Lisa Scottoline - Save Me

Rose walked her toward the store. “A woman at assembly told me her daughter loves the American Girl books. She said they’re good.”

“They’re not.” Melly kicked a stone, sending it skidding across the rough surface of the asphalt.

“Have you ever read one?”

“No.”

“Do kids in your class read them?”

“All the girls do. They have the dolls, too.”

“Really?” They reached the bookstore, and Rose opened the heavy door. “So how’s it work? You read the book and you get the doll that’s in the book?”

Melly let go of her hand, skipping ahead. A woman standing at the octagon display of hardcovers looked up from behind her reading glasses, her gaze lingering a fraction too long on Melly’s face. Oblivious, Melly was already heading toward the Harry Potter books, in Fantasy. A cardboard Dumbledore presided over the section, his magic wand in hand. Behind him was a Hogwarts flag, its shield covered with fake spiderwebs.

“Mel, come check this out,” Rose called out, and Melly turned, her eyes bright and alert. She came alive in bookstores.

“Check what out?”

“This way.” Rose gestured at the children’s books section, a pastel-hued kingdom of pink mushrooms, cartoon parrots, and a papier-mâché cottage. “They probably have American Girl books, and we can pick some books for John.”

“I don’t want American Girl, Mom.”

“What about John? He needs books, too.” Rose smiled in an encouraging way, then walked toward the children’s department. “Follow me. Let’s do this, then go over to Harry Potter.”

“Okay.” Melly skipped ahead.

“Do you see the American Girl?”

“Over here.” Melly stood at a yellow shelf, her knees bent so they bowed backwards. It was her characteristic stance; she was double-jointed, one of the reasons she didn’t do well at sports.

“Find anything that looks good?”

“Nah.”

“Lemme see.” Rose came over and slid an American Girl paperback from the shelves. On the cover was a dark-haired girl in an old-fashioned straw hat. “ Rebecca and the Movies. ”

“She looks dumb.”

“Okay.” Rose shrugged, which was reverse psychology, the hallmark of professional parenting. “Maybe there’s a better one.”

“Here.” Melly slid one off the shelf and eyed the cover, which showed a girl with straight blond hair and a big smile, touching a butterfly.

“ Lanie’s Real Adventures. ” Rose thought it looked fine. “Wanna give it a try?”

“Amanda likes Lanie. She has a Lanie doll, too.”

Oops. “Amanda looks like Lanie, doesn’t she?”

“Yes.” Melly put the book back on the shelf, wedging it between the others with care. “Get it, Mom? You like the books that look like you. You get the doll that looks like you. You go on the website and make the doll that looks like you. Like Build-A-Bear, only with dolls.”

“Oh.” Rose wanted to kick herself, realizing the problem. None of the American Girls had a birthmark. She spotted one hugging a cute tricolored dog and picked it from the shelf, trying to recover. “Look at this one, about Nicki. She likes dogs, and we like dogs.”

“Bbsbssbsb.” John pumped his arm, and Rose put on a smile.

“He likes it. Let’s get it.”

An hour later, Rose pulled into the driveway at home, with sleeping kids, groceries, and a shopping bag of books. The clouds had darkened, and it looked like rain, so they were just in time. She cut the ignition and was about to wake Melly when she noticed a strange car parked in front of the house. It was a navy blue Crown Victoria, and in the next minute, two men in suits were getting out of the front seat and walking toward her car. They didn’t look like reporters or door-to-door salesmen, if there was such a thing anymore. She stayed in the driver’s seat and slid the key back in the ignition.

“Excuse me, Ms. McKenna?” one of the men called out, reaching into his pocket as he approached. He was young-looking, his sandy hair stiff with product, and he had on a dark suit and an edgy patterned tie. He held up a slim black billfold that flopped open to reveal a heavy, gold-toned badge.

Rose felt her heart stop.

“I’m Rick Artiss, with the District Attorney’s Office, Reesburgh County. Can I speak with you a minute?”

Rose’s mouth went dry. Melly slept in the passenger seat, and John snored in the back, but for a split-second, she forgot they were there, that they even existed, and she was transported back to another time. Everything came rushing back, conflating the days of her life, collapsing the past into the present, making them one and the same, as impossible to separate, one from the other, as waves in an ocean.

“Mrs. McKenna?” The young assistant district attorney was frowning, and so was the other man with him, older and taller, in hornrims, a dark suit, and a preppy striped tie. Behind them, one of her neighbors, Sue Keller, was walking down the sidewalk with her dog, an old gray poodle.

Rose blinked, recovering. It wasn’t the lawyers or the neighbor that snapped her out of her reverie, but the poodle. His name was Boris, and he’d growled at Princess Google last week, scaring her and Melly. The incident anchored Rose in time, and she came zooming back into the present, shaken and seared, as if she’d traveled through the atmosphere of Earth itself.

“Whoa, don’t be afraid.” The young assistant district attorney closed the billfold and slipped it into his back pocket. “We’re just lawyers. We just want to talk with you for a minute or two.”

Rose signaled to him with a jittery index finger, mouthing hold on a sec. She thought of Oliver and Tom, who’d told her not to talk to the prosecutors, but she didn’t want to look guiltier than she did already. She slid the key from the ignition, trying to get in control.

“Mom?” Melly started to stir, and Rose leaned over.

“Melly, go back to sleep. Everything’s all right.”

“Okay,” Melly said, drowsy, and Rose reached for the door handle, got out of the car, and closed it behind her.

“Sorry, we didn’t mean to startle you.” The young assistant district attorney backed up, deferring to his older colleague, who stepped forward with a confident air. Deep crow’s feet creased his eyes behind his bifocals, and a bald spot left him with a sparse fringe of grayish-brown bangs.

“Sorry, young Rick comes on like a carjacker,” he said, extending a hand. “I’m Howard Kermisez, also an assistant district attorney with the county. Call me Howard.”

“Rose McKenna.” She shook his hand, managing a smile. Sue Keller eyed the scene as she walked by, with Boris sniffing the breeze.

“We didn’t mean to scare you. We thought you saw us. Sorry about that.” Howard leaned over, peering into the car. “And that must be Melly.”

“Yes.” Rose edged reflexively in front of the window, blocking his view.

“Welcome to Reesburgh. It’s great to see new folks moving in, especially babies. This is a great town, in a great state.” Howard smiled in a pleasant, if impersonal, way. “How are you and your husband enjoying it? He’s from Worhawk, I understand.”

“We love it, thanks. But excuse me, I have to get the kids inside.” Rose gestured behind her, as if that explained it all. She couldn’t go to jail because she had to make dinner, then there were fractions to practice, and another Flat Stanley to be pasted into the scrapbook, from a cell phone picture taken at the picnic. Melly had already thought of the caption: Flat Stanley Meets a New Newt.

“Of course, you’re busy now, I can see that. I have three sons. They’re older, but you know what my wife says? Little kids, little problems, big kids, big problems.” He smiled coolly, again. “So we won’t take long. We just have a few questions. You were volunteering at the elementary school last Friday, when the fire broke out, weren’t you?”