Читать книгу My Three Girls - Susan Floyd - Страница 9

BRADY RAPPED on the door. He checked his watch and adjusted his belt, his heart beating erratically. Ridiculous. This wasn’t a hostage situation; these were just little girls. Of course, it didn’t help that he couldn’t remember their faces or even the littlest one’s name. Olive? Oleander? Would Bev actually name her daughter after a bush? He doubted that. Would he even know his nieces? They certainly wouldn’t know him. He knocked again, automatically surveying the grounds. The school sat to the left of this small house.

“Just a minute,” came the muffled response.

Brady looked at his watch again and stared at the front door. He heard rustling, then the door opened a crack and one eye peered at him. He noticed the flimsy chain on the door and the rotting wood it was clinging to. An intruder would have no difficulty entering this residence. A hefty shove would topple both the person attached to the eye and the door. Hardly safe for a woman living alone. He’d never met the schoolteacher but he didn’t think that an elderly woman should be living out here all alone. He made a mental note to talk to her about safety.

She opened the door a little wider with a breath of relief. “Deputy…” She looked around him as if she was expecting someone else.

“Are you okay, ma’am?”

She nodded. “I’m just surprised.”

“Surprised?”

“I thought that Child Protective Services would have at least sent a woman, since these are three young girls.”

Brady swallowed, not wanting to lie to her. “I was sent out to evaluate the situation,” he said instead. He wasn’t sure who this was. Was she the schoolteacher’s daughter? He couldn’t stop staring at the freckles splattered across her nose as if someone had taken a paintbrush and flicked it at her. She couldn’t be a day over thirty. Her plain T-shirt was tucked neatly into some well-fitting jeans, making her seem more youthful than she probably was.

She stepped back and gestured for him to come inside. “I am so glad you were able to get here on such short notice. I’m Dana Ritchie, Panoche School’s teacher.”

Brady hid his surprise as he stepped through the doorway. “You live alone, right?”

“Yes,” she said abruptly. “Is that a problem?”

Brady wondered what was making her so defensive. “No. But you ought to get the door frame done in steel. And get a dead bolt and a peephole rather than that chain. You might want a dog for some additional protection.”

She blinked at him, a small smile coming to her lips. “I’ll talk to the school board about that on Monday. I’m not sure a dog is in my contract.”

Brady stepped farther into the foyer, pulling out his notebook. “Now, what’s the problem?”

She put her finger over her mouth, tilting her head in the direction of the living room. “The girls are sleeping,” she whispered. “They’ve been waiting a long time.”

Brady swallowed. There was always a chance that these weren’t his nieces.

“May I see them?” he asked.

She nodded and quietly walked toward the couch.

Brady looked down at the sleeping girls. Their hair was falling over their faces, so he couldn’t tell. Then the oldest girl’s eyes popped open, wide and gray, guarded.

“Uncle Brady.” It was a flat statement, surprising him. He didn’t think Karen would recognize him. She’d only been seven when she’d last seen him.

“Karen.”

“Uncle Brady?” the schoolteacher asked.

Brady stared at the woman who faced him, her head tilted, her eyes ready to do combat for these girls. “Brady Moore. I’m their uncle, their father’s brother.”

HE WAS THEIR UNCLE. These girls had family! Dana nodded and moved away, leaving Karen and the deputy watching each other. She was sure that he wasn’t displeased by Karen, but he was glowering at the little girl. Surprisingly, Karen didn’t blink. Her jaw tightened, but she never broke eye contact.

Quickly on the heels of the relief that came from learning the girls had family were second thoughts. How could Dana let these girls go off with a man who didn’t even smile?

She glanced at Karen whose fingers poked through the holes of the afghan as she clutched it close to her. She didn’t seem frightened, but neither was she reassured by the presence of her uncle. Dana took a deep breath and surprised herself by laying her hand on his arm.

“Deputy,” Dana said to break the tension. He shifted his sharp gaze to her, and she tilted her chin to stare back. If Karen wasn’t going to be intimidated, she wouldn’t be either. She supposed he couldn’t change the angles of his jaw to make him seem less authoritative or alter the keen intelligence in his eyes to make him appear less intense. She tried not to notice the flat crease of his pants. Meticulous. Not a hair out of place, not a little bit of five o’clock shadow.

On top of that, she noted with irritation, he was damn composed, given the situation he was in. Shouldn’t he show just a smidge of embarrassment at his sister-in-law’s behavior or some other kind of emotion that indicated this was a big deal? If Karen’s reaction was any gauge, they weren’t close. Yet Dana could feel him radiate a peculiar—for lack of a better word—detachment that she found more disturbing than his physical presence. His eyes swept over the room as if he was used to evaluating everything he saw.

