Читать книгу The Christmas Child - Linda Goodnight - Страница 9

Davey sat in Police Chief Jesse Rainmaker’s desk chair, swiveling back and forth, while the adults—Sophie, Ida June and Kade—discussed his situation. The Dumpster divers had come and gone, promising to “spread the word” and find where Davey belonged.

Kade hoped they could, but he wasn’t holding his breath. He’d seen this before, although finding a kid in a trash can was a new low. A kid, tossed away like tissue. Use once and discard. Yeah, he’d seen plenty of that. Only they got used more than once before they ran or were discarded.

Kade’s gut burned with the implication. He hoped he was wrong. He turned his back to the sad little scene and perused the faxes and photos on a bulletin board. Creeps, losers, scum. Somebody somewhere knew who this kid was and what had happened to him.

“Has he told you anything at all? Where he’s from, his name, his parents. Anything?” Police Chief Jesse Rainmaker was a solid man. In a few short weeks, Kade had come to respect the understaffed officer and his handful of deputies. They were small-town but efficient and smart. Good cops.

“Nothing,” Sophie said. “Even over breakfast, he didn’t say a word. I’m starting to wonder if he can speak.”

The sweet-faced schoolteacher had drawn a chair up next to Davey. She was good with the kid, calmed him, gave him a sense of security. For a fraction of a minute in the Dumpster, she’d done the same for him. It was a weird feeling.

Kade pivoted. “Why don’t we ask him? Obviously, he can hear.”

“Or he reads lips,” Sophie said.

Chief Rainmaker tilted his head. “Hadn’t thought of that.”

“I know sign language. I can try that, too,” Sophie said, moving round in front of Davey. “Davey.”

The dirty little boy focused on her face. Some of his fear had dissipated, but he remained edgy, watchful, uncertain.

With a grace Kade found beautiful, the woman moved her hands in silent communication. Davey stared but didn’t respond.

“Well, that didn’t work. Davey, can you hear me?”

An eager head bob.

“Why won’t you talk to me?”

Davey shrugged, one hand moving to his throat.

“Let’s send him over to the clinic,” Rainmaker said. “Have him checked out. Either he won’t talk for some reason or he can’t.”

Restless in the small office Kade paced from the bulletin board to the boy and back again. Someone had put an automatic air freshener on top of the file cabinet to counter act the smell of burned coffee and stale shoes. Every few minutes, a spurt of fragrance hissed a girly scent into the air. Jesse either had a wife or secretary. No self-respecting cop would buy—Kade squinted at the can—white tea and roses. Smelled pretty good, though.

“Then what happens to him?” he asked.

Rainmaker rounded his desk, a long metal structure overflowing with paperwork. Kade empathized. Paperwork was the bane of cops.

The chief shuffled through some messages, pulled a stack of faxes from the basket. “Nothing on the wires about a missing child in the area, but I’ll make more calls and get the word out. We’ll hear something soon.”

Kade didn’t let it go. Couldn’t. “If you don’t?”

“Child protective services will take over. I’ll have to notify them anyway. Someone is responsible for letting this boy get in this situation. Finding them is my job. Taking care of the child isn’t.”

Kade grunted. Shoulders tense, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. He’d told himself the same thing once. It was a lie. Taking care of the kids was everyone’s job.

Ida June, who’d remained amazingly silent for a full ten minutes, piped up in her take-no-guff tone. “We’ll take the boy home with us. No need to call anyone.”

His aunt’s idea took Kade by surprise, but he didn’t object. He wanted to keep an eye on Davey, just as he wanted to find out who’d left him in such a condition. Someone needed to pay big-time. And Kade was in the mood to be the collector.

“Now, Miss Ida June, you know I have to follow the law,” Jesse said patiently.

“Please, Jesse,” Sophie said, voice as sweet as her face. “I’d take him myself, but I have to get to school. I’m already late and an aide is watching my class, but Davey’s too fragile to go with another stranger right now.”

If Rainmaker could resist that face and tone, he was a strong man.

“Girl’s right,” Ida June announced with a slap to the desktop. Davey jumped, blue eyes blinking rapidly. Sophie placed a soothing hand on his knee. “We’ll take Davey to the clinic, me and my nephew here, and then home to clean up. I figure the little man is tuckered plum out. He can rest up for a few hours at my place, and then if you haven’t found his mama and daddy, you can call Howard Prichard.”

