21.

Sean gripped my upper arms. His eyes were a dark, stormy gray. "What are you doing here?"

Adrenaline zipped through my body, leaving my skin prickling. I drew in a deep breath and said, "Scare a girl to death, why don't you?"

"I'm sorry." He let go of my arms. The warmth of his handprints slowly ebbed. "I got your message about Tristan Rourke. I didn't think I'd find you here. This isn't a safe area."

"So I've heard." Now that I thought of it, why was I even here? How had I let Preston talk me into this? I was off this case. Sean might still be on it, but I had better things to do. Like take my bubble bath and soak away my worries.

His gaze swept my body, lingered on my lower half. I'd like to think he was taken with how nicely my pants fit, but I knew what he was looking at. "I slipped in the slush."

He opened my trunk, pulled out a beach towel, and handed it to me. I wrapped it around my waist before I slid into the car. Sean slid into the passenger seat.

"Preston's inside the Laundromat. She's intent on uncovering Rourke's underground headquarters."

"Who is he, Batman?"

"More like Robin Hood."

Dark eyebrows dipped in question. I explained what I'd found out, which seemed big-but when broken down and examined closely wasn't all that much.

My teeth were chattering. I wished I had no modesty-I would have slid off my pants completely, but explaining why I was half-naked to Preston when she returned wasn't something I wanted to do. I started the engine, turned the heater on full blast.

My stomach hurt. I glanced at the Laundromat, willing Preston to come out. A little telepathy would be nice right about now. What could possibly be taking her so long? As I watched, a young woman walked into the shop, two little boys each holding a hand. No laundry basket.

It was really quite remarkable what Tristan was doing. A one-man welfare system. A criminally misguided philanthropist. Who would have thought?

"Lucy?"

"Hmm?" My teeth chattered. My rear end was freezing.

"Are you okay? You look a little pale."

A car pulled up in front of the Laundromat as I turned and looked at him. I wasn't okay. I was getting mad. Really mad. "Why couldn't you walk away from this case?"

He opened his mouth, then snapped it closed. His eyes targeted something over my shoulder. I turned to take a look.

Agents Thomas and St. John were staring back.

The sun was dipping in the sky as I made my way home. A plane flew along the horizon, its taillights blinking.

Preston had finally emerged from A Clean Start five minutes after the FBI agents had asked Sean to answer a few of their questions. Downtown.

That was two hours ago, and I still hadn't heard from him.

I parked along Main Street in Cohasset Village and ran into my favorite little bistro to pick up my take-out order. I was tired, I was hungry, I was grumpy, and all I wanted to do was eat, take my bath, cuddle with Grendel, and go to bed. Alone.

Sean never had the chance to tell me why he'd taken Meaghan's case, and I wasn't even sure he was going to at all. He must have a good reason, and I wanted to know what it was.

Thankfully, I'd been able to drop Preston off at Valentine, Inc., instead of hitting the shoe store. Maureen Rourke apparently took one look at Preston when she walked through the doors of A Clean Start and deemed her worthy of help. Preston's haircut (which was choppy enough to look self-inflicted), the coffee-stained coat, and the broken heel had been enough to grant her a pass through the doorway next to the vending machine for detergents and softeners.

A back storeroom had a set of stairs leading to a warehouse under the shop that would make Wal-Mart jealous.

"You would not have believed it," Preston gushed as I drove her back to the office. "It was part flea market, part Whole Foods, part Bank of America. What really amazed me is that people only took what they needed."

Preston had come out with a new pair of shoes (flats), a coat, and twenty bucks for a haircut. No one had asked her any questions or suggested payment in any form.

"Are you going to write about it?" I asked.

She bit her lip. "I don't know."

If she did, it would be a major scoop. At the same time it would be taking away something so many people obviously relied on, even if its origin was a bit on the iffy side.

It was a hard decision.

I turned into Aerie, wondering when I'd hear from Sean. It seemed odd to me the FBI only wanted to speak to him, but Preston speculated it was because he was the licensed investigator. Whereas I wasn't.

The scent of herbed chicken barley soup drifted from the seat next to me. It had been an impossibly long day with no lunch.

I crested the hill, followed the bend, and Dovie's house suddenly appeared as if out of nowhere. It was a grand estate, absolutely gorgeous even at night. Uplights highlighted the classic architecture, the simple elegance of Dovie's pride and joy. I loved the Craftsman elements of her sprawling manor. The stonework, the wide eaves, the numerous windows. I was surprised to see a car in the driveway and even more shocked when Dovie opened her front door and started flailing her arms to catch my attention.

Looking longingly at my little cottage on the bluff, I turned the wheel into Dovie's circular driveway, parking behind a dark Mercedes I didn't recognize. I left my soup on the seat and yelped when my door flew open.

"Thank God you're here," Dovie said, yanking on my sleeve.

"What's wrong?" I hurried after her as she jogged toward the house. "Is it Rufus?"

