Читать книгу Sugar Pine Trail - RaeAnne Thayne - Страница 11

CHAPTER FOUR

“HOW ARE YOU holding up, my dear?”

Julia managed a half smile for Barbara Serrano as she scanned her pile of library books into the system.

“I’m here and I’m breathing. That’s something, right?”

Barbara laughed. “That sangria was lethal. Trust Roxy to get us all hammered, right before Thanksgiving. I haven’t had a hangover since my sorority days.”

The very dignified restaurant owner still didn’t appear to have a hair out of place. Lucky.

“I’m doing okay so far. Over the last few hours, my headache has slipped down to this sucks level, which is a big improvement from this morning’s, when I thought I was going to have to borrow a power drill to relieve the pressure in my skull.”

Barbara chuckled. “It was a fun night, though, wasn’t it? I hope we weren’t too loud for your new neighbor.”

At the reminder of Jamie, the vague, unsettling feeling that had been haunting her all day returned with a vengeance.

She couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that something...untoward had happened with him the night before.

She had these odd snippets of memory, and she wasn’t sure if they were real or some fantasy-fueled dream. She could picture him, clear as day, standing on her stairs in his bare feet, holding a cat.

Would she have conjured that up out of her imagination? Possibly. But what about the masculine scent of him, bergamot and cedar with a little hint of cloves? Why did that seem so clear in her memory bank?

Worse than that, somehow the words Jamie and kiss had become intertwined in her mind. That was ridiculous, of course. Wasn’t it?

She hadn’t seen the man the night before. She was almost positive of it. But then, she only had loose recollections of the evening from about her fourth sangria on.

She hoped with all her heart that she was imagining those little flickers of memory. It would have been beyond humiliating if Jamie had seen her in that condition.

“How are your tatted snowflakes coming for the booth at the Lights on the Lake festival?” Barbara asked.

“Fine,” she lied.

The truth was, while she had loved the craft she learned from Mariah—the delicate knots and rings with thread to make lace—lately she had struggled to summon any enthusiasm. Sitting in her huge Victorian with her cats and her tatting made her feel so old and spinsterish.

“Can you believe it’s Thanksgiving in two days and then all the holiday craziness is upon us?” Barbara’s eyes gleamed with an anticipation that made Julia tired.

“Where did the year go?” she asked rhetorically. She knew too well. It went to working, dealing with the house, fixing the furnace, visiting her mother, then arranging her mother’s estate after her death.

“Are you sure you won’t come over for dinner?” Barbara asked when Julia finished checking out her books. “We’ll have a full house and would love one more.”

“Thank you again for the kind offer but I’ll be fine. I’m already signed up to help out at the nursing home. I’m taking Muriel Randall.”

“Oh, that will be good for her.”

The place in Shelter Springs where her mother had spent her last few months had several patrons without families. Julia didn’t love it there but also couldn’t bear the thought that anyone might feel alone.

“Well, I’d better run,” Barbara said after they chatted a bit more. “I would love to finish a few chapters of that new Nora Roberts book before some of our houseguests show up in the morning.”

“Enjoy,” she said.

Julia was busy most of the afternoon with patron questions and checkouts. She answered three phone calls to the reference desk, asking how to thaw a turkey. There would be more the next day, she suspected.

By early evening, her headache had abated, leaving just an echo of throbbing.

She made the rounds to the few groups of teenagers at the study tables to make sure they knew the library would be closing soon. When she rounded a corner of the stacks, she found Davy and Clinton, the boys from the day before, quietly playing a card game at a table.

She hadn’t seen them come in. Perhaps they had entered the library when she had been taking a break.

Both boys looked up with wary expressions when she headed in their direction.

“Hi, Davy. Hi, Clinton. How are you boys this evening?”

Davy gave a dramatic sigh. “I’m hungry, but Clint says he’ll make me another peanut butter sandwich when we have to go home.”

That particular statement disturbed her on several levels. Julia tried to conceal her reaction. Where were their parents? From what she had seen firsthand and from what she had inferred from Davy’s comments, it seemed Clint was doing more parenting than an eight-year-old boy should.

Something was going on here, but she had no idea how to figure out what or how to fix it. She did know Davy was hungry, and she had the means to remedy that.

“You know,” she said casually, “I happen to have a sandwich in the back. It’s turkey instead of peanut butter, but I think you’ll find it quite tasty.”

“Really?” The little boy’s eyes lit up. “I thought we weren’t s’posed to eat in the library.”

