problem?”
She grabbed her car keys and headed for the door. “I hope not.”
It was dark by the time she reached the suburban foster home where Teddy had been temporarily placed. The house was an older but neatly kept white Colonial set back from the street and screened by leafy trees. Jane parked in the driveway and stepped out, into a warm night that smelled of freshly mown grass. It was quiet on this road, with only an occasional car passing by. Through the trees she could barely glimpse the lights of the neighbors next door.
She climbed the porch steps and rang the bell.
Mrs. Nancy Inigo answered, drying her hands on a dish towel. Her smiling face was streaked with flour, and gray hairs had come loose from her braid. The scent of cinnamon and vanilla wafted from inside, and Jane heard the sound of girls’ laughter.
“You made it here in record time, Detective,” said Nancy.
“I’m sorry if my phone call alarmed you.”
“No, the girls and I are having a fine old time baking cookies for school. We just got the first batch out of the oven. Come on in.”
“Is Teddy okay?” Jane asked softly as she stepped into the foyer.
Nancy gave a sigh. “I’m afraid he’s hiding upstairs right now. Not really in the mood to join us in the kitchen. That’s how he’s been since he got here. Eats dinner, then goes into his room and shuts the door.” She shook her head. “We asked the psychologist if we should coax him out, maybe take away his computer time and make him join us for family activities, but she said it’s too soon. Or maybe Teddy’s just afraid to get attached to us, because of what happened to the last …” Nancy paused. “Anyway, Patrick and I are taking it slow with him.”
“Is Patrick here?”
“No, he’s at Trevor’s soccer practice. With four kids, there’s never a moment to sit still.”
“You two are really something, you know that?”
“We just like having kids around, that’s all,” Nancy said with a laugh. They walked into the kitchen, where two flour-dusted girls of about eight were pressing cookie cutters into a sheet of dough. “Once we got started taking them in, we couldn’t seem to stop. Did you know we’re already about to attend the fourth wedding? Patrick’s walking another foster daughter down the aisle next month.”
“That’s going to add up to a lot of grandkids for you two.”
Nancy grinned. “That’s the whole idea.”
Jane glanced around the kitchen, where countertops were covered with homework papers and schoolbooks and scattered mail. The happy disorder of a busy family. But she’d seen how instantly
normal
could vanish. She had stood in kitchens transformed by blood splatters, and just for an instant she imagined splatters on these cabinets. She blinked and the blood was gone and once again she saw two eight-year-olds with sticky hands cutting star-shaped cookies.
“I’m going up to see Teddy,” she said.
“Upstairs, second bedroom on the right. The one with the closed door.” Nancy slid another cookie sheet into the oven and turned to look at her. “Be sure to knock first. He’s particular about that. And don’t be surprised if he doesn’t want to talk. Just give him time, Detective.”
We may not have much time, she thought as she climbed the stairs to the second floor. Not if other foster families were being attacked. She paused outside the boy’s room and listened for the sound of a radio or TV, but heard only silence through the closed door.
She knocked. “Teddy? It’s Detective Rizzoli. Can I come in?”
After a moment, the button lock clicked and the door swung open. Teddy’s owlish pale face regarded her through the gap, blinking rapidly, his glasses askew as if he’d just woken up.
As she entered the room, he stood silent, thin as a scarecrow in his baggy T-shirt and jeans. It was a pleasant room painted lemon yellow, the curtains printed with African savanna scenes. The shelves contained children’s books for
She grabbed her car keys and headed for the door. “I hope not.”
It was dark by the time she reached the suburban foster home where Teddy had been temporarily placed. The house was an older but neatly kept white Colonial set back from the street and screened by leafy trees. Jane parked in the driveway and stepped out, into a warm night that smelled of freshly mown grass. It was quiet on this road, with only an occasional car passing by. Through the trees she could barely glimpse the lights of the neighbors next door.
She climbed the porch steps and rang the bell.
Mrs. Nancy Inigo answered, drying her hands on a dish towel. Her smiling face was streaked with flour, and gray hairs had come loose from her braid. The scent of cinnamon and vanilla wafted from inside, and Jane heard the sound of girls’ laughter.
“You made it here in record time, Detective,” said Nancy.
“I’m sorry if my phone call alarmed you.”
“No, the girls and I are having a fine old time baking cookies for school. We just got the first batch out of the oven. Come on in.”
“Is Teddy okay?” Jane asked softly as she stepped into the foyer.
Nancy gave a sigh. “I’m afraid he’s hiding upstairs right now. Not really in the mood to join us in the kitchen. That’s how he’s been since he got here. Eats dinner, then goes into his room and shuts the door.” She shook her head. “We asked the psychologist if we should coax him out, maybe take away his computer time and make him join us for family activities, but she said it’s too soon. Or maybe Teddy’s just afraid to get attached to us, because of what happened to the last …” Nancy paused. “Anyway, Patrick and I are taking it slow with him.”
“Is Patrick here?”
“No, he’s at Trevor’s soccer practice. With four kids, there’s never a moment to sit still.”
“You two are really something, you know that?”
“We just like having kids around, that’s all,” Nancy said with a laugh. They walked into the kitchen, where two flour-dusted girls of about eight were pressing cookie cutters into a sheet of dough. “Once we got started taking them in, we couldn’t seem to stop. Did you know we’re already about to attend the fourth wedding? Patrick’s walking another foster daughter down the aisle next month.”
“That’s going to add up to a lot of grandkids for you two.”
Nancy grinned. “That’s the whole idea.”
Jane glanced around the kitchen, where countertops were covered with homework papers and schoolbooks and scattered mail. The happy disorder of a busy family. But she’d seen how instantly
normal
could vanish. She had stood in kitchens transformed by blood splatters, and just for an instant she imagined splatters on these cabinets. She blinked and the blood was gone and once again she saw two eight-year-olds with sticky hands cutting star-shaped cookies.
“I’m going up to see Teddy,” she said.
“Upstairs, second bedroom on the right. The one with the closed door.” Nancy slid another cookie sheet into the oven and turned to look at her. “Be sure to knock first. He’s particular about that. And don’t be surprised if he doesn’t want to talk. Just give him time, Detective.”
We may not have much time, she thought as she climbed the stairs to the second floor. Not if other foster families were being attacked. She paused outside the boy’s room and listened for the sound of a radio or TV, but heard only silence through the closed door.
She knocked. “Teddy? It’s Detective Rizzoli. Can I come in?”
After a moment, the button lock clicked and the door swung open. Teddy’s owlish pale face regarded her through the gap, blinking rapidly, his glasses askew as if he’d just woken up.
As she entered the room, he stood silent, thin as a scarecrow in his baggy T-shirt and jeans. It was a pleasant room painted lemon yellow, the curtains printed with African savanna scenes. The shelves contained children’s books for
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