DVDs and pattern books. A recliner covered in brown corduroy worn smooth stood next to a floor lamp, a pile of paperbacks on the floor next to it. Kate tilted her head to read the spines. Susan Elizabeth Phillips, David Weber, Lindsey Davis, Charlaine Harris. Eclectic escapism. If those authors couldn’t pull you out of the life you were living, you were well and truly stuck.
Tina’s room, if she had to guess. Kate liked it.
She pulled the door closed again and moved softly to the next room. The door opened silently onto the office, which held a large desk and two filing cabinets and bookshelves against each wall.
Bingo.
She took note of the two sash-weight windows on the exterior wall before pulling the door closed again. When Tina returned to the hall alone, Kate was standing in exactly the spot she had been when Tina left her, Mutt sitting next to her, both of them the very picture of innocence. She looked up from the photograph of the woman in uniform when Tina reappeared. “Your daughter?” she said.
Tina’s expression didn’t change. “Yes.”
“The resemblance is very strong.”
“Yes.”
The TV room door opened and Oren reappeared. He followed their gaze to the photograph of his sister. “I told her that beret made her look like Che Guevara.” He laughed.
His mother did not. “Let’s try this,” she said, holding up a key. “It’s marked garage, but who knows.”
Kate followed Tina outside and around the house to the garage. The key worked and Tina said, “Put it on the ring with the house key.” She showed Kate the button for the garage door. “There are two gas stations, one across from the AC and the other on the road to the airport. The airport one is cheaper. Outside the city limits, so no city tax.”
“Thanks,” Kate said with perfect truth. “I appreciate it.”
Tina made a dismissive gesture and returned to Tara.
The ATV was either new or had been kept in extremely good condition. Kate unscrewed the gas cap and rocked it back and forth. Low on gas, but enough to get her to work with a stop to fill up on the way.
Nine
JANUARY 18, THAT EVENING
Newenham
It was almost seven by the time she got back to Bill’s. It was a Tuesday night and the crowd amounted to the same guy asleep on the same stool at the bar and two younger men playing cribbage in a booth, who stopped pegging long enough to examine Kate with interest. She put her jacket in Bill’s office, Mutt took up station at the end of the bar, and Bill indoctrinated her into the mysteries of waitressing. “All people want is the right drink fast. Try to keep the orders straight and you’ll be fine.” Bill looked her over. “You’ll probably get your share of come-ons from the customers. Don’t take any crap. If someone persists in giving it—”
“If I can’t take care of it, and I can,” Kate said, “don’t forget I brought my own personal bouncer.” They both looked at Mutt.
Bill looked back at Kate, a latent twinkle in her blue eyes. “You’ll do,” she said.
There were never more than twenty-five customers at one time that evening, but Kate had never worked so hard in her life. She was constantly in motion physically and constantly on the alert mentally to the wave of a hand, a call for a round, keeping straight who ordered what at what table or booth, adding up a tab, figuring out change. There was a knack to carrying the tray, which strangely enough felt equally heavy loaded with full glasses as with empty ones. Most of the bar’s patrons were regulars, they knew what they wanted and they knew the menu, and they were patient with Kate only up to a point. And then there were the passes, covert and overt, the oh-so-accidental brush of a hand against her hip, the inadvertent brush of a head against her breast.
Kate was accustomed to being underestimated where her reputation did not precede her. She was short, she was a woman, and she was a Native. Now she was a waitress, too, and
Tina’s room, if she had to guess. Kate liked it.
She pulled the door closed again and moved softly to the next room. The door opened silently onto the office, which held a large desk and two filing cabinets and bookshelves against each wall.
Bingo.
She took note of the two sash-weight windows on the exterior wall before pulling the door closed again. When Tina returned to the hall alone, Kate was standing in exactly the spot she had been when Tina left her, Mutt sitting next to her, both of them the very picture of innocence. She looked up from the photograph of the woman in uniform when Tina reappeared. “Your daughter?” she said.
Tina’s expression didn’t change. “Yes.”
“The resemblance is very strong.”
“Yes.”
The TV room door opened and Oren reappeared. He followed their gaze to the photograph of his sister. “I told her that beret made her look like Che Guevara.” He laughed.
His mother did not. “Let’s try this,” she said, holding up a key. “It’s marked garage, but who knows.”
Kate followed Tina outside and around the house to the garage. The key worked and Tina said, “Put it on the ring with the house key.” She showed Kate the button for the garage door. “There are two gas stations, one across from the AC and the other on the road to the airport. The airport one is cheaper. Outside the city limits, so no city tax.”
“Thanks,” Kate said with perfect truth. “I appreciate it.”
Tina made a dismissive gesture and returned to Tara.
The ATV was either new or had been kept in extremely good condition. Kate unscrewed the gas cap and rocked it back and forth. Low on gas, but enough to get her to work with a stop to fill up on the way.
Nine
JANUARY 18, THAT EVENING
Newenham
It was almost seven by the time she got back to Bill’s. It was a Tuesday night and the crowd amounted to the same guy asleep on the same stool at the bar and two younger men playing cribbage in a booth, who stopped pegging long enough to examine Kate with interest. She put her jacket in Bill’s office, Mutt took up station at the end of the bar, and Bill indoctrinated her into the mysteries of waitressing. “All people want is the right drink fast. Try to keep the orders straight and you’ll be fine.” Bill looked her over. “You’ll probably get your share of come-ons from the customers. Don’t take any crap. If someone persists in giving it—”
“If I can’t take care of it, and I can,” Kate said, “don’t forget I brought my own personal bouncer.” They both looked at Mutt.
Bill looked back at Kate, a latent twinkle in her blue eyes. “You’ll do,” she said.
There were never more than twenty-five customers at one time that evening, but Kate had never worked so hard in her life. She was constantly in motion physically and constantly on the alert mentally to the wave of a hand, a call for a round, keeping straight who ordered what at what table or booth, adding up a tab, figuring out change. There was a knack to carrying the tray, which strangely enough felt equally heavy loaded with full glasses as with empty ones. Most of the bar’s patrons were regulars, they knew what they wanted and they knew the menu, and they were patient with Kate only up to a point. And then there were the passes, covert and overt, the oh-so-accidental brush of a hand against her hip, the inadvertent brush of a head against her breast.
Kate was accustomed to being underestimated where her reputation did not precede her. She was short, she was a woman, and she was a Native. Now she was a waitress, too, and
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