The One Safe Place. Kathleen O'Brien
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miss a word.
Parker was very smooth. By the time they reached the bottom of the mountain, Faith had relaxed considerably, and she could see that even Spencer’s knuckles were no longer clenched white and bloodless.
“This is Main Street,” Parker said as they turned into a shopping area so quaint it might have been in a picture book of charming European villages.
Faith’s first impression was of clean, sparkling color. It had rained earlier, and gleaming cobblestones wound their way through storefronts decorated with garlands of autumn leaves. Golden chrysanthemums frothed out of pots at every door and late-season daisies flowered in a hundred hanging planters.
“It’s very pretty,” she said inadequately. Actually, it was far more than that. It was like the schoolbook illustration for Our Happy Hometown.
Warm and welcoming, a little jeweled paradise where surely everyone was generous and good, and nothing ever went wrong.
But it was, of course, merely an illusion. No such Eden existed, she knew that. Even a town this beautiful had its secrets, its tears, its cruelties behind closed doors. In spite of the mountains that stood guard on every side, illness and evil and despair had undoubtedly found their way into Firefly Glen, just as they had into every other place on earth.
But none of that was visible on the surface. And a couple of months ago, before Doug Lambert had come into their lives, she might have believed it.
Parker seemed to believe it still. He clearly adored his little town. His voice was warm as he pointed out its special features.
“Main Street wraps around the Town Square. See that central area? It stretches from the church at the north end to the hotel at the south. That’s the heart of the town. All the fun stuff happens here. We’ll be having a Halloween party here next month.”
He glanced in the rearview mirror. “It’s the best party in the world. Great rides, great games and enough cotton candy to make you puke pink.”
Faith thought she heard a noise from the back seat. It might have been a muffled giggle. But when she turned around, Spencer was studying the tag on Tigger’s collar, and he didn’t even seem to have heard.
“Sounds delightful,” she said dryly, watching the long, open green square pass by. The streets were lined with maple trees that had already begun to hint at autumn color. It would undoubtedly be gorgeous at the height of the fall. “But we probably won’t be—”
She stopped herself before she could finish the thought. We won’t be here then, she had been about to say. Halloween was a whole month away, so surely…
But the truth was, she didn’t really know what the future held. She had no idea when—or if—the police would catch Doug Lambert. She had no idea when she and Spencer could go home.
And it was extremely important that she never, ever mislead the little boy. She mustn’t ever get his hopes up, only to dash them later. He had suffered so much shock, so much loss that he didn’t trust anything or anyone anymore.
She was going to have to work very hard to win back even a little of that sweet trust he used to give so freely.
“It sounds terrific,” she repeated, without the wryness. “Maybe we’ll go, if we’re still here at Halloween.”
And as soon as she said the words, a voice in the back of her head added another thought…the kind of sickening thought she’d never had before Grace’s death. The kind of ugly, shivering thought that seemed so out of place in Firefly Glen.
Maybe they’d go. If…
If Doug Lambert didn’t find them.
If they were still alive at Halloween.
REED’S LAST PATIENT of the day was a bunny that had hopped onto a nasty piece of broken glass. Flopsy, the beloved pet of a nine-year-old cutie named Becky, was going to be fine. Becky was another matter. She hadn’t stopped crying for the past twenty minutes.
Otherwise, though, it had been a light day. And it promised to be an easy night, too. They had only two boarders—a sleepy Persian cat recovering from a routine neutering and a spoiled lizard whose doting owners were out of town and didn’t trust anyone but Reed to shove lettuce into its terrarium properly.
He appreciated the easy workload, especially today, when Faith Constable and her nephew were set to arrive any minute. It had given him time to make sure the guest bedrooms were presentable—which took longer than he’d expected.
He had opened the windows to banish any mustiness. He’d been too long without a housekeeper, that was for damn sure. He hoped she was a good one.
At four-thirty, Tucker Brady, the teenager who helped him with the heavy work, poked his head in the door.
“Hey, Doc. Things are pretty quiet back here. Any chance I could dip out a little early?”
Reed ought to say no. He had promised Tucker’s older sister, Mary, that he’d keep Tucker so overworked and underpaid that he couldn’t acquire any more tattoos. Tucker already had a fire-breathing dragon trailing down one arm, and he was so proud of it he hadn’t worn a long-sleeved shirt since he got it, not even last week, when the temperature dropped below forty.
But tonight Tucker didn’t look like a boy hot for a tattoo. He had washed his face, slicked back his dark hair and waded into a vat of cologne. He looked—or more accurately smelled—like a boy with a hot date.
“Sure,” Reed said, handing the bandaged rabbit back to Becky, who clutched it to her chest tightly. Actually, Flopsy was in far more danger of dying of suffocation than a cut foot. “Just toss some food out for the ducks before you leave, okay?”
Tucker agreed eagerly and disappeared before Reed could change his mind. Becky’s mom dried the little girl’s tears, paid her bill and departed.
So far so good. And still twenty minutes left before Faith Constable was due to arrive.
But Reed should have known that, the minute he started congratulating himself on having things under control, something would go wrong.
He was washing his hands, waiting for Justine to finish running the computer backup discs so they both could call it a day, when suddenly the room came alive with a raucous honking.
Justine covered her ears and grimaced. But Reed knew that sound. Something was bothering the ducks out by the back pond. They were making such a violent ruckus that, though the clinic was a hundred yards away, the quiet office seemed full of quacking and honking and the flapping of frantic wings.
He met Justine’s bewildered gaze.
“Another fox?” she asked, worried. She picked up Gavin and held him protectively, as if she feared that the fox might decide that the plump, soft baby would make a tastier treat than an old stringy duck.
“It’s a little early for that—they usually show up at dusk. But I’ll see.” Reed went out the back door. God, that fox was a persistent devil, wasn’t he? He thought he’d scared the scavenger away for good last week.
Though he knew that ducks in the wild became dinner for foxes every day, he felt a certain responsibility toward these particular silly birds. Melissa had encouraged them to live on their pond—had named them and generally pampered them into lazy, domesticated guests.
And, as she had always said, laughing, it was very bad manners to let a predator come in and gnaw on your guests.
But, when Reed walked outside, he saw immediately that it wasn’t a fox.
Instead, it was a skinny little boy and a shaggy little dog.
And it was also a beautiful, dark-haired, well-dressed woman who had kicked off her shoes and dropped her purse at the edge of the grass and now seemed to be playing a peculiar game of tag with the other two.
As best Reed could tell, the dog had started it. Just a puppy, really, he was racing up and down