cruller. She took a bite, savoring the delicate mix of air-filled egg cake and sweet glaze. “I love these things.”

  Alex eyed the egg-puffed pastry, disbelieving. “Mostly air.”

  “Mm hmm.” She nodded around a second, more generous bite. “That way I can eat as many as I want and not feel guilty.”

  “But I only got one.” Was that remorse she sensed in his voice, or heartburn? Most likely heartburn, she decided, but then he leaned closer, hands clasped against his knees. “I’d have gotten more if I knew.”

  He was being nice again, like last night, and Cress wasn’t sure how to handle that. Alex hadn’t been nice to her since, well… ever, and that was perfectly okay because she couldn’t stand him, either.

  And in the cool light of day, she couldn’t forget that he’d bedazzled Gran out of her family legacy. Cress swept her gaze to the angry-faced donut. “Oh I think you knew exactly what you were doing, Counselor.”

  “Here’s your coffee, Alex.” Gran set the steaming mug onto the table, a cloud of cream blending and softening the deeper tones of the coffee.

  Without acknowledging Cress’s statement, Alex switched his attention to Gran. “And real cream. You do spoil me.”

  “Good.” Gran gave a swift nod, her hands busy setting things aside, a nervous trait when complimented.

  Determined that her grandmother should open her eyes and see Alex’s true colors, Cress dove into unprotected waters. “So, Alex, when is the parkland slated to be finished? Or should I say started?” She jerked her head toward the upper back fields, the view obscured by newly-framed houses following the rise and fall of never-to-be-used-again farmland.

  Alex sipped his coffee, smiled his appreciation at Gran who reached out and patted his hand, then angled his head Cress’s way. “We’re still ironing out some unexpected details. Hopefully by spring we should be ready to put everything in place.”

  “And we’re nearly four years into this development?” Cress let her tone reflect what she thought of that. “Play space doesn’t make much money, does it, Counselor? Can’t compete with your suburban home-with-a-view upscale price-tags, huh? Not much paper in the pocket from playgrounds and swings, is there?”

  He leveled a calm look her way, just to annoy her further, she was sure, then shrugged. “Actually, I think the green space development is crucial to a fine housing proposal, regardless of the house plans or lot sizes, and the parkland will be developed east and southeast of Birch Bark Trail, the latest road into the neighborhood.” He ran an easy finger around the rim of his mug, thoughtful. “Kids need a place to play. Sleigh rides in the winter. Baseball in the summer. Sounds pretty All-American to me.”

  His words tweaked a memory for Cress, of Alex, working from childhood up. Alex and Cruz Westmore had never played on baseball teams, their parents cheering in unison from chilled, metal bleachers. With their father’s addiction, then death, Mrs. Westmore had little time to do anything but earn money to keep afloat. The boys had rarely joined the winter sledding groups or ice skaters, because each one had taken on odd jobs from an early age to help their mother. Their one concession to boyhood had been backyard football games, day after day, week after week, earning both boys a slot on the high school varsity team as freshman. An honor in a small town that loved the gridiron, their positions on the offensive line hard won and hard fought.

  And after seeing Alex with his mother the previous week, he clearly considered helping his mother an important task.

  Gran changed the subject. “How’s that football team of yours coming along?”

  Cress puckered her brow. “It’s barely time for football to start. Right?”

  Alex opened his mouth to respond but Gran beat him to it, proud as an old hen crossing the barnyard with a dozen new chicks. “Alex is sponsoring the youth football program here. He put up enough money so that kids whose families can’t afford the fees or uniform costs can still play. They started practicing a few weeks ago, didn’t they Alex?”

  He nodded.

  “And isn’t Mac’s wife coaching the little cheerleaders?”

  A flash darkened his features. He worked his jaw, eyes trained on the mug before him. “Not this year.”

  Gran angled her head, puzzled. “Are you sure? Mary Dumerese seemed quite certain that—”

  “She’s gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “Gone?” Cress echoed.

  Alex clicked his tongue against his teeth, then gave a half-shrug, half-nod. “She left Mac and the kids to follow a former Viking to Tampa Bay, Florida.”

  “You’re kidding.” Cress had been leaning back in her chair, the front legs raised up. Her ire brought the chair down with a snap. “She left Mac? One of the nicest guys on earth? And those two kids?”

  Gran didn’t seem quite so surprised. “Always was one to look for better, in my opinion. She traded up her cars, her diamond… Why not her husband?”

  “Gran, that’s awful.”

  Alex’s expression flattened. “That’s Lindi in a nutshell, Gran. How’d you get so smart and why couldn’t you have warned Mac a little earlier, say, like, oh… seven years ago?”

  “He wouldn’t have listened.” Gran offered them a matter of fact expression that broached no argument. “At twenty-four, a sweet little thing like Belinda Cunningham hanging on your every word? No, Mac wouldn’t have wanted to hear what I had to say.”

