An Unlikely Family

Jack scowled at Finn. “Never mind,” he said and gave Billy his full attention. “That’s a good plan. If you like this lady, take things a bit more slowly. She’s new in town. She’ll need friends, and, speaking from experience, I don’t know of a better one than you.”

“So you don’t think I might be reaching too high?”

Jack draped his arm around Billy’s shoulder. “Buddy, I don’t think the Queen of England is beyond your reach. I feel about you like I would a brother, but that doesn’t mean I’d marry you.”

“Well, thank God for that,” Billy muttered.

Jack laughed. “Evie’s not going anywhere. I have it on good authority from the mayor that she signed a two-year contract to stick it out down here. That gives you plenty of time to sweep her off her feet.”

“Right. If I don’t step on her toes in the process.”

Claire hollered at them from the house.

“Oh, Lord,” Finn said. “She’s waving that spatula like it was a battle ax. I’d suggest you take the hint.”

Jack went behind the wheelchair and pushed it toward the ramp he’d installed when Finn and Pet married. “Stay for dinner, Billy?”

“Can’t. Ma’s got stew cooking.” He went down the steps, walked briskly toward the house but called back to the other two, “Thanks for the advice. I know what I’m going to do.” And he did. He’d wait until tomorrow to call Evie and let her know how good a friend he could be.

CHAPTER FOUR

SO FAR Evie’s first official day had gone extraordinarily well. She’d arrived at Heron Point Elementary a few minutes before eight o’clock, just ahead of her administrative assistant, Mary Alice Jones, a middle-aged whirlwind of energy.

The eight teachers and auxiliary staff assembled in the cafeteria, a portable metal structure next to the main building, at eight thirty, where Evie introduced herself. Since most of the staff had been at the school for three years or more, they knew the procedures and made Evie feel welcome.

The third-grade teacher, a man in his mid-fifties, had lived in Heron Point since the school opened ten years earlier. He treated everyone by bringing in doughnuts from the town’s bakery, which happened to be owned by his wife. When he offered to bring coffee cake the next morning, Evie knew the figure she’d worked so hard for at her gym was in serious jeopardy.

After meetings all morning and a lunch of lasagna and green beans prepared by the cafeteria staff, Evie settled down at her desk with a stack of one hundred and twenty-five student folders that reached nearly to her chin. She’d gotten to know the teachers, now it was time to familiarize herself with the students. She pulled the first one off the top and opened it.

Johnny Adler. Evie studied the third-grader’s features from last year’s school picture, scanned the teacher’s comments about Johnny’s progress and behavior, and tried to place his face with his name.

Two hours had flown by when Evie reached the middle of the alphabet. She opened the folder containing records for Gemma Scarlett Muldoone and looked into mischievous brown eyes that immediately made Evie think of the girl’s father. Her hair was lighter than Billy’s, more the tan of a coconut and streaked with highlights the color of a new penny. The long waves were gathered into a neat ponytail with a bright green ribbon.

Smiling at the girl’s photo, Evie said, “Is this the child Helen Sweeney hinted was the terror of Heron Point? She looks so sweet.”

Evie flipped to the page containing Gemma’s vital information and gasped. Gemma’s record resembled a daily diary rather than a recap of educational milestones. Evie counted a dozen sheets of paper filled with comments from teachers and counselors and the previous principal.

When she’d reached the end of Gemma’s profile, Evie stuffed all the pages back into the folder and slammed it closed.

If a child is believed to be bad, or rumoredto be bad, or expected to be bad, he willbehave badly.

“I refuse to read a single word of this,” she said. “I will not be prejudiced by past opinions about this girl. It’s a new year, and every child deserves a clean slate.”

She couldn’t imagine the easy-going, self-assured cop she’d met raising a child who had a problem following rules. Evie didn’t know what had happened to Gemma’s mother—if she had died or if Billy and she were divorced—but she did know that Billy’s mother lived with them. Gemma had the input of both her father and grandmother.

Evie shoved the folder aside, picked up a pencil and began tapping it on her desk. Just because Billy was a capable cop, didn’t mean he was a competent father. She’d encountered many parents who, in her opinion, weren’t qualified for the job. Plus there were those who’d been willing and interested parents but not necessarily good ones. From this perspective, Evie was able to rationalize her growing desire to know more about Billy.

Her tapping grew more insistent as she recalled his announcement that he would call her sometime. He’d said it in front of Gail, so she assumed they didn’t have a relationship. And he wouldn’t have mentioned calling her at all if he hadn’t intended to do it, would he?

She spun her chair around to stare out the corner window. “Of course he would,” she said. “It was a casual comment, nothing more. Billy probably had no intention of calling despite what you let yourself believe and despite what Helen said about the overzealous cop.” Evie had to take Billy’s comment as just what it was—a local guy’s good-humored welcome to a newcomer. And that was just as well. Evie’s focus should be on Gemma, not the girl’s father.

Billy’s ruggedly handsome face evaporated from Evie’s mind at a knock on her door. “Come in,” she said, turning away from her view of the outside world.

Mary Alice stuck her head inside. “Sorry to bother you, Miss Gaynor, but we have a problem.”

“Oh?”

“One of our mothers is outside with her son and another student. It seems there was an incident on the playground before she came to pick up her child.”

“What? School hasn’t even started yet.”

Mary Alice shrugged. “We let the kids use the facilities all year long. These two were playing on the equipment. Shall I send them in?”

“Of course.” Evie rose. A girl entered first, and Evie’s gaze traveled from her pretty, pixie face and sun-streaked dark hair to the folder she’d just finished perusing. The girl’s familiar brown eyes glittered with indignation.

“This is Gemma Muldoone,” Mary Alice said, nudging the student farther into the room so the others could enter. The secretary introduced a slightly taller, husky boy as Bernard Hutchinson. “And this is Bernard’s mother,” she said. “Missy Hutchinson.”

Once everyone was inside, Mary Alice quickly slipped out and closed the door behind her. Evie faced three scowling faces. “What’s happened?”

“I’ll tell you what happened,” Missy declared. She pushed her son forward. “Look at him.”

Once she got a good look at Bernard’s shirt, Evie jumped back a step. “Good heavens. He’s covered with bugs!”

“You’re telling me,” Missy said. “They’re glued on.”

Regaining her composure, Evie advanced toward Bernard. She reached out and tentatively touched a lifelike roach, half expecting it to dart from under her finger. It didn’t. It remained immobile as one would expect from glued plastic. “They’re not real.”

“Thank heavens for that!” Missy said. “But they’ve ruined his shirt just the same.” She jabbed a finger toward Gemma’s head. “And her father can darned well replace it. I don’t care if he does only make a policeman’s salary. This shirt cost thirty dollars.”

Thirty dollars? For a kid’s play shirt? Evie refrained from commenting. “Did you do this?” she asked Gemma Muldoone.

“Why are you asking her?” Missy practically squealed. “I just told you she did. This child would lie about anything.”

Evie held up a hand. “Excuse me, Mrs. Hutchinson, but will you let me handle this?”

Missy released a pent-up breath and tugged at a caterpillar on Bernard’s collar. “See? They don’t come off.”

Evie pulled a chair next to Gemma. “Sit down, please.”

The girl’s chin thrust forward. “I don’t want to.”

“But I would like you to, so please do it.”

Gemma sat, appearing more like a wooden statue than a flesh-and-blood child.

“Now, I’d like you to tell me if you glued bugs to Bernard’s shirt and, if so, why you did it.”

Gemma’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I’m not saying I did, but if I did, it was because Bernard said I wasn’t going on any field trips this year.”