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“Yeah.” His gaze didn’t shift from the screen.
“I’m heading over to Grandpa’s. Be back in an hour. Okay?” She didn’t ask him to join her, preferred her kids be together.
“Yeah.”
“Aren’t you even going to ask about school?”
“Figured you took care of it.” He was still working the controller and it bugged her.
“Can you find ‘pause’ or whatever it is?”
“But I’m in a major battle for . . .” Then he stopped; his thumbs and fingers quit moving, and he actually looked at her. “Sorry.”
“That’s better. You’ve got homework. I saw it posted online. Do it. And there’s cereal, or toast or whatever you want in the refrigerator, for breakfast . . . or lunch.”
“Okay.”
“Text me if you need anything. And keep the doors locked.”
“Yeah.”
“And, Dylan?” she added. “Do something about this room. You and I, we had a deal that you’d clean it up. Part of the arrangement when you got in trouble last week. Doesn’t seem like you’ve tackled it. So, when I get back, I want to be able to see the floor and know that it’s been vacuumed and dusted.”
“Yeah.”
“I mean it.”
“Got it.”
He seemed to be listening, but sometimes she just couldn’t tell.
“Don’t go anywhere.”
He finally looked at her. “Like where would I go? All my friends are in school.”
Good point. She left then and told herself she’d be gone only a half hour, forty-five minutes on the outside. What could possibly go wrong?
* * *
All things considered, Cade didn’t feel too bad. He’d finished the “awesome” farmer’s breakfast at Abe’s, gone home, hit the rack, and slept for four hours. When his alarm had gone off, he’d walked through a cold shower, ignored his razor, dressed, and discovered a can of Red Bull that Dylan had left in the refrigerator. After downing the energy drink, he’d sifted through e-mails, texted Rachel and the kids a couple of times, and skimmed the latest online edition of the local paper. On the way to work, he’d bought a cup of coffee and was only slightly jangled as he stepped into the office
a little after eleven.
He’d just sat in his desk chair and was logging into his computer when Voss showed up. She was wearing her usual black slacks and jacket, with a gray blouse and a cat-who-swallowed-the-canary smile that was a little irritating considering the amount of sleep he’d had. Or, more precisely, the sleep he hadn’t gotten.
“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” she said, needling him a little.
He wasn’t in the mood, but let it pass.
“Guess who was the last person Annessa Cooper texted?” Behind her glasses, Voss’s eyes glinted.
“From your attitude, I’m guessing it wasn’t her husband.”
“Nope.” Voss wagged her head back and forth, her pleased smile never shifting. “I was thinking she might have had a boyfriend she was supposed to meet, and I was right. Check your e-mail,” she said, motioning a finger at his computer monitor. “I just sent you a transcript of the texts we found on her phone. Pretty interesting stuff there.” She arched her graying eyebrows.
Cade turned in his chair to face the screen again, then clicked on an e-mail from Voss and scrolled down.
“This is what’s called sexting,” she said.
