planning to come to the house.”
Carrie leaned her face into her hands, worried eyes looking at Jo over her fingertips. She seemed about to say something when a voice from behind Jo startled them both.
“Mom? Aunt Jo?”
“Charlie! Did we wake you?” Carrie jumped up from her chair to go to her son. “How do you feel? Do you need another pain pill?”
Charlie shook his head, looking only half-awake, his hair spiking in several different directions, his too-small robe drooping over pajama bottoms and a T-shirt.
“Is that stew? Can I have some?”
“Of course! I didn’t want to wake you when Amanda and I had supper.” Carrie bustled over to the stove. “Shall I bring it to you in the recliner?” she asked, filling a fresh bowl.
“Nah, I’m okay.” Charlie shuffled over to the kitchen table, and Jo hurried to pull out a chair for him, which he eased onto in slow motion.
“Looks like you got yourself out of shoveling any snow for the next few weeks,” Jo said.
Charlie grimaced. “I think I’d rather shovel snow.”
“Yeah, I would too.”
Carrie put his supper before him, and Jo watched Charlie work at getting as much food into his stomach with the least possible amount of movement. It didn’t look easy. As the level of food lowered, though, Charlie’s eyes grew increasingly clear. Eventually he released his fork and leaned slowly back in his chair.
“So, what’s going on?” he asked.
Getting only surprised silence from the two women across from him, he continued. “Aunt Jo’s here, Dad isn’t, and Mom, you look pretty darn worried.”
“I’m not . . .” Carrie began to protest, then stopped. “Well, yes, I am, but I’m probably just being silly. There was an accident tonight. Mr. Holt—the man whose basement Dad’s been working on?—took a bad fall. Aunt Jo found him, and Dad’s over there right now talking with the police who are trying to figure out just what happened.”
“A bad fall. You mean a really bad one, right? Not like mine?”
“No, not like yours. Mr. Holt is dead.”
“Whooo!” Charlie thought a moment. “So—what? They’re thinking it might be Dad’s fault or something?”
“We don’t know what they’re thinking right now, Charlie,” Jo said. “As your mom said, I discovered Mr. Holt lying at the bottom of the stairs, but I have no idea what happened. They have to talk to everyone, and it all takes time. We’ll just have to wait.”
Charlie nodded. His gaze wandered about the kitchen, but Jo had a feeling he wasn’t thinking about what more he might find to eat. This was a fifteen-year-old who already had experience with police investigation and violent death, though thankfully only at arm’s length. She sincerely hoped that remained to be the case. But having one’s father being questioned on the circumstances of his present employer’s death had the potential of bringing that arm in closer than she cared to see.
The phone rang, and Carrie jumped up to answer.
“Dan! Where are you? What’s happening?”
Jo could only guess at Dan’s response by reading Carrie’s face, which wasn’t encouraging. Carrie’s expression grew more worried as the moments went by.
“Oh! Oh dear. But why—? Oh! Oh!”
She ended by saying, “Yes, I’ll call Sylvia. Yes, yes, of course. No, certainly not. All right.”
Carrie hung up, turning to Jo and Charlie with a stunned look.
“Dan’s at the police station. He went there for further questioning, and now they’re talking with Xavier. They’ve been talking with him for a very long time.”
She drew a deep breath. “Dan said things don’t look good.”
Chapter 5
Jo paced through the Craft Corner’s maze of shelves the next morning, unable to sit still for more than two seconds at a time. She had stayed late at Carrie’s the night before, but as midnight approached and Dan still hadn’t come home, Carrie shooed her off, insisting Jo should go home and get some
Carrie leaned her face into her hands, worried eyes looking at Jo over her fingertips. She seemed about to say something when a voice from behind Jo startled them both.
“Mom? Aunt Jo?”
“Charlie! Did we wake you?” Carrie jumped up from her chair to go to her son. “How do you feel? Do you need another pain pill?”
Charlie shook his head, looking only half-awake, his hair spiking in several different directions, his too-small robe drooping over pajama bottoms and a T-shirt.
“Is that stew? Can I have some?”
“Of course! I didn’t want to wake you when Amanda and I had supper.” Carrie bustled over to the stove. “Shall I bring it to you in the recliner?” she asked, filling a fresh bowl.
“Nah, I’m okay.” Charlie shuffled over to the kitchen table, and Jo hurried to pull out a chair for him, which he eased onto in slow motion.
“Looks like you got yourself out of shoveling any snow for the next few weeks,” Jo said.
Charlie grimaced. “I think I’d rather shovel snow.”
“Yeah, I would too.”
Carrie put his supper before him, and Jo watched Charlie work at getting as much food into his stomach with the least possible amount of movement. It didn’t look easy. As the level of food lowered, though, Charlie’s eyes grew increasingly clear. Eventually he released his fork and leaned slowly back in his chair.
“So, what’s going on?” he asked.
Getting only surprised silence from the two women across from him, he continued. “Aunt Jo’s here, Dad isn’t, and Mom, you look pretty darn worried.”
“I’m not . . .” Carrie began to protest, then stopped. “Well, yes, I am, but I’m probably just being silly. There was an accident tonight. Mr. Holt—the man whose basement Dad’s been working on?—took a bad fall. Aunt Jo found him, and Dad’s over there right now talking with the police who are trying to figure out just what happened.”
“A bad fall. You mean a really bad one, right? Not like mine?”
“No, not like yours. Mr. Holt is dead.”
“Whooo!” Charlie thought a moment. “So—what? They’re thinking it might be Dad’s fault or something?”
“We don’t know what they’re thinking right now, Charlie,” Jo said. “As your mom said, I discovered Mr. Holt lying at the bottom of the stairs, but I have no idea what happened. They have to talk to everyone, and it all takes time. We’ll just have to wait.”
Charlie nodded. His gaze wandered about the kitchen, but Jo had a feeling he wasn’t thinking about what more he might find to eat. This was a fifteen-year-old who already had experience with police investigation and violent death, though thankfully only at arm’s length. She sincerely hoped that remained to be the case. But having one’s father being questioned on the circumstances of his present employer’s death had the potential of bringing that arm in closer than she cared to see.
The phone rang, and Carrie jumped up to answer.
“Dan! Where are you? What’s happening?”
Jo could only guess at Dan’s response by reading Carrie’s face, which wasn’t encouraging. Carrie’s expression grew more worried as the moments went by.
“Oh! Oh dear. But why—? Oh! Oh!”
She ended by saying, “Yes, I’ll call Sylvia. Yes, yes, of course. No, certainly not. All right.”
Carrie hung up, turning to Jo and Charlie with a stunned look.
“Dan’s at the police station. He went there for further questioning, and now they’re talking with Xavier. They’ve been talking with him for a very long time.”
She drew a deep breath. “Dan said things don’t look good.”
Chapter 5
Jo paced through the Craft Corner’s maze of shelves the next morning, unable to sit still for more than two seconds at a time. She had stayed late at Carrie’s the night before, but as midnight approached and Dan still hadn’t come home, Carrie shooed her off, insisting Jo should go home and get some
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