Safely Home (4 page)

“Ouch!” He pulled back, the stab of pain making him forget. Miz Jane liked little boys to be quiet and still. To follow directions. And to stay quiet when folks came to visit, though few did.

A trickle of blood oozed from the wound’s open end. Not much, just a dot or two, but she saw it and screeched. “What have you done?”

“I didn’t,” he protested. “You did.”

Her face went still. Her eyes narrowed. He cringed, expecting to be smacked at best and thrashed at worst, but she stopped, stared, and then wrinkled her face as if thinking. “This old table ain’t worth a darn, most likely.”

The boy held perfectly still, afraid to tip the scales in either direction.

“And if that gets infected, we’ll be havin’ to look for help, and there ain’t no good comin’ from that, is there, Charlie?”

Did she really want him to answer?

He couldn’t.

He’d love help, he’d love for someone to notice him. Care about him. Be nice to him. He maintained his position,
motionless, silent, letting her work this all out. In the end, it would be her choice, so why risk the outcome?

“You go in, wash that up, then
I’ll get that sliver out and there’ll be no cryin’ or whinin’, you hear me, boy?”

He did. And he’d follow the directive because no matter how bad the sliver removal might be, the punishment if he didn’t sit quiet and still?

Far worse.

He went inside, trying to ignore the smells, the waste, the dirt, pretending he was surrounded by soft yellow walls and pretty white flowers
. He used to see the room clearly in his head, and he’d imagine himself there, laughing. Playing.

The image was gone now, but the colors stayed, warm and sweet. But even those were graying along the edges. What would he do when even the tiniest glimpses of “before” vanished?

He had no idea.

Chapter Three

A flash of color interrupted
Alex’s work the following week. He turned as Cress Dietrich stepped into view, the wide cherry entry trim framing her rust-brown hair and matching eyes. He tried to ignore the appealing look, mostly because he was way too familiar with the scornful attitude beneath the prettiness.

She looked perturbed
, much like she had when he stumbled upon her in Gran’s kitchen seven days before. But with Cress, irritation wasn’t exactly a news flash.

He refused to sigh. Instead, he eased a hip onto the edge of his desk and waited, silent. The cop side of her met his gaze dead on, unwavering, until he hiked a brow and inclined his head. “You wanted me, Detective?”

“Like a mouse wants a trap.”

One side of his mouth quirked up. “Equating yourself to a rodent? A new low.”

Her brick-brown eyes sharpened. “Or you to an
inanimate predator, watching as you plan how to bilk other grieving old folks out of their life savings.”

He’d rather die than reveal Norma’s secret, so he’d leave Cress Dietrich to think what she would, although part of him— a very small part— wanted her approval, but he chalked that up to old crap, re-visited
, and shoved it aside. “Still quick, Cress.”

“
But not quick enough it would seem.”

He eased off the desk
and inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Now that the customary pleasantries have been exchanged, what can I do for you?”

“My grandmother sent this.” She handed over a folder. “Said you requested it.”

Alex angled his gaze, meeting hers, taking his time. “And—  the cookies?”

She flushed. Obviously she didn’t realize Norma called ahead.
Alex kept his face flat while he smiled inside. “My cookies, Detective?”

She
met his look, resolute. “In the car.”

“Stealing’s a crime.” He moved closer. She’d lost the cop face the minute he mentioned her grandmother’s oatmeal raisin confections, melt-in-your-mouth delicious. “Might even be considered grand theft, considering the worth of Gran’s cookies.”

“Or I simply forgot to get them out of the back seat.”

“Hmm.” He crowded her space. She step
ped back, a move of concession, making him wonder why she’d do that. The Cress he knew wouldn’t hesitate to stand her ground. “I don’t think you forget too much, Detective. You figured to punish me by maintaining the cookies in absentia. You commandeered my stash. Lucky for me, I knew they were en route and was able to track their progress. Very Fed Ex.”

“Gran talks too much,” Cress asserted. Her stance tightened. “And hangs with the wrong crowd.”

“Mary Jenkins? Ginny Dumerese?” Doubt edged his tone. “I think they’re nice.”

“I meant you.”

“I’m wounded.” He feigned pain, set the folder down, and moved toward the door. “Where’s your car?”

She looked
angry and trapped. Good. She deserved both. And maybe an old fashioned spanking to top things off. That thought led him in the wrong mental direction and it took work to maintain an easy expression. But he did it.

