“That isn’t your fault,” the deputy said.
She lifted her eyes to his as she felt slapped by terrible images from the evening news. There was no censure in his face, just empathy.
He continued on in that deep, rumbling voice. “Anything else?”
She didn’t want to like talking to him. She didn’t want to like the fact that this strange man at her kitchen table made her more comfortable than anyone else she’d met since coming to teach here.
She started to feel sick. She’d been awake too long and she desperately needed sleep, but she was so keyed up that she knew she wouldn’t be able to. She swallowed, pressing her hands together so hard she saw the veins pop out on her forearms. She told herself to relax, but then jumped out of her chair to pour the coffee.
“Cream or sugar?” she asked.
“No.”
“That’s easy,” Dana commented. She held out the cup.
He wrapped his large hand around it and her hand as well. The cup nearly disappeared in his palm and her fingers felt engulfed by his. Dana couldn’t stop looking at his hand, the unyielding, tanned skin and the prominent veins that traveled up his forearm to disappear in the dark hair. She tugged her hand away and sat down, pushing the chair back a foot or two to give herself some breathing room. Suddenly, it was very hot in the house.
“Any idea whether she would go north or south?” His eyes were fixed on her forearms. A small crease appeared between his eyebrows, but his expression remained pleasant.
Dana ran her tongue over her teeth. “I don’t think you understand. I don’t know enough about Mrs. Moore to really know where she went. I’m not sure anymore if it was a conference she had to attend. Maybe it was a meeting.”
“Do you remember what Bev was wearing?” He wasn’t writing, but Dana was certain that he would remember every word.
Dana looked at him in surprise. “Yes.”
“Good.” Dana’s heart thumped as he flashed an even set of teeth at her. He prompted her again, “What was she wearing?”
Dana tried to remember and spoke slowly. “A really nice suit. She had high heels and perfume on. Lots of makeup.”
“Do you know the color of the suit?”
“Taupe.”
“Taupe?”
“Taupe linen, with a cream silk camisole.”
“Oh.” His expression was puzzled.
“Taupe’s like a khaki brown without the green. Tan, with more gray,” she explained.
“Anything else?”
The pause extended for much longer than she expected. He was giving her time to think, but she was only drawing a blank. She wasn’t a very good witness. “I can’t think of anything.”
“Are you sure?”
“Except for the occasional parent interviews, I don’t speak to Mrs. Moore beyond hello, how are you.” Dana stood up, feeling agitated, and then, realizing that her behavior was rude, sat right back down and clasped her hands together.
“I thought this was a small school.”
“What does that have to do with it?” She was starting to get irritated, as if he held her responsible for his sister-in-law’s disappearance.
“I thought at smaller schools pretty much everyone knew everyone else’s business. The schoolteacher especially.”
She felt her back stiffen. “I am not a gossip.” She was beyond irritated. She unclenched her hands and noticed bright red marks on her hands. She crossed her arms.
“I’m not asking for gossip. I’m asking for anything about Bev that could give us some insight into where she might have gone. Would you say that she was a devoted mother?”
Dana had to admire the finesse with which he spoke. Anyone could have been missing by the tone of his voice. Not a close family member. She cleared her throat. “Um, do you want the truth or the politically correct answer?”
BRADY STARED at the schoolteacher. She was alternately vulnerable yet fierce. Compassionate yet so reserved. However, it was the troubled look in her eyes that disturbed him the most.
“What’s the difference?” he asked, making his tone light enough to match her dry one.
“The politically correct answer would be that she allows her children to be very independent.”
“And the truth?”
“She forgets them. They’re here really early and are always the last ones to get picked up. I’ve had to take them home a couple of times, when I wasn’t able to get Mrs. Moore on the phone…” Her voice trailed off and she avoided making eye contact, telling him she thought she’d said too much.
“Is there more?”
Dana studied her nails for a moment before answering. “No.”
“Are you sure?” There was something in her voice that made him press her.
“Yes.”
Brady waited. He knew there was more, probably more than she wanted to articulate. When another minute passed and she still hadn’t spoken, he braced himself. This wasn’t a good sign.
Finally she said carefully, her eyes still on her hands, each word precise, “The children are neglected. I can’t prove it, but there’s something about them that makes me think their home life is less than secure.” She looked up at him. “Their clothes aren’t clean. They aren’t clean. They look neat, but they’re not clean. I don’t have anything to support my feelings, though I’m sure that if I were to put them in the tub, it’d be the first bath they’d had in a long time.”
Brady didn’t want to hear this. He didn’t want to know that Carson’s little girls were neglected. He felt a familiar stab of guilt that he’d used layers of rationalizations to dull. It didn’t hurt any less.
“Do you think Mrs. Moore has abandoned them?” Dana asked, leaning forward. Her dark eyes were intense and Brady felt as if they saw into the deepest, ugliest part of him. He looked away. She couldn’t know. Besides, she had her own secrets. Who was she to probe?
But he had to tell her something. How much?
She continued, “I don’t know anything about their father. Out of state?”
He was embarrassed for Bev, for the girls, for himself. Bev had made it abundantly clear that when Carson “left her,” as she put it, she didn’t want anything more to do with his family. But knowing that didn’t stop him from taking this personally. If Dana Ritchie was right about the girls being neglected, he was responsible.
“My brother is in prison.” The words came out more bluntly than he intended. This schoolteacher was the first person who’d ever heard him utter those words, and he felt shame course through his body. Brady wasn’t his brother’s keeper, but he should have helped Carson more.
Dana didn’t blink. “Oh.”
He emptied the coffee cup and studied the pattern on it. Apples.
“That explains some things about the children. How long has he been in prison?” Her voice was matter-of-fact. She didn’t react with the horror that he expected.
IT TOOK SO LONG for the man sitting across from her to answer that Dana began to wonder if he ever would. But she knew she had to be patient. This clearly wasn’t easy for him.
“Since before Ollie was born.” The words came out