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Kit just ate her dinner. The girls would talk about their backgrounds and the families they’d run from—or those who’d abandoned them—when they were ready.
I did. She looked over at Harlan, who was sitting in one of the chairs off to the side, thoughtfully regarding the block of wood in his hands. She recognized his expression. He was trying to decide what to carve next. Every foster kid who came through McKittrick House got a carving that was special and unique. He’d started the practice sixteen years before when he’d carved a small bird for Kit, putting it in her hands the night they’d buried Wren. She’d received another carved bird every year on the anniversary of Wren’s murder.
So she wouldn’t forget her sister. As if I could.
“I’m off to bed,” Kit said. “You girls need to go to sleep soon, too. Mom and Pop won’t sleep until you do.”
The teenagers turned to look at Betsy, who was wiping down the stovetop, her movements a bit slower than usual.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. McK,” Emma said, her eyes going wide and fearful, as if she expected to be slapped at any moment.
Kit laid a gentle hand on the girl’s shoulder. “You don’t have to be sorry here, Emma. Mom and Pop won’t tell you to go to sleep tonight because you’re new here and they know you’re just finding your way. But this is a farm, and they’ve got to get up early to feed chickens and milk the cow. If they don’t go to sleep soon, they’ll be falling face-first in the cookie icing.”
Emma’s smile was tentative. “Thanks, Detective.”
“Kit,” Kit said. “Here, I’m Kit. And I hope you never meet me in a place where you have to call me ‘Detective.’ ”
Emma nodded, understanding exactly what Kit meant. “I won’t. I promise. This place is too nice to get thrown out of.”
“I know. I remember rediscovering how nice a soft pillow felt under my head and how nice it was to be warm and dry, my belly full. This is a good place and Mom and Pop are the best. We all want you to be happy here. Now, I’ve got to sleep before I fall face-first in the icing.”
“Say hi to Dr. Sam for us,” Tiffany said earnestly. “Tell him thank you again.”
Rita smirked. “Yeah, Kit. Tell him hi. And tell him good night. Like right now.”
“I’ll give him your messages when I see him at work,” Kit said with as much dignity as she could muster, considering all of them were grinning at her, even Harlan and Betsy.
Kit snapped her fingers for Snickerdoodle, who dutifully followed her up the stairs to the room she’d once shared with Wren. It was Rita’s room now, but Kit slept in her old bed whenever she stayed overnight.
“They’re all insane, Snick,” she told her dog as she dug her pajamas out of the drawer Betsy kept for her things. “I’m not calling Sam right now.”
She sat on the edge of the bed, her thoughts focusing in on the psychologist despite her best intentions. She wondered if he’d gone to Shady Oaks for the night.
Wondered if he was okay. If he was still sad.
Of course he is. He’d lost two friends. One didn’t just get over that. People like Sam especially. His heart was too big and he was too easily hurt.
Kit should know. She’d hurt him herself, but still he waited. For me.
Restless, she switched her mind to work, checking her phone for new messages. She’d seen the text Sam had sent earlier that evening saying that Frankie had gone somewhere the Wednesday before his death. They’d have to track down where he’d gone. It felt important. She made a mental note to check with Jeff from IT in the morning to see if he’d unearthed the parking lot gate records from Shady Oaks.
She kept scrolling, then felt some of the tension leave her body when she read a message that Navarro had sent while she’d been eating dinner.
CG picked up Archie Adler. He’ll be here by morning for you to interview. Brass will be observing. Be here by 8.
Connor had already replied in the affirmative and Kit added her acknowledgment. Good news. See you tomorrow at 8.
She wondered if Sam knew, if anyone had told him. She opened a text window to Sam, then stared at the blank screen. She could simply convey the case status. Or she could reach out. Maybe call him. Return some of the kindness that he showed everyone else. It didn’t have to mean anything.
Which was stupid. Of course it would mean something.
“I’m stupid, Snick,” she muttered. “I shouldn’t even be thinking about calling him. He’ll probably be asleep anyway.”
Snickerdoodle licked Kit’s hand, then let out an immense doggy sigh.
“Yeah, yeah, I know that you like him, too. Everyone does.” Blinking back a burgeoning headache, she typed: You awake? Have news.
The reply was immediate. Awake. What’s happened?
