LITMIR.BIZ

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have you done, Lucie? I was going to make breakfast—you didn’t have to.”

      “Oh, I always make breakfast,” Lucie said. “My mom sleeps in, and I get me and Jason ready for school.” She hesitated, and I could see she was trying not to cry. “Jason, take your bowl to the sink and brush your teeth.” She spoke in a voice that could have been Ellie’s, and Jason did as he was told.

      “May I have some cereal along with you?”

      “Yes. Do you want toast, Aunt Di? My mom always had toast and black coffee.” Lucie teared up.

      I hugged her and stroked her hair. She leaned against me and let me treat her like the sad little girl she was.

      “I miss my mom,” she cried. “She didn’t say goodbye to me.”

      “I miss her too. The last thing she said to me was about you and Jason—how much she loved you and that she wanted me to keep you safe.”

      Lucie dried her eyes with the back of her hand. “She said I was a very good cook.”

      “I couldn’t make anything except chocolate chip cookies when I was your age. I think cereal will be fine for me this morning. Some Cheerios and maybe a banana and some milk. I’ll get it.”

      “No, Aunt Di, I’ll get it for you.” Lucie dashed to the refrigerator, brought out the carton of milk, and put it on the table. She handed me a banana and placed a bowl and spoon in front of me.

      “You are going to make me very lazy.”

      She smiled and sat down beside me. “Is there a bus we can take to school, Aunt Di?”

      “There probably is, but I’m going to drive you. And remember Lurleen is going to pick you up after school. Wait for her in the office. I’ll let the principal and teachers know about that. Can you pick Jason up at his classroom?”

      “Of course.” Lucie gave me a look. “You know, Aunt Di, we can walk home.”

      I shook my head. “I know you can, but Lurleen wants to pick you up and you’ll stay with her until I get home.”

      Jason came back into the breakfast room in time to hear our conversation. “I want my mommy to pick me up,” he said.

      “Hush,” Lucie said. “Mommy is far away. She can’t pick you up.”

      Jason came over and climbed onto my lap. “When will she come home?” he asked me.

      I rocked him. “Your mommy can’t come home. I’m sorry, baby.”

      Jason sat up. “I’m not a baby. I’m Superman. I will bring her home. You’ll see.”

      He jumped off my lap and headed to the bedroom where his Superman and Spider-Man were undoubtedly waiting for him. Lucie got up and didn’t seem to know if she should follow him or clean up in the kitchen.

      “I’ll clean up. You help Jason. We’ll leave in half an hour.”

      The kids were ready ten minutes before I was. Lucie had a backpack by the door for each of them. She gathered them up, took Jason’s hand, and waited while I opened the door and ushered them outside. I locked the door and headed for my Corolla.

      Parked down the street I saw a magnificent matte-black Dodge Ram. I nudged Jason whose eyes grew wide at the sight of the truck. It was a real beauty built for off-road capacity, something my father would have loved. I could hear the conversation he’d have had with my mother: “Need a new truck for the farm—might as well be a looker.” And I could hear my mother’s disdainful response: “Nonsense, George. Won’t stay new for half a minute. Not the way we work our trucks. A waste of good money.” She was right, of course, but right wasn’t always fun, and I don’t think my dad got to have much fun on the farm.

      “Maybe it’s time I get a new car,” I said to both of them.

      Jason’s eyes lit up, but Lucie shook her head.

      “I love your car,” Lucie said. “I remember it from the time we stayed with you in Florida.”

      “You have a very good memory. It’s ten years old. Older than you. I hang onto things as long as I can.” Maybe I had a little more of my mother in me than I cared to admit.

      “Me too,” Lucie said, as she climbed into the car. “See my locket? My mom gave me that and told me to keep it safe forever.”

      “It’s beautiful, Luce. What’s inside it?”

      Lucie carefully opened it up and showed me the miniature pictures. “It’s a picture of Mom and Dad when they didn’t fight all the time.”

      I held Lucie’s hand as I studied the pictures. Ellie, smiling, looked beautiful. John, also smiling, looked the way I remembered him—round face, glasses, and hair as blond as Lucie’s. Briefly I wondered where Jason got his dark hair and complexion. “I’m glad you have that, Lucie.” I closed the case.

      “Everyone buckled?” I asked before I got in the driver’s seat. They were. As we pulled out of the driveway, the Dodge truck roared to life. The driver tailgated me to the light at Highland. That was weird. I made a right turn. He gunned his engine and stayed behind me. I looked in my rearview mirror, but all I could see were tinted windows.

      Something was terribly wrong. I felt my grip tighten on the steering wheel, my focus sharpen. It was the feeling I had when I entered the room of a very sick child. You knew in an instant that something wasn’t right.

      I took a quick right turn onto a side street to see if the truck was following us.

      I didn’t have to wait long. He turned, barely missing my back fender. I pulled over in front of a house, hoping he’d drive past. Instead, he pulled up beside me and lowered the passenger-side window. He shouted something, but I couldn’t make out what he said over the revving engine. I craned my neck to get a better look and thought I saw someone in the passenger seat. The driver pulled ahead of me to block me in. He had a gun rack on the back of the truck with two shiny rifles.

      Lucie screamed. “It’s him. The man with the scar. The man who hurt Mommy.”

      “Get down, both of you,” I yelled. They ducked, and I backed up. I swerved around the truck and took off down the narrow road, careening right at the first street I found. I turned again, floored the engine back to Highland, and took a left in front of a Miata whose driver slowed down long enough to give me the finger. The truck had to wait for three more cars before it could get on the road behind me. I tore down Highland, hoping a police car would spot me. No such luck. Traffic slowed at Virginia-Highland and the truck managed to pull up on my left. This time I heard what the guy shouted at me. “Pull over. We gotta talk.”

      Not likely, I thought. I fishtailed right on Virginia and plowed through a 25 m.p.h. zone. Three more blocks and I skidded left on Monroe. I didn’t exactly have a plan, but if I could get to Ponce de Leon, maybe someone would pick me up for speeding. The truck stayed on my tail.

      I was all adrenalin. The kids remained crouched in the back seat, Lucie’s doing for sure. I turned right on Ponce and for a moment I thought I’d lost him. But in a heartbeat he was behind me again. If I braked, he braked. If I pulled around a car, he was waiting for me on the other side. A cat-and-mouse game. Where were the damn cops when you needed them? I was close to Peachtree when I finally heard the siren. The policeman pulled me over and the truck sped by. But not before I made out the first three letters of the license plate.

      “Sh—oot,” I said. “I only got the letters.”

      “I got the numbers, Aunt Di,” Lucie said. “Five, three, two.”

      I could have hugged her. “You’re a wonder, Luce.”

      The officer didn’t believe my story until I mentioned Detective Mason Garrett by name. Then he went to his car, made a call, and came back to us two minutes later.

      “Detective Garrett says I’m to escort you to his office.”

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