She jerked her head. “On Sixth.”

“I’m hungry. Let’s go.”

“I can get them myself.”

He waited as she went through the door, followed, then pulled it shut behind him, making sure the lock engaged. “That’s like asking the cat to guard the fish. You had your chance. You blew it.”

“That’s it? You’re a one chance kind of guy?”

“Yup. You nix it, you’re done.”

“Shortsighted.”

“I would say protective, but that’s semantics. In any case, you used your shot.”

When she grimaced, he backtracked, a hand to her shoulder, flicking a look to her leg. “Hey, listen, not the best choice of words. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She shrugged away from his hand and moved through the exterior door, her gait awkward.

“Cress.” He reached a hand out again, chin down, trying to meet her gaze. “I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.”

She stared ahead, not moving, unblinking, then blew him off. “You’ve got a lot more than that to be sorry for, Counselor.”

“Make me a list?”

“Not enough paper.”

“Use e-mail.”

“Don’t care enough to bother.”

“You’re wrong there.” He changed tacks as they approached the intersection. “You hungry? Lunch? I’m buying.”

She swung to face him. “I would sooner—”

He put two fingers against her lips and leaned down, trying not to notice how soft her mouth felt against the pads of his
skin. “Whatever snide analogy you were about to make is probably something you’d regret later. Consider this,” he dropped his gaze to her mouth and tried to ignore the tiny points of ivory-gold circling jet black pupils, how they brightened when she flashed in anger. He’d never noticed that before, and it wasn’t for lack of exposure. “Me, saving you from yourself.”

“Remove your hand or you’ll be the one who needs saving.”

“Maybe I like my hand there.” This time he caught her gaze and held it, letting his fingers linger, the feel of her mouth a welcome respite. “Maybe I like the feel.”

She pulled back. “You’ll be feeling something else if you don’t back off.” She clicked her remote and the door locks disengaged.

He swept her, the car, and the key fob a disbelieving look. “You locked your car in Watkins Ridge? Talk about overkill.”

“There’s scum everywhere, Counselor.”

“Pessimistic POV.”

“Realistic. Check the company I’m in.” She bent to retrieve the plastic box of cookies, and he
couldn’t resist pure male appreciation of her God-given attributes, but masked the emotion. This was Cress, a woman trained in deadly force, probably packing heat right now. Was a great body worth possible death?

No. Usually.

Something about Cress hiked his irritation receptors beyond the norm. Maybe he’d get lucky and she’d head back to Minnesota. Stop annoying him. She straightened, caught the direction of his gaze and thrust the Rubbermaid container into his solar plexus with more power than a five-foot-five girl should have. “You check me out, I’ll clean the sidewalk with you.”

“Possession of stolen goods, now threats of bodily harm.”
He let the up-note of his voice underscore his opinion of her behavior. “Mounting evidence.” He inclined his head toward the Italian deli a few doors down. “Come on, it’s lunchtime. Let me feed you. I think they’ve even got a special on raw meat today.” He punctuated his reference with a cat-like yowl.

“Kiss off.” The words didn’t completely negate the glimmer of respect he saw as she rounded the car.

He acknowledged that by lifting the Rubbermaid. “Thanks for the cookies.”

“Enjoy them. I helped make ‘em.”

“Domestic.”

“One of my many talents.” She smiled across the roof of the
low-slung coupe, a feline grin. Her right hand played with the chain suspended around her neck. Nothing dainty for Cress Dietrich. Uh, uh. This chain was thick-linked and pewter-finished, tough and unpolished, like the wearer. She leaned his way, fingers braced along the top edge of the car. “Did you know Gran keeps her rat poison in the pantry?”

He let a grin steal
over his face as he hoisted the cookies. “Above the flour?”

“The sugar, actually. But proximity’s proximity, right?” She didn’t let him answer. Instead she climbed into the car, started the engine, revved the eight cylinders for full effect, then peeled out as she moved away from the curb, tires squealing.

Adolescent. And sexy. Interesting mix. If you had a death wish.

He pried open a corner of the plastic lid, hefted two cookies and grinned as Officer Les Budall pulled out of the Shop-n-Go parking lot, lights flashing, siren wailing, in pursuit of 
Cress’s streamlined, low-slung Mazda for cruising through the four-way.