Jesse rubbed the back of his neck. “Tell you what, Miss Ida June, I’ll give Howard a call and apprise him of the situation. If he agrees, it’s a deal.”

Good luck with that, Kade thought.

“Well, get to it.” Ida June crossed her arms over the front of her overalls. “Time wasted is gone forever and Lord knows, at my age, I can’t afford to lose any.”

Mouth twitching, Jesse made the phone call. When the social worker agreed with Ida June’s plan, Kade was amazed. Small towns worked differently than the city where the letter of the law was followed, regardless. Here, apparently, human beings took precedence over protocol. Interesting.

They prepared to load Davey and his book into Kade’s truck. Ida June had wanted him to ride with her, but Kade and Jesse both said, “No!” with such force that Ida June puffed up like an adder and stalked off. Kade didn’t ride with her. He sure wasn’t putting a child in the truck with her.

“She cut across the street yesterday, slapped a U-turn as if there weren’t cars coming both ways, all because there was a parking spot on the other side.”

Rainmaker nodded sagely. “I think she got her driver’s license out of a cereal box.”

Kade arched an eyebrow. “She has one?”

Both men chuckled.

“Come on, Davey,” Kade said, taking the boy by the hand.

Davey hopped obediently from the chair and reached for Sophie. Her face crumbled. “Oh, honey, I can’t go with you. I have to go to work.”

Davey wrenched away from Kade to throw both arms around Sophie’s middle. With a helpless look toward Kade, she hugged Davey close against a long blue sweater. Kade got a funny kick in the gut and fought off the urge to join the hug fest.

“You’ll come to the house after school.” His was a statement, not a question. He knew she’d come.

She nodded, gray eyes distressed. “I’ll be there right after three.” She held Davey back from her a little, hands on his shoulders. “Do you hear me, Davey? Go with Kade to Miss Ida June’s house. They’ll take good care of you, and as soon as school is out, I’ll be there. We’ll read your book as many times as you want. Okay?”

Looking from her to Kade and back as if he thought the pair of them went together, Davey thought over the proposition. Then, he retrieved the book he’d dropped, clasped Kade’s hand and followed him to the truck.

Sophie’s school day started out shaky, but she, an eternal optimist, was certain things would get better. They didn’t.

After rushing home for a quick clothing change, she arrived to find her class in chaos. Emily Baker had suffered a seizure and had to go to the hospital. Even though everyone knew about Emily’s disorder, witnessing a seizure frightened the class. Even Zoey Bowman, the vet’s daughter whose blindness only increased her compassion and wisdom, had not known how to react. She and best friend, blonde and bouncy Delaney Markham, huddled together holding hands, desks scooted close.

By the time Sophie settled the group down with assurances that Emily was not going to die and a promise to get Mrs. Baker on the speakerphone in a few hours so they all could hear an update for themselves, lunchtime arrived.

“Academics took a backseat this morning,” Carmen, the teacher’s aide, said as she slid her lunch tray onto the cafeteria table next to Sophie. A fortysomething bleached blonde with an extra twenty pounds, Carmen floated between classrooms doing whatever was needed.

“Caring for people is more important sometimes,” Sophie said. She sniffed a forkful of mystery casserole, a combination of tomato and meat scent with sticky pasta in the mix. Or was that rice?

“Don’t say that to Mr. Gruber.”

“I already have.” Sophie jabbed a fork into the glob and took a bite. Not bad. Not good. She reached for the salt and pepper.

“Only you could get away with talking like that to the principal.”

“Oh, that’s not true. He’s fair to everyone. Here, try salt on that.” She offered the shakers to her seatmate.

“Anything to hide the taste,” Carmen said with a wry grin.

The clatter and din of kids in a cafeteria made talking tough, but Carmen had the kind of voice that could be heard by thirty rowdy kids in a noisy gym. “Come on, Sophie, everyone knows Mr. Gruber has a thing for you.”

“Shh. Not so loud.” Sophie glanced around, hoping no one had heard. Carmen chuckled, the sound of a woman who enjoyed teasing and gossip, not necessarily in that order. Biff Gruber was a decent man and a good, if uptight, principal. Sophie respected his leadership.

She scooped another bite of the bland casserole, eyeing it suspiciously. “What is this anyway?”

