He twisted his lips and looked away.
“Let me see. Maybe your name is Aladdin?”
He shook his head.
“How about Methuselah?”
Confusion ran through his eyes. “That’s not a real name.”
“Well, it is, but I can see why a little boy wouldn’t want that name,” Lauren said. “Something simpler, then. John. Is your name John?”
He rubbed one eye.
The director’s office door opened.
“Christopher, have you been good?” A young woman knelt in front of the boy and looked at Lauren. “I hope he wasn’t bothering you.”
“I would say it was the other way around,” Lauren said. Christopher was a quiet child. He didn’t smile much, either. Lauren met the weary eyes of his mother.
“I’m sorry if I took a long time in there. I just. . .had a lot of questions.” The young woman, who Lauren was sure was a good four years younger than she was, took Christopher’s hand. “Come on, sweetie. Mommy needs to see someone else.”
He stood up and tolerated his mother’s motions to straighten his shirt. Lauren winked at him and then looked at the clock and at the clipboard in her lap, making sure she had the correct page of notes before knocking on the director’s door. She approached the door and raised her hand.
The sound of the young mother’s shuffle tugged on Lauren’s gaze, but the clipboard weighed heavy in her grip and the health fair heavy in her mind. She blinked and turned back to the director’s office, but her knuckles refused to make contact with the door. Lauren looked again at the mother whose shoulders drooped as she stroked the back of her son’s head.
“I’m Lauren.” She stepped down the hall.
“Excuse me?” The woman stopped walking and turned.
“I’m Lauren, and I have a feeling you could use a friend right now.” The sensation had started the moment Lauren saw Christopher, and Lauren was glad to speak it aloud.
The woman’s face blanched and her eyes reddened. “I’m Molly. And you’re right.”
Lauren jammed the clipboard into her cross-body bag. “Do you mind if I ask what you need to go see someone else about?”
“Gas. For starters.”
Lauren paced toward Molly, who picked up her son. “And what else?”
Molly moistened her lips. “Groceries. Someone told me there was a food pantry here, but I guess they were confused.”
“I can help you.” Lauren couldn’t believe she’d almost ignored her instincts about this mother and child because details of the health fair overwhelmed her. She reached into her bag for an item she always carried on behalf of the church. “Could you use a gift card for the gas station down the road?”
Molly’s eyes widened.
“Please,” Lauren said. “Take it. I don’t have a car, but if you don’t mind an extra passenger, I can open the food pantry at the church where I work.”
“You work at a church?”
“I do.” Lauren tilted her head back toward the director’s office. “If you’d like, we can go back and talk to Mrs. Hubbard. She’ll vouch for me.”
Molly kissed Christopher’s face. “You know what? I trust you.”
Christopher raised his head off his mother’s shoulder. “My daddy went away. He doesn’t love us anymore.”
Lauren’s stomach churned. No child should ever have to say those words.
“It’s complicated,” Molly said quickly. “We married young and had Christopher. Then we had a baby girl, but she was sick.”
“My sister died.”
Lauren was stunned at the flat tone in Christopher’s voice. Did he understand death? The permanence of it?
Molly put a finger over Christopher’s lips. “We couldn’t keep up with the medical bills. . .or the funeral. My husband said he needed a break. But it’s been over a year. He’s not coming back, and I don’t believe in lying to my son.”
Lauren doubted she would be as brave under similar circumstances.
“You don’t have to explain,” she said. “Let’s just get you the help you need.”
“Thank you.”
“Could Christopher use a new winter coat? I have one I think would fit him perfectly.” Lauren saw no reason why the boy should wait until Saturday for the jacket he was meant to have.
2:46 p.m.
“I hate ice.” Nicole winced as Ethan secured the ice pack around her ankle.
“Ice is your friend.” Ethan gently repositioned her ankle. “It’s the best anti-inflammatory there is.”