Alex
held the cookies aloft, a sweet salute to law enforcement at the right place, right time. “Go get her, Les. And good luck.” He eyed the cookies, slid his glance down the road to where an irate Cress argued the senselessness of Les’s ticket, weighed up the possibility of rodent poison, dismissed it as at least unlikely, and took a bite.

Delicious. Chewy. Raisin-studded goodness filled his mouth, making him realize how hungry he was. Rat poison or not, these were still great cookies.

He’d die a happy man.

*

Worst morning, ever.

Cress deleted a few chosen words from her evaluation as she stomped through the grass to the back door of Gran’s aging two-story farmhouse.

She’d greeted the morning with intermittent bursts of scalding water because Gran liked to wash clothes early. Like pre-dawn early. Who
does
that? thought Cress, indignant.

More time for hanging, the old gal said.

Well, hang
this,
Cress thought as she approached the back porch. Her footsteps stirred Shep. He stood, arthritic, yawned, stretched, then moved her way, looking for affection. No way could she ignore the old boy. She paused, bending to pet the dog who’d traipsed alongside Grandpa to the day he died, then entered the kitchen.

“Did you remember the milk?” Gran peered at Cress’s empty hands and hiked a brow.

She hadn’t. She’d been so riled after her tête-à-tête with Alex followed by her run-in with the local Barney Fife that she’d forgotten the milk. She choked back what she wanted to say and shook her head. “Forgot. Sorry. I’ll head to the convenience store and grab it there.”

“It’s a dollar cheaper in town,” Gran scolded.

Cress’s shoulders wrenched. “I’ll cover the difference, Gran.”

“That’s not the point.” Gran’s frown made her glasses slip. “You had to go right by Gordy’s
Supermarket to get to Alex’s office. What way did you go?”

Cress ground her back tee
th, then rolled her shoulders. The maneuver did nothing to help the growing tightness. “Past Gordy’s. I just forgot.”

Gran peered over her glasses before righting them with the index finger of her right hand. “We can get it later when we stop at the mortuary.”

“Gran, we are not going to the funeral parlor to make your arrangements.” The very idea gave Cress the creeps. “That’s morbid.”

“That’s life,” Gran retorted. She poured a cup of coffee and moved to the back door, her gaze directed south. “You live, you die. Trick is, make the most of both.”

“Yeah, well, good luck on that one.”

“Cynical.”

Cress sent her a cryptic look. “Chip off the old block.”

Gran’s scowl deepened the natural creases of a seventy-something life. “Not at your age. Being away from the city is good for you.
You need a break, something to change things up.”

Cress didn’t
add that being away from an abusive man was good for her. Gran would never understand such a stupid mistake. “I love my job.”

“I know.” Gran turned, regarding her. “But there’s police work everywhere.”

Images of her recent run-in with Les flooded Cress’s brain. Like that was real police work. Please. “Umm. Right.”

Gran must have followed her line of reasoning because she smiled. The softened expression shed years from her face. “Not the locals, maybe, but the county sheriff. State troopers. There’s options right here.”

“I have a job, Gran.”

“You’re not happy there.” Gran read her like a book. Always did.

Pressure added to Cress’s already tight shoulders. “Happy enough.”

Gran snorted. “That’s no answer, and you know it. In any case,” her gaze dropped to Cress’s leg, “until you’re healed proper, it’s nice to have you here.”

Cress acknowledged that with a lift of her eyebrows. “Dad’s upset that I didn’t move back there, with him and Stacey.” She liked her stepmother well enough, but Cress hadn’t reconciled those years of loss and pain, when everything fell apart following her mother’s death. Was she wrong to expect her father to be the strong one, in light of the circumstances? Probably. But falling apart and neglecting four motherless kids hadn’t made her short list.

“
He’ll get over it.” noted Gran. The lack of respect in her voice said she had a hard time forgetting, too. “I’m glad you’re with me. In spite of the reasons why.” This time she swept her own body a look.

Cress changed the subject. “The tomatoes are ripe.”

“Ready to pick.”

“Are we canning them?”

“What’s the point?”

“Gran.”

The old woman bristled. “Spend all that time and effort, then not be around long enough to eat them?”

“Whatever happened to sharing?” Cress jerked her head toward the window. “Helping your neighbors?”

Gran eyed the designer houses lining the curving trail along what had been the back field not too long ago. Her expression made Cress laugh. “Not them. How about Mary? The Dumereses? Your friends. Or someone down on their luck.”