Beth’s shirt. “It’s every day.”
Beth pulled her onto her lap and held her close. “What happened?”
“The k-kids.”
“Her kids?”
“Th-the others. They say—” Sophie dissolved into renewed tears. “Th-they say I’m st-stupid.”
Beth hugged her tighter and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “Oh, sweetheart, you know that isn’t true. You’re the smartest little girl I know.”
“They laugh at me!”
Her words were muffled against Beth’s shirt, but still cut through her sharp as any knife. “Do you remember what the doctor said?”
“U-use my good ear?”
“He said this was because of the accident, so it has nothing to do with you being smart, sweetie. He said to turn your better ear toward people, and that your hurt ear would get better over time.”
“But it isn’t.”
“It has—you’re doing so much better already. And in the meanwhile, we just need to make sure people understand that they should talk directly to you.” Beth slowly rocked Sophie in her arms, treasuring her warmth. Wishing she could take away every hurt her daughter would ever have. “I’ll talk to Mrs. Garcia tomorrow. Then she can tell the kids to speak up.”
Sophie pulled away in alarm. “They’ll say I’m a tattletale!”
“No, I’ll ask her to be really subtle—er, careful—so they won’t think that.” Beth gently pulled her back into her arms and snuggled her close. “Things will be okay.”
Sophie whimpered, but finally her breathing slowed and her little body relaxed into the boneless warmth of sleep. Beth savored her closeness for a few minutes more, then carried her back to bed and tucked her in.
The unfamiliar jangling of the phone—the first time she’d heard it ring—startled her into a fast search for where she’d left the portable receiver.
She nabbed it on the fourth ring from the serving counter in the kitchen. But no one responded when she said hello.
“Crystal’s Café,” she repeated. “Can I help you?”
“You’d better hope so,” the man said on a harsh laugh. As usual, his voice was low and gritty, slightly muffled. As if he purposely lowered its register and was speaking through a heavy cloth over the receiver. “The question is, how fast. It won’t be that hard to get to you, if that’s what it takes.”
She gripped the receiver, her heart hammering against her ribs and her palms sweating. “I—I swear to you, I searched everything. I don’t have what you want.”
“You owe me, sweetheart, and you’d better think twice, because my patience is wearing thin.”
“I…don’t have it, and I don’t even know who you are. I owe you nothing.” She swallowed hard, her fear warring with anger. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. “You’re crazy.”
“You don’t think the Chicago police would like a little information on you? I figure you’re good for fifteen to twenty, federal time.”
A familiar wave of dizziness careened through her midsection, leaving nausea in its wake. “Th-there’s nothing to tell them, because I did nothing wrong. They didn’t press charges of any kind.”
“Oh, but they will…when they know more.” His voice lowered to a growl laced with pure menace. “Don’t make me come after you and that little girl of yours. One way or another, you’re gonna give me what I’m after. And believe me, until I get the key and that file, you aren’t safe anywhere on this planet—so don’t think your little move to Texas was any help at all.”
The line went dead.
Beth sagged to the cold floor, the receiver still in her hand, her pulse still pounding in her ears.
From the first anonymous call, she’d desperately started searching for what he wanted, planning to turn it all over to the police—hoping that it would lead to the arrest of the man harassing her.
But there’d been nothing.
No paperwork on any mysterious bank account and no key—though she’d been through every inch of the house in Chicago twice, and had gone through all of her possessions a third time while packing for the move to Texas.
Back in Chicago, she’d reported the man’s four threatening calls, but tracing them had led to public phones all over the city. There’d been nothing to go on. Though reporting them had brought the cops back into her life again, and she’d seen the suspicion in their eyes. Then an investigator had shown up at her door—the same one who’d interrogated her after Patrick’s death—and his hard-hitting questions had shaken her even more.
What if the caller was telling the truth—and had some sort of evidence that could lead to her arrest? And what would happen to Sophie then?
Wrapping her arms around her knees, Beth closed her eyes and tried to slow her racing heart. There was so much about her husband’s secret life that she hadn’t known until the police had shown up after his funeral with a thousand questions she couldn’t begin to answer.
Oh, Patrick, what on earth did you do?
CHAPTER FIVE
BETH RAPPED SOFTLY on Anna Garcia’s front door, then entered when the day-care provider’s greeting echoed from somewhere inside.
The usual five-thirty confusion was in progress, with two other moms walking in the door just ahead of Beth to round up their children. A little boy was crying in Anna’s arms. Two girls Sophie’s age were playing with dolls, but Sophie sat alone with a book and watched them from across the room.
Beth’s heart squeezed at her daughter’s forlorn expression. Her own time at the clinic flew by, but what were those hours like for Sophie, feeling like an outsider at the age of four? After three days, she still hadn’t made any friends.
The taller mom, a slender woman in a pretty mauve sweater and matching skirt, motioned to her daughter, then turned to Beth. “We haven’t met yet. I’m Gina Carlton. I’m the principal of the elementary school over in Horseshoe Falls, so these kids will get to know me pretty well in a few years.” She nodded toward the other woman. “And this is Tracy Evans.”
Beth introduced herself to them both, but Tracy, expensively dressed in matching ivory linen slacks and a cashmere sweater, simply looked over her shoulder and sized Beth up, then turned back to her daughter.
Beth felt a pang at her cool dismissal, so much like the arrogance of her most recent neighbors in suburban Chicago. Two years ago, Patrick had insisted on buying a home in an upscale neighborhood, saying it represented all he’d ever worked for, but she’d never been comfortable with such a high mortgage or in such an affluent area.
Gina smiled warmly. “I understand you’re thinking of reopening the café.”
“Maybe. It’s turning out