  “Well feel free to be honest with me when the time comes,” Alex half-joked, but didn’t downplay the meaning in his words. “Sooner’s better than later when it comes to certain things.”

  Gran shifted her gaze to Cress. “How about you, Crescent? Would you like me to be honest with you as well?”

  Not in this lifetime. If Gran had an inkling o
f what had happened with James, she’d be first in line to kick his sorry butt from here to eternity. And Cress’s, too. Nope. No way would Gran be calling the shots on Cress’s former relationship. That level of embarrassment she did not need. “I’ve got it covered, Gran, but thanks. Trust me. If I need you, I’ll let you know.”

  Gran assessed her with a look. “No you won’t. You hate it when people tell you what to do. Always did. That can be a problem, you know.”

  “Yup.” Cress nodded, stood and crossed the room, busying her hands at the sink. “One I got from you. Thanks for that, by the way.”

  Alex stood as well. He didn’t say a word for long seconds, forcing Cress to glance his way. He held the sullen donut up. “So you’re not interested?”

  She had no trouble reading the double entendre and even if she was interested, she’d deny it. Not now or ever. Go away. “Not in this lifetime, Counselor.”

  “I was, of course, referring to the donut.”

  “I know what you meant.” For pity’s sake, did he think for a minute she was suggesting anything else? With him? Please. No matter how thick his hair was, and how those eyes gazed like they could see into her soul. If she had a soul. Nearly a decade on the force and three years with James had her doubting the probability.

  “I’ll eat it then.” He took one big bite, his expression savoring the half-scowl, then practically inhaled the remaining half, total guy, chewing and swallowing with exaggerated relish. “Awesome.”

  “Would you like a quart of milk to wash it down?”

  A slight smile curved his mouth. His eyes lightened a shade, giving them a softer look, less hardscrabble. “The coffee was fine, thanks. I’ve got to push off.”

  Gran nodded and started to stand. He put a gentle hand to her shoulder and kept her in her chair. “I can see myself out, same as I saw myself in. You rest, okay? Cress is here for a reason. She wants to help. Don’t give her a hard time and be good to yourself.”

  “You’re getting bossy.”

  He grinned. “I’ve always been bossy. That’s why we get along so well. You listen to Cress, you hear?”

  If anyone else talked to Gran that way, they’d have gotten an earful.

  Not Alex. She rolled her eyes but smiled. “Yes, sir.” She nodded toward the donuts. “Thank you for those. They’re a real nice treat.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Are you coaching tonight?”

  He nodded. “Four nights a week at the village park. Makes things a little hairy because Mac’s coaching too and Cruz and I are sharing his boys so he can continue with the high school team.”

  “Cress can help.”

  Gran’s offer forced Cress to turn around. She shook her head, her focus darting from Gran to Alex. “Um, no. She can’t.”

  “Of course you can.” Gran frowned. Her finger thumped the table. “What else have you got to do?”

  “I’m helping Audra with a horse she rescued.” Cress tossed the explanation out, hoping it would buy her time. “I told you that, remember?”

  Nope.

  “Do that this afternoon while I’m napping,” Gran offered sensibly. “Then you can help with the boys tonight.”

  “I don’t know anything about boys,” Cress protested, her voice rising, her hands coated in soap bubbles.

  “No argument here.” The look Alex tilted her way said so much more than the words.

  “What’s to know?” Gran demanded. “You run around with them, take them to the playground, buy ‘em an ice cream at Smithy’s. How long’s practice?”

  For some reason Alex seemed to be enjoying this. He shifted his look from Cress to Gran, his face a picture of innocence. “Six to eight.”

  “Two hours?” Cress’s voice nearly squeaked. This couldn’t get worse. Not possible.

  “Two and a half, actually,” Alex explained. “I have to get there early and sometimes the parents hold me up at the end. Questions and stuff like that. Maybe two-and-three-quarters, in fact.”

  Nearly three hours of her life spent trying to amuse two little boys she’d never met and already didn’t like. “How old are they?”

  “Five and three.”

  “Just babies,” her grandmother exhorted.

  “Listen, Cress, I didn’t mean to railroad you,” Alex started, his voice lawyer-calm but his eyes twinkling the exact opposite. “I’m sure I can manage a squad of forty nine-year-olds and two pre-schoolers.”

  Forty. He was coaching forty kids and she was whining about two little ones, barely big enough to catch a ball. Humbled by the comparison, she caved. “Where do I meet you?”

  He let Gran see the smile but not the wink. “The village park, field four, behind the lodge.”

  She nodded. The look of satisfaction on Gran’s face should have felt good, but didn’t. Why did she feel like she’d just been totally manipulated into something she’d never have done on her own?

  Because she had.

