Quiet as the Grave

Gavin stared at floor, but his jaw looked exactly like his dad’s.

“Don’t kill anybody.”

Oh, boy. Suzie thought about the crowd of kids they’d left behind on the front lawn. Which one was Joe? He must be a visitor. Apparently someone forgot to hand him the official Firefly Glen credo, thou shalt not poison paradise, as he passed through Vanity Gap.

And what about the even more universal law? Don’t be cruel.

Suddenly Matthew Quinn appeared, loping up the stairs toward them, looking worried and annoyed. This Joe kid must not be a very smart bully, Suzie decided. Obviously he’d let his comments be overheard by one of Gavin’s guardian angels.

“I’m sorry, Mike,” Matthew said. “Joe Streaker’s a brat. Parker’s over there scaring the crap out of him right now.”

The tension in Mike’s face remained. “Is it true?”

“What? That there’s a cop in the driveway?” Matthew kept his voice low. Suzie had to strain to be sure she heard every word. But she wasn’t the type to be a demure little female and pretend not to listen. “Yeah. An open tail, obviously. They’re sending you a message. They want you to know they’re watching.”

Mike peered across the grounds, though of course he couldn’t see all the way to the drive. Then he put his arm around Gavin. “You okay?”

Gavin, who clearly had worked himself back into an emotional stew, swallowed twice, as if his throat were too tight. Once again his eyes were shining with unshed tears. Tears of fury, no doubt.

Suzie had fought back about a million of those in her day. Matthew Quinn, who was watching Gavin with sympathetic eyes, probably had, too. He’d once spent three years in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. That was probably why he was such an expert on things like “open tails.”

“Of course Gavin’s okay,” she answered for him, to give him time to get his throat under control. “He’s just ticked off. Frankly, I think he deserves a medal for not handing Joe Streaker his bloody nose on a platter.”

Gavin looked up at her. “I was going to, I was going to kick his ass. I don’t care if he is sixteen. But he ran away. He was laughing.” His hands folded into white-knuckled fists. “He thinks it’s funny that my mom is dead.”

“Oh, yeah?” Suzie felt her own hands tightening. “Well, come on. Let’s find this jerk. I’ll hold him down for you.”

“Suzie,” Mike and Matthew said at the same time, and both of them held out their hands, as if to restrain her from racing off in search of Joe the Jerk.

“Okay, okay,” she said. She turned to Gavin. “Grown-ups are such buzz-kills, aren’t they? It would have felt so good.”

Gavin smiled. “Yeah. It would have felt great.”

“Hey.” Mike bent down and took Gavin’s elbows. “What did I tell you about kicking people’s asses?”

Gavin screwed up his mouth, as if he were trying to remember. “Don’t?”

Chuckling, Suzie met Matthew’s amused gaze over the heads of the other two. Gavin really was a chip off the old block, wasn’t he? Served Mike right.

“Come on, Gav. What did I tell you?”

Gavin sighed. “You told me violence is for stupid people. You said smart people think their way out of trouble. But Dad, this guy is soooo—”

“Gavin, think it through. This guy believes we’re the kind of people who would hurt other people. Want to make him right?”

“No, but—”

“Then let’s go be civilized. Let’s watch Spencer open his presents, and we can drive straight home after that, okay?”

Gavin scuffed the ground with one heel. “Okay,” he said reluctantly.

Mike stood. He gave his son a forward nudge and Gavin started moving. Matthew went with the boy, his hand on his shoulder for moral support. Mike turned to Suzie. “Thanks,” he said. “That was a very creative diversionary tactic.”

“No problem,” she said. “I’ve always been willing to make a fool of myself for a good cause.”

He gave her a long look, taking her in from head to toe. She caught herself fiddling with the ribbons on her top, checking their status. Damn it, was she going to start blushing all over again?

“Oh, and by the way…” He paused.

“What?”

She wondered whether he might be going to ask her why she’d shown up at a Firefly Glen party, after all these years. She had her answer ready. Because she wanted to, that’s why. Because, now that she’d seen him once, she’d decided it was stupid to go on avoiding him.

But he didn’t ask. Three, four, five seconds ticked by.

She tilted her head. “By the way…what?”

He reached out and tugged lightly on the tip of a red ribbon.

He smiled. “Nice shirt.”

AS MARSTON COUNTY District Attorney Keith Quigley pulled his Audi up to the squad car parked in front of Summer House, he could see right away that the policeman behind the wheel was half-asleep.

He idled his engine for at least thirty seconds, waiting for the officer to notice him. Nothing. Fifty murderers could have danced across this road in top hats, and Officer—was it deLuca?—wouldn’t have noticed a thing.

Finally he tapped lightly on his horn. DeLuca jerked to attention, bumping his elbow on the edge of the window.

“Sir!” The cop, who probably was no more than about twenty-five, squeezed his eyes, trying to make them track in the same direction. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t see you there.”

Keith smiled, but he kept it cool. “Good thing we don’t believe Frome is a flight risk,” he observed.

The officer flushed, opened his mouth as if to make a defensive comment, then closed it. DeLuca didn’t report to Keith, not technically. But he reported to the sheriff, who knew better than to annoy the D.A. Keith didn’t believe in keeping a “hands off” policy in his investigations—especially murders. He got involved as soon as he had a body, and he stayed involved until he got a conviction.