Devlin's Light (21 page)

“Okay.” Corri did not sound convinced. “Can Nick come too?”

“That’s up to Nick.” India turned her back to rinse out her cup. “Maybe he has other plans for the afternoon.”

“None.” He smiled, and India realized that he had intended on accompanying them all along. “And since you’re kind enough to let me tag along, lunch will be on me.” He turned to India. “Does the museum have a restaurant?”

“Actually, it does. And it’s quite good, but you don’t really have to—”

He dismissed her protests and took her arm. “My pleasure. Are we ready to go?”

“I’m ready.” Corri bounced off her chair.

“Do you have a sweater, Corri?” India frowned. The child was wearing only a long-sleeved T-shirt.

“In my bag.” Corri took off in search of her overnight bag, which she found in the front hallway, where Nick had left it at the foot of the steps. She unzipped it and began to rummage through it until she found the dark blue sweater with green stripes across the front. Pulling it over her head in one motion, she announced, “I’m ready.”

India chuckled and smoothed the child’s hair where it had become mussed from the sweater dragging over it. She
turned to grab her purse from a nearby chair and caught Nick staring at her, the corners of his mouth upturned in just enough amusement to free the killer dimples that lurked in the hollows of his cheeks.

Corri had opened the door and sped down the steps.

“Okay.” Searching her pockets for her house key to lock up behind them, India motioned for Nick to follow Corri out. “What’s so funny?”

“Just observing you with Corri.” Nick flashed a heartwarming smile. “You are just naturally maternal.”

“Me? Maternal? I think you have me confused with someone else, sir.”

“Making sure she understands what you’re talking about without talking down to her. Making sure she has her sweater. Fixing her hair before she goes out. Worrying about her safety on the train.”

She lowered her eyes and brushed past him without a response.

He caught up with her at the car.

“Indy, did I say something that upset you?”

“Let’s just drop it and go.” How to explain to him that a child was never really safe?

He unlocked the car and she got into the front seat after just the slightest hesitation.

“Corri, can you get your seat belt?” She turned to the child, who was situating herself in the backseat.

“Sure.”

Corri chatted nonstop for the entire twenty-minute drive to the museum, much to India’s relief, since it spared her from having to make small talk, which she didn’t feel up to all of a sudden.

Soon they were on the steps of the museum, Nick and India arguing over who would pay for the admissions. India won, since Nick had already committed to buying lunch.

The exhibit was every bit as enthralling as India had suspected it might be. Corri asked a million questions of no one in particular, and, much to Corri’s delight, Nick responded nearly as often as the guide, revealing an extensive knowledge of dinosaurs and fossils and prehistoric times. Corri’s curiosity led her to continue her questions right through lunch.

“But what did they eat? What did their babies eat? Why did they all die in their nests like that?” She trailed behind Nick, through the cafeteria-style line that was the order of the day on weekend afternoons, due to the number of families that visited on Saturdays.

Nick turned his attention from the steam tables to answer her as India’s eye was caught by their reflection in the long mirror on the wall next to the cash register.

We look like any other family here
, she thought, awed by it.
We look like a normal mom, dad, daughter, out for an afternoon together. There’s no difference between the three of us and that family sitting at the table right there.

India studied the mother, a good-looking woman in her midthirties, as she caught her daughter’s jacket as it started to fall from the back of the chair onto the floor. The girl was older than Corri, maybe ten or so, and appeared to be at that brief but fragile place where childhood and adolescence met, where doing something on a Saturday afternoon with your mother and father is still fun but totally uncool. She was torn between having a good time and not wanting to, and it showed in her face. Dad was obviously amused by it; Mom had clearly had all the amusement she could take from that quarter for one day. Dad lowered his head and began to talk, perhaps about something they had seen there that morning, and slowly the girl began to respond, her face becoming more animated, the you-people-bore-me-to-tears-and-God-forbid-that-I-don’t-see-anyone-I-know look beginning to fade as she spoke.

