Besides being too self-centered, too self-absorbed, Sylvie amended silently. The constant ache in her damaged hip twinged at this thought. Ridge, don’t be so cold. He’s just a kid and he’s been through so much.
“I thought—” Ben’s voice thinned “—you were going to get a place big enough for me to come live with you.”
Ben’s plaintive tone stung Sylvie.
Ridge had enough conscience to look uncomfortable. “My job doesn’t make me good guardian material, Ben. I travel all over the state on homicide cases. Or I get embroiled in local ones that keep me out all hours of the day and night. This way you won’t be shifted around from house to house while I’m tied up on a case. You’ll be at school and I’ll come and get you at least one weekend a month.”
“What about this summer?” Ben asked, an edge of panic in his voice. “Sylvie said she’d teach me how to snorkel.”
Ridge looked distinctly uneasy now. “I’ve signed you up for summer camp—”
“No!” Ben burst out.
“Ridge,” Sylvie put in, overriding Ben’s heated stream of objections, “my dad and I want Ben to spend the summer with us. I meant to ask you.”
Silence.
“Really?” Ben asked, approaching her as if she were his last hope.
The spur-of-the-moment invitation had been forced out of her. She reached for Ben and he came to a halt beside her. She rested a hand on his shoulder. “Yes, and Milo planned to hire you to help him at the bait shop.” Her father hadn’t said so in so many words, but he liked kids in general and Ben in particular.
“Really?” Ben repeated, color coming back to his cheeks.
“Really.” She squeezed Ben’s shoulder and then glanced at Ridge, reading his chagrin, wanting to shake him, reach him. “You trust us with Ben, don’t you, Ridge?” She knew this last phrase would make it impossible for him to say no. He wouldn’t stir the murky waters of the past.
“Of course,” he said brusquely. “Time for us to go, Ben.” Peremptorily, he turned toward the door.
Again, some impishness prompted Sylvie to refuse to let Ridge have his way completely. Perhaps it was Ridge’s aloof, almost insensitive handling of Ben that made her want to throw another speed bump in his path.
“Just a moment,” she said. “Let me shut down my computer and we’ll go upstairs. Ginger’s back. She’ll want to see you. Just got in last night.”
“From Alaska?” Ridge asked, showing that he wasn’t completely out of touch with Winfield.
“Yes, she plans to ‘hole up’ and finish her master’s thesis. I haven’t seen her at all today. She’s probably still glued to her laptop upstairs in her apartment. I need to pry her loose. Then we’ll go to pick up the pizza I ordered and then I’ll take Ginger home with me to eat it.” Sylvie bustled around turning off her computer.
Ben, who’d spent every afternoon after school with her since he’d moved in with the Matthewses last fall, went around turning off lights, helping her close up as usual.
Within minutes, Ridge and Ben stood near as she locked up, protecting her from the stiff wind. Ridge’s presence made her feel everything more intensely—the cold, the wind, the early darkness. But without revealing this, she locked up the front door of the two-story Victorian that she rented from Ginger’s mother. Once it was secured, the two males followed her limping gait. As they walked the narrow shoveled sidewalk around the side of the house, their footsteps crunched loudly in the clear early night.
The only other sound was the cutting wind blowing from Lake Superior at their backs. Sylvie tried to think of some way to hint to Ridge that she wanted to discuss Ben with him. But if the past was any guide, she knew Ridge would do anything to avoid being alone in her company.
The threesome reached the rear door of the enclosed two-story porch that shielded the back staircase. Sylvie unlocked and opened the door, ready to call up the stairs to her cousin. Then her heart stopped for one beat.
At the bottom of the steep staircase lay her cousin, crumpled. The deep winter dusk made Sylvie doubt her eyesight. She hurried over the threshold. “Ginger! Ginger!”
No response.
Sylvie threw herself onto her knees beside Ginger’s body. No one alive would lie in that rigid, twisted position. Sylvie knew she must be dead. “Ginger!” she keened. “Ginger! No!”
Ridge heard the hysteria in Sylvie’s voice. Taking the scene in at a glance, he recognized all the signs of death—death that had taken place hours before. He shoved Ben back out the door. “Go home. Now!”
“But…but,” Ben sputtered.
“She’s dead,” Ridge hissed beside Ben’s ear. “You need to go home and stay there.”
“Sylvie—”
“I’ll take care of her.” Ridge pushed Ben farther away. “Go. I’ll handle this. I’ll take care of Sylvie. Go.”
Looking fearfully over his shoulder, Ben fled, letting the outside door slam.
Ridge turned and knelt beside Sylvie. He went through the motions of checking Ginger Johnson’s nonexistent pulse. He lifted her eyelids. Her irises were dilated. But…her eyes were closed. The thought made his insides congeal. Not just for the sorrow death always brought but because that meant…he didn’t want to go there. For so many reasons.
He snapped open his cell phone and punched in the emergency number. He gave the details as simply as possible to the responder. He snapped it shut again. “Sylvie,” he said gently, “help is on the way.”
“She’s dead, isn’t she?” Rocking on her knees, Sylvie had wrapped her arms around herself as if she might fly apart.
“It looks like it.” He didn’t mention Ginger’s eyes being closed. It hit him then. This was the second time he and Sylvie had together confronted the body of a relative, lying dead. He felt sick in the pit of his stomach. In spite of himself, he laid a hand on her slender shoulder.
She covered his hand with hers. “Ridge, Ginger must have fallen last night,” she pleaded. “I think I would have heard her fall if…if it happened while I was in the store.” She looked up at him, her woebegone face pale and fringed by her short silvery-blond hair.
He read in her huge blue-violet eyes the silent plea for exoneration. Had this event taken her back in time, too, back to the night Dan had died? “Yes, you’re right. From what I see I think Ginger must have fallen last night.” You didn’t fail your cousin. She was dead before you came to work this morning.
But he didn’t let any of his suspicions about Ginger’s fatal tumble color his tone or expression. If only Ginger’s eyes had been open. How easy everything would have been.
With relief, he heard a police siren. Gently he grasped Sylvie by the upper arms and drew her to her feet. She felt unsteady to him. So one arm under hers, he guided her to the door. “I’m going to ask you to go back into your bookstore. Why don’t you make a new pot of coffee?”
She looked up at him. Her lips were pressed so tightly together they were as white as the swirled frost on the single-pane window behind her. “I want my dad.”
Another sting. She’d said those exact same words to him on that long-ago night, too. “Call Milo. He should be here. Ginger’s mom, Shirley, still lives here year-round in her Victorian, right?”
She nodded. “But she and Tom are away in Arizona for a delayed honeymoon, a break before the tourist season starts in May.” Tears filled her eyes. “I’ll go…I’ll go make the coffee.”
After giving her a