Free Silent Witness by Patricia H. Rushford Page A

relented. “Okay, I forgive you, but I’d watch my back if I were you.” She raised her eyebrows and looked him in the eye. “I’ll have my revenge.”
    Scott laughed and his green eyes sparkled like sunlight on the water. The butterflies in Jennie’s tummy took wing and she looked away. “What are you doing out here anyway? I thought you were working.”
    â€œI am. My first official duty is to escort you and your grandmother to dinner.”
    Scott and Jennie went to collect Grant, who’d fallen asleep on the couch. After freshening up, they left the cabin by the front door and headed toward the main lodge.
    Jennie hadn’t realized how hungry she was until they approached the dining area and the wonderful scent of spices filled the air. The oversized multipurpose hall looked as though it served as a classroom, dining room, and recreation room. Four large round tables occupied one corner. In another corner stood a pool table, a bookshelf, and a cupboard bulging with puzzles and games. A stack of folding chairs hugged a back wall next to a projector, a screen, and a podium. On the west wall three floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the Gulf.
    Good smells wafted out of a large kitchen off to one side. The atmosphere reminded Jennie of church camp. Except that at camp, loud hungry campers crammed the dining room and the noise level was high enough to shatter glass. So far, except for a couple of cooks preparing food in the kitchen, they were the only people there.
    She was about to comment on that fact to Gram and Scott when Debbie and Ken joined them and motioned toward a table nearest the kitchen. “There’ll only be eleven of us for dinner tonight, because you, Maggie, and Sarah are our only guests. We eat buffet-style …”
    Debbie handed them menus and explained about ordering meals a day ahead, so the chef would know how much food to prepare. Jennie shifted her gaze to the door, anxious to meet Sarah. A group of four bustled in and took a second table. Debbie introduced them as their secretary Pam, trainers Heidi and Jack, and Dick, the head maintenance man.
    It wasn’t until the food had been placed on a reach­through counter adjoining the kitchen and dining room and everyone had gone through the line, that Maggie and Sarah made their entrance.
    The first thing Jennie noticed was the absence of a wheelchair. The second was that Sarah was almost the same height as her mother—about 5’4”, Jennie guessed. Her cheeks were flushed and her skin had the healthy glow of a new tan. Sarah walked slightly behind Maggie and looked like a normal fourteen-year-old girl. Her light brown hair, still shiny and wet from swimming, had recently been cut in a short boyish style that didn’t quite suit her face. Skinny arms and legs protruded from her pale blue, shell-print t-shirt and white shorts. She was pretty, or would be if she weighed another ten pounds.
    Maggie pulled out a chair and guided Sarah into it. “Jennie, Helen,” she said, “I’d like you to meet my daughter, Sarah Stanford. Sarah, Jennie and Mrs. McGrady are from Portland. Maybe you remember seeing them at the airport.”
    Jennie wasn’t sure what she expected, some sign of recognition maybe, but Sarah stared straight ahead into a place somewhere between her and Gram. Disappointment flooded her. She had hoped for a sign that the look Sarah had given her at the airport had meant something.
    Now Jennie wasn’t even sure of that. Maybe it had only been a trick of the lights, or Jennie’s imagination.
    She spent the rest of dinner trying not to stare at Sarah, listening to the others talk, and eating egg-flower soup, veggie-wontons, tofu-vegetable stir-fry, and white rice. Everything, even the tofu, tasted great.
Maybe being a vegetarian for a week and a half might not be all that bad—as long as Gram and I can sneak out at least once for a pizza or