The Good Daughter (24 page)

Fiona and Polly met up with her in the office while she was collecting mail from her teacher in-box.

“All packed?” Fiona asked, juggling her tea and the handouts she’d just printed on the copier.

“All waxed?” Polly added significantly.

“Neither,” Kit answered, lifting a hand to wave at Shelley, who’d come through the office with a blue mesh bag filled with basketballs. “Not going after all.”

Fiona’s eyes grew big. “Your mum?”

“Can’t go,” Kit said. “I’m staying with her.”

Polly looked confused. “What do you mean,
you’re
staying with her? What about the others? And your father?”

“Mom wants them to go. She wants them to have fun.”

“Can they?” Polly asked doubtfully. “I think they’d feel terribly guilty about leaving their sick mom behind.”

“Thank you for not saying ‘dying,’” Kit said drily. “And I’m sure it won’t be easy for everyone to go knowing Mom can’t, but Mom’s determined to make sure we stay close and focused on the big picture—which is, in this case, the family—rather than obsess about her. And it makes sense to me. You know, the sum-of-the-whole-is-bigger-than-the-parts thing.”

“The whole is greater than the sum of its parts,” Fiona corrected. “But when it comes to a mum…?”

“I know. But you can’t argue with her. She’s a Donahue.”

The first warning bell rang and the three quickly headed off to their respective classrooms. Kit was soon immersed in lessons and it wasn’t until she was halfway through third period that it registered that Delilah Hartnel was missing. She knew from taking attendance that the girl wasn’t there but figured she was just tardy and would eventually show up. She didn’t.

At lunch Kit checked in with Mrs. Dellinger to see if the school secretary had heard from Delilah’s mother. “Did she call in to say Delilah was sick?” Kit asked.

“No,” Mrs. Dellinger said, checking her attendance records just to be sure she hadn’t missed anything. “Nothing.”

Kit thanked her and went to the staff room to eat lunch but couldn’t stop thinking about Delilah. Why wasn’t she in school today? She needed to be in school. She’d just missed two and a half days last week. Was it a coincidence that she was absent today, the day after the tense meeting with Michael—no, not Michael, Howard—or was Delilah home
because
of yesterday?

Kit didn’t like what her gut was telling her, and she couldn’t ignore her instinct either.

Unable to finish her sandwich, Kit returned to her classroom, pulled the folder on Delilah from her purse, and called the home number listed on a form. No one answered, so she left a voice
mail, saying that it was Kit Brennan, Delilah’s English teacher, and she was just checking in on Delilah since she was absent today. “Give me a call, if you would,” she added, giving them the school number and her personal extension.

But leaving the message didn’t make her feel better and she scanned the emergency contact form, wanting Missy’s cell number. Delilah had said her mom had a cell, but no number for it had been provided on the form. Only the number for Howard’s. And Kit wasn’t going to call him.

That left only Jude. Again.

Kit didn’t want to call him. Didn’t want to involve him or depend on him or have anything to do with him. But at the same time he was their neighbor. Would it really be such a big deal for her to ask him to check on Delilah?

Make sure Delilah was okay?

That’s all Kit needed to know. Homework and lessons could always be made up, but if there was trouble at home…She exhaled slowly, nervously…

Michael—correction,
Howard
…Howard, Howard, Howard—wasn’t a fan of Delilah. He’d made it clear, that night Kit had dinner with him at Millennium, that he didn’t like Dee, saying she was mouthy and obnoxious, and blaming his failed marriage on her. And Delilah clearly wasn’t comfortable with Howard. So what happened to the girl yesterday after the meeting?

What had he said…or done, when they got home?

Kit’s stomach cramped. She felt sweaty and queasy. Staring at the emergency contact form, she reluctantly called the only person who might be able to help her.

Jude picked up on the fourth ring. “Yeah?” he answered, sounding bored.

Kit’s insides did an uncomfortable flip. “Jude, this is Kit Brennan, Delilah’s—”

“I know who you are, Kit Kat.”

Her face felt hot. Her insides flipped the other way. He rattled her, he did. “Delilah didn’t come to school today.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I tried to call the Dempseys’ house number, but no one answered.”

