Hide & Find (Mayfield Cozy Mystery Book 3) by Jerusha Jones Page A

faces. “Was this before or after I got to the shed?”
    “A little bit after, and Mr. Walt was there too. But you were looking at the fire, not away from it,” Emmie said from inside her sweater as she tried to locate the correct holes.
    I reached out and helped her automatically, finger combing her dark brown hair after her head popped through. I expected it would even be below a mob enforcer to bring his children along on a job — like take your kids to work day. Let’s burn down this woman’s shed, my darlings, because her husband stole my boss’s money and I want to make her very afraid. I shook my head to clear the vision. Nope.
    “The food in the garage loft,” Clarice murmured.
    I gasped as her meaning sank in.
    What if it had been more than just one man living up there in secrecy? What if he had a family? And it had completely slipped my mind to tell Walt about what we’d found. Where else would a homeless family have gone after we’d essentially evicted them from the garage? The next most habitable and yet private building on the property — the one deemed sufficient shelter for the animals.
    “We need to find them,” I whispered. “It’s too cold.”
    “Not right now.” Clarice tipped her head toward all the people still milling around the burn site.
    “Before dark.”

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER 11
     
    I’d cleaned up and made myself presentable and was just finishing a grilled egg and cheese sandwich at the kitchen table when a dented, white minivan with squealing brakes pulled to a stop outside. It seemed a little early in the renovation process for a painting contractor, but I stepped outside to wave him on toward the garage worksite.
    Instead, a slender woman with an acne-scarred face hopped from behind the wheel and hurried over. “Saw all the commotion,” she called, pointing in the direction of the burned shed. “Is that Walt’s pickup out there? I don’t think this old van will make it down that track. Safer to stop here. Maybe when you have some spare money, you can get this road graded.”
    “Uh, yes,” I mumbled, because I’m incredibly socially adept.
    “Jillian Mendez, DSHS.” Her dark eyes sparkled as she grabbed my hand and pumped it vigorously. “You must be Nora. Walt’s told me all about how you’re funding the boys’ camp now and the improvements to the facilities.” She flashed a brilliant smile. “I have the Clayborne boys in the van.”
    I retrieved my hand. “You know we’re not quite ready — um, they’ll have to double up for a while. But yes,” I added quickly, “we are expanding. Most definitely.”
    “No worries.” Jillian leaned in conspiratorially. “Temporarily cramped is fine. It can’t possibly be worse than where they’ve come from. Father’s AWOL. Their mother burned down one end of the apartment complex where they were living. Butane hash oil explosion. She pleaded guilty, so she’s facing at least thirty-six months. Plus she’ll need surgery for her scarring. Then she has to get clean before she even has a shot at getting her boys back. It’s going to be a long ride.”
    “I just love Walt,” Jillian continued as she rounded the van and rolled open the side door. “He gives these boys exactly what they need — a place where they fit in, responsibility, a great education. He’s like the Mother Theresa of Washington State.” Her face scrunched up in a funny expression. “Well, sort of, I guess. Don’t tell him I said that. I doubt he’d think it was a compliment. Anyway, here we are—”
    She helped a small boy climb out of the van. Two more clambered down behind him. They were like identical triplets but in a sort of nested — small, medium and large — set with their shaved heads and gigantic puppy-dog eyes and buck teeth. They were all on the scrawny side, and their clothes drooped on their bodies.
    Jillian introduced them by placing her hands on their bald heads, starting at