plastic Bambi watched doe-eyed as Jake navigated a narrow lane that curved between the rows of double-wide mobile homes.
Here, mobile home was an oxymoron. Most of these had never moved. Many were fortified by additions of permanent porches and sundecks, a few even topped by observation platforms with views of the ocean. A wooden sign in the shape of an arrow pointed to a narrow, sandy trail.
Gnomes sprawled on white rock flowerbeds. Plaster squirrels, rabbits, and chipmunks frolicked with tacky pink flamingos amid small evergreens and color pots overflowing with blossoms. Matching markers in front of every home displayed addresses in corroded aluminum numerals.
He kept an eye out for number forty-three and eventually spotted a ceramic burro wearing a sombrero and pulling an empty cart outside of a pea-green mobile home. The place looked as if it might have been one of the park’s originals.
Selma had told him that Carly lived right next door.
Jake pulled into a parking stall and killed the motor, then glanced around the interior of the vehicle to make certain he hadn’t left anything out that might give him away. Dark, tinted windows hid what he called his office annex. The compact SUV was perfect for surveillance but hell on gas.
He avoided meeting his own eyes in the rearview mirror and tried to convince himself that not telling Carly what he was really here for was perfectly justified until he was sure she wasn’t a flight risk. He wasn’t doing anything he hadn’t done before to get information he needed.
It was his duty to learn everything he could about Caroline Graham, a.k.a. Carly Nolan, if not for the Saunders, then for Rick’s memory. Besides, he hadn’t exactly lied to her. . . . He’d simply avoided the truth.
The minute he stepped out of the car, he heard the sound of the rolling surf, but it was quickly drowned out by wild hoots and hollers. A woman’s voice called out, “Bunco!” behind the closed door of the pea-soup green place right next to Carly’s.
There were no fake woodland creatures, no impish gnomes adorning the front of Carly’s mobile home. Butterflies made of crayon shavings melted between layers of waxed paper floated from a mobile hanging on the porch. He had a sudden flashback of making something like it back in grade school. The strings were tangled, causing the mobile to hang lopsided.
He paused long enough to straighten out the knot and set the butterflies free before he searched for a doorbell. No luck, so he knocked on the frame of the screen door.
Within seconds the bright fuchsia front door opened, and Jake found himself staring down into Carly’s son’s eyes. Blue eyes, blond hair neatly trimmed. The boy was slight but not overly thin. He looked healthy, well cared for.
“Hi!” A broad smile creased Christopher’s face as he stared back at Jake. Then he turned around and yelled, “Hey, Mom! It’s that guy! Mom! Hurry up, will ya?”
Christopher looked up at Jake again and shrugged. “She’ll be right here. You know how girls are.”
“Yeah.” Jake nodded. “Yeah. I know.”
“What’s your name?”
“Jake Montgomery. And yours is Christopher.”
“Yeah. I saw you at the game today.”
“I saw you hit that homer.”
“Where’d you meet my mom? At the diner?”
“The gallery. I like her paintings. I’m trying to get her to paint one for me.”
“Oh.” Chris’ smile dimmed a bit. “Is that all you like about her?”
Through the screen, Jake saw Carly hurry out of the narrow hallway between the open kitchen and the living room area and stop dead still. Then she crossed the room, stood behind her son and placed her hands protectively on the boy’s shoulders.
She looked tense, even a bit wary, although she was smiling. His sudden, unannounced appearance had obviously rattled her.
“I came to see if you’d like to go out to dinner with me, now that you have the night off,” he said.
She failed to smile. If anything, her concern
Here, mobile home was an oxymoron. Most of these had never moved. Many were fortified by additions of permanent porches and sundecks, a few even topped by observation platforms with views of the ocean. A wooden sign in the shape of an arrow pointed to a narrow, sandy trail.
Gnomes sprawled on white rock flowerbeds. Plaster squirrels, rabbits, and chipmunks frolicked with tacky pink flamingos amid small evergreens and color pots overflowing with blossoms. Matching markers in front of every home displayed addresses in corroded aluminum numerals.
He kept an eye out for number forty-three and eventually spotted a ceramic burro wearing a sombrero and pulling an empty cart outside of a pea-green mobile home. The place looked as if it might have been one of the park’s originals.
Selma had told him that Carly lived right next door.
Jake pulled into a parking stall and killed the motor, then glanced around the interior of the vehicle to make certain he hadn’t left anything out that might give him away. Dark, tinted windows hid what he called his office annex. The compact SUV was perfect for surveillance but hell on gas.
He avoided meeting his own eyes in the rearview mirror and tried to convince himself that not telling Carly what he was really here for was perfectly justified until he was sure she wasn’t a flight risk. He wasn’t doing anything he hadn’t done before to get information he needed.
It was his duty to learn everything he could about Caroline Graham, a.k.a. Carly Nolan, if not for the Saunders, then for Rick’s memory. Besides, he hadn’t exactly lied to her. . . . He’d simply avoided the truth.
The minute he stepped out of the car, he heard the sound of the rolling surf, but it was quickly drowned out by wild hoots and hollers. A woman’s voice called out, “Bunco!” behind the closed door of the pea-soup green place right next to Carly’s.
There were no fake woodland creatures, no impish gnomes adorning the front of Carly’s mobile home. Butterflies made of crayon shavings melted between layers of waxed paper floated from a mobile hanging on the porch. He had a sudden flashback of making something like it back in grade school. The strings were tangled, causing the mobile to hang lopsided.
He paused long enough to straighten out the knot and set the butterflies free before he searched for a doorbell. No luck, so he knocked on the frame of the screen door.
Within seconds the bright fuchsia front door opened, and Jake found himself staring down into Carly’s son’s eyes. Blue eyes, blond hair neatly trimmed. The boy was slight but not overly thin. He looked healthy, well cared for.
“Hi!” A broad smile creased Christopher’s face as he stared back at Jake. Then he turned around and yelled, “Hey, Mom! It’s that guy! Mom! Hurry up, will ya?”
Christopher looked up at Jake again and shrugged. “She’ll be right here. You know how girls are.”
“Yeah.” Jake nodded. “Yeah. I know.”
“What’s your name?”
“Jake Montgomery. And yours is Christopher.”
“Yeah. I saw you at the game today.”
“I saw you hit that homer.”
“Where’d you meet my mom? At the diner?”
“The gallery. I like her paintings. I’m trying to get her to paint one for me.”
“Oh.” Chris’ smile dimmed a bit. “Is that all you like about her?”
Through the screen, Jake saw Carly hurry out of the narrow hallway between the open kitchen and the living room area and stop dead still. Then she crossed the room, stood behind her son and placed her hands protectively on the boy’s shoulders.
She looked tense, even a bit wary, although she was smiling. His sudden, unannounced appearance had obviously rattled her.
“I came to see if you’d like to go out to dinner with me, now that you have the night off,” he said.
She failed to smile. If anything, her concern
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