What Happened to the Bennetts(35)

“I don’t do that, and I’m a quiet person.”

“Right, it’s just an expression. Don’t pay it any attention.”

Lucinda sighed. “Oh no. Melissa reported us missing.”

“I know.” I had a lot to tell her, but I looked over at Ethan. “And in the good news category, the FBI got the boxes of ashes from the house.”

“Cool,” Ethan said idly, distracted by Facebook. “Mrs. D, Kyle’s mom from soccer, she thinks you killed us, too, Dad. That means Kyle thinks it and all the guys are gonna start thinking it.”

“We can’t control what people think or say, so we can’t let that bother us.” I patted Lucinda’s shoulder. “Honey, there’s something I have to tell you.”

“What?” Lucinda asked, looking up. Her skin was fair and when she was upset, like now, her face and neck mottled slightly.

“I talked to Dom and his boss. I have bad news, a setback. The FBI says Milo is in Mexico, but don’t give up hope.” I wanted to play it down in front of Ethan. “They work with the Mexican authorities and other federal agencies. They feel confident they’re going to get him.”

Lucinda’s eyes flared. “They’re not going to let him get away, are they? He’s not going to get away with it, is he?”

“No, no, honey.” I squeezed her shoulder. “They’re all over it, I talked to Dom’s boss. They’ll get him down there.”

Ethan looked taken aback. “Like on Pablo Escobar?”

Lucinda started shaking her head. “How could they let that happen? They’re looking for Milo, and he gets out of the country. They have cameras on our house, and it burns down. Can’t they do anything right?”

I heard a knock at the door, which had to be Dom. “Coming!”

Dom called through the screen, “Okay!”

Lucinda shot me a look. “What does he want?”

“He’s bringing dinner.” I kept my voice low so Dom couldn’t hear. “And don’t blame him for Milo. It’s not his fault. He’s not on that team.”

Lucinda’s eyes flashed. “Whose team are you on?”

I let it go, left the kitchen, and went to the door. “Hey, Dom.”

“Hey.” Dom handed me the pizza box hastily, and I knew he’d heard the exchange.

“Thanks.” I let the door close and went to the kitchen, setting the pizza box on the table. “Surprise!”

“How nice! Ethan, look, pizza.” Lucinda forced a smile, trying to rally.

I opened the box, revealing a glistening pizza topped with mushroom slices.

“Wow, smells great!”

Ethan looked at the pizza, stricken, which I didn’t understand.

“What’s the matter, buddy? Mushroom’s your favorite, isn’t it?”

“It’s not my turn, it’s Allison’s. She gets peppers.”

Lucinda jumped up. “Moonie, no!”

I turned around to find the dog pooping on the floor.





Chapter Eighteen



It was growing dark by the time we finished dinner, and I stood in the backyard, waiting for Moonie to go to the bathroom. Truth to tell, I needed some air. My pizza surprise had been a flop, and Ethan had eaten in teary silence. Even now, I could hear him in the kitchen with Lucinda, answering her only in monosyllables.

I inhaled heavy, brackish air off the marsh, which I was getting used to. The odor that had smelled moldy now seemed organic, and all around me stretched patches of water, cordgrass, and tall reeds. The sun dipped low in the sky, its waning rays bronzing the water. Jagged treetops pierced a sky washed with purple and pink streaks. Sounds filled the air, seagulls and owls, crickets and tree frogs, and random squawks I couldn’t identify. I had never been among so much water, and now it surrounded me. I felt oddly like an island, unto myself.

I startled at a sudden motion in the trees, and a shadowy silhouette emerged from the woods beyond our fence. Moonie ran barking to the back of the yard.

“Who’s there?” I froze, alarmed until I recognized the figure as Special Agent Hallman.

“Sorry, my bad!” Wiki called back. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Okay if I come in?”

“Sure.” I went to meet him, and Wiki entered the backyard. He finger-combed hair from a damp forehead and smoothed down his blue polo shirt, which clung to his bulky frame. His khaki pants were wet to the shins and his sneakers soaked. Moonie sniffed them, then took off.

“What were you doing back there?” I asked, then realized he was probably keeping us safe. “Do you patrol?”

“We don’t call it that, but yes.”

“Thank you.” It made me feel good, and bad. “How often do you do it?”

“A few times a night.”

“When, so I’ll know when to expect you?”

“We change it up, per procedure.”

“Oh, I see.” It made sense. “Thanks for doing that.”

“It’s our job, but I like it. It clears my head. I get sick of answering email.”

“I hear that,” I said, since I used to have the same complaint. I could imagine my inbox right now. All the lawyers wanting answers, all the depositions that had to be scheduled or postponed. I wasn’t sure if I missed it or I didn’t.