Carmen laughed at the common refrain as the glass double doors swept open. Noise gushed in like a sudden wind. A flurry of overzealous teens, shuffling their feet and jockeying for position in line, pushed inside. Over the din, Carmen said, “There’s your dad.”

Sophie glanced up. Amid the gangly teens, a graying man in white dress shirt and yellow cartoon tie grinned at something one of his students said.

“Oh, good. I was hoping he’d stop for lunch today.” Her dad taught science in the high school. Many days he ate at his desk while tutoring kids. She raised a hand, flagged him over to join them.

As his gray plastic tray scraped onto the table across from her and he greeted the other teachers with an easy smile, the familiar pang of fierce love stirred in Sophie’s chest. Mark Bartholomew had aged more than the five years since his divorce from Sophie’s mother, a divorce he’d never wanted. Worse, Meg Bartholomew had remarried almost immediately. The implication of an affair still stung, a bitter, unexpected betrayal. Sophie could only imagine how humiliated and hurt her father must have felt.

“Hi, Dad. How’s your day?”

“Better now that I see your smiling face. How is yours?” He spread a narrow paper napkin on his lap and tucked in his “mad scientist” tie.

“Something crazy happened this morning.”

Expression comical, he tilted his head, prematurely graying hair glossy beneath the fluorescent lights. “Crazier than usual? This is a school, remember? The holiday season always stirs up the troops.”

Sophie and her father shared this love of teaching and the special hum of energy several hundred kids brought into a building. At Christmas, the energy skyrocketed.

“We found a lost boy in the municipal Dumpster.”

Her father lowered his fork, frowning, as she repeated the morning’s events. When she finished, he said, “That’s tragic, honey. Anything I can do?”

“Pray for him. Pray for Chief Rainmaker to find his family.” She shrugged. “Just pray.”

He patted the back of her hand. “You got it. Don’t get your heart broken.”

“Dad,” she said gently.

“I know you. You’ll get involved up to your ears. Sometimes your heart’s too big.”

“I take after my dad.”

The statement pleased him. He dug into the mystery casserole. “What is this?”

Sophie giggled as she and Carmen exchanged glances. “Inquiring minds want to know.”

He chewed, swallowed. “Better than an old bachelor’s cooking.”

He said the words naturally, without rancor, but Sophie ached for him just the same. Dad alone in their family home without Mom unbalanced the world. Even though Sophie had offered to give up her own place and move in with him, her father had resisted, claiming he wanted his “bachelor pad” all to himself. Sophie knew better. He’d refused for her sake, worried she’d focus on his life instead of hers.

Carmen dug an elbow into Sophie’s side. “Mr. Gruber just came in.”

“Principals eat, too.”

Carmen rolled her eyes. “He’s headed this direction.”

Sophie’s father looked from one woman to the other. “Have I missed something?”

“Nothing, Dad. Pay no mind to Carmen. She’s having pre-Christmas fantasies.”

“Mr. Gruber is interested in your daughter.”

“Carmen! Please. He is not.” She didn’t want him to be. A picture of the quietly intense face of Kade McKendrick flashed in her head. This morning’s encounter had stirred more than her concern for a lost child.

“Gruber’s a good man,” her dad said. He stopped a moment to turn to the side and point at a pimply boy for throwing a napkin wad. The kid grinned sheepishly, retrieved the wad and sat down. The high schoolers were convinced Mr. Bartholomew had eyes in the back of his head.

“Dad, do not encourage rumors.”

Her father lifted both hands in surrender as the principal arrived at their table. Biff Gruber nodded to those gathered, then leaned low next to Sophie’s ear. His blue tie sailed dangerously close to the mystery casserole. Sophie suppressed a giggle.

“I need to see you in my office, please. During your plan time is fine.”

Without another word, he walked away.

“So much for your romantic theories,” Sophie told a wide-eyed Carmen. “That did not sound like an interested man.”

“No kidding. Wonder what he wants,” Carmen said, watching the principal exit the room. “An ultimatum like that can’t be good.”

Sophie put aside her fork. “Sure it can. Maybe he wants to order ten-dozen cookies.”

Carmen looked toward the ceiling with a sigh. “You’d put a positive spin on it if he fired you.”

Well, she’d try. But she couldn’t help wondering why her principal had been so abrupt.