“Food isn’t allowed out here in the book stacks, but you’re fine to eat in the back. I do it all the time. Do you know, if we cut the sandwich in half, I think it would be more than enough for two boys.”

She’d had such good intentions that morning when she packed her lunch, but her hangover had been too wicked earlier in the day to tolerate anything solid. She had ended up heating a cup of soup in the microwave.

“Did you hear that, Clint? Miss Winston has a sandwich she said we could eat!”

While the younger boy looked thrilled, his brother’s reluctance showed through. He shook his head with a stubborn look. “No. We’d better not. Thanks anyway, Miss Winston.”

“Nonsense,” she said in a brisk tone. “You’re hungry, and I have an extra sandwich that will only go to waste if you don’t help me out by eating it. Think of it this way—you would be doing me a favor.”

Davy looked at his brother. “Mom said we’re supposed to help other people out when we can, especially this time of year. Remember? Miss Winston needs someone to help her eat her sandwich.”

Clinton didn’t look particularly convinced by that argument, but after a moment he shrugged. “I guess it would be okay. As long as we’re helping you.”

She smiled, touched beyond words that these two boys in their threadbare coats were concerned about helping others—but she was also undeniably troubled. She admired their mother’s sentiment about helping people out, but where was the woman? And why was she allowing her young boys to go hungry?

“Why don’t you both come to the back with me, and I’ll find the sandwich for you? There might be a cookie or two in my desk, as well.”

They stuffed their belongings back into their backpacks and followed her through the door that read Library Staff Only, to the inner workings of the library. Three doors down, she led them to the small room her staff used for breaks.

“Sit down and I’ll find the sandwich for you.”

From the refrigerator she pulled out her favorite reusable lunch bag with the pink and purple flowers and pulled out the sandwich. It was an easy matter to cut it in two and set it on paper plates for the boys.

“Look at this. There are chips and carrots here, as well as a brownie.”

She had been looking forward to that brownie, a leftover from last night’s book club, but she would willingly sacrifice to these two little boys, who inhaled the sandwich as if it were the best thing they had ever eaten.

Once she set the bounty in front of them, Julia took a chair at the table and sipped at the water bottle that hadn’t left her side all day. Hydration was one of the best cures for a hangover, she had read online that morning through the blur of her headache. It hadn’t worked yet, but she could still hope.

“I bet your mom fixes you nice lunches for school, doesn’t she?”

Davy looked at his brother, then quickly back down at his plate. Neither boy answered her. They simply shrugged. Obviously this was a sore spot.

“What about your dad?”

“Our dad died,” Clint said, his voice flat. “He was in the army, and he got shot three years ago.”

Emotions clogged her throat at the no-nonsense tone. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry.”

“I was only three,” Davy informed her. “I don’t even remember him much. Clint was five, though.”

They couldn’t have been from Hope’s Crossing or even Shelter Springs. She would have heard about a soldier from the area being killed in the line of duty. And why were the sons of a dead soldier wearing such ragged coats and eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?

“That must have been very hard for you and for your mother.”

“It was,” Clinton said. “Our mom was in the army too, but she came home right away. She cried a lot. We were living with our Aunt Suzi then.”

“Are you going to your Aunt Suzi’s house for Thanksgiving?” she asked, trying to probe for answers as subtly as possible without it sounding like a blatant interrogation.

Clinton gave her an exasperated look. “That’s all the way by Disneyland! That’s too far. And she’s not there anyway.”

“That’s in California,” Davy informed her. “It’s warm there all the time—not like here, where our house is cold all the time.”

Clinton poked his brother, giving him a shushing sort of look that Julia pretended not to see.

“California does have beautiful weather. That’s true. Why did you move away?”

“Our mom got a new job here, but then she got sick and had to quit,” Davy said.

It was obvious Clinton thought his brother had said too much. He set down his napkin and slid away from the table. “We should probably go now. Our mom will be wondering where we are.”

“Really?” Davy said.

“Yes,” Clint said with a meaningful look. “Thank you for the sandwich, Miss Winston. It was very good.”

“You’re welcome.”

Julia was at a loss as to what to do next. Did she tell the boys she suspected something wasn’t quite right with them? That she wanted to have a talk with their mother to find out a little more about their situation, but she had no idea where they even lived?

The boys hadn’t left a scrap, Julia realized. They had all but licked the plates clean, poor things.

