Fixing Perfect (17 page)

“Right.” Kerry hurried to the door, and though it was already open, he stood next to it and waved Robin through and scurried around her to the dining room, where he pulled out a chair.

She had to grip his arm when he lost his balance and teetered, but still, his gentlemanly behavior touched her heart and she praised him loudly and long.

After they'd said grace and started to eat, Robin glanced at Kerry's mother and reached out and gripped her arm. “Mrs. Wright, I'm very serious about you keeping Kerry with you all the time. You can't trust anyone.”

“I understand.” Mrs. Wright offered a plate of pickles, at which Robin shook her head. “You're not saying names.”

“No, I'm not. I don't know any.” She looked up at the older woman. Her hands clamped together in her lap and she couldn't swallow the bite of salad she'd just taken. “I don't know who's doing this any more than the police do. We know it's not Sam. Isn't that enough?”

“I guess it has to be.”

She turned to Kerry. “Look, Kerry, remember when Sam and I told you to stay with your mom? That you can't trust anybody?”

He screwed up his eyes, thinking hard. “Yeah.”

“OK, so you know you can't go off with anybody. Even if I come to get you, you say, no, I can't go.”

“Why not? You're my friend.” Tears pooled and spilled from his eyes. “You promised!”

She'd have to hold her heart together with duct tape, it was so broken. “I know, Kerry, and someday, that's going to be true again. But we don't want you to get hurt.”

He frowned. “So you just promise you won't hurt me, and I can go with you, right?”

“No.” Only when he flinched did Robin realize she'd shouted. “Look, Kerry. Think of all the people you trust. Mom and Dad, and your sister. You can go anywhere with them, OK?”

He nodded, wiping his face with the back of his good hand.

“Anybody else, you stay away from, unless Mom or Dad say it's OK. Your teachers should be OK.” And since she didn't know any of them, they probably weren't the murderer.

“And Coach Danny, and Aaron, and the other guys and runners, and—”

“No.”

He jerked to stare at her. “Huh? Whatcha mean, no?”

“I mean, no. You can't go with any of those people. Not by yourself. Not Aaron, not the team, not Coach Danny.”

Kerry's face twisted and his eyes threatened to tear up again. “But why? Coach Danny's my coach. He can't do any bad things to me.”

Mrs. Wright leaned across the table, laying her hand on Robin's. “I'll explain it all to him. But I'm afraid he's getting too confused right now to remember any of this.”

That meant she'd have to upset him again just to make sure he understood.

Mrs. Wright pointed at Kerry's plate. “Finish up, Kerry, and tell me how Robin liked your room.”

Kerry gulped and picked up his fork. “I showed Robin the picture Donovan gave me. The one of just Robin. She liked it.” Kerry stopped crying and took another bite.

“Did she now?” Mrs. Wright's expression told how little she trusted Kerry's assessment of Robin's reaction.

“He takes lots of pictures. He likes pretty things. Especially you, Robin. You're so pretty, and he likes things that are pretty. But he's sad you have bad legs. He's sad I do, too. I mean, he's sad I have one bad leg.” Kerry frowned at his left leg encased in its brace.

Robin bit her lip before she said, “He doesn't seem to like it when people have disabilities.”

“He wants to fix us. He wishes he could.”

Robin watched Kerry struggle with the words he repeated until his mother got up to put her arm around him.

“It's OK, Kerry. Robin understands, don't you?” She pierced Robin with a clear demand to agree.

“I do. I really do.” But she wasn't sure that was true.

 

 

 

 

13

 

Robin got back in her cart, but instead of turning onto her street, she headed for the harbor. She parked in a tiny lot behind the co-op and pulled out her crutches. A restless spirit seemed to drive her to the water, but the cold, and her lack of a warmer sweater, kept her from getting closer than the boardwalk in front of the shops and restaurants.

Donovan found her on the fountain, awkwardly kicking her heels against the concrete. She had been watching him as he came down the hill and knew as soon as he saw her.