She didn’t know why a hot flush began to inch up her neck. She wasn’t ashamed of her modest home. The furniture might not match, the rug was a brown, teal and purple throwback to the seventies, and the only decorations were student art projects from years before, but the place was clean and she liked it. So what if it screamed spinster schoolmarm.

He looked at her hand. “That grip is lethal.”

Her face grew hotter when she realized she’d been clutching his arm. She abruptly dropped her hand and swung it behind her back.

“Maybe you should explain a few things,” she suggested, glancing at the girls, all of whom were awake now.

Instead of responding, he watched the girls get off the couch and move over to Dana—who tried not to appear startled when Ollie’s arm wrapped around her thigh.

“So, who do we have here?” he asked. Apparently, he realized that his glowering wasn’t helping, because he crouched to give them a better look at him and kept his voice even and modulated. It sounded like a voice he used to calm, to hypnotize. Dana was impressed. She didn’t want to be, but she was.

The same couldn’t be said for the girls. They didn’t say a word.

“I’m your Uncle Brady.” He tried again with a smile, addressing Ollie but looking at Karen. “I’m sure you don’t remember me. You were just a baby when I last saw you. You sure have grown.”

Silence.

“I guess your mom is gone?”

Dana had to give him points for trying. She prodded Karen, but the girl wasn’t going to talk. Her gray eyes were huge as she sent Dana a silent plea to intercede.

“She went to a conference,” Dana said, looking at Karen for confirmation.

Karen nodded and tugged on Dana’s arm. “Miss Ritchie,” she whispered.

“Yes, Karen?” Dana kept her voice low, though she knew Deputy Moore could hear every word they were saying.

“Don’t let him take us.” Her face had turned white.

“He’s not going to hurt you, Karen. He’s family.” Dana’s soothing words had the opposite effect on the girl. All the stoicism Karen had shown earlier was suddenly replaced with deep and uncontrollable sobs. Jean quickly started whimpering in sympathy.

The deputy looked at Dana for help, but she didn’t know what to do.

“D-don’t let h-him take us, Miss Ri-ritchie,” Karen begged, her pleas coming out in an agonized rush. “We’ll be good. We’ll be so very good f-for you. We’ll do everything you say and we’ll help around the house. W-we won’t be any trouble.”

Biting her lip, Dana reached out a hand and gave Karen’s shoulder an awkward pat. “Karen, I know this is a scary situation for you…” Even to her, her words were meaningless. When had she became so empty, so devoid of compassion that she couldn’t gather a scared child into her arms and comfort her? Dana felt as if she had a dry piece of bread stuck in her throat. This was how it started. It only took one hug to open a heart. No matter how much Dana wanted to make this situation right, she couldn’t.

She backed away, feeling as alone as Karen looked. She whispered into Ollie’s ear. “I think Karen really needs a hug from you and Jean, don’t you?”

Ollie let go of Dana’s leg and flung her short arms around her older sister. Jean followed suit and together, the three girls sobbed.

“Can you keep them tonight?” a voice asked, low in her ear. She hadn’t even seen him move, but he was right next to her and Dana felt her face flush under his steady scrutiny.

What a cold woman he must think she was. She turned away from him, not too numb to feel a tremendous amount of regret about that. She crossed her arms and pressed them closely to her chest to keep control of any feelings that threatened to erupt from within.

“I think they’ve been through enough,” he continued, just for her to hear.

Dana could only nod as those unwanted emotions easily made their way through her barriers.

“You’ve been through a lot as well,” he observed.

“I’m fine.” Dana made her tone brisk and stepped away from him. She straightened her shoulders.

“You don’t look fine.”

“I’m fine,” she repeated. “When you know me better, you’ll realize I look like this all the time.”

BRADY STARED at the woman in front of him, her body so stiff that it seemed as if she would shatter with the smallest of impacts. No one could look this way all the time. Her jaw was rigid. Her face was pale, her hands clenched into fists that hardened the muscles on her forearms. It seemed to take everything out of her to simply nod.

“It’s pretty late,” Brady said, projecting his voice in order to be heard over the crying. “I think it’s better if we found a place for the girls to sleep here. What do you think, Miss Ritchie?”

“Yes.” The demons she was fighting were gone, and she was back to business. She reached out to the children. “You’ll be fine here tonight.”

