Chesapeake Summer by Jeanette Baker

adults breathed a sigh of relief. A minor disaster had been averted.
    Gina Marie fell asleep before they’d traveled a block.
    â€œThank God,” whispered Chloe. “I don’t know how my mother does it.”
    â€œMe, neither,” agreed Tess, grateful for the expensive shock absorbers her grandfather had insisted she buy. “Will she wake up if we carry her inside the house or should we just keep driving?”
    â€œI’m new at this. I have no idea.”
    â€œI vote we keep driving.”
    â€œMe, too.”
    â€œChloe,” Tess said after a minute, “tell me about Bailey.”
    â€œThere’s nothing to tell.”
    â€œHave you seen him?”
    â€œHe drove me into town the day after I got here. I wasn’t thrilled about his plans to turn Lizzie’s land over to developers. We argued a little and he dropped me off. That’s it. I guess we don’t have much to say to each other anymore.”
    Tess was smart enough to keep silent.
    Chloe leaned forward. “Verna Lee sounded really upset.”
    â€œI guess so.”
    â€œAre you curious about the body?”
    â€œNot really. No one that I can think of has up and disappeared.”
    â€œIt’s probably the remains of some old hermit, just like Verna Lee said.”
    In the rearview mirror, Tess’s eyes, narrow and dark, met Chloe’s quizzical ones. “My grandmother’s the only person I know who left town and never came back.”
    â€œTess,” Chloe was amused. “Your grandmother died in a car accident, years ago, on the way to see her sister. Russ told me. He went to the funeral. The whole town did.”
    Tess sighed. “You’re right.” She glanced over at Gina Marie. “She’s really kind of cute, isn’t she?”
    â€œShe’s not cute, she’s gorgeous. She looks just like my mother, which is why she gets away with behaving the way she does.”
    â€œI can’t believe Dad tolerates it. He certainly didn’t with me.”
    â€œPeople change when they get older,” Chloe said.

Ten
    L ibba Jane Hennessey liberally sprinkled her chicken casserole with Mrs. Dash salt substitute, turned the oven dial to read 350 degrees, set the pan carefully on the middle rack, closed the door and leaned against the counter wondering why she bothered trying to make an impression. She could never compete with Verna Lee when it came to cooking. Not that anyone expected her to. After all, food was Verna Lee’s job. Still, Libba was a southerner, company was coming and southern women were supposed to offer up delicious food. Somewhere she’d missed the boat.
    Sighing, she opened the refrigerator and rooted through the storage bin. She’d throw together a huge mess of raw vegetables, toss them with olive oil and a vinaigrette, top the whole thing off with cranberries, some almonds and a handful of small red grapes. Voila! A California meal for Chloe.
    She heard the click, clicking of Gina Marie’s Barbie-doll high heels on the wood floorboards. The sound stopped abruptly.
    â€œMama, I’m hungwy,” she called out, mangling her “r.” “I need a snack.”
    Libba continued her vegetable search. “In a minute, sugar.”
    The child’s voice rose. “I need one now.”
    Libba turned and faced what had become her greatest challenge. Gina Marie Hennessey, dressed in a pink, two-piece bathing suit that wouldn’t see another season and sparkly high-heeled shoes from last year’s Halloween costume, stared back at her.
    â€œWe’re eating dinner soon. I don’t want to spoil your appetite.”
    The little girl stuck out her bottom lip. “What is it?”
    â€œChicken and salad.”
    â€œI’m hungwy now.” Behind their fringe of lashes, the pansy-brown eyes filled. “I’m starving. I’m starving to my death.”
    Libba’s lips twitched. Between the