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“One thing I haven’t found yet is my grandmother’s china and stemware. White porcelain dishes rimmed in gold and dark red crystal—it’s called ruby glass.”
“Oh, yes! Olivia was helping us one day and when she saw those glasses, she was smitten. You know,” Brooke said, as if confiding a secret, “she’s not a girly-girl. Which is fine.”
“Abby would have run track in a frilly dress and a tiara if she could have gotten away with it.” It was fun to share a moment with Brooke over their unconventional daughters.
“That fabulous dollhouse that’s a replica of your mother’s house? I loved it. She couldn’t care less. So when she fell for the dishes and glasses, we took them. She eats her cereal out of one of the porcelain bowls and drinks her juice from one of the red-and-gold tumblers every morning. I’m sorry—I should have told you.”
“No, no reason for that,” Sarah said. “But she and I need to have a good long chat about Grandma Mary Mac, so she knows the history.”
Brooke’s face lit up. “That would be wonderful. Let’s grab our seats.”
A prickling sensation kept Sarah from moving. But when she turned to see who was watching her, she saw no one. Strange …
“Sarah?” Brooke’s words pierced her fog. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Or a ghost saw me. “Sorry. I’m fine.” She took her sister-in-law’s arm. “Let’s go root for your kids.”
Aidan’s team played first, losing to the visitors from Whitefish three to one. In the second game, Olivia shone, running up and down the field with ease, defending, scoring, cheering on her teammates. She had her father’s height and that same easy stride as Abby. Kids at play, on a bright spring day. Life went on, and life was good. As the game wound down, the home team well in command, she glanced at her beaming brother. She clapped her hands and turned back to the field, her irritation with her husband and her brother over their secret business deal a thing of the past.
Minutes later, the game was over, the Deer Park kids jumping up and down in victory. Olivia had scored the winning goal and had the ball in her arms when a boy from the other team ran up and tried to jerk it loose. She tightened her grip and pulled the ball closer. The boy kicked her in the shin. She yelped and dropped one hand to her leg, while he grabbed the ball and dashed away. Connor sprinted onto the field, along with one of the coaches, while other kids and adults corralled the offender.
Brooke clapped one hand over her mouth and Sarah slipped an arm around her.
“She’ll be fine,” she said. “They’re taking care of her. She’s a brave girl.”
Olivia refused to sit or to lean on an adult, putting her hands on her hips and shaking her leg to ease the pain. A minute later, she took to the sidelines, clearly trying not to limp. Then the kids dispersed and the next pair of teams, the oldest kids, took the field.
“What was that all about?” Sarah asked Brooke.
“Luke Erickson,” Brooke said. “I’d like to say he’s behaving badly because he’s upset about his father’s murder. But he was in Olivia’s class until Misty moved the kids to Whitefish last year, and he’s always been a bully. Can’t stand a girl being better than him.”
Just like his father. She started to chide herself, then stopped. You weren’t supposed to speak ill of the dead. But there was no reason you couldn’t think it.
32
“Someone better give that boy a good talking to,” Peggy said as they left the playfields. Olivia claimed her leg didn’t hurt, though she would have a nasty bruise, even with the ice pack a coach had given her. She’d wanted to stay and cheer for the last game of the day, and her parents agreed. They’d join the rest of the family later at the Spruce.
“Not sure it would do any good,” Holly replied. “Bullying is in his genes.”
They crossed the street in front of the law office and Sarah saw a light on. “You two go ahead. I’ll meet you there.”
To her surprise, the door was unlocked.
“Hello? Renee?”
No answer. She stepped inside, careful to avoid the spot where Lucas had died. The smell had dissipated, but the place still held a mood. If she owned this building, she’d probably be eager to unload it, too. Years ago, in their first house in Seattle, there had been a murder-suicide in the next block, and the house had been torn down, the lot sitting empty for a few years before a duplex went in.
“Renee? Are you here?” she called again, and again got no reply.
She peered into the conference room. Empty. Across the hall stood Lucas’s office, looking no different than earlier in the week. Her eyes locked on the black-framed photo on the credenza, and she picked it up. Were there clues to Lucas’s state of mind in the way the three young men stood beside Jeremy’s red car? She didn’t know if she wanted this picture, or if Vonda Brown Garrett might want to see it. Maybe she should burn it, put the past firmly in the past.
Ha. Like a McCaskill would do such a thing.
“What are you doing in here?” Renee Harper’s voice broke into her melancholy.
“Sorry. I called your name and didn’t hear you, so …” Sarah held up the photograph. “Mind if I take this? Lucas with my husband and a friend. Though I suppose I ought to be asking Leo. Sheriff McCaskill.”
“Your cousin.”
