Tara Quinn - Born in the Valley

“Not often,” he said. But the truth was only partially revealed in those words. If he measured the number of times Bonnie had been out late at night during their whole marriage, it wasn’t often. If you measured the number of times she’d been out late since Christmas, it was higher. A lot higher.

Greg leaned back against the wall. “I figured this jogging thing would fade quickly.”

Keith thought about that. “Me, too,” he answered slowly. “Just like the aerobics and weight training did.”

Greg nodded. Glanced toward each door. Keith wished Tuesday was a good TV night. At least then they could pretend to be distracted.

“She’s sure looking great.”

“Yeah.” He’d rather see every one of the twenty pounds Bonnie had lost if he could have back the cheerful woman he’d married almost seven years before.

Keith’s head shot up, eyes trained on the garage door.

He thought he’d heard Bonnie come in. He waited, not looking forward to the moments ahead. Little Spirits Daycare had been Bonnie’s dream since her early teens. How badly was Greg’s news going to affect her? She hadn’t been herself for months as it was.

And how much did Greg know about that? Just because Bonnie hadn’t been open with him didn’t mean she hadn’t gone to her brother.

Or maybe Greg hadn’t noticed anything at all.

Keith listened and waited. For nothing.

“Katie’s sleeping soundly.” Greg hadn’t straightened from the wall.

Keith studied the grain in the hardwood floor. “Bonnie put her down before she went out.”

More silence. More door checking and glancing at watches. She’d been gone twenty minutes longer than her usual hour.

“Ryan’s had two dry nights in a row.”

Keith grinned at his brother-in-law. “That’s great, man!” he said, in a way only two men who were close would do.

Greg nodded, his smile slowly dropping to a frown. “You want to break it to her?” he asked.

“You’re the cop.”

“I figured you’d say that.”

“You’ve known her longer.”

“You’re married to her.”

Slapping a hand against his jean-clad thigh, Keith stood. “Who the hell would’ve done this? I mean, set a fire in a day care.”

“I don’t know, but you can be damn sure I’m going to find out.”

Keith believed him. Against every conceivable probability, Greg had solved a ten-year-old carjacking/murder that past spring. He’d found his father’s murderer.

Keith thought he heard Bonnie in the garage again. Moved into the kitchen. Ran a hand through hair that was straight and blond and a little long.

He peered into the refrigerator. “You want a beer?”

“Yeah.” Greg wandered over to the kitchen sink. “No, not really,” he muttered.

Closing the refrigerator door empty-handed, Keith said, “Me, neither.”

What he wanted was to go to work. Picturing the brand-new bigger studio, his general manager’s office, the monitors and cameras and constant activity, calmed him slightly. At MUTV—the Montford University television station—he was in control.

Or, barring work, he’d like to go to bed with his wife. But only if she’d snuggle her body up to him the way she used to.

He couldn’t just keep standing there, looking at his watch.

When he seriously considered searching the streets for his wife, knowing damn well he’d see her sooner if he just waited for her here, Keith went in to check on his daughter for the third time in an hour. Bonnie didn’t run particular routes. She could be anywhere in town. And unless he got lucky and chose the one street she happened to be on…

Katie was sound asleep, her thumb hanging out of open baby lips, her sweet cheeks plump and red and begging for a kiss. Keith touched the soft curls that were dark like her mother’s but still baby-hair wispy. He pulled pink sheets with little princess crowns up over the three-year-old’s shoulders and quietly left the room. He worried about Katie. Wondered if she was noticing the changes in her mother.

Was anyone else noticing?

Greg certainly hadn’t said anything.

So was it only with Keith that she was different? Was this a marriage thing?

His blood ran cold. God, he hoped it wasn’t. Anything else they could beat. As long as they were fighting it together.

Bonnie, sweaty and breathing heavily, was just coming through the garage door as Keith returned to the kitchen.

“What’s up?” she panted, looking from one man to the other. She frowned. “What’s wrong?” she demanded before either of them had replied to her first question. “It’s not Katie….” She glanced at Keith, who immediately shook his head.

She stared at her brother. “Did something happen to Beth? Or Ryan?”

“No.” Greg shook his head. “They’re fine.”

Keith braced himself as Greg’s hands dropped to Bonnie’s shoulders. “It’s Little Spirits.”

“What about it?”

She looked damned cute standing there in navy sweats with the bottoms hacked off to fit her short legs, and a white T-shirt under the matching hooded navy jacket. Too cute to be the recipient of distressing news.

“There’s been a fire.”

“At the day care?” She was hiding her grief well.

Greg nodded, then looked at Keith as if asking for help. Keith, however, was still waiting for Bonnie’s horrified gasp. “In the back supply closet.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

“No.”

Bonnie pulled out a chair, sat down, one arm leaning on the table. “Was there much damage?”

After that initial glance, she had yet to look at Keith, to give him a chance to offer his support.

Dropping into the chair across from her, Greg said, “You lost everything in the closet, but the fire was stopped before it spread any farther.”

Because he was feeling superfluous standing on the other side of the room, Keith joined the two at the kitchen table, pulling out the chair next to his wife.

Bonnie was frowning. “I wonder how on earth a fire got started in that closet. There’s not even an electrical outlet in there.”

“Someone set it.” Keith did the dirty work, after all. This was the part they’d known would upset her the most.

“You mean arson?” She peered back and forth between the two men. “Who would do a thing like that?” Then after a long pause, she added, “And why?”

Keith was still waiting for that gasp. For Bonnie’s usual intensity. For some kind of emotional reaction. Anger. Sadness.

Bonnie was perplexed.

And that was all.

“I was hoping you might be able to shed some light on who might’ve done this,” Greg told her, taking a notepad from his pocket.

Bonnie didn’t know.

They talked for half an hour, considering and dismissing one possibility after another. No matter what angle Greg took, Bonnie had nothing for him to go on, no leads to pursue. She gave her attention to the matter, answering every question thoughtfully, but with an almost unnerving calm.

Where in hell was Keith’s emotionally exuberant wife?

Greg finished. Eventually left. And Bonnie went in to shower.

Keith stood at the kitchen window, replaying the past hour in his mind, trying to make sense of a world he no longer recognized.

Bonnie, his protective, mother-hen wife, had just had one of her life’s dreams vandalized and had shown not the least bit of outrage—or hurt.

It was as though she didn’t care at all.

EVERYTHING WAS WET and charred, and there was a choking stench in the air. Bonnie pulled out a mop she’d used the week before to clean up an orange-juice accident in the classroom for the three-year-olds, while Alice, their teacher, had wiped off the children who’d been caught in the fray. The mop was wet again, but no longer white or orange-stained. Its synthetic fibers were more than half gone, the remaining strands dark gray and smeared with soot. One side of the long handle—the side that’d been burned—was splintery and coal-black.