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April lifted an eyebrow. “Weirdos?”
“Don’t worry,” Riley said politely. “You’re too pretty to be a weirdo.”
“Stop right there,” Blue said. “We can’t be prejudiced against people just because they’re pretty. Being a weirdo is a state of mind. April has a lot of imagination. She’s kind of a weirdo, too.”
“I’m honored,” April said dryly. And then she gave Riley a stiff smile. “Do you want to see my secret pond?”
“You have a secret pond?”
“I’ll show you.”
Riley grabbed her backpack, and they both followed April from the caravan.
Chapter Nine
The small, weathered cottage sat behind a dilapidated picket fence. Pine needles dusted the tin roof, and four spindly candlestick posts held up the rickety porch. The once white paint had grayed, and the shutters had faded to a dull green.
“You live here all by yourself?” Riley said.
“Only for the past couple of months,” April replied. “I have a condo in L.A.”
As Blue took in the silver Saab with California plates parked in the shade at the side of the house, she decided the fashion stylist business was good.
“Don’t you get scared at night?” Riley said. “Like what if a kidnapper or serial killer tries to get you?”
April led them up onto a creaky wooden porch. “There are enough real things in life to worry about. The chances of a serial killer making his way here are pretty slim.”
A flap of screening had come loose from the door. April hadn’t locked it, and they walked into the living area, which had bare wooden floors and two windows draped with shabby lace curtains. Bright rectangular patches on the blue and pink cabbage rose wallpaper showed where pictures had once hung. The room had little furniture: an overstuffed sofa topped with a quilt, a painted three-drawer chest, and a table holding an old brass table lamp, an empty water bottle, a book, and a stack of fashion magazines.
“Renters lived here until about six months ago,” April said. “I moved in as soon as I got the place cleaned up.” She headed for the kitchen, just visible at the back. “Feel free to look around while I find my notebook.”
There wasn’t a lot to see, but Blue and Riley peeked into the two bedrooms. The larger one had a charming bed with a curlicue iron headboard covered in chipped white paint. A pair of old-fashioned pink ribbon-glass boudoir lamps sat on mismatched tables. April had spruced up the bed with an assortment of pillows and a lavender bedspread that matched the nosegays splashed over the faded aqua wallpaper. With a rug and a few more furnishings, the room could have been a magazine layout for flea market chic.
The bathroom with its sea foam green fixtures wasn’t as charming, nor the kitchen, which had worn counters and fake red-brick linoleum. Still, a wicker basket of pears and the earthenware vase of flowers sitting on the out-of-date butcher-block table provided a homey touch.
April came into the kitchen behind them. “I can’t find my notebook anywhere. I must have left it at the house after all. Riley, there’s a blanket in the bedroom closet. Bring it out, will you? We might as well enjoy the pond before we go back. I’ll pour us some iced tea.”
Riley dutifully fetched the blanket while April poured iced tea into three blue glasses. They carried them outside. Behind the cottage, the pond glistened in the sunshine, and the willows lining the banks trailed their leafy fringe in the water. Dragonflies buzzed through the cattails, and a family of baby ducks swam near a fallen tree that formed a natural pier. April directed them toward two dented red metal lawn chairs with scalloped backs that faced the water. Riley studied the pond warily. “Are there snakes?”
“I’ve seen a couple sunning themselves on that tree that’s fallen into the water.” April settled in one chair while Blue took the other. “They seem pretty content. Did you know snakes are soft?”
“You touched them?”
“Not those exact snakes.”
“I would never touch a snake.” Riley dropped her backpack and the blanket next to the chairs. “I like dogs. When I grow up, I’m going to have a puppy farm.”
April smiled. “That sounds nice.”
It sounded nice to Blue, too. She imagined blue skies, puffy white clouds, and a grassy meadow filled with scampering puppies.
Riley began spreading out the blanket. Without looking up, she said, “You’re Dean’s mom, aren’t you?”
The tea glass stilled in April’s hand. “How do you know that?”
“I know his mom’s name is April. That’s what Blue called you.”
April took a slow sip before she answered. “Yes, I’m his mother.” She didn’t try to lie to Riley but simply stated that she and Dean had a difficult relationship and briefly explained the Susan O’Hara charade. Riley understood celebrity privacy issues and seemed satisfied.
