Free Buried Secrets Can Be Murder: Charlie Parker Mysteries, Book #14 (The Charlie Parker Mysteries) by Connie Shelton Page B
Authors: Connie Shelton
I’ve heard that babies do that some.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Anything else? Things you saw Felina do?”
She went back to making the circles. “I don’t know.”
Conversations with teens could be so productive. I began to wonder if she really had anything to tell me or if she was stalling, wanting to spend time here rather than at home. I was thinking of ways to hint that I had other things to do when I caught sight of a white head coming toward my back door.
Elsa tapped at the glass, sending the dog into another barking frenzy, which caused Katie to slosh her hot chocolate over a placemat. I gave the dog a pat, the kid an it’s-okay smile, and opened the door for my neighbor.
“Here’s the cornbread,” Elsa said, “for tonight.”
She stopped short when she caught sight of the girl in black at the table. She comes from a generation where no real creature has pink hair or rings through its eyebrows.
“Oh, this is Katie Brewster,” I said. “Katie, this is my neighbor Mrs. Higgins.”
The two of them sized each other up, but Elsa soon broke the ice by asking where Katie got her hair done. I took the pan of cornbread while Katie described how she did the hair color herself and laughed over the way she’d shocked her stepmother by making her pink-haired debut at the dinner table one night. Elsa chuckled right along with her. She gave me a wink and let herself out the back door.
I watched her cross the swath of lawn between our houses and go through the break in the hedge. I turned to Katie, wondering if she would pick up the conversation where she’d left it but she was happily slurping at her cocoa. My mind wandered over the list of errands I’d planned this morning, things I wasn’t getting done because of my unexpected company. Options went back and forth in my head; I could take Katie with me but didn’t really want to do that without her parents’ knowledge, I could drop her off at home but wasn’t sure she should be there alone.
“Is Adam’s nanny home now?” I asked.
“I don’t think so. Dad gave her a few days off to have Christmas with her sister. It’s okay, Charlie. I can be there by myself.”
I fidgeted for a few more minutes, wiping down the countertops and rechecking my shopping list against the contents of the fridge. Katie finished her cocoa and left the cup on the table while she tussled with Freckles.
“I guess I better go,” Katie said.
Relieved that she’d made the first move I offered to drive her home again. She insisted she could walk back but once we stepped out into the frigid air she changed her mind. I wove the maze of neighboring streets to avoid the city workers who were already setting out barriers in anticipation of the luminaria tour this evening. No cars were visible near the garages at the mansion and I insisted on walking Katie inside to see if anyone was home. They weren’t. I gave her my cell number and told her to call me if she got worried or anything. Secretly hoped she wouldn’t; surely she would first call her father.
Free of my little charge I consulted my scrawled shopping list and headed for the market. Cranberries (how could I have forgotten those?), stuffing mix (in case no one made the from-scratch kind), and whipped cream (everyone always thought someone else remembered that). I plunked items in my cart and stood behind three other people in the shortest line at the registers. The Scoop , one of those cheesy tabloids caught my eye with They Got Away With It in two-inch letters. Below the screaming red headline was a photo of O.J. Simpson and a couple of other, smaller pictures of faces not so readily identifiable. A secondary story promised details on some alien abduction. The woman ahead of me had a cart heaping to the brim so I picked up the newspaper and flipped it open.
Where Are They Now? Famous Criminals and What Happened to Them headed the two-page center spread. They hadn’t even bothered to use a different picture of O.J.
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Anything else? Things you saw Felina do?”
She went back to making the circles. “I don’t know.”
Conversations with teens could be so productive. I began to wonder if she really had anything to tell me or if she was stalling, wanting to spend time here rather than at home. I was thinking of ways to hint that I had other things to do when I caught sight of a white head coming toward my back door.
Elsa tapped at the glass, sending the dog into another barking frenzy, which caused Katie to slosh her hot chocolate over a placemat. I gave the dog a pat, the kid an it’s-okay smile, and opened the door for my neighbor.
“Here’s the cornbread,” Elsa said, “for tonight.”
She stopped short when she caught sight of the girl in black at the table. She comes from a generation where no real creature has pink hair or rings through its eyebrows.
“Oh, this is Katie Brewster,” I said. “Katie, this is my neighbor Mrs. Higgins.”
The two of them sized each other up, but Elsa soon broke the ice by asking where Katie got her hair done. I took the pan of cornbread while Katie described how she did the hair color herself and laughed over the way she’d shocked her stepmother by making her pink-haired debut at the dinner table one night. Elsa chuckled right along with her. She gave me a wink and let herself out the back door.
I watched her cross the swath of lawn between our houses and go through the break in the hedge. I turned to Katie, wondering if she would pick up the conversation where she’d left it but she was happily slurping at her cocoa. My mind wandered over the list of errands I’d planned this morning, things I wasn’t getting done because of my unexpected company. Options went back and forth in my head; I could take Katie with me but didn’t really want to do that without her parents’ knowledge, I could drop her off at home but wasn’t sure she should be there alone.
“Is Adam’s nanny home now?” I asked.
“I don’t think so. Dad gave her a few days off to have Christmas with her sister. It’s okay, Charlie. I can be there by myself.”
I fidgeted for a few more minutes, wiping down the countertops and rechecking my shopping list against the contents of the fridge. Katie finished her cocoa and left the cup on the table while she tussled with Freckles.
“I guess I better go,” Katie said.
Relieved that she’d made the first move I offered to drive her home again. She insisted she could walk back but once we stepped out into the frigid air she changed her mind. I wove the maze of neighboring streets to avoid the city workers who were already setting out barriers in anticipation of the luminaria tour this evening. No cars were visible near the garages at the mansion and I insisted on walking Katie inside to see if anyone was home. They weren’t. I gave her my cell number and told her to call me if she got worried or anything. Secretly hoped she wouldn’t; surely she would first call her father.
Free of my little charge I consulted my scrawled shopping list and headed for the market. Cranberries (how could I have forgotten those?), stuffing mix (in case no one made the from-scratch kind), and whipped cream (everyone always thought someone else remembered that). I plunked items in my cart and stood behind three other people in the shortest line at the registers. The Scoop , one of those cheesy tabloids caught my eye with They Got Away With It in two-inch letters. Below the screaming red headline was a photo of O.J. Simpson and a couple of other, smaller pictures of faces not so readily identifiable. A secondary story promised details on some alien abduction. The woman ahead of me had a cart heaping to the brim so I picked up the newspaper and flipped it open.
Where Are They Now? Famous Criminals and What Happened to Them headed the two-page center spread. They hadn’t even bothered to use a different picture of O.J.