correct the deputy, trying to keep the anger out of my voice. He’s given up a piece of information he shouldn’t have, and we can’t get it back. John Phillips was a blank slate before, but now he’s marred. If he knew where the fire started, it could have been proof of something. Now it’s only proof of Deputy Clark’s lack of training.
John stares off into space again, and I can’t tell whether he’s trying to be careful about his answer or whether his brain’s simply on a skip-track. I let my own eyes travel around the room as a way to distract myself from pressing too hard, and that’s when I see her: Mindy Mitchell is standing at the gym’s entrance, talking to Honor.
What’s she doing here?
Volunteering, probably. A sliver of an uncharitable thought forms, but then I dismiss it. I’m still furious with her, and I can feel it in me like a shot of adrenaline. But it would be completely irrational to be irritated by her altruistic instincts. Ben would say everything that happened between us was irrational, but it’s one thing to hear about a fight and another to be in it.
I turn my back to the door, hoping Mindy doesn’t notice me. I’ve spent a year successfully avoiding her in this small town. One more day seems possible.
“Is there anything else you can think of?” I ask John. “Even if it doesn’t seem like it might be connected, you never know.”
His hands travel to his shoulders and down his body to his knees, as if he’s trying to press out the wrinkles in his clothes.
“They tell you about those kids?” he says slowly.
“What kids?”
“The kids I’ve been complaining about all summer. I phoned it in a couple times to your office, Deputy. You check.” He turns his body and leans back against his pillows. “They come at night and sit around that fire pit and drink beer. Wait till I’m asleep. Think I don’t know they’re trespassing.”
“These kids ever started a fire in your pit, you know of?”
“Sure enough. That’s one of the reasons why I called the police. Kids foolish enough to start a fire in these conditions . . . Well, they could burn the whole town down.”
“Do you know their names?”
“No, ma’am. But I’d recognize them if I saw them.”
CHAPTER 8
Winner, Winner, Chicken Dinner
Mindy
After dropping off food and clothing donations at the elementary school, checking with the administration that Angus would be allowed back into Write Club, and taking Carrie to her intensive ballet class, Mindy spent several hours doing the kinds of chores that were slowly driving her insane. Picking up the dry cleaning, taking her car to the car wash because it had been six months and the inside was starting to get embarrassing, and, finally, driving to three grocery stores to get everything on her list because no one store had everything she needed. One-stop shopping was not a concept that had made its way to Nelson. And even if it did, what did it matter? Because what else would she be doing with her time, anyway?
That was an awful thought, wasn’t it, to think she had nothing better to do with her time. Not that taking care of her family wasn’t something worthwhile. But for years now, ever since the kids were old enough to feed and dress themselves, and even she had come to accept that Carrie was finally out of danger, she’d had this nagging feeling she should be doing more . For a while, her part-time work at the high school had kept the worst of it at bay. But then she’d been laid off and the days stretched before her. So she joined committees and volunteered at the school and her days were full—yet she still had time to go to three grocery stores in one day.
Maybe that’s why she was already obsessing over John Phillips. Why she was making a mental list of all the things the Coffee Boosters would need to do to change the focus of the Fall Fling from earning money for the hockey team to getting him a new home. The event was only five days away,
John stares off into space again, and I can’t tell whether he’s trying to be careful about his answer or whether his brain’s simply on a skip-track. I let my own eyes travel around the room as a way to distract myself from pressing too hard, and that’s when I see her: Mindy Mitchell is standing at the gym’s entrance, talking to Honor.
What’s she doing here?
Volunteering, probably. A sliver of an uncharitable thought forms, but then I dismiss it. I’m still furious with her, and I can feel it in me like a shot of adrenaline. But it would be completely irrational to be irritated by her altruistic instincts. Ben would say everything that happened between us was irrational, but it’s one thing to hear about a fight and another to be in it.
I turn my back to the door, hoping Mindy doesn’t notice me. I’ve spent a year successfully avoiding her in this small town. One more day seems possible.
“Is there anything else you can think of?” I ask John. “Even if it doesn’t seem like it might be connected, you never know.”
His hands travel to his shoulders and down his body to his knees, as if he’s trying to press out the wrinkles in his clothes.
“They tell you about those kids?” he says slowly.
“What kids?”
“The kids I’ve been complaining about all summer. I phoned it in a couple times to your office, Deputy. You check.” He turns his body and leans back against his pillows. “They come at night and sit around that fire pit and drink beer. Wait till I’m asleep. Think I don’t know they’re trespassing.”
“These kids ever started a fire in your pit, you know of?”
“Sure enough. That’s one of the reasons why I called the police. Kids foolish enough to start a fire in these conditions . . . Well, they could burn the whole town down.”
“Do you know their names?”
“No, ma’am. But I’d recognize them if I saw them.”
CHAPTER 8
Winner, Winner, Chicken Dinner
Mindy
After dropping off food and clothing donations at the elementary school, checking with the administration that Angus would be allowed back into Write Club, and taking Carrie to her intensive ballet class, Mindy spent several hours doing the kinds of chores that were slowly driving her insane. Picking up the dry cleaning, taking her car to the car wash because it had been six months and the inside was starting to get embarrassing, and, finally, driving to three grocery stores to get everything on her list because no one store had everything she needed. One-stop shopping was not a concept that had made its way to Nelson. And even if it did, what did it matter? Because what else would she be doing with her time, anyway?
That was an awful thought, wasn’t it, to think she had nothing better to do with her time. Not that taking care of her family wasn’t something worthwhile. But for years now, ever since the kids were old enough to feed and dress themselves, and even she had come to accept that Carrie was finally out of danger, she’d had this nagging feeling she should be doing more . For a while, her part-time work at the high school had kept the worst of it at bay. But then she’d been laid off and the days stretched before her. So she joined committees and volunteered at the school and her days were full—yet she still had time to go to three grocery stores in one day.
Maybe that’s why she was already obsessing over John Phillips. Why she was making a mental list of all the things the Coffee Boosters would need to do to change the focus of the Fall Fling from earning money for the hockey team to getting him a new home. The event was only five days away,
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