Karen Harper - Shallow Grave

“I can see her allure for Jace. He’s passionate about flying—now about her too.”

“True,” she said, frowning. Sometimes Nick worried Claire still cared too much for Jace and vice versa.

Just then a single-engine plane roared overhead. “If that was him saying good-night,” Nick said, “glad he missed the roof.”

“I hope it wasn’t Daddy after dark,” Lexi put in, turning down the laptop volume. “His plane has lights, but sometimes he flies over water, and I told him to remember what happened before.”

Nick just shook his head. Sometimes Lexi sounded so much like Claire.

Claire’s ex and Lexi’s father was supposedly flying a citrus orchard crop-dusting plane, and/or a Zika virus mosquito–spraying plane. But Claire and Nick knew that regardless of whatever logo was painted on the fuselage, he was actually working for the FBI in its Stingray program, which could track persons of interest and criminals by their cell phones. Stingray wasn’t top secret anymore, but it was still in use by the government. Jace was glad to be flying again but longed to return to international jets, so good luck to the “tiger talker” Brittany Hoffman if she wanted to tame Jace.

“Time for bed, sweetheart,” Claire told Lexi. “Your dad and I are going to have a late dinner, and then we’ll be going to sleep too.”

“’Cause you are eating and sleeping for two,” Lexi said, and gently patted her mother’s stomach when she got up from behind the laptop.

Nick put his hands behind his head and stretched as he watched Claire rise—still somewhat gracefully—from the leather sofa. He loved their new house, especially this spacious great room with its calming neutral colors and touches of light blue and green. The high, domed ceiling fan still turned lazily, though it was finally cooler outside. Their swimming pool, just beyond the patio, glimmered from its lights below the surface. After all they’d been through, Nick would have worried about the expanse of glass and the darkness outside where someone could be watching and lurking, but surely not anymore. Yet sometimes he had to work hard to convince himself they were safe now.

“Night, Dad,” Lexi said, and went over to give him a kiss on the cheek. He hugged her. “Sleep tight, and tomorrow is tiger day—and all those animals you like to pet.”

“But I still love my pony Scout the best,” the child told him, her pert face so serious as she referred to the horse she met during their adventures on Mackinac Island. “Remember, you promised that no snake’s gonna hurt him, even if he’s staying at a place on Rattlesnake Road. Glad it’s not in the Glades where those real big snakes get caught.”

“Everything will be okay,” he promised. “Claire, I’ll heat that lasagna in the microwave. It wouldn’t hurt me to turn in early too, after the day I’ve had.”

“And the life you’ve had,” she said. “But things, like Lexi’s said more than once, are going to be ‘all better’ now.”

For one moment she thought she glimpsed a figure outside in the shadows behind the patio, but surely that was just her own reflection in the glass. She would not worry Nick with her fears and certainly didn’t want to upset Lexi. After all, their enemies were dead.

2

“I’ve decided I’m going to call you Duncan, your real name,” Claire told the thin, quiet nine-year-old boy the next day as the group walked from the BAA parking lot to the zoo’s entrance. “It’s a good and strong name.”

“I don’t know,” he said, tugging on the brim of his too-large, beat-up Miami Dolphins hat. It hid his eyes and made his brown, shaggy hair spike out the back. He always walked with his head slightly down, and she’d love to change that too. “My dad might not like it. Duck’s his name for me,” he added so low she almost couldn’t hear him.

“But he’s not home now. What will your mother think?”

“She’d be okay, I guess, ’cause she used to call me that—Duncan. Till he said no. But why’s it a strong name? ’Cause I’m kind of skinny.”

“You will fill out and get stronger as you get older. It’s a strong name because it’s a name from a great country called Scotland, and there was even a King Duncan of Scotland. It’s a somewhat unusual name for a young person, so it’s very special. If you don’t want me to call you Duncan, I won’t, but Lexi, Jilly, Darcy and I would like to call you by your real name—also because you are a friend and good person to us.”

He shrugged his skinny shoulders under a stained shirt that was not quite warm enough for the day. “Then okay,” he muttered. “Just for now, but if my dad comes back, don’t say it in front of him—and hide from him, ’cause I will too.”

Claire’s eyes filled with tears. To have seen all this child had...to be so afraid. Her own child had been through terrible times, but she could have stood right there and sobbed for this little boy and the others along with them today.

Claire and Darcy had discussed more than once whether the motto for their Comfort Zone program for children affected by domestic violence should be Children Need Both Roots and Wings or There Is No Rainbow without Rain, so they used both. So far, through social services and contacts from Darcy’s church, they had nine children they met with weekly to take to some sort of experience where they could learn, have fun, and feel safe and appreciated. Darcy’s elementary education background and Claire’s psychology degree gave them the skills to cope with deeply damaged and sometimes endangered children—at least they hoped so.

Darcy’s husband, Steve, who oversaw a construction team in South Florida, couldn’t come today, but it was a rare treat to have Nick along for this visit to the Backwoods Animal Adventure. Nick and Claire had picked up three of the children; Darcy and Jilly had arrived in the small parking lot with three; and Nick’s employee Bronco Gates and his girlfriend, Nita, had picked up the other three. Nita had been Lexi’s nanny and was now their babysitter. She was going to work for them part-time when the baby was born.

The ages of the Comfort Zone kids ranged from eight to eleven. Claire and Darcy had gone through the parental permission routine or interviews with their guardians, which gave them a chance to better understand their difficult, sometimes dangerous home situations. Two of the kids were in foster care.

Claire wasn’t sure why she especially gravitated toward this child everyone called Duck, except that, before she knew Nick, her husband had been the lead prosecuting attorney in the trial that had sent the boy’s father to a state prison for four years. That was for running his truck into and then brutally beating a guy who pulled in front of him in a car—road rage at its worst. The boy, who had been in the truck, had testified through a child advocate, and his horrendous tale of spousal and child abuse had helped to convict his father, though the defense lawyer had tried to get all of that thrown out. After being released for just a few months, Duck’s dad, Irv Glover, beat up his wife and killed a social worker. Glover had disappeared, but his child and wife still suffered.

Claire saw the boy flinch when Brittany Hoffman, their host for this visit, nearly jumped out from just behind the small ticket and information building where her mother sat. Claire put her hand on his bony shoulder.

“Welcome to all of you!” Brittany shouted. “We are going to have fun and learn a lot today!”

They had already been welcomed in the small parking lot by both of the senior Hoffmans, Brittany’s parents, but they’d returned to their duties, and Brittany was a bit late meeting them. She looked tired, with dark circles under her eyes. Too little sleep? Claire wondered. Maybe she’d spent the night with Jace. Despite looking tired, she was animated and almost gave off sparks.