Back on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #4)(27)

We all gathered around the table and after Brad had offered a simple grace, I passed the serving dishes around.

Matt dug into the meal with gusto. “This is great,” he said between bites. He helped himself to a second scoop of potato salad before he’d finished his original serving.

“I haven’t been doing much cooking lately,” Margaret confessed, looking a little embarrassed at the way her husband kept commenting on the food.

“You’ve been busy,” I said, dismissing her remark.

“She’s driving the police nuts,” Matt said.

Margaret glared across the table at him. I caught Brad’s eye and we exchanged an exasperated grimace. We’d hoped to avoid exactly this conversation. Margaret had gone into the dining room twice during dinner to use her cell phone. I knew she was checking on Julia again. Most likely it wasn’t only the police Margaret was annoying.

“I thought we weren’t going to mention the attack,” she said pointedly to her husband.

I noticed that Margaret had barely touched her meal.

Matt sighed, sounding genuinely regretful. “You’re right. I apologize.”

Now that Matt had brought it up, though, Margaret was loath to drop the subject. “The police don’t even seem to be trying. To the authorities, it’s not that big a deal. They aren’t taking it seriously.”

Matt raised his hand. “Now, Margaret—”

“Don’t argue with me, Matt,” she said, interrupting him. “I’m the one dealing with the police, and I’m telling you right now, what happened to Julia is being swept under the rug.”

“Would anyone like coffee?” I asked in a blatant attempt to redirect the conversation.

“I’d love some,” Brad said quickly.

“Coffee, Margaret?” I leaned over to touch her arm.

Margaret nodded impatiently. “I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve talked with Detective Johnson,” she muttered. “The man’s an idiot.”

“Margaret,” Matt said softly, in an effort to deflect her.

My sister sighed deeply. I could tell she was trying not to ruin the evening. I also knew that Julia’s ordeal was constantly on her mind.

Margaret had made it her mission to see justice done—more than justice, vengeance. The man responsible for hurting her daughter should be strung up, in her view, and left hanging in a public square. That sounds medieval, but it wasn’t much of an exaggeration. If he was ever arrested and brought to court, she’d sit through every minute of his trial and cheer when a guilty verdict was read. I was just as outraged as she was, but I didn’t have the same passion for revenge. Don’t get me wrong; I wanted this man found and prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. Margaret wanted that, too. But she also wanted him to suffer for what he’d done to Julia. She was obsessed with it.

I hurried to the kitchen to start a pot of decaf, and while it brewed, we managed to finish the meal without any further mention of the incident. It didn’t come up again until we sat in the living room with our coffee and dessert.

“Does anyone know the name of a good private investigator?” Margaret asked unexpectedly.

“Whatever for?” Matt demanded.

“What do you think?” Margaret lashed out. “The police aren’t doing a damn thing. I want to hire someone who will.”

“Margaret…”

“Don’t Margaret me,” she cried, pinching her lips together in a way that told me she was determined to see this through. “Do you want this…this bastard to strike again? Next time, the victim might not be so fortunate. Julia’s arm was broken, but if she hadn’t rolled away, she could’ve been hit by an oncoming car. We’re both aware that our daughter could have easily been maimed for life or killed.”

“But she wasn’t,” Matt said gently, patiently.

“The next victim might not be so fortunate, did you think of that? This man needs to pay for his crimes and be prevented from ever doing it again. And if the police aren’t going to see to that, then I am.”

“It’s the responsibility of the police to find him, not some investigator we hire. We’re already paying taxes to support law enforcement. Give them a chance first.”

Margaret’s response was a derisive snort.

“More coffee anyone?” I asked, hoping to divert an argument.

Both Matt and Margaret shook their heads, and Brad and I shared another glance. Thankfully, Cody got home a few minutes later, bursting into the house with his usual enthusiasm. Chase bolted into the living room eager to greet his master, tail wagging madly.

“Can I have some cake?” Cody asked, looking at the empty dessert plates—and at Matt, who was eating a second piece.

“What did you have for dinner?” I asked.

Cody paused to think about it. “Roast beef with potatoes and gravy, peas and salad. Mrs. Martin’s a good cook. Not as good as you, though.”

That boy certainly had a way with words. “I’ll see what I can do about that cake,” I promised, not bothering to hide a smile.

Margaret stood and Matt finished off the last bite of his dessert before joining her.

“We should be getting home,” Margaret said. “I don’t like being away from the girls for so long.”