Bolted (13 page)

Why couldn’t Greta have gone into something steady like the Promise Harbor Police Department? Instead of rushing off to cooking school and then rushing off to marry Ryan McBain? Why did Greta keep rushing off, period?

“Sophie.” Owen stepped next to her, his hand on her shoulder. “She’s all right. Like Hayley said, she probably took off to think.”

Sophie closed her eyes and counted to ten. She wasn’t sure if the fact her daughter had absconded without a thought about telling her mother what she was doing was much of a comfort. And now that Hayley knew, she had no doubt the rest of the town would find out soon enough. Mabel Standish, the police dispatcher, was a human public address system.

Poor Sophie. First her son loses his bride, then her daughter loses her husband and runs away. What’s wrong with that family anyway?

Sophie felt a brief pinch of guilt.
What would you have done if Greta had told you she wanted to leave?
Probably ordered her to stay. And talk to the neighbors and the gossips and everybody else in town. Just like she’d tried to order Josh to go after Allie and save the wedding. And she wasn’t sure he’d listened to her either, given that he also didn’t seem to be around town right now. According to one of the men at the fire station, he’d taken off with his former girlfriend, Devon.

None of this is their fault. Both of them just got caught up in…events.

Her chest felt tight suddenly. “Nothing,” she muttered. “There is nothing wrong with my children. They’re both perfect!”

“Sophie?” Owen sounded concerned.

“My children are perfect,” she said flatly. “They are absolutely wonderful. And I won’t let anybody say anything different.”
Not even me.

“Okay.” Owen had moved from concerned to wary.

“I’m just…” She blew out a breath. “I’ve been so concerned about what everybody would think, I forgot about what
I
think. And I think my children are wonderful.”

“They are. Allie too.” He shrugged. “Sorry, Sophie.”

Sophie sighed. “It’s not your fault they didn’t want to get married, and it’s not my fault either. It’s just something that happened.” She sighed again, harder this time. “Of course, now we’re stuck with the fallout while the children get to run away. Lucky them.”

Owen frowned. “Why?”

Sophie shook her head. Sometimes Owen had trouble following the line of a conversation. Maybe she should backtrack. “Well, I mean, we’re here and they’re gone…”

“No.” Owen smiled slowly. “Why stick around while they run away? Can’t we run away too?”

Sophie blinked. He couldn’t possibly mean… “What do you mean?”

“New resort I heard about—Greenbush Island. Nice place. We could spend a few days there. Get a massage, play some golf. We get back, and everything’s blown over.”

Oh my.
“I couldn’t. Really. Not now. There’s so much…”

“Stuff you have to do?” Owen’s eyebrows went up. “Do you want to do it?”

A moment of silence stretched between them.

“Let me think about it,” she said softly. “It might work.”

Owen gave her another slow smile that made him almost handsome. “There you go.”

Greta sat on her bed, staring down at her phone. She knew what she needed to do. Why was it so hard to do it?

She took a deep breath and then punched in the numbers for her mother’s cell phone. With luck, she’d have enough charge left in her own phone for this conversation. With even more luck, she’d only have enough to last through the first few set of reproaches her mother would give.

Please, Mom, just get it over with.

The phone rang three times and then cut to voice mail.
Thank you, Jesus!
She wasn’t sure why her mother wouldn’t be answering her phone, but she wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Hi Mom,” she said cheerily. “Just wanted to let you know I’m staying at a hotel up the road for a couple of days. They needed a cook. Don’t worry, please. I’ll be home by the end of the week. Promise.”

She turned the phone off quickly. Save the charge.
Right, Greta, that’s why you’re not giving her a chance to call back.

“Greta?”

She glanced up. Hyacinth stood in the hallway, peering timidly into her room.

“Hi, Hyacinth.” She tossed the phone onto her bed, pushing herself to her feet. “What can I do for you?”

“Would you like to meet Carolina now?”

Greta frowned, glancing at the clock next to the bed. “Well, I’ve got a cake in the oven, but I’ve got a little time to spare. Will it take more than ten minutes or so?”

Hyacinth shook her head.

“Okay, then, let’s go. I’d love to meet Carolina.” Whoever or whatever she might be.

