"I can understand that. The gray area here is the accident itself. The medical reports confirm that your father was in good physical shape. There's no evidence of a heart attack, a stroke, any physical reason that would have caused him to lose control of his car. A single-car accident, an empty stretch of road on a dry, clear day. The accident-reconstruction expert's findings were inconclusive."
"That's your problem." Cam spotted Seth walking down the road from the direction of school. And there, he thought, is mine. "I can't help you with it. But I can tell you that my father faced his problems, square on. He never took the easy way. I've got work to do." Leaving it at that, Cam turned away and walked toward Seth.
Mackensie rubbed eyes that were tearing up from the sunlight. Quinn might have thought he'd added nothing to the report, but he was wrong. If nothing else, Mackensie could be sure the Quinns would fight for their claim to the bitter end. If not for the money, for the memory.
"Who's that guy?" Seth asked as he watched Mackensie head back to his car.
"Some insurance quack." Cam nodded down the street where two boys loitered a half a block away.
"Who're those guys?"
Seth gave a careless glance over his shoulder, followed it with a shrug. "I don't know. Just kids from school. They're nobody."
"They hassling you?"
"Nan. Are we going up on the roof?"
"Roof's done," Cam murmured and watched with some amusement as the two boys wandered closer, trying and failing to look disinterested. "Hey, you kids."
"What're you doing?" Seth hissed, mortified.
"Relax. Come on over here," Cam ordered as both boys froze like statues.
"What the hell are you calling them over for? They're just jerks from school."
"I could use some jerk labor," Cam said mildly. It had also occurred to him that Seth could use some companions of his own age. He waited while Seth squirmed and the two boys held a fast, whispering consultation. It ended with the taller of the two squaring his shoulders and swaggering down the road on his battered Nikes.
"We weren't doing anything," the boy said, his tone of defiance slightly spoiled by a lisp from a missing tooth.
"I could see that. You want to do something?"
The boy slid his eyes to the younger kid, then over to Seth, then cautiously up to Cam's face. "Maybe."
"You got a name?"
"Sure. I'm Danny. This is my kid brother, Will. I turned eleven last week. He's only nine."
"I'll be ten in ten months," Will stated and rapped his brother in the ribs with his elbow.
"He still goes to elementary," Danny put in with a sneer, which he generously shared with Seth. "Baby school."
"I'm not a baby."
As Will's fist was already clenched and lifted, Cam took hold of it, then lightly squeezed his upper arm.
"Seems strong enough to me."
"I'm plenty strong," Will told him, then grinned with the charm of an angelic host.
"We'll see about that. See all this crap piled up around here? Old shingles, tar paper, trash?" Cam surveyed the area himself. "You see that Dumpster over there? The crap goes in the Dumpster, you get five bucks."
"Each?" Danny piped up, his hazel eyes glinting in a freckled face.
"Don't make me laugh, kid. But you'll get a two-dollar bonus if you do it without me having to come out and break up any fights." He jerked a thumb at Seth. "He's in charge." The minute Cam left them alone, Danny turned to Seth. They sized each other up in narrow-eyed silence. "I saw you punch Robert."
Seth shifted his balance evenly. It would be two against one, he calculated, but he was prepared to fight.
"So what?"
"It was cool," was all Danny said and began to pick up torn shingles. Will grinned happily up into Seth's face. "Robert is a big, fat fart, and Danny said when you socked him he bled and bled."
Seth found himself grinning back. "Like a stuck pig."
"Oink, oink," Will said, delighted. "We can buy ice cream with the money up at Crawford's."
"Yeah… maybe." Seth started to gather up trash, with Will cheerfully dogging his heels.
anna wasn't having agood day. She'd started out the morning running her last pair of hose before she even got out her front door. She was out of bagels, and yogurt, and, she admitted, almost every damn thing, because she'd been spending too much time with Cam or thinking about Cam to keep to her usual marketing routine.
When she stopped off to mail a letter to her grandparents, she chipped a nail on the mailbox. Her phone was already ringing when she walked into her office at eight-thirty, and the hysterical woman on the other end was demanding to know why she had yet to receive her medical card.
She calmed the woman down, assured her she would see to the matter personally. Then, simply because she was there, the switchboard passed through a whining old man who insisted his neighbors were child abusers because they allowed their offspring to watch television every night of the week.
"Television," he told her, "is the tool of the Communist left. Nothing but sex and murder, sex and murder, and subliminal messages. I read all about them."
"I'm going to look into this, Mr. Bigby," she promised and opened her top drawer, where she kept her aspirin.
"You'd better. I tried the cops, but they don't do nothing. Those kids're doomed. Going to need to deprogram them."
"Thank you for bringing this to our attention."
"My duty as an American."
"You bet," Anna muttered after he'd hung up.
Knowing that she was due in family court at two that afternoon, she booted up her computer, intending to call up the file to review her reports and notes. When the message flashed across her screen that her program had committed an illegal act, she didn't bother to scream. She simply sat back, closed her eyes, and accepted that it was going to be a lousy day.
It got worse.
