My Three Girls

Dana ran her tongue over her teeth. “I don’t think you understand. I don’t know enough about Mrs. Moore to really know where she went. I’m not sure anymore if it was a conference she had to attend. Maybe it was a meeting.”

“Do you remember what Bev was wearing?” He wasn’t writing, but Dana was certain that he would remember every word.

Dana looked at him in surprise. “Yes.”

“Good.” Dana’s heart thumped as he flashed an even set of teeth at her. He prompted her again, “What was she wearing?”

Dana tried to remember and spoke slowly. “A really nice suit. She had high heels and perfume on. Lots of makeup.”

“Do you know the color of the suit?”

“Taupe.”

“Taupe?”

“Taupe linen, with a cream silk camisole.”

“Oh.” His expression was puzzled.

“Taupe’s like a khaki brown without the green. Tan, with more gray,” she explained.

“Anything else?”

The pause extended for much longer than she expected. He was giving her time to think, but she was only drawing a blank. She wasn’t a very good witness. “I can’t think of anything.”

“Are you sure?”

“Except for the occasional parent interviews, I don’t speak to Mrs. Moore beyond hello, how are you.” Dana stood up, feeling agitated, and then, realizing that her behavior was rude, sat right back down and clasped her hands together.

“I thought this was a small school.”

“What does that have to do with it?” She was starting to get irritated, as if he held her responsible for his sister-in-law’s disappearance.

“I thought at smaller schools pretty much everyone knew everyone else’s business. The schoolteacher especially.”

She felt her back stiffen. “I am not a gossip.” She was beyond irritated. She unclenched her hands and noticed bright red marks on her hands. She crossed her arms.

“I’m not asking for gossip. I’m asking for anything about Bev that could give us some insight into where she might have gone. Would you say that she was a devoted mother?”

Dana had to admire the finesse with which he spoke. Anyone could have been missing by the tone of his voice. Not a close family member. She cleared her throat. “Um, do you want the truth or the politically correct answer?”

BRADY STARED at the schoolteacher. She was alternately vulnerable yet fierce. Compassionate yet so reserved. However, it was the troubled look in her eyes that disturbed him the most.

“What’s the difference?” he asked, making his tone light enough to match her dry one.

“The politically correct answer would be that she allows her children to be very independent.”

“And the truth?”

“She forgets them. They’re here really early and are always the last ones to get picked up. I’ve had to take them home a couple of times, when I wasn’t able to get Mrs. Moore on the phone…” Her voice trailed off and she avoided making eye contact, telling him she thought she’d said too much.

“Is there more?”

Dana studied her nails for a moment before answering. “No.”

“Are you sure?” There was something in her voice that made him press her.

“Yes.”

Brady waited. He knew there was more, probably more than she wanted to articulate. When another minute passed and she still hadn’t spoken, he braced himself. This wasn’t a good sign.

Finally she said carefully, her eyes still on her hands, each word precise, “The children are neglected. I can’t prove it, but there’s something about them that makes me think their home life is less than secure.” She looked up at him. “Their clothes aren’t clean. They aren’t clean. They look neat, but they’re not clean. I don’t have anything to support my feelings, though I’m sure that if I were to put them in the tub, it’d be the first bath they’d had in a long time.”

Brady didn’t want to hear this. He didn’t want to know that Carson’s little girls were neglected. He felt a familiar stab of guilt that he’d used layers of rationalizations to dull. It didn’t hurt any less.

“Do you think Mrs. Moore has abandoned them?” Dana asked, leaning forward. Her dark eyes were intense and Brady felt as if they saw into the deepest, ugliest part of him. He looked away. She couldn’t know. Besides, she had her own secrets. Who was she to probe?

But he had to tell her something. How much?

She continued, “I don’t know anything about their father. Out of state?”

He was embarrassed for Bev, for the girls, for himself. Bev had made it abundantly clear that when Carson “left her,” as she put it, she didn’t want anything more to do with his family. But knowing that didn’t stop him from taking this personally. If Dana Ritchie was right about the girls being neglected, he was responsible.

“My brother is in prison.” The words came out more bluntly than he intended. This schoolteacher was the first person who’d ever heard him utter those words, and he felt shame course through his body. Brady wasn’t his brother’s keeper, but he should have helped Carson more.

