Learning to Hula by Lisa Childs

Author:Lisa Childs
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2006-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

STAGE 9

I should have let Deputy Westmoreland talk to me at The Tearoom the other day instead of rushing off like I did. Now I’ve spent the last few days wondering what exactly he needed to talk to me about.

Possibilities have my stomach churning. I’d rather blame my indigestion on the deputy and not what happened after dinner with Keith. My stomach could be upset because of my chicken, but it wasn’t under-cooked. And it wasn’t the wine, since it was too good. No, I’m blaming the deputy.

So I’m at the counter in the kitchen, sipping a glass of ginger ale, when I see headlights from a car pulling into the driveway. It’s late for a school night—eleven. The kids have been in bed almost an hour already.

Pam must be back. She had such crazy flight times, both there and back, that she drove herself to the airport in Grand Rapids and parked her car in the long-term lot. It’s good that she’d come here straight from the airport, since it must mean she’s figured something out. Of course, if she figured out what I hope she has, she would be pulling into her and Keith’s driveway, not mine.

I set down my glass and walk toward the front door. Ordinarily I’d open up the garage for her, but I suspect she’s not staying. I’m anxious to hear what she has to say, but when I turn on the porch light and see what’s actually parked in the driveway, I’m anxious about something else entirely. It isn’t Pam’s champagne-colored Volvo station wagon, but a police car. A navy-blue one with a gold emblem on the door, a county car. I know before he even steps out that it’s Deputy Westmoreland.

Obviously he really needs to talk to me. What about?

Did Smiley finally decide to press charges? Maybe that was the reason for the intense exchange between him and my mother the same day that the deputy told me we needed to talk.

Is Deputy Westmoreland here to arrest me for vandalizing Smiley’s store? But is destroying Kitty Cupcakes a crime punishable by the police department or animal control or maybe the food inspector?

I suppress a nervous giggle. I don’t really believe his visit has anything to do with that incident. It was too long ago. My thoughts are confirmed when he opens the back door of his police cruiser and helps my son out.

Heedless of my flannel pajamas, I run out to the car. “Robbie!”

He won’t look at me. But even with his head down, some of the porch light glistens on the tear tracks drying on his face. My heart contracts, and I gasp for a breath.

“He’s not hurt,” Westmoreland says, somehow reading my mind.

Not yet. But he might be. “Robbie, you’re supposed to be in bed.”

He obviously snuck out, and I didn’t catch him. The deputy did.

“What did he do?” I ask, as Robbie’s not talking.

“Shoplifting in Smiley’s store.”

Because of the party aisle, Smiley’s is open late, but Robbie shouldn’t have been there doing anything.

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