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The kitchen is big and spacious. Spanish tile and copper pans. It&ir er pans#x2019;s flooded with light from a row of French doors that open onto a huge backyard with neat trees and a pool. We sit on stools at a serving island in the middle of the room. I doubt I could even afford the coffee filters Jen is fitting into an expensive German contraption. It looks more like something that fell out of the space station than a coffeemaker.
“What do you need to know?” asks K.W.
I figured out one thing last night. If Mason and Aelita are mixed up in this thing, then not only do they want the kid found, but they want me to find him. That means there’s information I don’t have yet. Since I don’t know where to look, there’s nothing to do but go back to the beginning.
“Was Hunter in touch with any of TJ’s friends who were into magic?”
Vidocq and Candy look at me.
Okay, I’m starting somewhere a little self-serving. I want to know if the Sentenzas know that TJ and I are connected. And it’s a legit question. TJ might have known some Sub Rosas outside our Circle. I doubt it, but you never know. Like I said, I’m grasping at straws and crabgrass.
“Not that I know of,” says K.W. “Jen, do you know anything?”
She stands where she is by the coffeemaker. She’s a long way down the counter from us, like she’s afraid of catching a flesh-eating virus.
Jen shakes her head.
“Not that I know of. If he knew any of them, he was keeping it a secret.”
“Was it his habit to keep secrets?” asks Vidocq.
“No. That was more TJ. Hunter is a good kid,” says K.W.
“He was on the debate team at school one semester,” says Jen, like it’s proof that Hunter is an angel and that none of this is happening. “But he had to quit to go out for track.”
I ask, “Did he do all right in school? No changes in his grades?”
“He was a hard worker,” says Jen.
K.W. smiles ruefully and nods.
“He did all his homework and his grades were decent, but there wasn’t much danger of him becoming a Rhodes scholar.”
While the coffee burbles away Jen starts getting cups down from the cupboard. She puts one down and stops. Her body has gone rigid again. Her heart rate is climbing fast. She’s trying not to cry. Probably doesn’t want to look weak in front of a bunch of strangers talking about her missing son like he’s a stolen dirt bike. K.W. gets up and wa"0"ts up alks over to her, puts his hands on her shoulders.
“Why don’t you go sit down? I’ll get the coffee,” he says.
She doesn’t reply, but comes over and sits on the stool K.W. just vacated. Her arms are crossed and she’s looking down at the counter.
Candy reaches out and touches Jen’s hand lightly.
“We’re very sorry to have to ask you all these questions.”
Jen nods, still staring down.
This is bullshit. The kid was a jock with ambitious parents. They’d lost their smart son, TJ, and hoped that Hunter would take his place. But Hunter isn’t TJ. If he joined the debate team, it was only to make his parents happy, and when he wanted off, he found a good enough reason that they couldn’t get mad.
K.W. puts down cups for everyone. I sip mine.
“This coffee is good,” I say to no one in particular.
K.W. nods.
“Yeah. It cost enough.”
“You have a coffeemaker this good at work?”
“That’s a funny question.”