Dana didn’t blink. “Oh.”

He emptied the coffee cup and studied the pattern on it. Apples.

“That explains some things about the children. How long has he been in prison?” Her voice was matter-of-fact. She didn’t react with the horror that he expected.

IT TOOK SO LONG for the man sitting across from her to answer that Dana began to wonder if he ever would. But she knew she had to be patient. This clearly wasn’t easy for him.

“Since before Ollie was born.” The words came out slowly and distinctly.

Dana studied his face. His mouth was tight but his hands encircled the empty cup as gently as if it was china. He was a man who carried around a lot of pain. She wanted to tell him she knew exactly how he felt. If she couldn’t do that, she should at least give him a firm, reassuring hug or even a pat on the shoulder.

Instead, she said, “I’m sorry.”

The words seemed trite and for some reason, that made her feel worse. The poor girls. Their father was in prison, their mother gone. Their future was even shakier than Dana had imagined.

“Yeah, me, too.” He smiled. Despite the even teeth, the crinkling eyes and the deep dimples, Dana didn’t believe it for a second. He tucked the pain somewhere behind that smile. Somehow, she knew he worked just as hard as she did, so he wouldn’t have to think about the past.

“Is that why you haven’t seen the girls?” She leaned against the back of a chair. She chose her words with care, sending them out as an exploratory probe.

“Partly.” He stood up and turned to stare at her wall of student art. “I’ve been busy.”

Usually such a rebuff would make Dana back off, but for some reason, she said, “It must be hard to be in law enforcement and have a brother in prison.”

She kept her voice soft. She’d found a kindred spirit in this man who kept as much hidden as she did.

“It happens.” He strode across to the kitchen and put the coffee cup in the sink. Then, as if compelled, he rinsed it.

Dana didn’t want to press, but needed to know one piece of information, “The girls’ father, your brother, isn’t in jail for hurting—” Her voice faltered. She couldn’t bear the idea that those little girls had suffered in other ways, as well.

The “No!” exploded out of Brady, but his back was still toward her. He took a deep breath and then turned around. His mask was on again and his voice reasonable when he spoke. “No. He’s not in jail for any kind of violent crime. It’s—” He didn’t finish.

Dana didn’t blame him. She could feel how tired he was, and her own fatigue responded to it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

He shook his head and waved a hand. He pushed himself away from the counter, the smile back on his face. “It’s not your fault. You haven’t done anything. In fact, I should be thanking you for all that you’ve done for the girls.”

“So what happens now?” Dana asked.

“What happens is that I let you go to sleep and I’ll come back in the morning. Maybe by then Bev will have found her way home.”

Dana took a deep breath, relieved that he was planning to return. Having another person around would make this easier.

She stood and started to move toward the front door, pleasantries dying on her lips as a terrified scream came from the bedroom.

CHAPTER THREE

DANA TURNED at the screech of pure anguish coming from the girls’ bedroom. She ran down the hall with Brady right behind her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked her.

“I don’t know.”

He stepped in front of the door and rattled the knob. “It’s locked.”

“It can’t be. There isn’t a lock on it.” Dana pushed Brady out of the way. “Karen! Open up.” She shoved the door with her shoulder. “There’s a chair or something against it.”

“Karen, take the chair away from the door,” Brady called.

“No. It’s okay.” Karen’s voice trembled.

“It’s not okay,” Dana said in her best teacher voice. “You need to open this door. We need to see if anyone’s hurt.”

“No one’s hurt,” Karen said with a little more confidence. “You can go away. Sorry to bother you.”

The screaming got louder.

“Who is that?” Brady asked Dana in an undertone.

She listened at the door, trying to figure out what was going on. She could hear Ollie making soothing sounds. “Jean,” she concluded.

“Karen,” Brady cajoled. “Open the door so Miss Ritchie can take care of Jean.”

“It’s okay.” Karen’s brave little voice came through the door. “Jean just had a bad dream, that’s all.”

“Let us in,” Dana pleaded.

“It’s okay,” the girl repeated.

“It’s not okay until I see Jean,” Dana said. She turned to Brady, unfortunately finding him close enough for her face to brush against his chest. She looked down and asked, “So do you have a way of kicking in the door?”

