Sylvie shook her head as though trying to deny what had happened.
“Where is Rae-Jean, Milo?” Shirley asked, patting the fussing baby in her arms.
“That deputy, Trish, has driven her to the E.R. in Ashford. I don’t think she’s hurt except for a lump and a bad headache.”
The sound of footsteps sounded from above and then Ridge was there in front of them. “The sheriff would like you to come upstairs, please.”
Ridge’s unexpected presence jolted Sylvie’s already jangled nerves. “You didn’t get to take Ben to that school, did you?” His stark expression caused her to step back from him.
“I hadn’t come to a decision yet,” Ridge replied, shivering once from the cold. “Ben’s in school today. Please, you need to come upstairs and look over your apartment.” Without a further word, he turned and motioned them to precede him upstairs.
As she passed within inches of him, Sylvie could think of nothing either comforting or persuasive to say.
The sheriff was waiting for them in the kitchen. “Whoever broke in and struck Rae-Jean didn’t have as much time to tear your place up as Ginger’s apartment and your house.” He nodded toward Shirley.
“You think there is just one person doing this?” Sylvie asked the sheriff. The unreality of someone breaking into their home and for an unknown reason was obviously shaking Sylvie’s peace apart. “Is it just one person who is looking for something? But what?”
Keir shrugged, his features set in grim lines. Ridge stood at his side, reflecting the same mood in his expression and stance.
Sylvie wrapped her arms closer around the baby.
“Something will break,” the sheriff said with what sounded like forced confidence. “This doesn’t appear to be the work of a professional and he is bound to slip up, leave something behind. And we’ll get him.”
Shirley sank onto one of the kitchen chairs and unwrapped the thin blanket over the baby’s head. She held the baby girl close and kissed her downy forehead. “What could they be looking for? And why? Oh, Lord, help us.”
Sylvie’s spirit echoed the despairing cry of Shirley’s heart.
Keir asked Sylvie and Milo to make a cursory examination of places where they kept their extra cash and few valuables. Nothing was found missing and this didn’t lighten the pervasive gloom. The sheriff asked them to wait downstairs in Milo’s shop. But before she could comply, the kitchen phone rang. Sylvie picked it up and heard a voice over the line. “A lady is here who wants to dicker over the price of a book, one of the collectible editions of Georgette Heyer.”
In her current mental fog, it took a few moments for Sylvie to understand who, where and what was happening. It was Shirley’s neighbor Florence Levesque, who was watching Sylvie’s shop for her today. “Florence, I’ll come right over.” She turned to Milo and Shirley and said, “I’ll be right back.”
When she walked outside, Ridge hailed her from the bottom of the steps, “Where are you going?”
“To my shop. Florence is there with a customer.”
Ridge caught up with her. “I’ll come with you.” Without preamble, he continued as they walked side by side, “Do you have any idea at all of who might have done this?”
“None.” Why was he coming with her? In spite of her limp, she found herself walking faster than usual in the brisk winter wind.
“Since I can’t take Ben myself, I’ve decided I’m going to call a friend of mine in the Milwaukee Police Department and ask him to meet the bus from northern Wisconsin tomorrow. He can take Ben to the school. I don’t know when I will be able to get away from this case. And I’ve got to get Ben to that school.”
She cast him a scorching glance. “You’re out of your mind,” she declared, patience gone.
Ridge looked shocked. “What?”
“If you think that you can put Ben on a bus in Ashford tomorrow morning and that when it reaches Milwaukee that night, he will still be on it, you are out of your mind,” she repeated.
Ridge made a sound of disgust. “You’re right. I must be crazy to even think of doing that.”
Most shops on the side street where they walked had been closed until spring. She had the haunting sensation that she was trudging through a ghost town with Ridge. The icy wind battered them, swirling particles of dry snow around their ankles. Her hip ached from the cold and her indignation at his blind spot was fueling her weariness.
Suddenly she yearned for hot sun, green leaves, white sailboats on blue water and tourists shoulder to shoulder on this empty street, laughing and calling to each other. The fact that there was no escape, no way to leap ahead to the future where all the present problems and mysteries were solved sparked her temper.
She stopped and faced him. “You can’t be any more frustrated than I am. I’ve lost Ginger. Some crazy person is going around tearing my family’s houses apart searching for something. We don’t know what that something is or how far they will go to get it. I mean, will they kill someone else?”
Before he could answer, she went on, feeling the tide of frustration roiling, frothing inside her. “And now Rae-Jean has been attacked. Just dealing with Rae-Jean coming home from prison with the baby would have been enough. You think you have problems? Both sides of my family are going through terrible times. You only have Ben to worry about and you seem totally unwilling to spend any time with the boy and be concerned about his problems.”
“I have no experience with kids. But I’m trying to do the best I can. I wanted to get him settled so that he could have an easier time of it.”
“Or maybe you could have an easier time of it? What is it about Ben that most makes you want to get rid of him? Is it because he’s the same age as Dan was when he died?” she challenged him. Then that alarmed feeling shook her, warning her that she had gone too far.
Ridge made no reply. But he pulled away and began stalking the last few yards to the corner across from her bookshop.
She hurried after him; her hip faltered. She slipped on a patch of ice. And fell down hard.
Ridge turned back. “Are you all right?” He reached down to help her up from the icy pavement.
“I’m fine, but ashamed of myself.” Her face blazed. She was usually so careful not to fall in order not to aggravate her damaged hip further. And usually so careful of others’ feelings. “Ridge, I’m ashamed of myself for my anger at you. But I’m so concerned about Ben and his needs.” She couldn’t look him in the eye. “He’s so fragile at this time.”
Ridge drew her to her feet. One of his hands cupped her neck under her collar. The satiny fabric sensitized her neck or was it that his hand was only a millimeter from her skin?
“Don’t give it a thought.” His voice was still rough, but diffident. “After the past five days, neither of us has any patience or nerves left. And I don’t seem to be making a lot of good decisions about Ben.” His other hand pressed against the small of her back, drawing her closer to him, evidently keeping her steady. “With all that’s happened over the past few days, it’s a wonder we’re still in our right minds.”
“Maybe I’m not,” she teased a bit, trying to make up for goading him, striking him when he was already down. “I’m so sorry, Ridge,” she whispered.
Regret again triggered the tears that had hovered just a breath away from the moment she’d found Ginger dead. “I’m so sorry—” she blinked away the tears “—I just wish I could help you. Help Ben…Help you see that he has needs