Brady watched the schoolteacher stretch tentative fingers toward Karen’s hair. Her hand trembled as if she was afraid she would be burned from the contact. To help her, Brady knelt next to Ollie and put gentle hands on her tiny shoulders. She looked up, tears still in her eyes, but she wasn’t afraid of him.

“I’ll show you where the spare bedroom is,” the schoolteacher said.

Ollie shook her head and hung on to Karen tighter.

With ease, Brady extracted the youngest girl from the trio and lifted her up.

“Oooh!” Ollie exclaimed with a delighted smile.

“Let go of her!” Karen jumped up, trying to grab Ollie. “You’re not taking her anywhere.”

“It’s late,” Miss Ritchie said. “Your uncle is just taking Ollie to bed.”

Karen stopped jumping, uncertain. “Bed? Here?”

“Yes. Where you should have been hours ago.”

“So does that mean we’re not going with him?”

Brady tried not to feel stung by the relief in Karen’s tone.

“For now. It’s too late for you to go with your uncle. Your mom may make it back by tomorrow. So it’s probably better for you to be here tonight.”

Karen looked relieved and then turned to Brady with her arms open. “Give her to me. We can put ourselves to bed,” she said. After he complied, Jean held on to the back of Karen’s shirt, and the trio made their way down the hall. Ollie looked back over her sister’s shoulder at him.

“G’night.” She gave him a small wave with her fingers.

“Good night. I’ll see you in the morning,” he promised.

Karen turned in front of a bedroom door. “That’s okay. We’ll be fine. You don’t have to come back.” With that announcement, she and her sisters went into the room, Miss Ritchie behind them.

While he waited, he called dispatch and let them know the situation was taken care of, but that he would be at the residence for a while gathering information. He looked at his watch. He only had two hours left on this shift. The call complete, he took a more careful look at the small house. He studied the walls that were filled with a variety of construction-paper artwork. Lopsided snowmen shared equal space with tissue-paper mosaics. In the corner, there was a neat stack of egg and milk cartons. There was also a full box of cans stripped of their labels. He wouldn’t have to be told that a teacher lived in this house.

He heard a sound behind him and turned to find the schoolteacher standing in the doorway. Her hands were behind her back and she stared at him with those dark eyes of hers. There was a pain in them that he couldn’t understand and, for some reason, wanted to. He’d noticed there was no ring on her finger and remembered that the girls called her “Miss Ritchie.” Why was such a young woman holed up in such an isolated place?

She seemed to be waiting for him to say something, so he cleared his throat. “Well, thank you.” It didn’t hurt to start with a thank-you.

“I can’t keep the girls.” The words were surprising in their bluntness.

Before he could discover what had motivated her to say them, Brady had to know what had happened to Bev. “Do you mind going through how the girls happened to be in your care in the first place?”

“Would you like some coffee?” she asked, obviously realizing this wasn’t going to be a quick process.

“Yes,” Brady answered easily. The task would give her something to do. Then she might relax enough to give him the kind of information he needed.

Brady watched her measure the coffee and put it into a filter, her movements careful and precise. He tried not to smile when she pulled from the cupboard the smallest coffeemaker he’d ever seen. He could down that much coffee at break fast alone. She obviously wasn’t addicted. She glanced up and their eyes met just for a split second. Brady swallowed hard. For a complete stranger, this schoolteacher had the oddest way of looking right through him.

She hurriedly plugged the coffeemaker into the wall before walking from behind the counter. “Why don’t you sit down,” she offered as she pointed to the table that separated the kitchen from the living room. “The coffee will only take a few minutes.”

Brady sat, and she joined him, placing her forearms on the wooden table. She looked ready to answer questions.

“Why don’t you tell me what happened?” He made his voice as friendly and conversational as he could. The tone worked, because he could sense that she relaxed a little once she realized he wasn’t going to grill her.

She said, her words stark, “Their mother came by after school today and told me she didn’t have a baby-sitter. She had to attend a conference this weekend and asked me to look after the girls. I told her no.”

“Is that something you did often for Bev?”

She shook her head. “Never. I don’t baby-sit my students. I have them from seven forty-five to two-thirty. That’s all. No other parent has ever asked me to.”

“But you have the children.” He sat straighter. He could see a thin shield of defensiveness creep over her.

“Yes.”

“So why don’t you tell me how you came to take care of the children?”

The question was straightforward enough, but the schoolteacher took a long time to answer. “I found them.”

Brady felt a chill run down his spine. “Where?”

“Sitting on the picnic table.” Her arm gestured in the general direction of the schoolhouse. “I didn’t finish working until nearly nine o’clock.”

“On a Friday?” he asked skeptically.