Nicole knew she was grumbling too much. Despite her best resolve, though, the complaints came out of her mouth. Her ankle throbbed. Pain pills helped, but they made her groggy. If it weren’t for Quinn’s absence, maybe she’d be a better patient, but she wasn’t going to get a chance to find out.
“We should have gone to Birch Bend,” she said. “We would at least be doing something useful while you’re still here.”
“Nicole, we already talked about this.”
She put her head back against the chair and sighed. “I hate ice. I hate pain. I hate the stupid pills. I hate not knowing where Quinn is. I hate that I let ten years go by. I hate it all.”
“I know.” Ethan adjusted the pillow under her foot.
“Has Hansen called you back?”
“Not yet. Do you want something to drink?”
“Juice, please.” The sugar might jolt her brain into action.
She could ride in the backseat of Ethan’s car with her foot elevated on as many pillows as he wanted to prescribe. Except when she was icing her ankle, it was immobilized in a boot cast—and considering how much it hurt, Nicole was certain she would remember not to put any weight on it while using crutches. Birch Bend had the county clerk’s office and a larger regional newspaper than the few pages Marv Stanford produced every Tuesday.
Ethan handed her a glass of cranberry juice. “Friday is only the day after tomorrow. You can see the orthopedist and, if you feel up to it, make some inquiries in Birch Bend.”
Nicole drank half the juice in one long gulp. “Maybe you should call Hansen again.”
“He’ll call when he has something to say.”
“If you leave, who will take me to the orthopedist?”
Ethan sat on the end of the coffee table and rearranged the ice pack on Nicole’s foot. “We’ll figure it out. I’m sure Lauren can suggest someone who might help—someone from the church, perhaps.”
Nicole sipped the juice, this time with less vigor. Ethan was right. Lauren had a lot on her mind, but she wouldn’t leave Nicole stranded on Friday.
Nicole wanted Ethan to take her, though, and not just because he would indulge her investigative urges.
Nicole handed the empty glass to Ethan. “I should call my office again.”
She was going to have to rearrange her life for a couple of weeks even if she managed to get home to St. Louis and even if she didn’t need surgery. Nicole had been trying to reach Terry, the administrative assistant who provided support to a cadre of reporters. It was unlike Terry to go all day without responding to a phone message. Nicole called Terry’s direct line once again and got her voice mail for the fourth time that day.
Ethan took the juice glass to the kitchen. Nicole heard running water and clinking plates as Ethan cleaned up the lunch dishes. She looked at the time displayed on her cell phone, anxious to get the ice off her ankle and the boot back on. Ethan was a stickler, not willing to shave even two minutes off the twenty-minute icing cycle. Lauren had made Nicole comfortable in a set of sweats, but if Nicole was going to be confined to Lauren’s apartment for at least the next two days, she was going to need her own things. Ethan would have to go to the Sandquist house and gather up the contents of the suitcase Nicole had traveled with. Already she’d exceeded the number of days she planned to stay in Hidden Falls.
At least the recliner was next to the big window overlooking Main Street. Nicole rolled her head toward the outside view of a sunny fall day i
dentical to yesterday. An Indian summer might still erupt, but for now, most people moving around town wore a sweater or light jacket. Without leaning against the window more precariously than Ethan would permit, Nicole couldn’t see the sidewalk below the apartment, but she had a clear view of the other side of the street. A small park interrupted the row of specialty shops, and Nicole’s eyes settled there. The trees at the center of the park had dropped another layer of leaves since Nicole looked on the same scene the day before. Ragged points of maple leaves curled in as the breeze clustered fallen colors against the trunks of the trees.
A man walked through the park, and a flare of recognition made Nicole’s head leave the back of the chair as she leaned toward the glass. A second man followed, his manner a little too precise to suit Nicole.
“Ethan.”
His steps brought him out of the kitchen. “Need something?”
“Come here. Isn’t that your dad down in the park?”
Ethan made no move to cross the room.
