Emily smiled, biting back a retort. She hadn’t hurt herself on purpose, after all, but this was truly Grandma Heinonen’s domain—the Blue Bonnet Bed and Breakfast—and she didn’t want to be rude. The house itself was breathtaking: six thousand square feet, and every inch of it polished and shining. The kitchen was quirky, with chickens on the wallpaper border and china ones sitting on every shelf. Emily loved it all, but she most loved the story of the house.
Built by Captain Sarasin, the famous captain from Rock Harbor, so his wife could watch for his return, it was the last house on Houghton Street before it curved into Negaunee, the road out to the lighthouse Bree lived in. Emily could just picture the captain’s wife out there, walking along the narrow widow’s walk, staring out at Lake Superior, hoping to catch a glimpse of her husband’s ship returning him to her. Sometimes those storms were big and scary. She wouldn’t want to be out there during a nor’easter.
“Don’t give any thought to what my mother said,” Uncle Greg whispered from his seat beside Emily as he reached for the basket. He must have seen the stunned looked on her face.
Uncle Greg put a big pat of butter on a roll and set it on her bread plate, then continued whispering. “Did you know someone told Mom she looked like England’s reigning monarch, Queen Elizabeth, and ever since, she’s played up the resemblance as much as she can?”
Emily giggled behind her hand as she studied Grandma. Strands of silver highlighted her hair, mainly around her face. Dressed in a plaid-patterned dress with a soft skirt that swirled around just below her knees, she looked every inch the lady. Now that Uncle Greg mentioned it, yeah, Emily could see the resemblance to the pictures she’d seen of Queen Elizabeth.
Uncle Greg grinned. “Just ignore her. She doesn’t mean anything by it. That’s just the way she is.” He nodded at her arm. “Does it hurt much?”
“A little.” She glanced down at the crisscross rows. “The doctor said it’d probably leave a scar.” Great—a constant reminder of her klutziness.
“I happen to think scars are very attractive on pretty young ladies.” He smiled. “Proves you’ve had adventures.”
“Really?” Then why was he dating a perfect model?
“Yep. Adds character.”
“What adds character, Gregory?” Grandma finally turned from Dad and Naomi’s conversation about Mayor Kaleva’s reelection campaign.
“Life’s little imperfections, Mother. Battle scars of survival.”
Uncle Greg leaned closer to Emily. “I am a wild one like she said. But guess what, so is your dad.”
Dad? Wild? Emily couldn’t stop the snort.
“What? You don’t believe me?”
Emily shook her head and took a sip of water. She couldn’t picture Dad wild and crazy, and she had an overactive imagination, or so she’d been told.
“Back in high school, your dad was quite the charmer. Handsome. Star of the football team. Popular with the cheerleaders.”
She swallowed. Her mother had been one of those cheerleaders.
“There were many nights we celebrated team victories well past curfews.”
Dad . . . breaking curfew? Breaking any rule? She couldn’t even picture him outside home or the hardware store. Out celebrating? Definitely not.
Uncle Greg nodded. “Several times.” He shoved a bite into his mouth.
“You’re pulling my leg.”
“Nope. Truth.” He held up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
“Emily, what’s Greg lying about to you?” Dad stared down at them. “He was never a scout, just so you know.”
Uncle Greg laughed. “You should know. You’re the one who got me kicked out.”
“I did no such thing.” Dad smiled, a genuine smile like Emily hadn’t seen in a long time.
Olivia’s words came back to haunt her. Were Dad and Naomi having trouble like the Websters had?
“You did too, but I thank you for it. Profusely.” He leaned next to Emily and spoke in a stage whisper, “I was never the scouting type. I’m not too good at improvising in a crisis situation.”
“I don’t know about that. You were always there to fix my problems.” Naomi smiled at her brother.
“And I always will be.” Uncle Greg smiled back. “That’s what families are for. To stick together.”
