course not. Broadacres doesn’t allow vendor setup until four in the morning.”
“So where are you going?” Pat repeated, trying hard to keep any hint of exasperation from her voice.
“Back to the hotel. Jordan doesn’t want to spend the night here.”
Thank God for that, but Pat could only imagine the valet’s horrified expression when Helen’s junker shuddered into Caesars. “Is that a good idea?”
“I’m not worried. They won’t be taking this baby for any joyrides. You have to do a lot of different things to get it started.”
Pat nodded, knowing the odds of anyone wanting to be seen in such a vibrating heap were nonexistent. She turned toward the Lexus, then stopped when Jordan hopped into the truck and slid behind the wheel. “Jordan, what are you doing?” But she knew the answer even as she asked the question. —He planned to stick as close to his aunt as humanly possible.
“Aunt Helen said I could drive.” With a squeal of rusty hinges, he slammed the door and popped the truck into gear. It lurched down the driveway, shaking and coughing, the undercarriage scraping the pavement.
As Pat and Marc climbed into the Lexus, Ron abandoned his cart and started toward them, a slight limp affecting his gait.
“Mom, let’s go.” Marc’s expression revealed the worried kid beneath the bored exterior. “I don’t like this guy.”
“He’s not a bad person,” she whispered. “We went to school together. He’s obviously having a rough time.”
“Hey, Cleo?” Ron leaned into the window, his brow wrinkled in apprehension. “I’m kinda worried about Helen . . . with the murder and all?” He hooked a thumb toward Bebe’s, the yellow crime tape still draped around the perimeter of the house. “I been trying to keep an eye on her.”
“Thanks, Ron. I’ll be staying awhile . . . until things are settled. I’m sure she’ll be okay.” She wasn’t sure of anything, but she knew she had to maintain a facade of confidence. “I appreciate your concern.”
“Glad to help. You’ll let me know if she needs anything, right?” He thrust a folded piece of paper through the window. “That’s the number for Joey’s Sports Pub. I’m there every day between ten and twelve.”
She nodded, accepting the paper. “Of course. If I think of anything, I’ll call.”
“You drive careful, now.”
“Thanks, Ron, I will.”
“See,” she said, driving away. “He’s a good guy. Believe it or not, he was the star of our high school baseball team. Last I heard, he was on his way to the majors.”
“That guy?” Marc turned to look out the window. “What happened to him?”
“Don’t stare.” She glanced in the rearview mirror. Ron was still standing in the street, his shoulders slumped and defeated looking, little more than a human speed bump.
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