Page 33 of Crossing Lines

Robert looked thoughtful. “Sure. He always comes to visit and brings cream horns too.”

“And did he mention anything about Lucas or playing golf or…”

Robert took another bite of the pastry. “I don’t think so.”

Beryl hid her disappointment. She was hoping Charlie would have mentioned something to Robert about his big plan to get Lucas out of jail, but either he hadn’t or Robert didn’t remember. Because Robert certainly wouldn’t lie to her about it. What reason would he have?

* * *

Robert hadn’t exactly lied to his sister. Uncle Charlie hadn’t really talked about golf. But he had talked about fishing, and Robert didn’t want her to know he’d gone out to the old fishing cabin by the river, because she insisted he stay home. He was not supposed to drive until he felt better. But he was starting to feel better, and it was so boring to just sit in the house all day.

Robert bit into another cream horn. Why was Beryl asking about golfing? Before she left, she’d looked around, and he’d seen her linger over some old golf pictures in the library too, especially the one with him and Lucas.

Was she pining for Lucas? That idea didn’t sit well with him. Even though he and Lucas had been friends as kids, he sure as heck hadn’t wanted him to marry his sister. Lucas wasn’t a very nice person. And he’d thought he’d sensed tension in their marriage before Lucas went to prison, so he’d figured she’d be glad he was gone.

As he watched a blue jay swoop down to dominate the bird feeder, his thoughts turned to Uncle Charlie. He used to idolize his uncle. Charlie had been the one that helped him catch his first trout and had taught him some valuable computer skills, not the least of which was how to get to level ten on his favorite computer video game. But that was when he was a kid. He didn’t idolize him anymore. It turned out Charlie wasn’t a very nice person, either.

Then again, Robert had no reason to talk about Lucas or Charlie, because he himself had done some things he now regretted. None of them were saints, not even Beryl. Though she was a good sister, he thought, smiling at the plate of cream horns.

Maybe no one was as good as they pretended to be. Now that his mind was getting less fuzzy, he remembered lots of things he’d rather forget.

He was feeling much better today. Maybe he’d fill the bird feeder. It was getting kind of empty. Maybe he’d even get a haircut. His hair was getting rather long.

Chapter Twenty-One

Hazel Webster’s farmhouse was on several acres of fields overlooking a vista of the mountains. The driveway was dirt, and the overgrown lawn was dotted with dandelions. The house was clad in peeling white paint. The porch that ran along the front had several spindles missing. A dilapidated porch swing hanging from the porch ceiling creaked in the wind.

Even Lucy seemed hesitant as they approached the door, which had several layers of peeling paint and a flap of screen hanging out from the corner.

Sam knocked.

After a few seconds, the inner door cracked open to reveal a woman with messy gray hair. Sam guessed she was in her mid-sixties, but she had a weathered look that made her appear older. Cigarette smoke wafted out of the crack in the door and through the screen.

The woman eyed them with suspicion. “What do you want?”

“Chief Sam Mason, Sergeant Jody Harris. Are you Hazel Webster?”

“Yeah.” Hazel’s rheumy gaze flicked from Sam to Jo to Lucy.

Apparently their police credentials didn’t do much to instill confidence, because Hazel didn’t open the door any more than a crack. Usually Lucy warmed people up, but not Hazel.

“We’re looking for Ricky Webster.”

“He’s not here.”

“He lives here, though, correct?”

“He’s a good boy. Ain’t done nothing wrong.”

“We just want to ask him a few questions.” Sam let his gaze drift over her shoulder to see if there was movement inside. Maybe Ricky really was home and hiding in there. But all he saw were dolls. Dolls of all sizes in various outfits. It was kind of creepy.

“He’s not here, and I’d appreciate it if you went away. I’m not going to have you here harassing my grandson like what happened down in Pennsylvania!”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. We’re not here to harass, just a few questions is all. What happened in Pennsylvania?”

Her gaze narrowed as her voice rose. “You know what happened. You’re all in it together. He didn’t do anything to those girls!”

“Is there a problem?” Sam whirled around to see a young man. He had limp dark hair down to his shoulders and dark stubble on his chin. His cocoa-brown eyes assessed first Sam then Jo.

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