“Lord, Nellie, you scared me to death,” Tracy whispered. “What are you doing in here?”
“Sorry,” Nellie said, “but I have news. I started to leave a message on your machine, but I knew you were home so I came on over. I rang the doorbell twice.”
Tracy grabbed a bony arm to direct Nellie back down the hallway. “I gave you my spare key to use when we’re out of town,” she hissed, somewhat annoyed. “Not just anytime. I was in the shower.”
When they reached the living room, Tracy let go of Nellie’s arm, wondering if her duplex neighbor even noticed that she was dripping wet and covered only by a towel. She considered ushering her right out the front door, but knew she’d only be delaying the inevitable. Usually, the best tack with Nellie was to go along with the drama, then send her away with a polite, but firm, goodbye.
Tracy shook her head. “Never mind, Nellie. Wait in here for a minute while I dress. And be quiet. Hannah’s asleep.”
Tracy padded back toward her bedroom, closing the little girl’s door on the way past. While she dressed, she decided that she would ask the landlord to install a dead bolt.
She’d also ask Nellie to return the key. She hoped the news was short and significant. The lovely span of blue sky outside the window made Tracy want to finish her chores early so she could take her little girl to the park.
When she’d brought Hannah home from the central Asian orphanage two years ago, Tracy promised herself that her unmarried status would never be a burden to her child.
Tracy wasn’t twenty-nine and single because she was too vacuous or homely to hold a man’s interest; she was twenty-nine and single because life was too short for big mistakes. When she married, she’d marry forever.
Adopting a child could never be a mistake, so Tracy had made that commitment. She did her best to provide well for Hannah, and she also tried to be an involved parent. That wasn’t always easy. Tracy’s office-manager position at Vanderveer Organizing occupied her weekdays, so she sent Hannah to an excellent day-care center that offered preschool activities. Lately, however, Tracy had been bringing work home in the evenings, too. Hence the need for a diligent handling of weekend chores.
When Tracy returned to the living room, Nellie was sitting on the sofa munching on a doughnut. A white cardboard box containing the rest of the dozen was open on the coffee table in front of her. It looked as if Nellie was settling in. Tracy sighed.
“Here, have a doughnut,” Nellie said, nudging the box. “I didn’t think to bring drinks. Would you mind?”
Tracy held back a groan and started for the kitchen. “Orange juice?”
“That’d be great.”
As she poured the juice, Tracy reminded herself that Nellie was probably just lonely. Besides, this was Kirkwood, Kansas, where major change was generally met with stalwart resistance. Although the student population at Wheatland University caused the town to boom to city size every autumn, permanent residents clung to the ways of their pioneer ancestors. Neighbors talked across fences and borrowed cups of sugar. They lent a hand if a hand was needed. Nellie simply carried that old-fashioned friendliness a step too far.
Make that a few steps. A mile. In fact, she was a total nuisance.
Tracy returned to the living room and set Nellie’s glass of juice on the table. “So what’s the news?”
Nellie finished chewing her doughnut and blurted, “Riley Collins is back!” Then she scanned Tracy’s face with pale, wild eyes.
Tracy’s heart started to race again, but she crossed her arms and waited.
“My friend Ruth saw him at the market early this morning, and he was buying a cartful—cereal, bread, cleaners. He bought out the supply of macaroni and cheese. Like he’s staying.”
Tracy drew a deep breath, summoning every ounce of her patience. This was stunning news, absolutely. She still wanted her neighbor out of here. Maybe even more so now.
“He was probably shopping for his grandma,” Tracy said as she bent down to close the lid to the doughnut box.
Nellie frowned when Tracy placed the box in her lap, but she didn’t stop talking. “Would an old woman use shaving cream and men’s razors?”
“Okay, so he’s visiting for the weekend.” Tracy picked up the full juice glass and walked toward the front door. Just as she expected, Nellie got up and followed her, carrying the box and talking all the way.
“No one would eat a dozen boxes of macaroni and cheese in one weekend. My friend Ruth said he was at the old house all night.”
When Nellie noticed that Tracy had opened the door and was handing her the glass of juice, she frowned again.
“I have my own box of doughnuts in the kitchen,” Tracy lied. “They’ll get stale. You can keep the glass.”
Nellie glanced outside and spoke in a louder voice. “We think Riley Collins is hiding out in that old house.”
Tracy put a finger to her lips. “The Kirkwood grapevine is thriving, isn’t it.”
“Aren’t you upset?” Nellie asked incredulously.
“Riley is ancient history to me,” Tracy said. “And I need to be out the door in twenty minutes.”
As Nellie headed toward her own door, she said, sounding put out, “Be that way. I’ll bet you another dozen doughnuts that no one else in town has forgotten him.”
Tracy closed the door and drooped against it.
Nor have I.
Riley Collins—the town’s most notorious delinquent.
The cause of the Gilbert family’s biggest heartache.
And Tracy’s first friend.
Padding back through the living room, Tracy headed down the hall to wake Hannah. The baby-sitter would arrive soon, allowing Tracy to do her away-from-home chores. She’d fit the park visit in after lunch. Later, there was an overflowing laundry basket to contend with, and she’d promised her boss she’d type some reports this weekend. Damn. So little time.
When Tracy noticed her cat sunning on a forbidden windowsill—it was where she displayed a couple of china figurines—she stopped in the middle of the room and glared at him. “Are you up there again, Claus? Down!”
Other than blinking, the big white tomcat didn’t move a muscle. Tracy scooped him up and sank with Claus in her lap into her favorite chair. “I don’t know what he’s thinking, coming back here,” she said. The last time she’d seen Riley, he’d been in some sort of trouble with his father, the equally notorious Otto.
Riley had been out at the curb working on his car that morning, with Otto yelling that he was a good-for-nothing troublemaker from the porch. The next day, Riley had left town in his battered convertible.
That was thirteen years ago. As far as Tracy knew, this was the first time he’d been back.
His