“Did you try the stepdaddy’s number?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I think you know why not.”

He was silent a moment. “Can I ask you something?”

“Okay.”

“How do you know him?”

“What?”

“You met him somewhere, before Delilah enrolled at Memorial, that’s why you call him Michael—”

“He told me his name was Michael!”

“Where did you meet him?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Did you have a relationship?”

“Absolutely not!” Kit’s heart was pounding and she was glad she was sitting. “He’s Delilah’s stepfather.”

“But you knew him before Delilah was your student, didn’t you?”

“I knew him all of ten days before she enrolled at Memorial.”

“Did you go out with him?”

Her heart fell and her stomach followed. “I’m not going to discuss this. It’s not relevant.”

“Did you sleep with him?”

“Who’s the cop now?” she shouted into the phone, furious. She rarely lost her temper, and never screamed at people, but he was completely pushing her buttons. How dare he question her? How dare
he
assume the worst about
her
?

“I’m just trying to understand the relationship,” he answered calmly.

She swallowed hard, trying to calm herself, needing to settle down so she could think straight. “There’s no relationship and there’s nothing to understand. Delilah was absent today. I called her home number. No one answered. I don’t have a number for her mother, so I called you.”

“But you could have called Howard. You’re old friends—”

“We’re not old friends. We’re not even friends. I don’t trust him. That’s why I called you. But if you don’t want to help check on Delilah, that’s fine. I’ll head over to her house after school and look in on her myself.”

“You’re not going to go by her house.”

“I have dropped by dozens of students’ homes over the years.”

“I don’t doubt you have. So let me rephrase that. I wouldn’t go by their house today.”

“Why not?”

“Howard wouldn’t like it.”

“Phooey. We may not be friends, but I’m not afraid of Howard. And I’m not going to see him anyway. I’m going to see Delilah.”

“No one will open the door.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I live next door, Kit.”

She inhaled sharply, frustrated, and not at all certain she knew what to do. “I’m worried about Delilah, and maybe I’m worrying needlessly, but as her teacher, I
am
responsible for her, and if something isn’t right, I must help her.”

He said nothing.

Kit didn’t like it. “Does he hit her?” she blurted.

“Who?”

“Howard. Does he hit Delilah?”

“I don’t think so.”

Thank God. Kit sagged with relief. “That’s good.”

Jude was again silent and Kit pictured Delilah, and her pale, frightened face, and her relief faded. “I’m going to stop by after school,” she said decisively. “I have to. I just need to know she’s okay, otherwise I’ll be worrying about her all weekend.”

“I tell you what, Kit Kat. I’ll go check on Delilah for you, and then I’ll call you as soon as I know something. Will that make you feel better?”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Kit’s eyes suddenly burned. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Jude?”

“Yeah?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because I’m a sucker for a pretty face?”

“No, seriously.”

“I like Delilah. She’s a sweet kid.” He hesitated. “And I like you.”

“Why?”

“You’re a good person. You remind me a lot of my mom.”

H
anging up, Kit left her phone on her desk during her afternoon classes, and even carried it with her to the parking lot for Friday-afternoon yard duty and traffic patrol, but Jude didn’t call. And as the hours passed, she felt increasingly anxious, and she hated being anxious; it made her feel things she didn’t like feeling.

Back in her classroom after traffic patrol, she tidied her desk, placing her attendance book and lesson plans in the middle, where
next week’s substitute would find them easily. It felt strange leaving for a week and she glanced around her room, making sure she hadn’t forgotten anything.

Kit was just about to turn off the lights when she thought of Delilah again. So ridiculous to worry and wait. Why was she waiting? She was Delilah’s teacher, not Jude. Kit closed her door and headed for her car, having decided to swing by Delilah’s house on her way home.

J
ude was crouching next to his motorcycle in his driveway, running a wet, soapy sponge over the chrome carburetor, when he spotted a white Prius slowly approaching his house. Probably someone looking for an address. Nothing unusual in that. Except that Jude wasn’t most people and he trusted no one, particularly in this neighborhood.

He shifted slightly, his leather work boots creaking, and stretched his arm out to run the sponge down the chrome pipe. The change of position also allowed him to watch the car out of the corner of his eye.