Nicole looked up at him. “I have a bad feeling. Maybe you should go down there.”
Now Ethan stood beside the chair and looked out.
“That is your dad, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but you know I wasn’t planning to see them.”
“This is different. That other guy—” Nicole lurched as much as the sprawling recliner would allow.
In the park, the second man came up behind Richard Jordan and reached for his back pocket. Richard responded to the man’s touch with a swift pulse of his elbow, and the two of them tussled. Richard fell to the ground and the other man—younger and someone Nicole didn’t recognize—ran back in the direction he’d come from.
“Did he get your dad’s wallet?” Nicole asked.
“I couldn’t tell.”
“You should go down there and make sure your dad’s all right.”
Ethan didn’t move. “He’s already getting up. He’s not hurt.”
Richard Jordan resumed his walk, crossed Main Street, and went out of view.
“It’s been ten years, Ethan.” Nicole caught his eyes and held them.
“I know.”
“You’re not a kid now. You know how the world works.”
Ethan stepped away. “I’m aware of my age. Some things don’t change.”
“They might. Besides, sooner or later, someone is going to mention to your parents that they saw you.”
Ethan picked up Nicole’s phone and tapped an application. “Here. See if you can beat yourself at Scrabble. No Internet browsing allowed.”
Nicole took the phone, but her eyes returned to the empty park.
4:13 p.m.
When Jack Parker heard a door close down the hall and recognized the anxious gait that followed, he got up and left his own desk, walked past the as yet unoccupied secretary’s desk in the outer office of his suite, and stepped into the hall just in time to intersect Liam Elliott.
If possible, Liam looked even worse than the last time Jack saw him less than twenty-four hours earlier. He had an all-nighter look about him. At least Liam wasn’t wearing the same suit.
“You doing okay, buddy?” Jack fell into step with Liam as they reached the top of the stairs.
“It’s a hectic time.” Liam didn’t meet Jack’s eye.
“I sure hate seeing you look so worn out these days.”
“It won’t last forever. You know how work can be. Feast or famine.”
Jack kept pace with Liam descending the stairs. “I do know.”
Jack thrived on feasting. He got by the last few months with routine work from established clients who stayed with the practice after Jack took it over, but it was no feast. His practice needed an injection of interesting work, something that would justify the expense of finding someone to replace the legal secretary who retired when her employers turned the practice over to Jack.
The overstuffed leather computer bag Liam carried around would suggest his business was doing well, but Jack was unpersuaded. Liam didn’t look harried by work. Jack had seen enough frightened clients to recognize the face of fear.
“Do you have time for a cup of coffee?” Jack asked as they reached the sidewalk.
Liam shook his head. “I’m hoping to catch the mayor.”
“I thought she kept morning office hours.”
“I heard she was in her store today.”
They rounded the corner and walked over one block to Main Street.
“Something’s going on in the park,” Jack said.
Liam hesitated long enough to turn his head.
“Isn’t that your brother?” Jack nodded toward the uniformed sheriff’s deputy taking notes while an older man pointed and waved his arms.
“With Richard Jordan.” Liam looked toward the park and then down the street.
“You know him?”
“He’s a client.”
“Maybe he needs help.” Jack stepped off the curb to cross the street.
“I’ll catch you later, Jack.” Liam continued down the sidewalk.
Jack knew where to find Liam. This skirmish in the park would be a brief diversion, but if it had legal overtones, Jack didn’t want to miss it.
“Did you see what he looked like?” Cooper Elliott said as Jack reached him.
“Young. Dark. Strong.” Richard thrust an index finger toward the back of the park. “He came from that direction. He was trying to get my wallet.”
“Did you see his face?” Cooper asked, his pen poised over the form he was filling out.
Richard shrugged. “He never looked at me full on.”
Jack cleared his throat. “What I think the good officer is getting at, Mr. Jordan, is whether you would be able to identify your assailant if you saw him again.”
“Hello, Jack.” Cooper gave Jack a cool look.
