Standing in the Shadows (McClouds & Friends #2)(13)

Her mother's brow furrowed into a knot of perplexity. A chorus line of dancing cartoon mops high-kicked their way across a gleaming cartoon floor. "I don't understand," she whispered.

"Nothing to understand." Erin tried to sound cheerful. It felt forced and hollow. She flipped off the TV "Come on downstairs, Mom."

Barbara followed her, with slow, shuffling steps. "I don't know whether to be relieved, or even more frightened that it was normal."

"I vote for relieved," Erin said. "In fact, I vote that we celebrate. Get dressed, and we can go out to the Safeway. Your fridge is empty."

"Oh, that's OK, honey. I'll do it myself, tomorrow."

"Promise?"

Barbara patted her daughter's anxious face. "Of course I will."

A teabag dangled inside the teapot, fluffy with mold. "How long has it been since you ate, Mom?" Erin demanded.

Barbara made a vague gesture. "I had some crackers a while ago."

"You have to eat." Erin rummaged through the clutter for the dish soap. "Did you know about Cindy's scholarship?"

Barbara winced. "Yes," she murmured. "They called me."

"And?" Erin scrubbed the teapot with soapy water, and waited.

No reply was forthcoming. She looked over her shoulder, frowning. "Mom? What's happening? Tell me."

"What do you want me to say, hon? The conditions are clear. The scholarship is only valid if Cindy keeps up a 3.0 average. It was 2.1 last semester. Her midterms this semester were a disaster. There's no money for tuition if she loses that scholarship."

Erin stared at her in blank dismay. "Cindy can't just quit school."

Barbara's shoulders lifted, and dropped.

Erin stood there, frozen. Her soapy hands dripped onto the floor.

Mom looked so defeated. Now would be the moment to pull a rabbit out of a hat, but there was no money for tuition at a private college. Not even fees from her new client could solve a problem of that size. The CDs were cashed in. The new mortgage had gone to pay for Dad's defense.

Erin wiped her hands on her jeans. She groped for something positive to say as she gazed at her mother. The impulse sagged and faded into silence. Barbara Riggs had always been so well dressed and perfectly made up. Now her face was puffy, her eyes dull, her unwashed hair snarled into a crooked halo.

Suddenly the messy kitchen was too depressing to endure. "Let's go into the living room, Mom."

Barbara flinched. "I don't want to look at the—"

"There's nothing wrong with the TV. Once I hook it back up, I'll show you that it's as normal as the one upstairs. There's no space on this table for me to open your mail. Come on, let's go."

Erin scooped up the mail on her way in, trying not to notice her mother's stumbling, shambling gait behind her. She flipped on the lamp in the living room. Something was odd. She hadn't noticed it before, distracted as she'd been by the disheveled state of the TV. "Why is the clock turned to the wall? And Grandmother Riggs's mirror?"

Her mother's blank, startled gaze lit on the stained wooden backing of the antique mirror. The wire that held it to the hook barely cleared the ornate gilded frame. Her eyes widened. "I never touched it."

Erin dropped the mail on the couch, and lifted the mirror off the wall. It was incredibly heavy. She turned it around.

The mirror was shattered.

Cracks radiated out of an ugly hole, as if someone had bashed it with a blunt object. Glinting shards of mirror glass littered the carpet. Her mother's horror-stricken face was reflected in the jagged pieces.

Their eyes met. Mom held up her hands, as if to ward off a blow. "It wasn't me," she said. "I would never do that. Never."

"Who else has been in the house?" Erin demanded. "How on earth could you not have heard the person who did this?"

"I… I've been sleeping a lot," her mother faltered. "And a couple of times, I, ah, took some Vicodin for my headaches and my back pain. And when I take a Vicodin, an army could troop through here and I wouldn't hear them. But God knows, if there's one thing I would never forget, after everything that's happened, it's to lock the doors!"

Erin laid the mirror carefully upright on the floor against the wall and wrapped her arms around herself.

Seven years of bad luck. As if they hadn't had their quota.

Another thought struck her. She glanced at the grandfather clock, another of the treasures that had come with Grandmother Riggs from England at the end of the nineteenth century. She turned it around.

The face of the antique clock was shattered.

She drifted to the couch and sat down. The pile of mail beside her suddenly seemed much less important than it had minutes before.

"Mom, maybe you should talk to someone," she whispered.

Barbara's reddened eyes swam with desperate tears. "Honey. I swear. I did not do this. Please believe me."

A heavy silence fell between them. Silence that was like darkness, teeming and writhing with terrible possibilities.

Erin shook herself and got to her feet. "I'm going to clean up that broken glass. Then I'm taking the frame and clock to Cindy's room until we can repair them. And then we're going to clean up your kitchen."