She knew her testimony in court was key. The Higgins case file had come across her desk nearly a year ago. The three children, ages eight, six, and four, had all been physically and emotionally abused. The wife, barely twenty-five, was a textbook case of the battered spouse. She'd left her husband countless times over the years, but she always went back.
"That's your problem." Cam spotted Seth walking down the road from the direction of school. And there, he thought, is mine. "I can't help you with it. But I can tell you that my father faced his problems, square on. He never took the easy way. I've got work to do." Leaving it at that, Cam turned away and walked toward Seth.
Mackensie rubbed eyes that were tearing up from the sunlight. Quinn might have thought he'd added nothing to the report, but he was wrong. If nothing else, Mackensie could be sure the Quinns would fight for their claim to the bitter end. If not for the money, for the memory.
"Who's that guy?" Seth asked as he watched Mackensie head back to his car.
"Some insurance quack." Cam nodded down the street where two boys loitered a half a block away.
"Who're those guys?"
Seth gave a careless glance over his shoulder, followed it with a shrug. "I don't know. Just kids from school. They're nobody."
"They hassling you?"
"Nan. Are we going up on the roof?"
"Roof's done," Cam murmured and watched with some amusement as the two boys wandered closer, trying and failing to look disinterested. "Hey, you kids."
"What're you doing?" Seth hissed, mortified.
"Relax. Come on over here," Cam ordered as both boys froze like statues.
"What the hell are you calling them over for? They're just jerks from school."
"I could use some jerk labor," Cam said mildly. It had also occurred to him that Seth could use some companions of his own age. He waited while Seth squirmed and the two boys held a fast, whispering consultation. It ended with the taller of the two squaring his shoulders and swaggering down the road on his battered Nikes.
"We weren't doing anything," the boy said, his tone of defiance slightly spoiled by a lisp from a missing tooth.
"I could see that. You want to do something?"
The boy slid his eyes to the younger kid, then over to Seth, then cautiously up to Cam's face. "Maybe."
"You got a name?"
"Sure. I'm Danny. This is my kid brother, Will. I turned eleven last week. He's only nine."
"I'll be ten in ten months," Will stated and rapped his brother in the ribs with his elbow.
"He still goes to elementary," Danny put in with a sneer, which he generously shared with Seth. "Baby school."
"I'm not a baby."
As Will's fist was already clenched and lifted, Cam took hold of it, then lightly squeezed his upper arm.
"Seems strong enough to me."
"I'm plenty strong," Will told him, then grinned with the charm of an angelic host.
"We'll see about that. See all this crap piled up around here? Old shingles, tar paper, trash?" Cam surveyed the area himself. "You see that Dumpster over there? The crap goes in the Dumpster, you get five bucks."
"Each?" Danny piped up, his hazel eyes glinting in a freckled face.
"Don't make me laugh, kid. But you'll get a two-dollar bonus if you do it without me having to come out and break up any fights." He jerked a thumb at Seth. "He's in charge." The minute Cam left them alone, Danny turned to Seth. They sized each other up in narrow-eyed silence. "I saw you punch Robert."
Seth shifted his balance evenly. It would be two against one, he calculated, but he was prepared to fight.
"So what?"
"It was cool," was all Danny said and began to pick up torn shingles. Will grinned happily up into Seth's face. "Robert is a big, fat fart, and Danny said when you socked him he bled and bled."
Seth found himself grinning back. "Like a stuck pig."
"Oink, oink," Will said, delighted. "We can buy ice cream with the money up at Crawford's."
"Yeah… maybe." Seth started to gather up trash, with Will cheerfully dogging his heels.
anna wasn't having agood day. She'd started out the morning running her last pair of hose before she even got out her front door. She was out of bagels, and yogurt, and, she admitted, almost every damn thing, because she'd been spending too much time with Cam or thinking about Cam to keep to her usual marketing routine.
When she stopped off to mail a letter to her grandparents, she chipped a nail on the mailbox. Her phone was already ringing when she walked into her office at eight-thirty, and the hysterical woman on the other end was demanding to know why she had yet to receive her medical card.
She calmed the woman down, assured her she would see to the matter personally. Then, simply because she was there, the switchboard passed through a whining old man who insisted his neighbors were child abusers because they allowed their offspring to watch television every night of the week.
"Television," he told her, "is the tool of the Communist left. Nothing but sex and murder, sex and murder, and subliminal messages. I read all about them."
"I'm going to look into this, Mr. Bigby," she promised and opened her top drawer, where she kept her aspirin.
"You'd better. I tried the cops, but they don't do nothing. Those kids're doomed. Going to need to deprogram them."
"Thank you for bringing this to our attention."
"My duty as an American."
"You bet," Anna muttered after he'd hung up.
Knowing that she was due in family court at two that afternoon, she booted up her computer, intending to call up the file to review her reports and notes. When the message flashed across her screen that her program had committed an illegal act, she didn't bother to scream. She simply sat back, closed her eyes, and accepted that it was going to be a lousy day.
It got worse.
She knew her testimony in court was key. The Higgins case file had come across her desk nearly a year ago. The three children, ages eight, six, and four, had all been physically and emotionally abused. The wife, barely twenty-five, was a textbook case of the battered spouse. She'd left her husband countless times over the years, but she always went back.