  Alex nodded to Gran, one hand on the door. “See you later, Gran. If you need anything, just call.”

  “I will.”

  “Cress.” He turned her way, his expression frankly amused. “See you tonight.”

  Her chest fluttered. She chalked it up to caffeine rush and turned back to the sink. “Feed them first.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And make sure they use the bathroom.”

  He hedged, still grinning. “That one I can’t guarantee. Three hours can be a mighty long time for a three-year-old.”

  The thought of taking a little boy to the bathroom made her cringe. Did you take them to the women’s side or the men’s side?

  “But where—?” she turned to call after him and found he hadn’t quite left.

  “Use the women’s side,” he offered, the smile softer but still defined, “despite their protests. Safer, all around.”

  Was her lack of experience that obvious? Of course it was. Give her a murder investigation, no problem. A drug ring, she was on it, no question. Squirrel her into a job undercover, Detective Cress Dietrich was your girl. She could hootch it up, tone it down, flirt, tease, or be Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm. Role-playing as needed, Cress could pan it out until the final curtain, collaring the bad guys on the streets of Minneapolis.

  But two little boys with bathroom issues?

  Mind-boggling scary.

  Chapter Nine

  “Shut up.”

  The tone tweaked Cress, not the words. Her internal cop radar ramped as she turned the corner of the grocery aisle a few hours later. Keeping her eyes trained on the bread display, she pretended great interest in whole grain vs. multi-, turning the packages as if weighing her options while assessing the scene to her right.

  A tousled-haired boy stood perfectly still, his hopeful look squashed by some inner knowledge as the scruffy woman at his side chose two flaky cherry turnovers and placed them in the waxed white sack.

  Anticipation followed the pastries, the boy’s eyes mirroring his appetite. He licked his lips and swallowed, salivating, and Cress was reminded of Old Shep, foreseeing a treat.

  But something in the woman’s tone and the boy’s countenance told her no treat would be forthcoming. And that made her wonder.

  The local grocery had a small seating area, five square tables, benches attached, nothing fancy, but enough space for the slight crowd who frequented the deli or bakery counters at any one time. Most customers were in too much of a hurry to sit in the grocery store and chat, but Cress had noted a couple of regulars who hung out there, coffees in hand, sharing tidbits of gossip and news.

  Of course in her hometown one equated the other, so they always had plenty to stew about.

  The woman moved to the deli check-out, less crowded than the big registers at the front of the store. Once she paid for the fruit-stuffed pies, she burrowed into one of the benches, hunched forward, eyes downcast. The boy sidled onto the opposite bench, silent and still, nostrils flared, his gaze riveted on the bag.

  “Your
coffee, ma’am.” The deli girl brought over a steaming foam cup. She set the coffee on the table and angled three little creamers alongside.

  The woman gave a curt nod, never glancing up. The deli clerk offered a ‘whatever’ look, rolled her eyes and strode back to her work area.

  “Here.” The woman handed two of the creamers to the boy who grasped them with eager hands, tearing back the foil cover and downing the meager contents in swift form. She stirred the third creamer into her coffee, then took a huge bite of turnover, flaky crumbs dotting the table as she chewed.

  The boy stared, eyes wide, waiting, his throat contracting as he swallowed saliva.

  The woman ate to the last two corners of the turnover, the back, crusty parts, then handed the dry points to the child. Once again the boy downed them as if starving, small hands shoving the food into his face as if afraid it might be snatched back.

  While Cress moved to the opposite corner of the bakery area, the scene repeated itself, the boy getting the back two corners of that turnover as well.

  Cop instincts warred with plain decency. A huge part of Cress wanted to march to the counter, buy the kid his own food and hand it to him to thwart the gruff-faced woman’s sense of control.

  But her cop side alerted her to two things. One, that something else might be going on here, something worth checking out, and two, that outside interference might bring wrath upon the boy in a much more physical way once the kid got home. Cress had seen that scenario far too often to take it lightly.

  No. For now, better to suck it up and try to find out who they were. Where they lived. Something about the whole situation smelled raw, but Cress had been on the side of law and order long enough to know the wheels of justice sometimes cranked slowly.

  Leaving the counter girl a mess of crumbs, wax paper wrappers and no tip, the woman pushed to her feet, a little unstable, then jerked her head for the boy to follow. The kid did, his eyes darting one last look at the bakery full of sweets and breads, his somber gaze wanting.

  Cress set down her items, skirted the opposite end of the deli and watched through a window as the pair climbed into a ratty old pick-up. Committing the license plate to memory and wishing she’d bothered to carry a purse with a notepad, she left her carrots abandoned in the store and ran to her car, following the pick-up from a good distance. When it finally turned down a dirt lane about five miles out of town, Cress breezed on by, taking the next turn to circle around, unwilling to chance being seen.