“Bunches and bunches of times,” Christina said, then struggled out of her mother’s arms and chased Charcoal outside.

“She’s a goer, that one,” Ellie said, chuckling and watching through the mesh as Christina found an old tin pie plate on the back porch and toddled down the yard. “She’ll be tired tonight.”

“Good.” Maybe then she would sleep through till morning without the nightmares that had plagued her since Philip’s death. “Taking her to the park was above and beyond the call of duty.”

“Any time. She’s a joy, that one.” Then, as if realizing they were alone for the first time, Ellie asked, “Isn’t Stephen back yet?” Before Tiffany could answer, she added, “That’s odd. Octavia called and asked him to come over to mow the lawn. Said it would only take an hour. That was, when?” She checked her watch again. “Nearly three hours ago.”

“Figures,” Tiffany said. “I didn’t find any note from him, but this was lying open.” She pointed to the invitation on the counter.

“Was it?” Ellie’s face puckered thoughtfully. “I didn’t see it.”

“Stephen must have found it and left it here.” Tiffany checked for another note, found none, and told herself not to worry, that Stephen was probably just with his friends fishing or swimming or hanging out.... But where? “Well, I suppose I’ll hear from him before too long,” she said. “Now, how about a glass of iced tea or lemonade?”

Ellie reached for a tissue from the box on the counter and dabbed at her forehead. “I could use a drink, believe me. A vodka collins sounds nice, but it’s a little early. Besides I’ve got a date.”

“A date?” Tiffany repeated, surprised. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

The older woman positively beamed. “Stan Brinkman. Retired. Once owned a roofing company that he sold to his sons. He’s widowed, too, and spends his summers up here and drives a fifth wheeler down to Arizona each winter.”

This was news to Tiffany. “How long have you known him?”

“Long enough.” Ellie gave an exaggerated wink and walked to the door. “I’ll tell you all about it later.” With a wave she was out the door, pausing long enough to say a few words to Christina who was feverishly plucking blades of grass and dropping them into the pie tin.

The phone rang. Tiffany grabbed the receiver on the second ring and still watching her daughter through the screen, said, “Hello?”

“Mom?” Stephen’s voice cracked.

“Oh, hi, kid.” She rested her hip against the counter. “All done with Grandma’s lawn?”

“Uh . . . a long time ago.”

There was an edginess in his voice and she realized something was wrong. Very wrong. She froze. “So where are you?” she asked.

He hesitated.

“Stephen?”

“I’m at the police station, Mom, and . . . and someone wants to talk to you.”

Chapter Four

Chapter Four