Emily noticed Dad’s smile fall a bit. Was Uncle Greg trying to say he was here for Naomi because a divorce loomed on the horizon? Emily’s throat tightened. She took another sip of water. This wasn’t what she needed right now. She caught Timmy’s confused look across the table. He didn’t need this either. Naomi was the best thing that had ever happened to them. To think that she wouldn’t be their stepmom anymore . . .
What was the scripture Pastor Lukkari talked about in this morning’s sermon? Corinthians. Something about . . . love never fails. Yeah, that was it. Love never fails.
If love never failed, then why was there divorce? She didn’t understand.
“Who wants a piece of pie?” Grandma stood, smoothing down her dress. She made the best pies this side of the peninsula—and she knew it. The whole town said they were the best.
“I’ll help you.” Naomi stood as well and gathered plates.
Emily couldn’t lose Naomi. She just couldn’t. If she had to, she’d just flat-out ask Naomi. Maybe if she made a plea on behalf of her and Timmy, Dad and Naomi could work everything out like Olivia’s parents.
As Naomi smiled and handed her a piece of pie, Emily made up her mind. No matter what, she wouldn’t lose Naomi. Not if she had anything to say about it.
The taste of pie still lingered on Emily’s tongue, but it was mixed with fear. All the way home, she’d watched how quiet her dad and Naomi had been in the car. How Naomi had sat over against the door, staring into the dark night as if she had a million thoughts racing through her head. Emily fingered the stitches, which were still pulling at her skin.
Dad lifted a sleeping Matthew from the car seat and carried him indoors. Timmy walked sleepily after them while Emily trailed behind, wishing she knew how to bring up the subject. She absolutely, positively could not go to bed without knowing if their family was going to be split apart. She curled her fingers into her palms and went to the kitchen where she poured a glass of chocolate milk. She sipped at the milk while she listened to the sounds of Naomi and Dad putting Matthew and Timmy to bed.
Finally, her dad’s footsteps came back toward the kitchen. He paused in the doorway. “Do your stitches hurt, honey? It’s late. You should get ready for bed too.”
The lump in her throat swelled until it pushed moisture into her eyes. At least that’s what she told herself. She hated to cry. Biting her lip, she swallowed hard and blinked even harder. “I’m okay.” Her voice came out in a half croak. “Did you know stitches were used in ancient Egypt?”
“News to me.” He came closer. “Are you getting a cold?”
“No.” Thank goodness Naomi’s footsteps approached as well. Emily wanted them both in front of her when she asked the question. No way did she want to go through this more than once, and she’d be able to tell if they were trying to keep something from her.
“I was coming for some milk myself,” Naomi said. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her hair was windblown. “Do you need a pain pill? The doctor told me what you could take.” She poured herself a glass of chocolate milk.
“I’m fine!” The words came out a little more forcefully than Emily intended. “I mean, I need to talk to you both, but it’s not about my cut.”
Her dad and Naomi exchanged a long glance. “Sounds serious.” Naomi carried her milk to the table and pulled out a chair. “Sit down and tell us what’s wrong. You look like you’re about to cry.”
Even though Emily shook her head, the heat in her eyes intensified. She took a gulp of her milk and swallowed. “I never cry.”
Her dad’s lips twitched, and he nodded gravely. “Of course not.” He sat beside Naomi and pulled out a chair for her. “Come over here and t
ell us what’s wrong. Is it that boy—Josh?”
“It’s much more serious than a stupid boy.” And she wasn’t about to tell him that she liked Brandon now anyway. Emily plopped onto the chair and took a deep breath. “Something is going on around here.”
Naomi set her glass down. “What do you mean?”
“Do you think we haven’t noticed how you guys are talking and then go quiet when we come into a room? Do you think we’re too young to see how worried you are about something?”
Tell me, please, just tell me. She didn’t want to have to say the ugly D word. It would be so much better if they voluntarily told her instead of leaving it to her to pull it out of them. Not that she was ready to face something so awful. Her lip trembled, and she bit down on it.
Her dad looked down at his hands, then back at Naomi, who sagged against the back of the chair with a sigh. “I sometimes forget how grown up you are now,” her dad said.