She flushed. “I have a lot of work to do. I’m not just the teacher. I’m the principal, too. I’ve got a ton of forms to fill out.”

“No offense,” he apologized hastily. “I just thought an attractive woman like yourself would have plans on a Friday night.”

Her lips twisted into a wry smile. “There’s not a lot of action around here after hours. What man in his right mind would drive an hour for a date with a woman who spends her day talking to children?”

Brady would consider it. If those eyes asked him, he’d consider doing almost anything for her.

“The children were sitting out there, waiting for me,” she continued. “Thank goodness, it’s a fairly warm night and that it was me. There’s not a lot of traffic, but those girls were unsupervised for several hours. Anything could have happened to them.”

DANA CLOSED HER EYES as the realization struck her. Anything. Anything could have happened to them and she wouldn’t have known. Some stranger could have abducted them while they waited for her. Guilt pulsed through her.

“That isn’t your fault,” the deputy said.

She lifted her eyes to his as she felt slapped by terrible images from the evening news. There was no censure in his face, just empathy.

He continued on in that deep, rumbling voice. “Anything else?”

She didn’t want to like talking to him. She didn’t want to like the fact that this strange man at her kitchen table made her more comfortable than anyone else she’d met since coming to teach here.

She started to feel sick. She’d been awake too long and she desperately needed sleep, but she was so keyed up that she knew she wouldn’t be able to. She swallowed, pressing her hands together so hard she saw the veins pop out on her forearms. She told herself to relax, but then jumped out of her chair to pour the coffee.

“Cream or sugar?” she asked.

“No.”

“That’s easy,” Dana commented. She held out the cup.

He wrapped his large hand around it and her hand as well. The cup nearly disappeared in his palm and her fingers felt engulfed by his. Dana couldn’t stop looking at his hand, the unyielding, tanned skin and the prominent veins that traveled up his forearm to disappear in the dark hair. She tugged her hand away and sat down, pushing the chair back a foot or two to give herself some breathing room. Suddenly, it was very hot in the house.

“Any idea whether she would go north or south?” His eyes were fixed on her forearms. A small crease appeared between his eyebrows, but his expression remained pleasant.

Dana ran her tongue over her teeth. “I don’t think you understand. I don’t know enough about Mrs. Moore to really know where she went. I’m not sure anymore if it was a conference she had to attend. Maybe it was a meeting.”

“Do you remember what Bev was wearing?” He wasn’t writing, but Dana was certain that he would remember every word.

Dana looked at him in surprise. “Yes.”

“Good.” Dana’s heart thumped as he flashed an even set of teeth at her. He prompted her again, “What was she wearing?”

Dana tried to remember and spoke slowly. “A really nice suit. She had high heels and perfume on. Lots of makeup.”

“Do you know the color of the suit?”

“Taupe.”

“Taupe?”

“Taupe linen, with a cream silk camisole.”

“Oh.” His expression was puzzled.

“Taupe’s like a khaki brown without the green. Tan, with more gray,” she explained.

“Anything else?”

The pause extended for much longer than she expected. He was giving her time to think, but she was only drawing a blank. She wasn’t a very good witness. “I can’t think of anything.”

“Are you sure?”

“Except for the occasional parent interviews, I don’t speak to Mrs. Moore beyond hello, how are you.” Dana stood up, feeling agitated, and then, realizing that her behavior was rude, sat right back down and clasped her hands together.

“I thought this was a small school.”

“What does that have to do with it?” She was starting to get irritated, as if he held her responsible for his sister-in-law’s disappearance.

“I thought at smaller schools pretty much everyone knew everyone else’s business. The schoolteacher especially.”

She felt her back stiffen. “I am not a gossip.” She was beyond irritated. She unclenched her hands and noticed bright red marks on her hands. She crossed her arms.

“I’m not asking for gossip. I’m asking for anything about Bev that could give us some insight into where she might have gone. Would you say that she was a devoted mother?”

Dana had to admire the finesse with which he spoke. Anyone could have been missing by the tone of his voice. Not a close family member. She cleared her throat. “Um, do you want the truth or the politically correct answer?”

BRADY STARED at the schoolteacher. She was alternately vulnerable yet fierce. Compassionate yet so reserved. However, it was the troubled look in her eyes that disturbed him the most.

“What’s the difference?” he asked, making his tone light enough to match her dry one.

“The politically correct answer would be that she allows her children to be very independent.”

“And the truth?”

“She forgets them. They’re here really early and are always the last ones to get picked up. I’ve had to take them home a couple of times, when I wasn’t able to get Mrs. Moore on the phone…” Her voice trailed off and she avoided making eye contact, telling him she thought she’d said too much.