India smiled weakly at the mother, who had caught her staring, glancing at Corri and smiling back at India, as if to warn that the day would in fact come when Indy too would join the ranks of women who, by simple virtue of their motherhood, knew absolutely nothing about anything. Sighing, the woman turned back to her husband and child.

“India, I asked you what you wanted to drink.” Nick had touched her arm.

“Oh. Iced tea is fine,” she told him absently.

“Nick, I see a table. It’s over there.” Corri pointed across the room. “Can I go get it for us?”

“Sure.” He nodded. “Good idea.”

He slid the tray holding his lunch and Corri’s toward the
cash register with one hand while the other dug into his back pocket for his wallet. India craned her neck to watch Corri weave through the crowd, unaware that Nick was watching her.

“Nick, you shouldn’t have let her go by herself,” she told him.

“India, she’s going fifty feet away in a crowded room. What are you afraid of?”

She continued to watch Corri but did not answer.

“Someone’s talking to her. Why is that man talking to her?” The deep creases of a frown dug into her forehead. She shoved the tray toward him and took off briskly toward the table where Corri was arranging paper napkins at each of three places and chatting to a man in his forties who appeared to be very interested in what she was saying.

“Excuse me.” India placed herself between Corri and the man.

He smiled at her and was about to speak, when he glanced at her face and backed off a step or two.

“I was just discussing the dinosaur exhibit with your little girl,” he said softly. “I write children’s books. I’ve been working on a book about dinosaurs and I just wanted to know what she found most interesting about the exhibit.”

“And I’m certain she was more than happy to tell you.” Nick came up behind India, deposited the trays on the table and placed a steadying hand on her shoulder.

“Actually, she was.”

Before I came up and near blew him off his feet, ready to call security and Paloma’s finest and the FBI.
India inwardly grimaced.

“I’m sorry,” she told him, “but she’s been taught not to speak to strangers.”

“I understand.” The man nodded, backing away as if he’d been slapped.

An awkward silence hung over the table, until finally Nick pulled out the chairs and directed everyone to sit. He slid India’s tray across the table to her, then turned to Corri and asked, “Do you need help in opening that soda bottle?”

Corri nodded her head, her eyes downcast toward her lunch. Slowly, quietly, she began to unwrap her sandwich
from the cellophane wrapper, as if afraid to make noise, afraid to call attention to herself.

“Corri,” India began, “you do know not to talk to strangers, don’t you?”

“I didn’t think Mr. Carson was a stranger.” Corri looked up at her with doleful eyes.

“How do you know his name was Mr. Carson?”

“Because I asked him. He was in our group when we were upstairs with the guide. And he writes books. I read the one about the grasshopper. Kimmie gave it to me for my birthday last year.”

India held her breath, torn between embarrassment and fear. It was so easy to get to a child, to earn their trust, to make them believe you were anyone you told them you were.

“If Mr. Carson had asked you to come back to the exhibit with him, what would you have said?” India tried to force a calm into her voice.

Corri looked at her as if she had two heads.

“I would have said I had to ask you first.”

“What if he had said he had already asked me and I said it was okay?”

Without the slightest hesitation, Corri said, “I would say that
you
didn’t tell
me
I could go, and I couldn’t, unless
you
told
me.”

“You are a very smart young lady.” Nick patted her on the back with great affection, all the while watching India’s eyes. “India was just concerned that maybe you didn’t know to do that.”

“I know. Aunt August told me. And so did Ry. Ry told me that no matter what anyone said, if he didn’t tell me okay, or Aunt August or Darla, it was not okay.”

“Well, I think India just needed to know that you knew, isn’t that right, India?” His eyes bored through her. “She didn’t mean to scare you, Corri, and you didn’t do anything wrong. She just didn’t know that you know not to let anyone talk you into going off with them.”

“Nick’s right, and I am sorry, Corri. I’m not used to being”—she paused, not knowing how to phrase it—
“responsible
for little girls. I am trying, Corri, so please bear
with me. I’m sorry if I embarrassed you in front of Mr. Carson. I had no way of knowing who he was or why he was speaking to you.”

Corri just nodded.

“In all fairness to India, Corri, we really have no way of knowing if Mr. Carson was who he said he was, do we?” Nick stirred some sugar into his coffee.