She was suddenly ashamed of herself. She had so very much—good friends, a job she loved, a beautiful home that kept her warm in the winter.

At this time of Thanksgiving, she realized again how very blessed she was. In the four months since her mother died, how much time had she wasted feeling sorry for herself?

What about the years and years before that?

The three of them walked out of the library offices together and out into the stacks. Very few patrons remained.

“I guess I’ll see you later, then.”

“We’ll probably be here tomorrow since we don’t have school,” Davy said.

Why? She loved libraries as much as the next person. More, probably. Still, what kid with free time would choose to spend every moment of it in one?

“You know the library closes early tomorrow, right?”

Clint and Davy looked shocked and rather glum to learn this.

“What time does it open?” Clinton asked, brow furrowed.

“We’ll be open from ten to three.”

“That’s not too bad, I guess. Come on, Davy. Let’s go.”

Before they walked outside, Clint stopped to zip up his younger brother’s coat and tug down his beanie. It was those small, loving gestures that compelled her to action.

The wind was howling fiercely, and snowflakes swirled around the pair. She couldn’t possibly let them walk home in those conditions.

She hurried over to the clerk behind the circulation desk. “Mack, do you think you can close up by yourself? I need to run a little errand.”

“Sure thing.” Mack Porter gave her a wide smile. “It’s only twenty minutes, and I don’t think too many more people will be showing up tonight. It’s getting ugly out there. Be safe.”

All the more reason she wanted to follow those boys. “Thanks. Have a great night.”

“Same to you, my dear.”

It took her three minutes to grab her coat and purse from her office, shut down her computer, lock her office door and hurry to her Lexus. Had she missed them? She scanned the direction she had seen them take the night before, fretting until she found them about a block away, walking along the lakefront road.

A cold wind blew off the water, harsh and mean, biting through her clothing with merciless teeth and hurling tiny ice pellets into her skin. She started up her SUV, spent another minute or two brushing off the new snow, then drove out of the parking lot and along the mostly empty road toward them.

She passed them and pulled off to the side of the road just ahead of them. After opening her door, she turned to face them. She had to raise her voice several decibels to be heard over the howling wind. “Let me give you a ride.”

“We can walk,” Clint said, that steely stubbornness she had noticed before coming through loud and clear.

“Y-y-y-es. We’re f-f-fine,” Davy said. His thin coat wasn’t nearly enough protection to fight off that wind.

“Please. Let me give you a ride. Where do you live?”

They had reached her vehicle now, trudging through ankle-deep snow. “Can we, Clint?” Davy asked. “My feet are freezing, and we hardly made it a block.”

The older boy looked undecided, glancing first at her vehicle, then at her, then at the road ahead of them.

His mouth pursed as he tried to figure out what to do. She gave him another push in the direction she hoped he would take.

“Come on. Get in.”

“We’re not supposed to take rides from strangers,” he finally said, though she could hear the clear reluctance in his voice. “Come on, Davy. The faster we go, the faster we’ll be home.”

They took a few more steps past her vehicle. Davy looked miserable, his nose red and his chin tucked into his chest as he fought to make his way through the cold.

“I’m not a stranger. I’m the librarian. You see me every day when you come to my library,” she pointed out.

“She’s right,” Davy said.

“It’s not safe for you boys to be out here. The roads are icy, and drivers can’t see you very well through the blowing snow, especially now that it’s dark. Please get in.”

He still looked reluctant, so she tried one more card, playing a hunch. “Would you feel better if I call my friend, Chief Emmett, to give you a ride home in his police car?”

In the glow from her open door, she saw a flash of fear in his eyes. Julia felt bad for putting it there, but not if it meant the older boy would let her give them a ride home.

“We can take a ride, I guess,” he finally said.

She made sure they were buckled safely in the backseat of her vehicle before she pulled slowly onto the road.

“Where am I going?”

“Five-fifty Sulfur Hollow Road,” Davy said promptly.

Traffic was basically nonexistent as she drove with care to their house. The roads were slick enough that she couldn’t go fast. Her hands were tight and clammy on the steering wheel by the time they made it to the address they provided.

The sight of the small, thin-walled house was not reassuring.

“Here we are. The lights are off. Where did you say your mom was?”

“She’s home, I bet,” Clint said. “She’s probably sleeping. She works at night sometimes.”

“Oh? I thought you said she lost her job. Did she get another one? Where does she work? And who stays with the two of you when she’s working?”

