“Must have been hard to sell her, even when I drove the price up to double her value.” He set the box near the other things he thought she’d like. “Lucky for you, you’ve got her back.”

He smiled at Paige’s vacant face. “And now you can play with her. I know—scandalous. A collector taking a toy out of its box? My collection is different. No matter how the market changes or how bad I need the money, I won’t sell you, and I won’t give you up without a fight.”

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and squeezed. Her hair smelled perfect. Pantene conditioner, just like she’d bought the day he followed her around the drug store.

He dropped a hand down, cupped her un-Barbie-like natural breast, felt the full, warm goodness under her T-shirt.

“I hope you like it here, Paige. I’ve got all the things you love. Well, you won’t be able to run a marathon, but once you’re in a routine, I’ll get a treadmill so you can work out. In the meantime, I’ll get to know you, and you’ll get to know me. The rules are easy and I’m fair, as long as you try to make this work. I want this to work, Paige.”

He let go of her breast, lowered his hand further, pressed himself against her. “I want this to work so badly.”

His hand stopped at the table, picked up a fork.

“Now let’s get some food in you. Egg whites are supposed to keep your hair long and beautiful, just like Barbie’s.”

Chapter 27

CHAPTER

27

FROM THE SHOULDER of the narrow country road, Caitlin and Mary could see most of the Bro-duce property. A wide asphalt driveway led to a white, two-story farmhouse surrounded by a patch of ignored green grass. Across the driveway, two delivery trucks and a tractor could be seen through the open doors of a barn. Behind the barn, a field of healthy corn stretched waist high.

“Greenhouses,” Mary said, then handed the binoculars over.

Caitlin saw five brick-based hothouses behind the house. “I only see one car.”

“Could have parked in the barn. You said twenty acres?”

Caitlin nodded. “According to the map, that row of trees at the end of the lane is the edge of their property. Past that, there’s a stream, then someone else’s farmland.”

“What’s that to the right?”

Caitlin swung the glasses west of the farmhouse. “Spinach or kale.” She put the binoculars away and lowered the windows. “Cue up that Dead shit, Lubbers. We’re going in like your Aunt Tanya.”

Mary’s Aunt Tanya had spent the last two years of the sixties in a free love camp in western Indiana, and her stories lived on in legend.

“Got it.” Mary cranked the stereo. “A couple of Tanyas looking for the perfect tomato.”