She found out two hours later, seated in his tidy, narrow office. The space smelled of men’s cologne and the new leather chair behind the unusually neat, polished mahogany desk. It was a smell, she knew, that struck terror in the hearts of sixth-grade boys. A plaque hung on the wall above Biff Gruber’s head as warning to all who entered: Attitudes Adjusted While You Wait.

“I understand you’re doing the cookie project again this year,” he said without preliminary.

Sophie brightened. Maybe he did want to place an order. She folded her hands in her lap, relaxed and confident. This was Biff and she was not a sixth-grade rowdy. “I turned in the lesson plan last week. We’re off to a promising start already and I hope to raise even more money this year.”

Biff positioned his elbows on the desk and bounced his fingertips together. The cuffs of his crisply ironed shirt bobbed up and down against his pale-haired wrists. The light above winked on a silver watch. His expression, usually open and friendly, remained tight and professional. Sophie’s hope for a cookie sale dissipated.

“We’ve had some complaints from parents,” he said.

Sophie straightened, the news a complete surprise. No one had ever complained. “About the project? What kind of complaints? Students look forward to this event from the time they’re in second and third grade.”

In fact, kids begged to participate. Other classes loitered in her doorway, volunteered and occasionally even took orders for her. This project was beloved by all. Wasn’t it?

“How many years have you been doing this, Sophie?” The principal’s tone was stiff, professional and uneasy.

Suddenly, she felt like one of the students called into the principal’s office for making a bad judgment. At the risk of sounding defensive, she said, “This is year five. Last year we donated the proceeds, a very nice amount, I might add, to the local women’s shelter. Afterward, Cheyenne Bowman spoke to our class and even volunteered to teach a self-protection seminar to the high-school girls.”

Biff, however, had not followed up on that offer from the shelter’s director, a former police officer and assault victim.

“I’m aware the project does a good deed, but the worry is academics. Aren’t your students losing valuable class time while baking cookies?”

“Not at all. They’re learning valuable skills in a reallife situation. I realize my teaching style is not traditional but students learn by doing as well, maybe better, than by using only textbooks.”

Biff took a pencil from his desk and tapped the end on a desk calendar. He was unusually fidgety today. Whoever complained must have clout. “Give me some specifics to share with the concerned parent.”

“Who is it? Maybe if I spoke with him or her?”

“I don’t want my teachers bothered with disgruntled parents. I will handle the situation.”

“I appreciate that, Biff. You’ve always been great support.” Which was all the more reason to be concerned this time. Why was he not standing behind her on the cookie project? Who was putting pressure on the principal? “The project utilizes math, economics, life skills, social ethics, research skills, art and science.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “There are more. Is that enough?”

Biff scribbled on a notepad. “For now. You may have to articulate exactly how those work at some point, but we’ll start here.”

“I really don’t want to lose this project, Biff. It’s a high point for my students.”

“As well as for their teacher who loves everything Christmas.” With a half smile he bounced the pencil one final time. “Why don’t we have dinner tonight and discuss this further?”

The offer caught Sophie as much by surprise as someone’s objection to the cookie project. She sputtered a bit before saying, “Thank you, but I have to say no. I’m sorry.”

Her thoughts went to Davey and the way he’d clung to her this morning. She couldn’t wait to see him again and let him know she kept her promises. She’d phoned after lunch to say hello and see how he was doing. Kade had answered, assured her Davey was doing fine and was at that moment sound asleep on Ida June’s couch. The memory of Kade’s voice, clipped, cool and intriguing, lingered like a song she couldn’t get out of her head.

No, she definitely did not want to have dinner with the principal.

“I’ve already made other plans.”

Biff’s face closed up again. He stuffed the pen in his shirt pocket. “Ah. Well, another time, then.”

At the risk of encouraging him, Sophie nodded and quickly left his office. The mystery casserole churned in her stomach. As her boot heels tapped rhythmically on highly waxed white tile, she reviewed the unsettling conversation. As much as she wanted to believe Biff’s dinner invitation was purely professional, she knew better. Carmen was right. The principal liked her. She liked him, too. It wasn’t that. He was a good man, a by-the-book administrator who strove for excellence and expected the same from his staff. As a teacher, she appreciated him. But as a woman? She hadn’t thought seriously about her boss, and given the buzz of interest she’d felt for Ida June’s nephew, she never would.

Frankly, the concerns about her teaching methods weighed more heavily right now.

Would Biff go as far as vetoing the cookie project?