He mumbled something she couldn’t hear, unhooked his own seat belt, then his brother’s and then practically jumped out of the vehicle, tugging Davy out after him.

“Thanks for the ride. We have to go. Bye, Miss Winston.”

“Bye,” Davy said. He beamed at her. “Thanks for the sandwich and the brownie. You’re a good cook.”

“Um. Thanks.”

The boys hurried up the walk. Clint pulled a key out of his coat pocket, and before she knew it, they had yanked open the door and rushed inside.

Julia stood for a moment, watching a pale light go on inside.

Dropping them off at home had done nothing to ease her concerns. If anything, seeing the small, dingy house gave her fresh reason for concern.

She was trying to manufacture some plausible reason to go to the door when she suddenly spied something red on the backseat that hadn’t been there before the boys climbed inside.

One of Davy’s ragged mittens.

Had he left it there on purpose? She couldn’t be sure, but returning it to its rightful owner seemed exactly the excuse she needed.

Apprehension settled in her stomach as she made her way through unshoveled snow to the sidewalk. She had no idea what she would encounter on the other side. Was their mother a gorgon? Maybe she was ill, and the boys were staying at the library until all hours to give her some peace and quiet.

She had to know.

She knocked, clutching the collar of her coat closed to keep out the vicious wind.

A moment later, Clint opened the door, his expression pinched and wary. He hadn’t yet taken off his coat, she noticed—probably because the air inside the small house felt every bit as cold as the outside air here on the porch.

“Davy left one of his mittens in my car.” She held it out.

“Oh. Thanks. Bye.” He grabbed it from her and started to shove the door closed, but she pulled the old trick of shoving her boot in it before he could, and pushed her way inside.

The house was lit by only a bare bulb here in the hallway. It was clean, but there was a palpable air of neglect.

She saw a space heater in one corner and a couple of sleeping bags neatly rolled up nearby. Were the boys sleeping in here with the space heater?

She could hear no sign of their mother, or, indeed, any adult.

“Clint. I need to talk to your mom. Is she here?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. “No. She must be working.”

“Where does she work? Can you give me her work phone number?”

He said nothing and she tried again.

“Does she have a cell phone number I could call?” she asked.

“You could try, but she’s not answering.”

His voice broke on the last word, but he clamped his mouth together tightly, as if afraid that once he started talking, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

Something terrible was going on here. She still didn’t know what, but she suddenly knew she couldn’t stop until she found out.

She uttered a fervent prayer that she could figure out the best way to reach him. Somehow she sensed he would respond better if she were on his level, so she knelt down and took one of his cold hands in hers.

“Clinton,” she said softly. “How long since you’ve seen your mother?”

He hitched in a ragged breath, eyes wide. She could see he didn’t want to answer her, but his fingers curled in hers, and she saw all his bravado begin to crumble. Tears welled up in his eyes, and one trickled down the side of his nose.

“Friday. She had a doctor’s appointment at the army hospital place in Boise, and she...she didn’t come back. And the furnace is out, and I don’t know how to make it work, and I tried to start a fire, but I couldn’t do that either. It’s cold everywhere except in here with the space heater.”

“You said she’s not answering her phone?”

He shook his head. “I tried and tried and tried to call her, but she didn’t answer. I didn’t know what to do so I just took care of Davy the best I could, and we spent the days at school and the library, where it was warm and safe.”

“Oh, honey.”

Four days they had been on their own. She couldn’t imagine what he had been going through. He was only eight years old, far too young for that kind of responsibility.

He sniffled again, and it was too much. Heart breaking, she held out her arms. “Come here. Come here.”

He sagged against her, as if sharing the burden he had been carrying had left him boneless and exhausted.

“Please, don’t call the cops. If you do, we’ll go to foster care, and they’ll split us up.”

“I have to call someone, honey. Children aren’t supposed to be left alone for days at a time.”

“Please, don’t. Just go.” He slid away from her and stood looking fearful and impossibly young.

“I can’t do that,” she said softly. “You know I can’t. You need help, and I have a good friend whose job is to help children in just this kind of situation. I’m going to call her, and she’ll fix things.”

He didn’t look convinced as she hit her speed dial for Wynona Emmett, who used to be a police officer but was now a social worker with the state child welfare agency.

As she waited for Wyn to answer, Julia had the uncomfortable realization that an hour ago, her biggest problem was a lingering hangover and the stupid crush she had on the neighbor upstairs.