“How do you know my name?” Richard asked.
Jack extended a hand. “Jack Parker, attorney. I only want to help.”
“Jack.” Cooper cocked his head. “Let me get the man’s report.”
“Of course.” Jack stepped back to where he could casually look over Cooper’s shoulder at the makeshift map of the park drawn with stick figures and arrows.
“I think he was following me ever since I left the hardware store,” Richard Jordan said. “He was dressed all in black and gray, but I remember noticing he was wearing green tennis shoes. Seemed odd to me.”
Cooper made notes. “But you didn’t see his face?”
“It was just a face. Who notices the face of everyone you see when you’re out running errands?”
“And no suspicious behavior?”
“Not until he tried to steal my wallet.”
“We’re right off Main Street,” Jack said. “Someone else must have seen something.”
“I already told Officer Elliott I didn’t notice who else was around. Not anybody I know, I guess.”
“That’s right.” Cooper clicked his ballpoint pen. “We’ve already been over that ground. I think I have everything I need for now. I’ll see if there have been any other reports of pickpockets lately. Maybe we’ll find a pattern.”
“Be sure you talk to Gavin Owens about the attempted purse snatching in his restaurant.” Jack reached into his breast pocket, withdrew a business card, and handed it to Richard. “I’m experienced with criminal cases. I might be able to help you remember something you don’t realize is significant.”
Richard put the card in the pocket of his brown flannel-lined jacket. “I have to go meet my wife.”
“Call me anytime if you want some help.”
Jack looked down the street. Liam was out of view. Jack found it hard to believe Liam and Cooper were brothers. Beyond a vague family resemblance, they seemed nothing alike, even when Liam was not the ball of nerves he’d become in the last few days. By now Liam was probably at Waterfall Books and Gifts. Jack crossed the street and strode down the sidewalk.
At the mayor’s shop, Jack tried the front door and found it locked
. He could see into the store, though, and watched Liam set his lumpy bag on the counter. Jack jiggled the doorknob again, and Sylvia looked up and pointed at the sign. Closed. Unperturbed, Jack waved through the glass but made no movement away from the door. When he had Sylvia’s eye, he pointed at the door. A moment later she turned the latch.
“We’re not open, Jack. It’s still a mess in here.”
“I just thought I’d see if I could be helpful.” Jack pushed into the store.
“We have it in hand,” Sylvia said.
Jack spotted Dani Roose toward the back of the store. She was definitely someone he should speak to soon. He could represent her interests in making sure any suspects in the vandalism to her boat were prosecuted as thoroughly as possible. Probably there were grounds for a civil case on top of criminal charges.
“I haven’t heard back on the calls I made yesterday,” Jack said. “It takes time, though. I’ll be sure to let you know as soon as I hear anything.”
Silent, Liam shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
The poor guy can hardly stand up, Jack thought.
Sylvia turned to Liam. “As I was saying, the best thing is to call Marianne and make an appointment to see me. Then we can talk without interruption.”
Liam glanced at Jack and ran his tongue over his lips. “I appreciate your willingness to see me in your office, but I believe this is an urgent matter.”
Jack knew when to keep his mouth closed. He stepped back two paces to listen.
“You can see I’m in the middle of my own muddle. I could give you my full attention at Town Hall.”
Liam glared at Jack. “I was hoping to speak privately.”
Jack gave a smug smile. He wasn’t going anywhere.
“I’ve told you before,” Sylvia said, “the town council can’t look at your proposal until the comptroller has vetted it.”
“This is about Quinn.”
Sylvia froze. “What about Quinn?”
Jack leaned with one palm on the counter.
Liam took his phone out and tapped a few buttons before turning the screen toward Sylvia. “This was mixed in with my mail. I couldn’t keep the letter, obviously. I hope it’s not a crime to take a picture, but I thought it might mean something. Look at the next one, too.”
No Time for Answers Page 3
