Unexpected Dismounts (22 page)

“You seem to have a praying community.”

I blinked back to Garry.

“We do,” Bonner said.

“I suppose I just came by to show my—our—support.” Garry pulled his hands from his pockets as if he wanted to do something with them. When he couldn’t seem to decide what, he put them back again. “No matter how far you’ve wandered, Allison,” he said, “your church family still loves you. Anything you need—”

“We’re fine,” Bonner said.

The pause that ensued was torturous. The Reverend Garry seemed to take all he could and then hurried down the hall.

Bonner let out an exasperated sigh. “He had me until ‘no matter how far you’ve wandered.’ You’re right, Allison: He’s—”

“Where is India, Bonner?” I said.

He let the anger slide from his face. “At work, I would assume.”

“You know what I mean. Is she that angry with me that she hasn’t even come by?”

“Do you want her to come by?”

“Of course I do. Do you know what’s going on?”

“No, but I know who does.” Bonner rubbed my arm. “Look, I’m on it, okay? Like I said, you focus on Chief and Desmond.”

Yeah. As if I had a choice.

That night Desmond had another nightmare, and this time I was able to ferret out that somebody in the depths of his dreams was trying to take him. All week there hadn’t been a single moment that seemed like the right one to bring up his aunt’s visit. I’d even been able to convince myself at times that if she hadn’t sicced her lawyer on me by now, she probably wasn’t going to. Now, with Des screaming, “You can’t have me!” I knew I couldn’t put it off any longer.

But when he got up the next morning and announced that he wanted to go to school, I mentally rescheduled that discussion for the afternoon.

“You must be feeling better,” I said.

“I got to pick up somethin’,” he said. “Then maybe I’ll knock off early.”

“It’s not a job, Desmond, it’s school.” I bounced my hand off of his hair. “You can’t just ‘knock off’ whenever you want to.”

Fear shot through his eyes.

“But if you get to feeling bad, call me,” I added quickly. “I’ll be with Hank this morning and I’ll always have my cell with me.”

He nodded uncertainly.

“Tell you what: If you feel like you need to come home, just go to Miss O’Hare and have her call, and then stay with her until I get there.”

He seemed okay with that. He did load a second baggie full of Oreos into his lunch. But the swagger was missing when I watched him walk across the schoolyard, even when two junior coeds ran to him squealing. Even with them cooing and dancing, he looked back over his shoulder until his eyes found mine behind the windshield of the van. I gave him a thumbs-up, which he answered with only half a grin.

I was so ready for my weekly talk with Hank I caught air with the van going over the speed bump at the entrance to the parking lot behind St. George Street. Hank was standing there, helmet in hand.

“It’s not a Harley, hon,” she said when I climbed out.

“I know. I’m not sure I’ll ever ride one again.”

She peered at me over her sunglasses as we walked toward St. George Street. “Why not? Insurance is paying for a new one, right? That’s what Bonner told me.”

“It is. But I don’t know if I have the heart.”

Hank stopped me on the corner and waited for the blaring voice of the tour bus guide to take his spiel on up to Orange Street.

“I don’t have to think very hard to know what Chief’s going to say when he hears you say that. And I’m not even the prophet.”

I sagged against a light pole. “You really think he’s going to wake up? Be honest with me. It’s been six days now, and even Dr. Doyle said the longer he’s out, the less likely it is that he’s going to make a full recovery.”

“Then it sounds like you’ve had about all the honesty you can handle,” she said. “Let’s opt for some faith instead.”

She crooked her elbow through mine and pulled us both down St. George at Boston speed.

“Where are we going, anyway?” I said. When I’d asked her the day before where we should meet now that the Spanish Galleon had closed, she just said we’d figure it out in the parking lot.

“Little place that just started serving coffee and breakfast,” she said. “The food’s not much, which means we’ll probably have the whole thing to ourselves.”

I let her haul me along, although my mind wasn’t making much progress.

“Faith,” I said.

“Yeah.”

“I hope you don’t mean faith that God is going to snap the Divine fingers and this is all going to be peachy. I’m not buying that.”

Hank grunted. “If that were the way it worked, why would he have made all this happen in the first place?”

“You think God did?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then why are we even talking?”

She twitched her lips at me. “You brought it up, Al.”

“I love you, Hank,” I said.

She stopped again, and put herself in front of me, and took both of my wrists in her hands. The face she turned up to me was tender.

“That’s the faith I’m talkin’ about, Al,” she said. “That’s what’s going to get us all through this and on top of it. God’s got the love and God’s pouring it out. Now, can we eat?”

I looked up at the sign above us.

“The Monk’s Vineyard?” I said. “Lewis and Clark are serving breakfast now?”

“You’ve been here before?”

“This is where I found Ophelia.”

And where I’d last seen Kade Cacciatore, or whatever that scoundrel’s name was. I hadn’t thought much about him since, which was actually fine.

“Miss Chamberlain!” a voice sang out from the porch.