“I’m not going to kick in the door.” Brady was adamant.

She rattled the handle.

“Ollie,” she called. “Take the chair away from the door.”

“Don’t do it!” Karen’s order to Ollie was loud and clear.

“Maybe she can help Jean,” Ollie said.

“No. She’s just going to get into trouble.” This was said so low that Dana had to strain to hear it.

“Ollie, let me in. No one’s going to get into trouble. Honest,” Dana coaxed.

“What’s going on?” Brady asked in her ear. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck.

“They think they’re going to get into trouble because Jean’s screaming.”

“She’s nice,” Ollie argued. Dana could tell that she’d moved next to the door.

“But he’s out there.” That was ominous.

“They’re worried about you,” Dana explained to Brady in a whisper.

“Me?”

Dana glanced up at him, surprised that he looked hurt. “You can’t take it personally. You look, uh, intimidating—as if you’re going to take them to jail.”

He knocked on the door. “We both promise that no one will get into trouble.” He had to shout, because the agonized screeches that had started to subside into heartbreaking whimpering were getting louder as Karen and Ollie argued.

“I’m going to open it,” Ollie declared.

They heard a fumbling at the door and then it swung open. Jean—her face contorted with terror—was curled in the corner of the sofa bed that Dana had pulled out for the girls to share.

Karen tried to block their view of Jean. “She’s going to be okay. If you have to put someone in the closet, then it should be me. You can’t put Jean in the closet. She doesn’t mean to have bad dreams.”

Dana shook her head, wanting to believe there was some other reason that Karen had come to this conclusion. “Why would we want to put any of you in the closet?”

“That’s what you do.” Karen’s arms were firmly planted on her skinny hips, leaving no one with any doubt that she would defend her sister to the last. The sight broke Dana’s heart. No eleven-year-old should have to bear that much responsibility.

“I don’t. I just want to see what’s wrong with Miss Jean,” Dana scooted around Karen and pulled the shrieking girl into her arms. Sitting on the bed, she nestled Jean on her lap and began to rock, resting her cheek on the child’s grubby head.

JEAN CRIED HARDER as she huddled into the safety of the schoolteacher’s arms. Brady couldn’t remember ever feeling such anger before. In his fifteen years as a deputy sheriff, he’d seen a lot of horrible things, but the neglect and abuse of kids was the worst. True innocents at the mercy of the adults in their lives. If he thought about it enough, he would never go to work.

He made an effort to unclench his hands as he added Karen’s words to the growing pile of evidence against Bev. Something would have to be done and done quickly. Child Protective Services was out of the question. There was no way he’d let the girls get taken and most likely separated. One member of the family institutionalized was enough. Besides, he owed it to Carson not to let these girls suffer anymore. Still worse—what if Bev did show up? Then he’d never be able to get the children into a decent home setting without involving CPS. He had to act before that happened. But what could he do? Even though he was their closest living relative and a deputy, that hardly testified to his fitness as a guardian. If he was married, with a family and a house, there wouldn’t be a problem. The courts would give him custody in a flash. But the fact was he worked odd shifts and had a tiny studio apartment, not exactly the ideal situation for three young girls, even temporarily.

“Did you have a nightmare, sweetie? It’s okay. You’re safe now.” Dana’s crooning broke into his thoughts. She was a natural mother… He immediately rejected the plan that began to form. No. Ridiculous.

Ollie put her hand on Dana’s thigh and looked pleadingly at the schoolteacher, tears brimming in her eyes. “You’re not going to put Jean in the closet, are you? You said you don’t do that.”

Dana shook her head. “My closets are for coats and school supplies. I don’t think Jean would make a very good school supply, do you?”

Ollie looked puzzled. “What would she be?”

Dana frowned, thinking it over. Brady felt a curious emotion begin to spread through his chest, squeezing his heart like a giant hand. He couldn’t stop watching the schoolteacher and the girls. Ollie’s sweet face was filled with a grave earnestness that Dana apparently could not resist, because she reached out and gave the girl’s plump cheek a reassuring rub. That gesture alone sealed things for Brady. He couldn’t save these kids by himself, but together they could. They could provide a home for Karen, Jean and Ollie. The plan terrified him, even though it made perfect sense.