“Is there more?”

Dana studied her nails for a moment before answering. “No.”

“Are you sure?” There was something in her voice that made him press her.

“Yes.”

Brady waited. He knew there was more, probably more than she wanted to articulate. When another minute passed and she still hadn’t spoken, he braced himself. This wasn’t a good sign.

Finally she said carefully, her eyes still on her hands, each word precise, “The children are neglected. I can’t prove it, but there’s something about them that makes me think their home life is less than secure.” She looked up at him. “Their clothes aren’t clean. They aren’t clean. They look neat, but they’re not clean. I don’t have anything to support my feelings, though I’m sure that if I were to put them in the tub, it’d be the first bath they’d had in a long time.”

Brady didn’t want to hear this. He didn’t want to know that Carson’s little girls were neglected. He felt a familiar stab of guilt that he’d used layers of rationalizations to dull. It didn’t hurt any less.

“Do you think Mrs. Moore has abandoned them?” Dana asked, leaning forward. Her dark eyes were intense and Brady felt as if they saw into the deepest, ugliest part of him. He looked away. She couldn’t know. Besides, she had her own secrets. Who was she to probe?

But he had to tell her something. How much?

She continued, “I don’t know anything about their father. Out of state?”

He was embarrassed for Bev, for the girls, for himself. Bev had made it abundantly clear that when Carson “left her,” as she put it, she didn’t want anything more to do with his family. But knowing that didn’t stop him from taking this personally. If Dana Ritchie was right about the girls being neglected, he was responsible.

“My brother is in prison.” The words came out more bluntly than he intended. This schoolteacher was the first person who’d ever heard him utter those words, and he felt shame course through his body. Brady wasn’t his brother’s keeper, but he should have helped Carson more.

Dana didn’t blink. “Oh.”

He emptied the coffee cup and studied the pattern on it. Apples.

“That explains some things about the children. How long has he been in prison?” Her voice was matter-of-fact. She didn’t react with the horror that he expected.

IT TOOK SO LONG for the man sitting across from her to answer that Dana began to wonder if he ever would. But she knew she had to be patient. This clearly wasn’t easy for him.

“Since before Ollie was born.” The words came out slowly and distinctly.

Dana studied his face. His mouth was tight but his hands encircled the empty cup as gently as if it was china. He was a man who carried around a lot of pain. She wanted to tell him she knew exactly how he felt. If she couldn’t do that, she should at least give him a firm, reassuring hug or even a pat on the shoulder.

Instead, she said, “I’m sorry.”

The words seemed trite and for some reason, that made her feel worse. The poor girls. Their father was in prison, their mother gone. Their future was even shakier than Dana had imagined.

“Yeah, me, too.” He smiled. Despite the even teeth, the crinkling eyes and the deep dimples, Dana didn’t believe it for a second. He tucked the pain somewhere behind that smile. Somehow, she knew he worked just as hard as she did, so he wouldn’t have to think about the past.

“Is that why you haven’t seen the girls?” She leaned against the back of a chair. She chose her words with care, sending them out as an exploratory probe.

“Partly.” He stood up and turned to stare at her wall of student art. “I’ve been busy.”

Usually such a rebuff would make Dana back off, but for some reason, she said, “It must be hard to be in law enforcement and have a brother in prison.”

She kept her voice soft. She’d found a kindred spirit in this man who kept as much hidden as she did.

“It happens.” He strode across to the kitchen and put the coffee cup in the sink. Then, as if compelled, he rinsed it.

Dana didn’t want to press, but needed to know one piece of information, “The girls’ father, your brother, isn’t in jail for hurting—” Her voice faltered. She couldn’t bear the idea that those little girls had suffered in other ways, as well.

The “No!” exploded out of Brady, but his back was still toward her. He took a deep breath and then turned around. His mask was on again and his voice reasonable when he spoke. “No. He’s not in jail for any kind of violent crime. It’s—” He didn’t finish.

Dana didn’t blame him. She could feel how tired he was, and her own fatigue responded to it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

He shook his head and waved a hand. He pushed himself away from the counter, the smile back on his face. “It’s not your fault. You haven’t done anything. In fact, I should be thanking you for all that you’ve done for the girls.”

“So what happens now?” Dana asked.

“What happens is that I let you go to sleep and I’ll come back in the morning. Maybe by then Bev will have found her way home.”

Dana took a deep breath, relieved that he was planning to return. Having another person around would make this easier.

She stood and started to move toward the front door, pleasantries dying on her lips as a terrified scream came from the bedroom.