Not One of Us(67)

“Sit,” Zach echoed, pointing to the empty spot on the couch beside him.

“For a minute,” I conceded, dropping onto the sofa. Much as I knew Zach hated the physical contact, I ruffled his hair. “You doing okay?”

He frowned and leaned his body away from my touch. “Okay. All done.”

I didn’t mean to annoy him, but it was impossible not to constantly touch his shoulder or hug him every time I passed him in the den, unharmed and seemingly content as always.

The social worker had briefly stopped by this morning and had reassured us that we were in no danger of being declared incompetent to care for Zach.

“Accidents happen,” she said. “No one can be one hundred percent vigilant one hundred percent of the time.”

The polygraph test had proved more stressful. Being shoved into the room and hooked up to the wires intimidated me, even though I had nothing to hide. Tegan had watched Zach while I was being tested. Later, she told me it had taken half a dozen trips to the vending machine to keep Zach pacified. The bags of chips and soda kept him occupied and distracted. Mimi was another story. It had not been a good morning for her. Her mind was hazy, and even asking her simple questions such as her name and today’s date proved too much. Mercifully, the polygraph examiner had concluded testing my grandmother would be a waste of time.

Within five minutes, I was bored to tears with the game show that had Mimi and Zach engrossed. I jumped up from the couch and for the dozenth time since yesterday worked my way clockwise around the house, checking to make sure that all windows and doors were locked, that the curtains were drawn, and that there were no signs of disturbance.

“Why don’t you get out of the house for a bit?” Mimi finally suggested. “It’ll do you good.”

“No, no, I can’t leave y’all alone.”

Mimi set down her knitting. “If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for me. You’re making me nervous. We can’t become prisoners in our own home.”

I hesitated, toying with the idea. It would be nice to get some fresh air.

“If it’ll make you feel any better, I can have Rose stop by to keep Zach and me company.”

“If she’s free . . .”

While Mimi called Rose, I went out on the porch and called Tegan.

“Are you positive a cop car will be watching us all day and night this evening?” I asked.

“Positive. If you need to leave the house for groceries or any other reason, that’s perfectly fine.”

I waved at the cop watching me, and he waved back. The guy was evidently paying attention and not sleeping on the job. A good sign.

“How did the social worker interview go?” Tegan asked.

“Better than I could have hoped for. Actually, she was very nice.”

A brief silence settled between us.

“Anything else?” Tegan said at last.

It wasn’t until that moment I realized the real reason I’d called her. “About the messages,” I began hesitantly. “If you were me, would you stop questioning people about Jackson Ensley’s murder?”

“Aren’t you at a dead end with that?” she countered. “You told me about your conversation with his adoptive father. At this point, there’s nothing more you can do.”

Ah, but I hadn’t told her what Ardy had said about Aunt Tressie. All my life, Mimi had so ingrained into me the importance of family loyalty. Speaking to outsiders about “private matters” was taboo, and my upbringing left me reluctant to speak ill of any blood relation.

“Yeah, I’m at a dead end,” I lied. “But hypothetically, would an outside threat prevent you from asking more questions?”

“If you have more questions for anybody, we can get the answers for you,” she said. “That’s our job, not yours.”

“Well, there is one person,” I began reluctantly. “Ardy was pretty bitter about his ex-wife, my aunt Tressie. And he has reason. He showed me phone transcripts where she’s been coercing him for years to pay for her cushy residence at Magnolia Oaks.” I filled Tegan in on my conversation with Ardy.

“Your aunt sounds like an extremely unpleasant person, but what reason would she have for kidnapping Zach or threatening you?”

“Because I’ve been asking questions about her son’s adoption. Have you found out anything about it?”

“Still looking into it,” she replied cryptically. Which told me much of nothing.

“Do you have any clues about who took Zach?” I asked, turning the conversation in another direction.

“Not yet. The day program driver passed a polygraph. We interviewed staff again but haven’t learned anything new.”

My heart sank, even though her news was hardly surprising.

“But in searching the woods,” she continued, “we found a trail of LEGOs that led to the edge of a water pathway. It appears that whoever had Zach might have kidnapped him in a boat.”

“Any footprints?”

“No. We found a muddy track going into the water. It looked like someone erased all their footprints with a branch. Do you think Zach might have deliberately dropped the LEGOs to leave a trail of bread crumbs?”

“Doubtful.” I couldn’t imagine Zach doing that. “Must have been an accident. He leaves LEGOs all over the house. You have to watch your step around here.”