Naomi reached across the table and took Emily’s hand. Emily clutched it and tried to steel herself for what was coming. The lump in her throat was growing to boulder size. “Are you getting a d-divorce?”
The awful word hung in the kitchen. Naomi’s fingers tightened on Emily’s hand. Her dad inhaled sharply. It was coming—the awful confirmation that their family was about to be torn apart.
Then her dad exhaled. “Of course not, Emily. Whatever gave you such a crazy notion? Naomi and I love each other very much. Divorce is never an option between me and Naomi. Put that idea right out of your head.”
The air escaped Emily’s lungs, and for one crazy second, she was sure she would burst into noisy sobs. She clutched Naomi’s hand until the sensation passed. “Then what is it? And don’t tell me it’s nothing. Tell me the truth.”
Naomi glanced at Emily’s dad. “Donovan?”
Emily withdrew her hand from Naomi’s grip and turned to her father. “You have to tell me.” Could one of them be sick, like with cancer or something? The thought made her dizzy. One of her friends had lost her mom to ovarian cancer last year, and it had been so awful. “Are you sick?”
“No, honey, nothing like that,” her dad said. He put his arm around her and pulled her against him so that her head rested on his shoulder. “I didn’t want to worry you.”
She pulled away. “Well, I’m worried, okay?”
“I can see that.” He hesitated, and his gaze sought Naomi’s again. “It’s about your mother.”
“What about her?”
Naomi nodded. “She’s up for parole, Emily. In a week. But no one thinks she’ll get out.”
Parole. Emily gasped as the full realization hit. Her mother could get out, could come back for her and Timmy. Inetta had been right. “I don’t want to see her. Ever! After she called, you promised I’d never have to talk to her again!”
“I’ll do whatever I can to prevent her from coming around here,” her dad said, his mouth grim. “The district attorney said we have a strong case after what she did.”
“Strong but not for sure?” Emily sprang to her feet. “She nearly killed Timmy. You can’t let her come here, Dad. Not ever.”
“I’ll protect you, Emily,” he said.
She didn’t doubt that he would try, but her mother was sneaky. And what would the other kids say if her mother came to town? Emily had barely been able to live down what had happened in the past. She couldn’t go through that again.
Her eyes filled with tears, and she bolted for her room. Emily had one picture of her mother that she’d kept. Once she’d scrubbed every trace of tears from her face, she opened her sock drawer and pulled it out. The reason she liked it was because it showed the perfect family. Timmy with round cheeks, just a toddler, really. About three. Emily with her hair in pigtails and a gap-toothed smile. She’d just lost her first tooth. Her dad had his arm around her mother, who was smiling up at him with a happy expression.
It was all a lie, of course. Emily had no pleasant memories of growing up. Why did her mother even have to be considered for parole?
Life so wasn’t fair.
SIXTEEN
“I think he’s way cuter than Josh,” Emily said, smiling as she walked into the Monday afternoon sunshine. She’d spent the better part of the day trying not to think about her mother and parole. Olivia kept shaking her out of her worry by reminding her at least Dad and Naomi weren’t getting a divorce. And neither had cancer. But still.
“Who’s way cuter than Josh?” Olivia asked as she shrugged her arms through the straps of her backpack.
“Brandon Genrich, of course.” Emily stared at the surf captain making his way to the gym.
On one hand, she was relieved to have a legitimate reason not to volunteer anymore—doing laundry and going out near Lake Superior were low down on her to-do list. But on the other hand, she wouldn’t get to see Brandon anymore since they didn’t have any classes together.
He gave Alex Hauglie a playful shove, then opened the gym door and let Alex enter first. Such a gentleman.
Emily smiled. “He’s taller and stronger, and he’s so nice. And did you know he’s never missed being on Principal Sturgeon’s ‘All As’ honor roll?”
“Oooh, really?” Olivia shook her head. “I think you’re going boy-crazy, as my mom would say.”
The blush crawled across Emily’s cheeks, but she chuckled at Olivia. “Don’t act like you don’t go all mushy face when you talk to Charles.”