“Robin.” He sat next to her, his back board straight, only his upper body turned toward her. He put his hand on top of hers, where she gripped the rounded edge of the fountain, and she let herself finally relax.

“Robin,” he repeated. “I have to apologize.” He seemed to swallow, though his throat didn't move. “I have to admit, when they first arrested Sam, I was glad. Overjoyed.” He lifted his hand, fingers splayed defensively. He ran his hand through his hair, barely ruffling the impeccable strands before they fell back into place. “Look, I really like you, Robin. But with Sam always around, I thought—well, so I was glad when they threw him in jail. Hoped they'd convict him.” He laughed, as though she ought to find his admission as humorous as he did.

He shook his head. “But it's like you don't—I mean, you're so sad.”

She gaped at him. “Of course I'm sad. I'm devastated.”

“I get that. Really.” He stared at his jiggling knees. His back, still straight, formed an awkward angle to his neck. “But you're going to have to get over him.”

Robin gasped, unable to hide her reaction. “Don't. Don't even start with that.”

She pushed herself to the edge of the fountain's lip, ready to slide off, stalk away as haughtily as a pair of crutches allowed.

“Look, I'm sorry. I know you care about him.” The tone in Donovan's voice stopped her rush to escape, mostly because she couldn't quite make out what it meant. “I know you don't believe he's the killer. And because you don't, well, like I said before, I don't, either.” He stared at his hands and looked up at her. “I hate to see you so unhappy. I've been giving it a lot of thought, and l think I can help.”

“How?”

“Remember, I'm the one who gave evidence that might have—well, the guy who went after Kerry looked like Sam, but it wasn't him. I would have recognized him. So if I tell that Macias fellow it's not Sam...”

“But if he looked like Sam, it can't have been Danny, like you thought, could it?”

“Mmm. I suppose not, but there's no saying that guy had anything to do with the murders. Anyway, I'll tell Macias, OK?”

His words trailed away as he watched Robin from under slanted lashes.

“That would be a start.” Wind whipped a spray from the fountain across the back of Robin's neck, and she shivered.

“I'll do that.” He pulled out his cell and dialed.

After a few cryptic comments, he snapped it shut and grinned at her. “They want me to come sign a statement.”

“Good.” She turned away and back. “Thanks, Donovan. It means a lot to me, that you're sticking up for Sam. For me, too.”

“Sure. Anytime. You gotta know I'd do just about anything for you.” He nodded, still grinning, and hurried away.

Robin watched him until he turned up the street leading to the police station.

Too bad she couldn't love the man. He truly cared. She'd never forget that.

 



 

Now the restless spirit wanted her fingers to call the police station. To check on how Donovan's statement affected Sam. But she had her shift that afternoon, so she shook off her unease and started for the co-op.

Grams was ambling along the waterfront and stopped when she saw Robin. “Look what I got at the market.” She opened one of her carrier bags for Robin to peek inside. “Pumpkins. Aren't they the cutest things? I've never seen them so round and perfect and tiny.”

“They're great, Grams.” Even though Grams' use of the word “perfect” made Robin shudder, she managed to hide it. “I'll help you decorate when I get back.”

“Are you working this afternoon?”

“Yeah. I traded with Grace. I wanted Friday night free.”

“Why? You got a date?” Grams started to laugh, looked at Robin's face, and sobered immediately. “I'm sorry, kiddo. That was really insensitive. You're missing Sam, I know. I shouldn't tease you.”

Robin blinked and looked away. “No, you shouldn't.”

“I said I was sorry.”

“I know.” Robin twisted her lips enough that it might, she hoped, look like a smile. “It's OK. You're right. I really miss him. I wish he was here.” So desperately she might give in to the tears if she didn't get hold of herself. Once again, the spirit of unrest prodded her between her shoulder blades, pushing her to fly away.

Grams tucked the bag under her arm. “How long a shift did you take?”

“Just two hours. I'll be back a little after four.”

“All right. I'll plan an early dinner. I'm sure you're going to be tired.”