“You mean maybe he wasn’t writing a dinosaur book?” Her eyes widened at the prospect. “Maybe he didn’t write the grasshopper book?”

“I don’t know if he did or not,” Nick told her.

“Boy!” Corri’s breath came out in one long steady stream of exasperation, her face clouded over with disgust.

“It’s a very sad thing, Corri, but there are a lot of people who can’t be trusted.” Nick put his fork down and nodded to her that it was, in fact, sad but true.

“You mean bad guys?” Corri asked. “Like the bad guys India sends to jail?”

“Exactly.” He turned to India now and leveled those brown eyes at her, as if understanding was beginning to dawn.

“Exactly,” she repeated.

“India, if a bad guy got me, would you send him to jail?” Corri asked innocently, waving a french fry through a puddle of catsup on her plate.

India froze momentarily. “Of course I would,” she told Corri.

“I thought so.” Corri reached for another fry, oblivious to the panic that had welled up inside of India, or the concern that was beginning to fill Nick. She simply began to chatter again.

“Would you like something for dessert?” Nick asked when they had finished their sandwiches. “I think they have ice cream. They also had some cakes and brownies.”

“The baked goods looked pretty sad to me,” India told him, then turned to Corri. “But they serve a good brand of ice cream here.”

“Ice cream.” Corri nodded.

“Come on then.” Nick rose, taking the two trays in one hand. “We’ll see what flavors they have.”

They were back in moments, Corri carrying a bowl1
crowded with two large scoops of chocolate ice cream and three spoons.

“We got you a spoon,” Corri told her, “in case you wanted some.”

“Thank you, sweetie, but no.”

She watched both Nick and Corri dig in. Watching the two of them chased the dragons from her soul and brought the warmth back into her heart. When Nick left them in search of napkins, India picked up the extra spoon and took a swipe off one side of the chocolate mound.

Corri giggled.

“What’s so funny?” India asked.

“Nick said you wouldn’t be able to resist.”

“He did, did he?” India reached across the table and smoothed her hair.

“You know, they could really use some of Darla’s Delectables here,” Nick said as he placed a pile of napkins on the table. “Given the quality of the rest of the food—my roast beef sandwich was excellent—you’d think they’d have something better to offer in the way of desserts.”

“Maybe I should mention that to her.”

“She does have an excellent product, and the clientele here seems to be pretty much upscale.” His eyes wandered over the sea of well-dressed urban types who filled the room, stopping on the figure of Mr. Carson, who stood talking to a young boy, who appeared engrossed in what the man was telling him.

“Can I throw this stuff away?” Corri held up the bowl holding the spoons and the napkins, now streaked with brown where she had dabbed at the chocolate lump, which had landed on her T-shirt.

“Sure.” India watched the child bounce off in search of a trash can, then followed Nick’s stare. He was still watching Carson.

“You never really know, Nick,” she told him. “He might well be a writer of children’s books just talking to his young readers. Then again, he might be something more.”

“I understand that your work would make you more sensitive to this than some others of us might be,” he said, turning his gaze to her, “but I can’t help but think this goes a lot deeper than that.”

She ignored him, choosing to stand up as Corri returned, asking, “Are we ready? Can we go see the big dinosaur upstairs again? Did you know there are Indian houses upstairs? Can we see them too?”

Indy heard Nick sigh as he rose and followed them through the crowd.

Chapter 13

“Is that Georgia?” Corri would whisper every time a new dancer appeared upon the broad wooden stage that formed the focal point of the Paloma Center for the Performing Arts.

“No,” Nick would answer, “I’ll tell you when I see her.”

It soon became apparent, however, that with all the dancers in this modern ballet being costumed in identical short flame-red dresses and white powdered wigs, their faces stark white with vivid colors at the eyes and lips, the chances of picking Nick’s sister out in this crowd were slim to none. He told Corri so when intermission had arrived and he still wasn’t certain he had seen his youngest sibling on the big stage.

“But we’ll go backstage afterward and meet her,” he promised, hoping that he’d be able to find her.