Hank gave me a look.

“Long story,” I said. “Hi, George.”

“Not a long-enough story, far as I’m concerned,” he said, shaking his head and with it his impossible mop of curls. “What do you say we fix that? Tell me what’s been going on with you.”

“Some menus first, please, George?” Hank said. “And a table would be good too.”

The air was a little March chilly, but the street was quiet before the expected onslaught of kids on field trips, so we picked a spot on the porch and let George regale us with the specials. None of it sounded particularly appetizing to me, but I ordered a sausage biscuit and let him persuade me to try the latte Lewis was perfecting.

When he was gone, I felt Hank looking through me. I might as well tell her before she guessed.

“I’m putting the Palm Row house up for sale,” I said.

She stared.

“I have to,” I said.

That was as far as I got before my phone rang. I scrambled it out of my bag, sure it was Desmond already knocking off for the day. But it was Bonner.

“Hey, we were just talking about you,” I said. “Or getting ready to, anyway.”

“I don’t know if this is good news or not,” he said. “But the owner of that house on San Luis has accepted our offer, contingent on the sale of the Palm Row house, like you said. You and I need to sit down and really talk seriously about what you want to ask for it.”

“What if we offered him a straight trade?” I said.

Silence didn’t fall. It crashed.

“I know I’m not Chief,” he said finally. “But I am not going to let you do that, Allison. I’m just not. I won’t represent a deal like that.”

“Okay,” I said. “It was just a suggestion.”

“And I’m going to pretend you never made it. When can we meet? How about I take you to dinner tonight?”

“I don’t—”

“You need to get out and Hank needs a break from feeding you.”

“I heard that,” Hank said. “I don’t need a break, but I’ll take it.”

“What about Desmond?” I said.

“I’ll take him, too,” Hank said.

I frowned at her but she waved me off. “Go—it’ll do you good. Maybe Bonner can talk you out of whatever it is you’re trying to do.”

I told Bonner I’d go and hung up with Hank still staring at me.

“I just want to know one thing,” she said.

“Okay,” I said.

“Are you getting this from God, this selling your house idea?”

I rubbed a smudge from the screen on my phone.

“You’re not,” she said.

“Not directly. But Hank, I have to do something. Now I have Ophelia
and
Zelda to find places for.”

“And you and Desmond?”

The phone rang again.

“Speaking of Desmond,” I said.

For once his timing was perfect.

Desmond did look as if he were in pain when I picked him up, though he was vague on the details. When we got home he went straight to his room, and when I peeked in later, he was bent over his sketchbook.

“I’m liking this,” I said. “I haven’t seen you draw since the accident.”

He flipped the cover closed and tossed the book aside.

“I wasn’t going to try to look at it,” I said. “I always wait for you to offer.”

“It ain’t no good,” he said.

I tried to appear casual as I leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, but my heart lurched. I had never seen Desmond be anything but downright cocky about his work.

“If drawing’s not doing it for you, you could come out here and have a snack. Or you could just ram around the kitchen until whatever it is comes out and then you can tell me what a good listener I am.”

“Or I could just take a nap,” he said. He turned his back to the doorway and lowered himself to the mattress.

Okay, so I blew that.

“Allison?”

I jumped. Nicholas Kent was at the screen door. I must have left the main door open when Desmond and I came in through the porch.

“Hey, come on in,” I said.

His freckles were folded into a frown as he let himself in. “I don’t advise you to leave that unlocked when you’re here.”

“Sorry, I’m just a little—okay, I’m a complete mess. You want some tea?”

That seemed to befuddle him momentarily, but he nodded. The boy was learning.

I nodded him toward the bistro table and put the kettle on. He wasn’t wearing his uniform, so I knew whatever he’d come for wasn’t of an official nature. There was that anyway.

“They got the DNA back on the rape case,” he said.

I stopped, tea bag in midair. “Are you serious? That was fast.”

“Some friend of Mr. Ellington’s. Said it was the least he could do.”

I hiked myself up onto the other bistro chair. “Why doesn’t this sound like the good news it’s supposed to be? I know we don’t have anybody to compare it to yet.”

“That’s the bad news,” he said. “The department is doing a halfhearted job of coming up with any suspects. If we can’t get some more from Othella—”

“Ophelia, Nick,” I said. “Her name’s Ophelia.”

“Look, I’m trying, okay? And I’m the only one who is, so just cut me some slack.”

I chewed at my thumbnail.

“Sorry,” he said. “I don’t know why, but this case has got under my skin or something.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I told you, I’m just a mess. What were you saying?”

“If we can’t get her to give us more about what happened, they’re going to shelve this as a cold case.”

“Do you want to try talking to her again?” I said. “She’s upstairs.”

“No. I’m here.”

Ophelia moved across the kitchen, her hand out to Nicholas. He made no attempt to hide his outright astonishment as he shook it and watched her flow over to the stove and pour our tea. I really hoped this kid didn’t play poker.