The Prius, already creeping along, suddenly stopped in the middle of the street, right in front of Howard’s house. Jude listened to the car humming in the street. He turned his head an inch, glanced at the driver, spotted the red hair, familiar face. Swore.

Kit Kat Brennan.

What the hell was she doing here?

Standing, he tossed the dripping sponge into the blue bucket and headed toward her, drying his wet hands on the back of his faded Levi’s.

She stared at him through the closed window, chin up, jaw stubbornly set.

He made a circling gesture with his finger, motioning for her to put the window down.

She hesitated. He gave her a look.

Reluctantly she put the window down a couple of inches.

He motioned that he wanted it all the way down.

Kit rolled her eyes, rolled it down. “Yes?” she said with exaggerated politeness as he bent down, his gaze now level with hers.

“You don’t listen very well,” he said shortly.

“You didn’t call me and I wasn’t going to wait anymore.” She leaned forward, peering past him. “Is that their house? The white one with the blue shutters to the left of yours?”

“Yes.”

“Looks fresh…well maintained. Lots of new rosebushes.”

“Howard likes to give her roses after they fight.”

“That’s…nice.”

God, she was clueless. Jude didn’t know if he wanted to kiss her, shake her, or spank her. “The one word I would not use to describe Dempsey is
nice
. He’s a lot of things, Kit, but nice isn’t one of them.”

Her dark eyebrows arched. “Now, if you’ll move aside, I’d like to park and introduce myself to Missy.”

“You’re wasting your time. No one’s going to answer.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know more about the situation there than you do.”

“Delilah is
my
student.”

“And they’re my neighbors. These are small lots and voices carry.”

She glanced at the Dempsey house with the fresh white paint and new blue shutters and then at Jude’s pink stucco house with the peeling paint, rusted metal chairs on the lawn, and the scattered automotive parts. “I’m sure you hear plenty. Now please move. I’m not leaving without saying hello and seeing Delilah.”

He stepped back onto the curb, folded his arms across his chest, and watched as she rolled up the window, parked, and climbed out of the car.

She was wearing a pencil skirt, heels, and a cute little cardigan that made him think of a 1940s pinup.

His lids dropped, lashes lowering, as she marched up the Dempseys’ sidewalk, her straight, snug skirt outlining her derriere to perfection. He was an unabashed butt man and he loved Kit’s.

Tugging on her cardigan, Kit straightened her shoulders, rang the doorbell, and waited.

No one came to the door.

Kit lifted her hand and knocked vigorously. “Delilah…Missy,” she called through the door. “It’s Kit Brennan, Delilah’s English teacher. Just wanted to say hi.”

And still no one responded, despite her very cheerful voice. Jude felt almost sorry for her. “Try again,” he said. “Shout a little louder.”

She flashed him an uncertain look, lips pursing. “You think?”

“Why not? You’re there.”

He watched as she rapped even harder, and then pressed her mouth to the door to loudly say, “Delilah, it’s me, Miss Brennan. I wanted to check on you. Meet your mom. Make sure things are okay.”

“Why don’t you go around the house, check the back door, try that,” he suggested helpfully.

She straightened swiftly, realizing now he’d just been messing with her. Color stormed her cheeks, and her eyes blazed. “Why don’t I just climb in through a window?”

“You’re sure that’s not too pushy?”

Heels clicking, she marched back down the stairs and flashed him a look of loathing as she headed for her car. “Dick,” she muttered beneath her breath.

Jude nearly laughed out loud.

God, she was hot.

Her high heels rang against the pavement and then went silent as she sank into the dry grassy patch bordering the curb. Her nose tipped higher. “You can stop laughing at me now and go finish washing your motorcycle.”

“But I like watching you.”

“Go away.”

“Angel, I live here.”

“I feel sorry for your neighbors!”

“Why?”

She stopped, faced him, and jabbed a finger there, there, and there, pointing to the chaos in his front yard. “That, that, and that. And I just hope the inside of your house is tidier than the outside!”

“What’s wrong with the outside?”

Her lips parted for a split second before she snapped them shut and walked quickly around the car. She swung the door open, slid inside, but before she could slam it closed, he was there, leaning between the door and her side.