Читать книгу Bone Cold - Erica Spindler, Erica Spindler - Страница 9

Thursday, January 11 The French Quarter

“What are you saying, Anna?” Jaye Arcenaux asked, slurping the last of her Mochasippi up through her straw. “That you think this kid’s some sort of stalker or something? That would be so cool.”

Jaye, Anna’s “little sister,” had turned fifteen a couple of weeks ago and now everything was either so “cool,” or “totally out there.”

Anna arched an eyebrow, amused. “Cool? I hardly think so.”

“You know what I mean.” She leaned closer. “So, is that what you think?”

“Of course not. All I’m saying is, there was something strange about her letter and I’m not sure I should answer it.”

“What do you mean, strange?” Jaye reached across the table to snitch a piece of Anna’s chocolate-chip cookie. “Dalton said all three of you got the creeps.”

“He’s exaggerating. It was late and we were all tired.

But it did seem like there was something weird about her home life. I’m a little concerned.”

“Now you’re talking my area of expertise. I’ve seen pretty much every kind of weird home life there is.”

That was true, a fact that broke Anna’s heart. She didn’t let her feelings show, however. Jaye didn’t want her pity, or anyone else’s for that matter. Jaye accepted her past for what it was; she expected no less from those around her.

“Actually, I was hoping to get your opinion.” Anna reached into her purse and drew out the letter, handing it to Jaye. “I could be reading more into it than is there. After all, concocting trouble is my stock-in-trade.”

While Jaye read the letter, Anna studied the girl. Jaye was strikingly attractive for one so young, with finely sculpted features and large, dark eyes. Until a week ago, when she had shocked Anna by showing up sporting her just-dyed, flame-red hair, she had been a brunette, her tresses a warm mocha color.

Jaye’s physical beauty was only marred by the brutal scar that ran diagonally across her mouth. A final gift from her abusive father—in a drunken rage he had thrown a beer bottle at her. It had caught her in the mouth, splitting her lips wide open. The bastard hadn’t even gotten her medical attention. By the time the school nurse had taken a look at her mouth the following Monday morning, it had been too late for stitches.

But not too late to call Social Services. Jaye had been on her way to a better life, her father to jail.

A lump formed in Anna’s throat and she shifted her gaze. She had become involved with Big Brothers, Big Sisters of America after researching the organization for an element in her second novel. She had interviewed several of the older girls in the program and had been profoundly moved by their stories, ones of need, salvation and affection.

Those girls had reminded her of herself at the same age. She, too, had been troubled and lonely, she, too, had been in desperate need of an anchor in a time of emotional turbulence.

Anna had decided to become a Big Sister herself, figuring she didn’t have anything to lose by giving the program a try.

She and Jaye had been “sisters” for two years.

In the course of those two years, they had become close. It hadn’t happened easily. At first Jaye, cynical for her age, angry and distrustful from a lifetime of being hurt and lied to, hadn’t wanted anything to do with Anna. And she had made her feelings clear.

But Anna had persevered. For two years she had followed through on every promise; she had listened instead of lectured, counseled only when asked and had stuck to her own beliefs, standing up to the girl’s every test.

Finally, Jaye had begun to trust. Affection had followed.

That affection was a two-way street. Something Anna hadn’t expected going into the program. She had wanted to do something to help someone else, in return she had forged a relationship that filled a place in her life and heart that she hadn’t even realized was empty.

Jaye looked up. “You’re not imagining things. This guy’s bad news.”

Anna’s stomach sank. “You’re sure?”

“You wanted my opinion.”

“When you say bad news, what do you mean…that he’s—”

“Anything from a major A-hole to a pervert who should be behind bars for life.”

A bitter edge crept into Jaye’s voice, one that made Anna ache. “That’s a pretty broad spectrum.”

“I’m not a psychic.” Jaye shrugged and handed the letter over. “I think you should write her back.”

Anna pursed her lips, less certain than her young friend that she should continue the correspondence. “I’m an adult. She’s a child. That makes communicating with her tricky. I don’t want an accusation of impropriety to come back from her parents. And I can’t very well just ask her about her father.”

“You’ll think of something to say.” Jaye wiped her mouth with her napkin. “This kid needs a friend.”

Anna frowned, torn. A part of her, the part that had always played it safe, urged her to toss the letter and forget all about Minnie and her problems. The other part agreed with Jaye. Minnie needed her. And she couldn’t turn her back on a child in need.

“Are you going to eat the rest of your cookie?” Jaye asked, interrupting her thoughts.

“It’s all yours.” Anna slid the plate across the table. “You’ve been really hungry lately, isn’t Fran a good cook?” she asked, referring to Jaye’s foster mother.

“Good cook?” Jaye made a face. “She’s like the worst cook on the planet. I swear, she must have studied at the Cordon-ralph.”

Anna laughed, then sobered. “But she is nice, right?”

Jaye lifted a shoulder. “She’s okay, I guess. When she’s not riding her broomstick and sacrificing small children and stray dogs under the full moon.”

“Very funny, wise apple.”

Anna supposed she liked Jaye’s new foster mother well enough, but something about her didn’t add up. She always seemed to be trying too hard. As if her heart wasn’t really into fostering so she had to pretend. Anna had been unsettled from the moment they’d met.

Still, she had been hoping Jaye would like Fran Clausen and her husband, Bob.

They left the CC’s coffeehouse minutes later, making their way out onto the French Quarter sidewalk. “So, how is everything going?” Anna asked.

“School or home?”

“Either. Both.”

“School’s okay. So’s home.”

“Next time, don’t bog me down with so many details. I’m overwhelmed.”

The girl grinned. “Sarcasm, Anna? Cool.”

Anna laughed and they continued to make their way along the busy sidewalk, pausing occasionally to ogle a store’s display. Anna enjoyed the scents, sounds and sights that were the French Quarter: a blending of the mostly old and sometimes new, of the garish and elegant, the delectable and offensive. Populated by both tourists and locals, street performers and street people, the place had captivated Anna on sight.

“Look at that,” Jaye murmured, stopping to peer in at a display of faux-fur jackets in a shop’s window. She pointed to a zebra-print coat in a bomber style. “Is that cool or what?”

“It is,” Anna agreed. “You want to try it on?”

She shook her head. “Only if they’re giving it away. Besides, it wouldn’t go with my hair.”

Anna glanced at Jaye. “I’m finally getting used to you being a redhead. The best part is that we look like sisters now.”

Jaye flushed, pleased. They continued on their way.

After a couple of moments, Jaye glanced at Anna. “Did I tell you about that creep who was following me?”

Anna stopped and looked at her friend, alarmed. “Someone was following you?”

“Yeah. But I gave him the slip.”

“When did this happen? Where?”

“The other day. I was on my way home from school.”

“What did he look like? Was it just that once or has he followed you before? “

“I didn’t get that good a look at him. From what I did see, he was just another old pervert.” Jaye shrugged again. “It’s no big deal.”

“It’s a very big deal. Did you tell your foster mom? Did she call—”

“Geez, Anna, get a grip. If I’d known you were going to flip out, I wouldn’t have told you. “

Anna took a deep breath. If she overreacted, Jaye would clam up. And that was the last thing she wanted. Jaye was a street-savvy kid, not an innocent who would be easily tricked by a stranger. She had even lived on the street for a time, a fact that never failed to make Anna shudder.

“Sorry for getting so intense,” she murmured. “Old people are such worrywarts.”

“You’re not old,” Jaye countered.

“Old enough to insist that if you see this guy again you’ll tell me and we’ll go to the police. Agreed?”

Jaye hesitated, then nodded. “Agreed.”