"Rufus is fine. He's upstairs, locked in my room because he wouldn't behave himself."

"He didn't take too kindly to the vet?" I asked, wondering how kindly Dovie had taken to the vet.

"No, no. The vet was fine." She colored a bit. "It's because Rick and Jemima Hayes are here. Christa's missing. She never showed up at school this morning."

I followed Dovie through the double doors and closed them behind me. I smelled a hint of garlic in the air as we walked down the hall and into the kitchen. From here, I could see my cottage down the lane, the front lights on, just waiting for me to come home. It was filled with the same charm as Dovie's house. The stacked stone, the wide eaves, the huge windows. My place had the added benefit of a wraparound porch that was simply heaven on summer days.

Home.

There was nowhere I'd rather be right now.

Jemima and Rick sat at the kitchen table, and each had a mug of coffee in front of them. I looked around, half-expecting to see Em, but I quickly remembered she was on her way to Hawaii.

I bit back a jealous sigh.

Sinking into a chair, I said, "What's going on?"

"Christa never showed up at school today. She's not answering her phone. Her car is gone. We don't know where she is," Jemima blurted.

"I'm sure she's fine," Rick said, petting his wife's hand.

She snatched it away, set it in her lap.

"She's a teenager," he said. "Didn't you ever skip school as a teenager?"

I looked at my watch-the numbers were blurring, my eyes were so tired. "What time does her play practice start? Has anyone checked to see if she showed up?"

Jemima lifted an eyebrow. "How do you know she has play practice?"

"She told me. This morning. When she called to ask if she could come over and see Rufus after school."

"She called you?" Dovie asked, sliding a mug my way. It was my favorite mug, the one that read: "National Sarcasm Society. Like We Need Your Support."

"About nine or so." I sipped from the mug. The coffee was piping hot-just the way I liked it. "She said she had a late start."

"Well!" Rick boomed. "She didn't have a late start today. I think that proves Christa skipped. She'll come home eventually."

Jemima looked at him as though he had three heads. "She's never skipped before. And even if she did today where is she now? Why didn't she turn up at play practice? Why hasn't she answered her phone?"

Dovie rested a hand on Jemima's shoulder. "I'm sure everything will be all right. Lucy, can you do a reading?"

I was tired. So tired. And the coffee hadn't kicked in yet. But I couldn't say no. "Sure."

Rick's chair scraped the floor as he pushed away from the table. "This is nonsense. She's almost eighteen. She'll be home soon. You baby her too much. We should go. They're not going to hold our dinner reservations."

Dinner reservations? He was thinking about going out to eat at a time like this? Even if Christa had played hooky, which was entirely likely, she'd never done so before and Jemima had every right to be worried.

"Actually," Jemima said, glaring at him, "I'm starting to think I didn't baby her enough."

"Whatever," he said. He took up a spot near the back door and looked out at the ocean. "Just hurry it up."

Talk about a baby.

"This will only work if Christa has something on her that you've given her as a gift. Jewelry, a cell phone, that sort of thing."

Jemima frowned as tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. "I don't know what she was wearing today. How could I not know what she was wearing?"

I didn't want to answer, so I said, "Cell phone?"

"Mac bought it for her," Jemima said.

"IPod?"

"Mac."

"Watch?"

"She doesn't wear one."

"Class ring?"

"She doesn't own one."

Rick sniggered from the corner. I was glad Em wasn't here to see it.

Dovie said, "Her car?"

Jemima brightened. "It's Rick's old car."

"Then I can only probably get a reading from Rick." Great. Fantastic. A wonderful way to cap my day.

"No thanks," he said.

Jemima stood, squared her shoulders. She was wearing a long suede skirt and a pale blue wraparound sweater. Her hair was twisted and clipped in an updo, showing off a small hummingbird tattoo at the nape of her neck.

Dovie came and stood by my side.

"I suggest," Jemima said to her husband, "you rethink your stance."

He faced her. "Or else?"

He was saved from her answer by the ringing of a cell phone. Jemima snatched it out of her pocket, stared at the screen, and burst into tears. "Where have you been?" she cried as she answered. "Where are you now?" A beat later she said, "Home? You're at home?"

Rick rolled his eyes.

Jemima said, "We'll be right there."

Rick was already on his way to the door. Jemima gave Dovie a quick hug. "Thank you," she said.

"Did she say where she's been?" Dovie asked.

Jemima smiled. "Shopping in the city with her girlfriends. I could kill her if I wasn't so relieved."

Dovie showed them out, closed the door, and said, "Good riddance."

My soup was probably cold by now. Thank goodness for microwaves. I was going home and not coming back out till morning. I had one hand on the door, ready to make a quick escape, when Dovie cleared her throat.

"I have a favor to ask," she said.

Something easy, I silently begged. "Oh?"

"I have a date tonight." She did the cha-cha around the foyer. "With the cutest doctor from Marisol's clinic. He's a bit younger than me-not much," she was quick to point out, "and I thought why the hell not?"