“Well,” Dana said, answering Ollie’s question with utter seriousness. “I think she’d be an awfully good paper clip.”

A little laugh burst out of Ollie. “But she’d have to lie flat all the time.”

“Could she be a staple?”

“No! Scissors!” Ollie chortled and made a big cutting gesture with her arms.

“She’d have to snip things,” Dana reminded her.

Brady watched in bemusement as Jean’s wails subsided to occasional hiccups. Even though she didn’t say anything, the brightness in her eyes indicated she was listening.

“I know,” Dana told Ollie, giving Jean another squeeze. “Jean could be the paste!”

“She’d have to be really, really, really sticky,” Ollie said, bouncing up and down on the bed. Then she froze and Brady saw a wet stain start to spread across the sheet. Ollie’s face collapsed and her tears returned. “I didn’t mean to.”

“What’s wrong, honey?” Dana asked.

Ollie didn’t say a word, but the tears spilled onto her cheeks.

“I think she’s had an accident.” Brady gestured to the spreading stain.

“Oh.” Dana didn’t blink. She gave Ollie a big smile. “I think you need to go to the potty right now.”

“No cl-cl-oset?” Ollie whimpered.

“You don’t look like a Magic Marker to me. Go sit on the potty right now.” With considerable effort, Dana managed to stand with Jean in her arms, then she moved over to Brady and thrust the girl at him. His surprise must have shown. Dana grinned at him. “It’s either Jean or potty duty. Your choice.”

It really wasn’t that crazy a plan. “I’ll take Jean,” he said, pulling the child close to his chest and being careful not to poke her with the edge of his badge.

Dana nodded as she left the room with Ollie. “I thought you might.”

Brady thought Jean had fallen asleep she was so quiet and still, but when he looked, her huge eyes were peering up at him.

“She thinks you’re going to put her in the closet,” Karen informed him.

“Why would she think that?” Brady made his voice neutral so Karen wouldn’t detect his anger.

“That’s where Momma puts us when we’re bad.”

Brady felt a chill run down his spine. “Your mother shouldn’t do that.”

Karen shrugged. “We always deserve it, and anyway it’s only for a little while. Just a day or so. She’s always nice when she lets us out.”

Brady didn’t want to hear any more. He sat on the bed and turned his gaze to Jean who was tracing the ridges on the seal of his badge with her small index finger. Then, in a move of complete trust, she snuggled closer into him, the sharp bones of her elbows jabbing into his ribs.

He sat that way for what seemed like a long time and analyzed his plan from all angles. If he tried to file for temporary custody on his own and didn’t get it, there would be only two places for the children to go—back to Bev, if and when she returned, or into the system. Neither option was acceptable.

Bev would probably move out of the area, and the poor girls would just be treated like excess baggage until she deserted them again or, worse, found a more permanent way of ridding herself of her children.

In Child Protective Services, the girls might go to a good home, but then again they might not. The likelihood that they’d be split up would be high. Ollie and Jean had good chances to be adopted, but Karen was too old. Crazy as the plan had seemed ten minutes ago, by the time Dana returned to the room with Ollie wrapped in a towel, her cheeks scrubbed to a bright pink, Brady knew the only way to ensure that he would be granted temporary custody of the children by the judge would be if he were to get married. And since there was no woman in his life—certainly no woman the girls would trust—that meant he had to convince Dana to be his bride.

“Sorry it took so long,” Dana apologized. “It was just easier to give her a bath.” She produced three folded T-shirts. “Nightgowns,” she announced, quickly pulling one over Ollie’s head. She handed another to Karen.

“Now, who wants to help me change the sheets?” she said, her voice bright, obviously unaware that while she, Ollie and Karen worked, he was finalizing his plan. It made perfect sense. Not all marriages started with love. She seemed to be a pleasant enough woman and practical, too. Being a schoolteacher in such a rural area proved her dedication to children. He didn’t doubt that he’d grow to love her, in, of course, a brotherly way—over time.

“I think a bath is in order for Miss Jean,” Dana said once the bed was remade. “When I feel sad, a warm bath always makes me feel better. Also, monsters don’t like water.”

“Another bath?” Brady asked.

Dana gave him a small smile that caused a pulse to beat erratically in his throat as she held out her arms for Jean. “Come on, missy.”