“Hey, you’re the one who went from going all gooey over Josh Thorensen to all of a sudden goo-gooing over Brandon.” But Olivia blushed and straightened. “Speaking of Charles, he told me that he’d pulled all he could on Mr. Lancaster.”
“And?” Emily stopped about six feet from the gym where Brandon and Alex had disappeared just seconds ago for surf practice. “Did he find out anything else?”
“No, but I got to thinking . . .” Olivia tapped the end of her nose with her pointer finger like she always did when she was deep in thought. “Mr. Lancaster must handle a lot of money, right? Everybody knows models make a lot of money.”
“Yeah, but he was fired for mishandling those clients’ funds. Isn’t that what the reports all said?”
“They did.” Olivia nodded, still tapping the end of her nose. “But Mrs. Dancer’s necklace is only worth about a thousand dollars. The round-trip airfare from Los Angeles to Rock Harbor is almost one thousand dollars alone. Doesn’t make much sense for him to come all this way to steal a necklace that cost him half that to steal it.”
Why did Olivia always have to use math to mark suspects off the list?
She stopped tapping her nose. “I don’t know what he’s doing here, and I do think he’s kind of dishonest, but I don’t believe he took the necklace.”
Logic was a real theory buster.
Emily sighed. “Well, I’d still like to know how Valerie and Mr. Lancaster are connected. For Uncle Greg’s sake.”
“We’ll keep looking until we figure it out.” Olivia tugged Emily’s backpack off her shoulder. “Now go and resign from your volunteer position.”
The surf team was doing stretches in the gym. Emily quickly scanned the area for the coach, didn’t see him, and so made for his office before anyone could make fun of her.
Brandon stood beside Coach Larson, who glanced up from the book they were studying when she gave a gentle knock on his office door. “Good, you’re here. We have to get the new backup boards waxed and primed. I want the team to get them broken in during practices this week.” Coach grabbed one of the bars of wax and held it out to her. “The backup boards are on the benches by the lockers.”
Brandon smiled at her, nearly making her lose her train of thought and reason for being in the office. Coach’s waving the bar of wax jerked her back into focus. “Uh, Coach, I’m going to have to resign from my volunteer position.”
He frowned, making his nose appear even bigger. “Why’s that? You don’t seem like the quitting type.”
Her face heated. “Th-thank you, Coach.
I’m not.” She held up her arm. “I had an accident Saturday night, and I needed stitches and I strained my other shoulder.”
Brandon actually looked concerned, which made the heat in her face spread to her neck and chest.
“Were you in a car accident?” Coach asked.
“No, sir. I was taking part in a K-9 search-and-rescue call in the preserve at night. Brandon was there too. It was dark, and I lost my footing and fell.”
Brandon was looking at her with admiration. Emily stood a little straighter. She hadn’t had a chance to talk to him after she got back to park headquarters.
“You were part of a K-9 search and rescue?” the coach asked.
“Yes, sir. My stepmom, Naomi, works with Bree Matthews and Samson. Mrs. Matthews was unavailable, so the sheriff came to our house. Since it’s a rule of the Kitchigami K-9 Search and Rescue team that no one goes out on an SAR alone, I got to go along and help with Charley. He’s our SAR dog. Especially since I helped out at the training school this summer, and I’ll be getting my own puppy to train soon and all.” At least she hoped she was still getting that puppy.
“Well, well, well . . . I didn’t realize we had a heroine in our midst.” Coach nodded at her arm. “How bad?”
“Oh, four stitches, and my shoulder’s strained. I’m not supposed to really do any lifting or anything with my arm for a week or so. At least until the stitches dissolve.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Sorry to lose you too.” Coach Larson stood. “But I understand. You take care of yourself, okay? And come back as soon as you heal up.”
“Thanks.” She turned and headed back toward the gym. At least she could use the free time on her investigation or to study for the History Smackdown team. She was already a little behind for their next practice and needed to catch up on her flash cards.
Brandon fell in step alongside her. “You know, I think it’s really cool that you help with the SAR. And that you were the one to find Rachel. You’re really brave.”