Free What We Found by Kris Bock Page B

have to buy you another sundae?” I managed a weak laugh and her voice grew gentle. “Audra, you’re not the villain here. We’re on your side.”
    “I’m glad. It makes a difference.” I checked the time and sighed. “I should get going.”
    Nascha rose. “At least it’s Friday.”
    “Is it? I guess it is.”
    “You’ll be at the festival tomorrow?”
    I groaned. Even though Eslinda and I had been talking about it that morning, I’d forgotten. Working in event planning meant I often had to work evenings and weekends. The summer festival would attract tourists and locals alike, and I had to help keep the crowds happy and under control.
    “I’ll be there.” We bussed the table and headed for the door.
    I really needed a quiet evening and a good night’s rest. But I still had to deal with my mother and Ricky, the amateur detective. And I couldn’t even bear to think about what the next day would bring. Telling my story to the police didn’t end things. I shuddered as I wondered how Jay would react to the police questioning him again. And what about his father? Could Eslinda really control him?
    I’d answered one or two questions, but far more remained. I wondered if I’d see Kyle Moore again. Nearly the whole town came out for the festival, but he probably wouldn’t attend so soon after his sister’s body had been found. His image rose in my mind, compassionate but guarded, with his sad eyes and hesitant smile. I wondered how long it would be before he could smile all the way, and what he’d look like then. I wondered about his hand, the cages in his truck, how it felt to lose a sibling, and whether he had anyone standing by him the way I had Nascha, Eslinda, and Ricky.
    A shiver tickled my spine, but this time I wasn’t sure if it was fear or something else.
     

Chapter 13
     
    At least it was Mom’s turn to cook. Her meals were guaranteed to be healthy but bland, and I didn’t have much appetite after the ice cream sundae. Ricky, on the other hand, had become quite a chef. Mom thought men should do their fair share in the kitchen, so Ricky had been responsible for dinner two or three times a week since he was ten, as I had been. I didn’t disagree with her logic, especially after meeting men, and women, in college who didn’t know how to boil spaghetti. Self-sufficiency was good for either gender. Ricky had taken it beyond mere competence to genuine skill and enthusiasm. I wouldn’t want to feel too full for one of his meals.
    I played with my food, waiting for someone to ask about my day. I wasn’t sure what I wanted them to know, and I was too tired to think of subtle comments to skirt the truth. Maybe, having come clean with the police and my boss, it was time to tell my mother the truth as well. But I imagined her reaction to hearing I’d lied to cover up for a man, and I cringed.
    She talked about her day. She didn’t ask about mine. Ricky shot me a couple of meaningful glances but didn’t bring up the murder. He’d apparently already learned what I hadn’t figured out until I was thirteen or fourteen—if you didn’t bring up topics in front of Mom, she wouldn’t forbid you to do things. If she didn’t forbid you to do something, you wouldn’t have to lie or sneak around, and risk getting caught. And you always got caught.
    After Ricky and I had washed and dried the dishes—our chore regardless of who cooked—we joined Mom for the rest of the local six o’clock news. Of course they were talking about the murder case.
    “Police have questioned Thomas Bain. Mr. Bain, forty-two, had an on-and-off relationship with the twenty-seven-year-old victim for three years.”
    Mom snorted a comment about old lechers preying on younger women. Considering that he was barely older than she was, her comment about “old” men had a bit of unintended irony.
    I tuned her out and listened to the newscaster. “According to Mr. Bain, the relationship ended a year ago and he has seen little of