Okay, not so brotherly.

“I like baths,” Ollie said sleepily, already snuggled down into the clean sheets. “You make them fun.”

“Thank you, miss. Now, you have a good night’s sleep.” Dana dropped a kiss on Ollie’s cheek. “For Miss Jean, we are going to have a special keep-the-meanies-away kind of bath.”

“I can do it,” Karen said.

Dana looked gently at Karen, “You’ve done so much already, I think you should rest, because you’re going to have to be strong for tomorrow.”

“Still—” Karen shrugged “—I usually do it.”

“I promise to take good care of her,” Dana offered. “Do you mind? I like giving little girls baths.”

Karen looked undecided and then crawled into bed next to Ollie. She ignored Brady and addressed Dana. “He’s leaving, right?”

Dana communicated three different messages with one meaningful glance at Brady.

“Uh, yes.” He started to walk out of the room.

“I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Karen didn’t look pleased, but finally nodded. “I guess that’s okay.”

It was a halfhearted endorsement, but Brady felt as if it was a gift.

DANA RAN a warm bath for Jean, peeling off the filthy pajamas that Dana had reluctantly allowed them to put on earlier. Calm now, Jean happily put her hand on Dana’s shoulder and stepped into the tub.

“Let’s do your hair first. I’m going to put some warm water on it, so close your eyes really tight,” Dana said, her voice soft.

Jean shut her eyes, her face scrunching up with the effort, and Dana poured warm water onto the matted mess. She definitely wasn’t wrong about the children’s lack of hygiene. Only after three washes did Dana feel the little girl’s hair was clean. She was thankful there weren’t any lice.

“Can you wash yourself, Jean?” Dana asked, offering her a bright-orange bath puff.

Jean nodded, took the puff and lathered it up. With earnest determination, she scrubbed her arms, chest and legs. When she finished, she looked up at Dana, who finished off the little girl’s face, neck and back. She was relieved when she didn’t see any marks or bruises anywhere.

“There!” Dana said when she’d finished rinsing the soap off. “The monsters wouldn’t dream of eating such a clean little girl. They hate the taste of soap.”

Jean gave her a ghost of a smile and stepped right into the towel Dana held open for her. Dana closed her eyes and felt a lump in her chest. She swallowed hard. She didn’t want to feel anything for this child. But her heart wasn’t as atrophied as she’d always thought.

Jean patted her face, her little forehead furrowed with concern.

Dana blinked back tears. “I’m fine. You’re just so cute.”

Jean shook her head and wrapped her arms around Dana’s neck. Forcing herself not to reject the kindness Jean offered, she squeezed back, then stood. “Oh, you’re so heavy!”

After she combed out Jean’s hair, she carried the girl to the bedroom, where Ollie slept and Karen had her eyes shut. Shortly, Jean was in a T-shirt, tucked in next to her sisters.

Before she left, Dana pushed back Karen’s hair and kissed her forehead. Then she whispered “Sleep well” in her ear. As she turned off the light, Karen spoke.

“Miss Ritchie?”

“Yes, Karen?”

“What’s going to happen to us?”

“I don’t know. But everything will work out in the end.”

“Promise?”

Dana swallowed. “Yes. I promise.”

Karen nodded and pulled the covers over her head as she nestled closer to Ollie.

Dana crept from their room and closed the door, but she could get no farther. She leaned up against the wall, trying to hold back the emotions that surged through her. She couldn’t do this again. Already, she liked these little girls more than she should. She didn’t want to care for them only to have them ripped away. She’d done that once before. In his two months with her, Adam had gone from an introverted six-year-old to a brave and joyful boy. Then—

No. She wouldn’t think of that anymore. She stood straight and headed for the kitchen. These three girls were Deputy Moore’s problem, not hers.

He was sitting at the table, but got up when she entered. “Miss Ritchie.”

“Dana.” She smiled, feeling the fatigue all the way down to her toes. “I think that we know each other well enough now to use first names. Unless that’s against policy or something.”

He shook his head and pulled a chair out for her, a gesture she found oddly touching. Then he sat down and reached across the table to close his fingers over hers.

“Thank you.” His voice was grave.

“For what?” His warm touch was doing something odd to her breathing. He looked different, too. Something about him had changed in the short time he’d been here.