big people were there yelling? Tommy couldn’t tell. He didn’t like so much yelling. He picked up an orange crayon and drew a sad face with it. But sad faces shouldn’t be with flowers, so he crossed it out. He took a red crayon and tried to make another flower.
Then there was a loud sound like when he dropped something, two loud sounds, and no more yelling. That was better.
Except that after another minute, Tommy didn’t like being by himself in here anymore. He didn’t hear talking, either. Did Daddy and Mr. Sperling go away? Did they leave him alone?
“Daddy?” Tommy called.
But Daddy didn’t answer.
“Daddy?” His lower lip trembling, Tommy pushed his big chair away from the table and jumped down. Just like his mommy taught him, he reached way up high to the table and packed his crayons back into their box. He put them with his papers and other stuff into his pretty red bag and put the bag away.
“Daddy?” he called again. But Daddy didn’t come. And Tommy still didn’t hear him in the next room.
Daddy didn’t say he couldn’t come see him, so Tommy went to the door and pulled it open.
Mr. Sperling’s shop had lots of shelves and cabinets, tall ones that Tommy couldn’t see over, with lots and lots of things on them and in them. Tommy stopped and looked around. He didn’t see Daddy or Mr. Sperling. He walked farther into the room.
He didn’t want to cry. He was a big boy. But he wanted his daddy or his mommy. “Daddy?” He tried just to whisper, but it came out loud.
He saw a movement and turned toward his daddy. Only it wasn’t his daddy. It was a monster! It had come to life!
Its face was great big, green and ugly, with a red tongue, giant teeth and a mean frown. And it came toward him. Its arms were raised and it reached its claws toward Tommy.
“Grrrr!” It was growling at him. “Go away, little boy,” it shouted. “Get out of here! Now!”
“Nooo!” Tommy cried out as he ran toward the door of the shop. Only there was a big counter in the way. As he got near it, he tripped. He looked down. And screamed, “Daddy!”
But Daddy was asleep. There was bright red all over him. Blood, like when Tommy fell down and cut his knee.
And the monster came closer.
“I said get out of here, little boy. And if you ever talk, if you ever tell anyone what you saw, I’ll come and get you.”
Gasping to breathe, Tommy ran around Daddy and toward the glass front door. It was a big door. A heavy door. But he pushed and pushed. And then he got it open.
Tommy ran outside and down the sidewalk, screaming and crying and very, very scared.
Chapter One
“Oh, Holly, you poor thing. I want you to know, the whole town is nearly as devastated as you about Thomas’s death.” Evangeline Sevvers breezed into the funeral parlor’s small anteroom off the front of the chapel.
Evangeline would be aware of what the whole town felt, Holly Poston thought wryly. In addition to owning a boutique down the pedestrian mall from Sheldon Sperling’s arts and crafts gallery, she was mayor of Naranja Beach, California.
Holly had been waiting in the small room for the memorial service for her husband to begin. Sad, numb, scared—those were emotions she applied to herself for the loss of Thomas and the turmoil from the circumstances surrounding his death.
Devastated…not really. Not yet, at least.
She glanced down toward her son Tommy, at her feet. He looked at Evangeline, but quickly resumed playing with a toy car on the floor.
His hair, as dark a brown as Holly’s, had been neatly parted and combed to the side a few minutes ago, but now it was mussed. She would undoubtedly have to brush dirt off his black dress pants, maybe off his white shirt, too, but Holly was thankful that Tommy was acting like a normal child…almost.
He hadn’t said a word for the past four days.
“Wait until you see how many people are here to pay their respects to Thomas.” Evangeline’s enthusiasm sparkled in her eyes.
“That’s great,” Holly replied, a lot less excited.
Evangeline, ever the politician, would be pleased for a throng anyplace she happened to be. Evangeline was also a good friend. A consummate professional woman, she almost always wore a suit—at least while not in costume, for she was a driving force and starring actress at the Naranja Community Theater. Today, she wore a tailored deep cranberry suit that should have clashed with the dyed shade of her red hair but somehow didn’t.
“You’ll see for yourself soon,” Evangeline continued. “Right now, though, I want to introduce you to someone.”
Oh, lord, Holly thought. Not yet. She’d brought Tommy here early, before anyone else arrived, to protect him from the polite verbal poking and prodding of other mourners. And the not-so-polite intrusion of the media. As a result, she had avoided them, too. She would have to face them eventually. Probably soon. But she had to prepare herself.
Before she could object, a man entered the room behind Evangeline.
“Holly, this is the new police chief of Naranja Beach, Gabe McLaren. Gabe told me he hadn’t met you yet.”
No wonder Evangeline wanted to introduce them personally, Holly thought, as a very tall man entered behind the mayor, practically filling the small room by himself. He was a relative of Evangeline’s, or so Holly had heard.
Chief McLaren wore a navy blue suit and a conservative tie. Could his shoulders and chest be as vast as indicated by his clothing, or had he worn body armor to a funeral?
He had a wide forehead, and his thick brown hair was cut short in a military style, parted on the side and combed off his face. His jaw was an expanse of steel, his mouth an earnest line beneath a strong and even nose.
“I’m sorry about your loss, Mrs. Poston,” he said, holding out his hand.
I should say the same to you, Holly’s thoughts rang sardonically. She knew from long and sorry experience that cops only cared about other cops, and their duty.
This man had lost one of his officers in a crime still unsolved. He was in charge of a police force with a blemish on its record, at least so far—an unenviable position for a police chief.
She accepted his proffered handshake and said, “Thank you.” She knew she wasn’t being fair. Sometimes crimes were solved quickly, sometimes they took a while. But a cop had been downed. The Naranja Beach Police Department wouldn’t rest until they knew exactly what had happened that misty morning in Sheldon Sperling’s shop.
And if, along the way, they learned who beat Sheldon unconscious and traumatized her small son so much that he wouldn’t speak, that would be an added benefit to them.
To her, it was a prerequisite for getting on with her life.
Chief McLaren was still holding her
