Part 7 (2/2)

The front door slammed. ”Tracy?” Heather called. ”Where are you?”

”Up here,” Tracy called down. ”In the family room.”

Heather was still talking as she pounded up the stairs. ”Do you know the front yard is full of reporters? What are they doing out there? Why doesn't Mom make them leave?” She rounded the corner and stopped just inside the doorway. ”Where's Dad? Some jerk outside told me they'd arrested him. I told him he was a stupid liar.”

I looked at Heather Peters and could barely believe my eyes. Her long blond tresses had been bobbed off. Her natural golden blond had been replaced by a hideously incandescent shade of red. Her s.h.i.+rt ended a good six inches above the dropped waistband of a pair of faded ragtag jeans. Something brilliant winked out at me from her belly b.u.t.ton. And she had a nose ring, an honest-to-G.o.d nose ring! For all I knew, she probably had a tattoo as well. It just wasn't visible. What the h.e.l.l had happened to my sweet little Heather?

Behind her, hanging back in the doorway as if unsure of his welcome, stood a scruffy teenage boy. His hair was dyed the same appalling shade of red as Heather's, and he wore a matching nose ring. Maybe this was how kids showed the world they were going steady these days-matching hair color and nose rings. In that moment the idea of letting a girl wear a cla.s.s ring or a letterman's sweater seemed incredibly old-fas.h.i.+oned and quaint. I was grateful the kid was wearing a knee-length T-s.h.i.+rt. If he had a bauble in his belly b.u.t.ton, I didn't want to see it.

I remembered Tracy saying Heather had a steady boyfriend. And I remembered her mentioning that their parents didn't like him. No wonder. I couldn't recall the kid's name, and we hadn't yet been introduced, but I didn't like him either. His appearance didn't make for a favorable first impression. I've had plenty of sensitivity training over the years, complete with talks about not judging people by appearances. That's fine when appearance issues aren't ones that come by choice, but defacing your body by adding optional accessories changes the whole equation.

”It's possible your dad isn't actually under arrest,” I said, answering in Tracy's stead. ”But they did take him in for questioning.”

Heather came over to the couch and gave me a hug. ”Hi, Uncle Beau,” she said, plopping down on the couch and snuggling up next to me. ”I didn't know you were here. I didn't see your car.”

I would have appreciated the hug more if it hadn't been accompanied by the distinctively sweetish odor of marijuana smoke. It clung to her clothes and hair. My heart constricted. What had become of my Heather Peters? Halfheartedly returning her hug, I somehow didn't mention that the reason she hadn't seen my car was that I had snuck in the back way in order to avoid the very reporters she had just brazened her way through.

”But this is, like, so stupid,” Heather continued. ”They think Daddy killed my mother? He wouldn't do something like that, never in a million years. Can't you make them understand that?”

If Heather was grieving about the death of her biological mother, it wasn't apparent in her demeanor. High or not, her main concern was for her father. So was mine.

”I'll do my best,” I said.

Jared turned to me, his eyes wide. ”They think Daddy killed Mom?”

”No, Jared,” Heather answered. ”Not Mom, my mother. You don't even know her.”

Jared looked mystified. ”We don't have the same mother?” he asked.

Obviously, all of this was unwelcome news to poor little Jared. His innocent question meant Amy Peters would have even more difficult explaining to do.

”Oh,” Heather added as an afterthought. She tilted her head in the direction of the boy lingering in the doorway. ”By the way, this is Dillon, my boyfriend. And this is my Uncle Beau. He's a cop, too. Like my dad.”

Dillon nodded at me and shambled a few steps into the room. His hands were buried in pockets that hung so low on his hips he could barely reach them. He sank into an easy chair across from the couch. Heather immediately abandoned me in favor of perching on the arm of Dillon's chair.

”Where's Mom, still at work?”

Tracy answered. ”She found an attorney for Dad. Remember Mr. Ames?”

Heather nodded.

”She and Mr. Ames went to be with Daddy while they're questioning him.”

”Just like on TV,” Jared marveled.

”This isn't like on TV,” I corrected. ”It's a lot more serious than that.”

”But you and Mr. Ames will be able to get him out, won't you?” Heather asked. Her blue eyes searched my face. I tried to glimpse her pupils, to ascertain whether or not she was using. From across the room, I couldn't tell, and she certainly sounded lucid enough.

”That's the problem,” I said. ”Your mother's homicide is being treated as a possible case of officer-related domestic violence. By law, that has to be investigated by the attorney general's Special Homicide Investigation Team, which happens to be where I work.”

Tracy brightened. ”Good,” she said. ”That means you'll be working on Daddy's case then.”

I shook my head. ”No, it means exactly the opposite. Since your father and I are friends, my involvement in the investigation would const.i.tute a conflict of interest. I've been ordered to stay out of it completely. I came by here today, against my boss's direct orders, because we're friends and because Tracy called and asked for my help. But after this-until this case is settled-I'm going to have to keep my distance.”

”They seemed mean,” Jared put in.

”Who seemed mean?” I asked.

”The man and woman who took Daddy away.”

”They're not mean, Jared,” I told him. ”I know Mel Soames and Brad Norton. They're both nice people. They were just doing their job.”

Molly Wright appeared in the doorway just then. ”I'm about to start dinner,” she said. ”Who all's staying?”

”Not me,” Dillon said.

”I'm not staying, either,” I answered.

”And I'm not hungry,” Tracy said.

Shaking her head, Molly stalked back down the stairs the way she had come. I stood up. ”I have to go,” I told them. ”Don't talk to the reporters if you can help it.”

”Not even to tell them they're stupid?” Heather asked.

”Not even. Especially not to tell them that. Their job is to find out every detail of your father's life. The more you antagonize them, the worse it's going to be.”

”Are you going to talk to them?” Jared asked.

”No, I'm not, and I'm not going out the front way, either. I'm going out the back door and over your neighbors' fences, the same way I got here.” I gave Heather a meaningful look. ”I have it on good authority that there's a lot of that going on these days-sneaking in and out.”

Heather knew I had nailed her. She had the good grace to blush slightly and to drop her gaze.

”For the time being, it might be a good idea to cut that out,” I added. ”Your mom has enough going on right now without having to worry about her kids coming and going at all kinds of unG.o.dly hours.”

Heather nodded. ”Okay,” she said. ”I'll be good.”

I glanced questioningly at Tracy.

”Me, too,” she said.

”Good,” I said, and I was on my way.

I felt a bit silly retracing my snowy backyard route. Fortunately, it gets dark early in Seattle in the winter. I don't think any of the neighbors noticed, and Mohammad was waiting in the cab right where I'd left him.

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