So was Robin. She went on her way, stopping a few times to greet neighbors and friends, and by the time she got to the store, Grace was ready to go. She barely said hello and good-bye, and gave Robin a long hug before she was gone, leaving Robin in the almost empty shop.

Not quite empty. Three women wandered the aisles, exclaiming over the displays, and loading their own arms and each other's with craft items. Robin grinned and offered to let them pile everything on the counter until they were ready to check out.

As the three women continued shopping, Robin couldn't help overhearing their conversation.

“I heard they let him work with some kids. Handicapped kids, on a sports team. And they never knew!” The woman leaned toward her friends, and her gray curls bobbed with the violence of her feelings.

Her eyes were wide and wild, and Robin wanted to snatch every piece of merchandise out of her hands and shove her out the door. Preferably all the way into the harbor, which was cold and gray and almost as stormy as the woman's eyes, though not nearly as angry as Robin felt. They had no idea they were discussing the man who held Robin's heart, the man she would trust her life to.

“I heard he had an alibi.” The shortest of the three frowned. She held up a necklace of gray, glowing stones, at the bottom of which hung a dolphin. After she checked the price tag, she sighed and draped it over the necklace stand. “I always thought a good alibi got you off, but I suppose not.”

Robin looked down at her hands, one squeezed around a pen and the other clutching an order form. The pen snapped, and she dropped the pieces, as well as the crumpled paper, onto the floor behind the counter. If she could tell them, just explain—but she had no real proof. Not yet. That depended on Donovan.

The women went on gossiping. “I'm just glad they've got the killer behind bars. Those poor people. The way he desecrated their bodies.”

“And think of their families.” Another of the women reached across the counter and set a stack of postcards on top of her pile. “I think I'm ready, dear. How about you two?”

Robin rang up their purchases and bagged the items in the co-op's signature ocean-wave decorated sacks. As glad as she was for their business, she wasn't at all sad to see them go.

The rest of her shift followed much the same pattern. People came in, made their selections, and talked about Sam's arrest, as though they were all integral members of the little island town. Some probably were, although Robin didn't recognize them. And she was glad of it. Because they'd know her, and they might remember who the victims had been decked out to look like. She didn't want that kind of recognition.

As she dragged her weary body out the door, after turning over the shop to the next artist, she saw Donovan. She could only nod at him and lean on her crutches. She hadn't taken three steps from the shop but already she was panting.

“Hey, Robin. I didn't know you had a shift today. You look wiped out.”

“I am, but that's OK. I needed a distraction.”

He nodded, clearly not taking in her words. “Look, I went right to the police, talked to Macias, like I said.” He slanted an ice-blue glance at her. “He thanked me, said it was good to know, he'd take it under advisement. But he couldn't let Sam go yet. Sounded like he had something else on him.”

Robin sighed. So much for getting Sam out of jail.

“I'm sorry. I was really hoping. For you, you know.”

She forced a twist of lips to imitate a smile. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

He nodded, matching his slouching walk to her speed. After a minute, he turned, and this time she felt the full potency of his attention.

“You usually take the Friday night shift, right?”

“Right.” She forced herself to add, “Date night.”

“You've got a date for Friday?” He dropped half a step behind her as she headed away from the harbor.

Of course not,
she thought.
Sam is in jail.
But he hadn't asked, even though he'd hinted at wanting to, and she didn't want to think about why he hadn't. She might lose some of her tenuous hope if she did.

“Not yet.” She had to change the subject. It was so hard to keep Donovan on her wavelength. “I was over at Kerry's house the other day. We were talking about your pictures.”

He grinned. “The team pictures, yeah. They turned out really great, didn't they? You never picked up your copy. I could bring it over for you later. Won't take but a little while to print it out.”

“Sure, any time would be fine. No hurry. But back to the pictures you gave Kerry. I was thinking more of the other one.”

He'd been keeping pace beside her, slowing his steps to match hers. Now, he turned, and the fierceness of his movements made her jerk back. “What other one? Who says I took other pictures?”