As soon as he was out of sight, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out the cell she’d transferred over to him. He flicked through the menus, redialed the last call, and got voice mail for a Chattanooga insurance company.

The kid was no dummy.

While he had Blue’s phone, he thumbed through the log until he found the date he wanted. He dialed up her voice mail and entered the password he’d watched her punch in a couple of days earlier. She hadn’t gotten around to clearing out her mailbox, and he listened to her mother’s message with interest.

Inside the caravan, Blue watched Riley slowly return the scrapbook to her backpack. “I didn’t know he was your boyfriend,” she said. “I thought you were like the cleaning lady or somebody.”

Blue sighed. Even at eleven, this child knew the Blue Baileys of the world weren’t in the same league with the Dean Robillards.

“He likes you a lot,” Riley said wistfully.

“He’s just bored.”

April poked her head in. “I have something I forgot at the cottage. Would the two of you like to come with me while I get it? It’s a nice walk.”

Blue still hadn’t made it to the shower, but keeping Riley away from Dean for a while seemed like a good idea, and she suspected that was April’s intention. Besides, she wanted to see this cottage. “Sure. We weirdos like new adventures.”

April lifted an eyebrow. “Weirdos?”

“Don’t worry,” Riley said politely. “You’re too pretty to be a weirdo.”

“Stop right there,” Blue said. “We can’t be prejudiced against people just because they’re pretty. Being a weirdo is a state of mind. April has a lot of imagination. She’s kind of a weirdo, too.”

“I’m honored,” April said dryly. And then she gave Riley a stiff smile. “Do you want to see my secret pond?”

“You have a secret pond?”

“I’ll show you.”

Riley grabbed her backpack, and they both followed April from the caravan.

Chapter Nine

The small, weathered cottage sat behind a dilapidated picket fence. Pine needles dusted the tin roof, and four spindly candlestick posts held up the rickety porch. The once white paint had grayed, and the shutters had faded to a dull green.

“You live here all by yourself?” Riley said.

“Only for the past couple of months,” April replied. “I have a condo in L.A.”

As Blue took in the silver Saab with California plates parked in the shade at the side of the house, she decided the fashion stylist business was good.

“Don’t you get scared at night?” Riley said. “Like what if a kidnapper or serial killer tries to get you?”

April led them up onto a creaky wooden porch. “There are enough real things in life to worry about. The chances of a serial killer making his way here are pretty slim.”