Hyacinth bounced down the stairs in front of her, humming. Greta felt a little like humming herself. Leaving her mother a message had taken a huge load off her mind. For a moment, Ryan’s hushed
Are you all right?
floated through her memory, but she ignored it. Her mother’s feelings were worth being concerned about. Ryan’s definitely weren’t. Let him worry.

Hyacinth threw open the back door and started down the path toward the garden shed. Greta had to increase her speed a little to keep up. At the door to the shed, Hyacinth paused briefly. “Just a sec. I’ve got some food to give her.” She ducked back toward the side of the shed, emerging with a plastic bag full of lettuce leaves. “It’s just the outer leaves,” she said quickly. “We don’t eat them anyway.”

“Right.” So Carolina was an animal that ate vegetables. Greta’s jaw tensed.
Please don’t let it be something really disgusting.

Hyacinth opened the shed door and stepped inside.

At first the contrast of darkness with dazzling sunshine made it difficult to see, but once Greta’s eyes became accustomed to the dimness, she noticed a collection of garden tools leaning against the walls, a half bag of fertilizer at the side, some plastic pots in the corner.

And a large glass aquarium at the back of the room closest to one of the small windows. Sunshine from the window poured onto the contents of the aquarium—a shadowy accumulation of castle spires and gravel. And one medium-sized turtle.

Greta stepped closer, squinting so that she could see better. The turtle was about six inches long. It raised its head as Hyacinth stepped near, showing its yellow-splotched black throat. Its black shell formed a high dome behind its head, the yellow splotched scales echoing the splotches on its feet and neck.

Greta blew out a breath. “A box turtle.”

Hyacinth nodded enthusiastically. “An Eastern box turtle.
Terrapene carolina.
That’s why I named it Carolina. Isn’t it pretty?”

Greta knelt down for a better look.
Pretty
wasn’t exactly the word she’d have used. “It’s a nice-looking turtle. How long have you had it?”

“I just found her day before yesterday.” Hyacinth knelt beside her.

“I thought you said you didn’t keep animals after you’d identified them.” Greta glanced back.

Hyacinth licked her lips. Greta had a feeling she was blushing, although it was hard to tell in the darkness of the shed.

“I caught a turtle once when I was little,” Greta said slowly. “My dad let me keep it for a couple of days, but then he told me to set it free. He said it would get sick and die if I kept it.” Also, of course, he wasn’t crazy about having it in the downstairs bathroom. But it had still been a legitimate point.

“It’s endangered,” Hyacinth said quickly. “I can’t let it go. It might get hurt.”

Greta blinked. She didn’t know much about endangered species, but she was pretty sure you weren’t supposed to keep them in aquariums in your garden shed. “But my dad was right—I think turtles need to be free. I mean, being in an aquarium can’t be the right kind of life for an animal like this. Plus it really isn’t good for her.”

Hyacinth stuck out her lower lip. Suddenly she looked very much like a nine-year-old and a little like her grandmother. “If I turn her loose, she might get run over by a car. Or a farmer might mow her nest. There are all those dangers out there, things that could kill her. I’m keeping this one safe.”

Greta nodded slowly. “I can see that. But she probably won’t do well in the aquarium either. You wouldn’t want to do anything that would hurt her, would you?” She didn’t like to think about how Hyacinth might react if the turtle died, which it was quite likely to do if Greta was any judge. Bad enough if a pet died on its own. Even worse if it died because the child had done something wrong.

Hyacinth looked away. “I know how to take care of her. I looked it up on Grandma’s computer. I won’t do anything to hurt Carolina.”

Greta chewed on her lip. “Sure, but…”

“What about your cake?” Hyacinth said quickly. “Isn’t it almost done?”

Greta pushed herself to her feet. “Probably. Thank you for showing me Carolina.”

Hyacinth nodded. “You’re welcome,” she muttered, focusing on Greta’s toes.

“Would you like to help me frost the cake?” Greta asked a little desperately.

“Maybe later.”

Greta sighed, turning toward the door of the shed. Obviously, Hyacinth wasn’t open to suggestions about her pet. Still…

As she walked back toward the house, Greta wondered how much Hank knew about turtles. Hyacinth might not listen to her, but maybe she’d be more open to the Voice of Science. Dealing with a heartbroken child and a dead turtle didn’t rank high on her list of favorite things.

Hank pulled his truck into the carport a little earlier than usual. Part of the reason he’d left before the usual time was his foot, of course, which still bothered him, although not as much as it had before.

The other part of it—maybe the larger part—was Greta. That kiss in the moonlight had skipped around his mind most of the night, showing up in a couple of dreams that had left him hard and aching in the morning.

Sort of like high school. Not exactly an experience he wanted to revisit.

Still, he wanted to spend more time with her. Maybe taste those lips more fully. Maybe find out whatever secret she was trying to hide. She was a fascinating combination, Greta Brewster. Practical and fantastic. Sneakers and
Gone With the Wind
dresses. He wasn’t sure he’d ever run into anyone quite like her before. He certainly didn’t know any archaeologists who ran around in hoopskirts—no sane ones, anyway.

He stepped inside the kitchen door, pausing to appreciate the smells. Pastry, with an added sort of flowery scent.

Greta looked up from the stove, where she was working on something. “Hi.”

“Hi. Smells good.” Smelled fantastic, if he was really honest. “What is it?”

“Probably my cake.” Greta frowned down at the pan in front of her. “Let me get this gratin to the stage where it can fend for itself, and then I can talk.”

He leaned against the counter, watching her arrange the potato slices in a fan around the pan.

“How did you slice them so thin?”

She shrugged. “They’re not as thin as they should be. I didn’t have a mandolin. I sort of improvised with a knife.”

He stared at the spiral of slices that looked paper thin. “And you didn’t slice off a finger in the process?”

Greta gave him a dry look. “Slicing off parts of your body while you were cooking was frowned upon in culinary school.”

“Right. Still impressive, though.”

She gave him a quick smile. “Thanks. I love being impressive.”

Oh, babe, trust me—you’ve got impressive down.

He glanced around the room. “Where’s everybody else? I thought you usually had an entourage in the kitchen. Yesterday, Hyacinth looked like she was training for the Iron Chef.”

Greta gave her potatoes a pat. “Hyacinth’s sort of mad at me right now.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Hyacinth mad. What’s up?”

“How much do you know about turtles?”

He shook his head. “And now for something completely different? I had a few turtles when I was kid. That’s about it.”

“Hyacinth showed me her turtle. Has she showed it to you?” She folded her arms across her chest.

He shook his head again. The turns in this conversation could give a man whiplash. “Nope. Is it something I should see?”

“I don’t know. She’s got it in an aquarium out in the shed. I probably wasn’t as enthusiastic as I should have been. I mean, I don’t think wild turtles are good candidates for house pets.”

“Nope.” He shrugged. “It should be okay if she doesn’t keep it more than a couple of days.”

“She says it’s endangered. Aren’t you supposed to leave endangered species alone?”

Hank pushed himself upright again. “Strictly alone. That’s the kind of thing that can get you in trouble with all kinds of people, including the Feds. What does she want to do with it?”

“She wants to keep it. She’s feeding it lettuce.” Greta picked up a spatula, pushing the potatoes down flat in the casserole dish. “Is that what you’re supposed to feed turtles?”

“Some turtles, yeah. Some turtles eat insects. Hell, some turtles eat meat along with their veggies. She can’t just feed it lettuce, even if she plans on letting it go eventually. And if it’s really endangered, she shouldn’t be keeping it at all. Where is she?” He started toward the dining room door.

Greta frowned. “I haven’t seen her since earlier this afternoon. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen any of the Dubrovniks since I took my cake out of the oven. Nadia was here then, but she left. You’d think Alice would at least be around.”

“I’ll see if I can find them.” He pushed open the door to the dining room. The empty dining room. Also the empty lobby. He stepped toward the front door, only to see a
Closed
sign, with another on the door of the general store.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” he muttered, heading up the stairs. Alice usually closed the store around six, but she left the light on in case anyone wanted an emergency can of beans.

A note was thumbtacked to his door.

Gone to Promise Harbor for dinner and a movie,
Nadia had written in her dramatic script.
I suggest a picnic.