The Last One(60)

I tossed it back onto the bed, remembering my mission. Meghan’s music blaster was on the nightstand, and unplugging it, I carried it out to the truck.

Mission accomplished, I thought. Now I just had to wait until eight o’clock. This was going to be the longest day ever.





“NO, GRAHAM, DON’T TOUCH anything!” I made a desperate grab for the seven-year old terrorizing the kids around him. “Or anybody.”

“I’m a monster!” He roared, darting around the desks and evading me once again.

Truer words, I thought, but I didn’t have time to laugh. This child was determined to spread his finger paint over everything and everyone in the room.

“Whoa there, tiger.” A tall woman in jeans and boots caught Graham and swung him up, holding him by his middle. “Time to wash up.”

“Thanks.” I hurried over with wet paper towels and wiped off as much of the paint as I could manage with the boy batting and kicking. I glanced up at his captor. “I appreciate the help. Are you a mom? I don’t think we’ve met yet.”

“Nah, not a mom. Just an aunt.” She let Graham down, holding his hand in a death grip. “To this little cherub, actually.”

“Oh.” I grinned; it was clear that this chick had her nephew’s number. He wasn’t going to get away with anything. “Everything okay with his mother?”

“Yeah. She’s my sister, and her husband surprised her with a trip to Hilton Head for a long weekend. Anniversary deal. They left this little prize with my mom, and for some reason I’ll never understand, she gave him a donut for breakfast. Sugared him up before she sent him to you. So ... sorry about that.”

“No problem.” I dried my hands. “I did notice he was a little more, ah, active today.”

The woman grimaced. “You’re being too nice. He’s a brat sometimes. He’s the only grandchild, and so he’s more than a little spoiled.” She sighed. “I can’t say anything, I do it, too.”

“What are aunts for, if not to spoil? My nephew is just a little over a year old, and I could just eat him up whenever I see him.” I stuck out my hand. “I’m Meghan Hawthorne, by the way. The art teacher.”

“Maureen Evans. Veterinarian and auntie to horrible monster children.” She shook my hand as I laughed.

“Graham’s really not that bad, not normally. He’s actually got some talent, when I can get him to sit down and concentrate.”

“Doesn’t surprise me a bit. My dad’s an artist, of sorts. He’s a mason, and he designs these beautiful fireplaces or walls for people. He’s got the eye, Ma says.” Maureen examined me a little more closely. “You’re not from Burton, are you?”

I laughed. “No, why? Am I missing a special symbol marking me as part of the town?”

“Nah, I just realized I didn’t know anyone related to you. So what brought you to our bustling city?”

“It’s a long story.” I moved to my desk and began to sort through the day’s projects. “But basically, I’m part of a program that places art students in communities that need them. I’m only here for the summer.”

“Ah.” She nodded. “Do you live nearby?”

“I go to school in Savannah, but right now, I’m staying out at Sam and Ali Reynolds’ farm.”

“Ohhh.” A shadow passed her face so quickly, I wasn’t sure I hadn’t imagined it.

“Do you know them?” I had a hunch maybe she knew one of them a little better than the other.

“I ... did. Not so much anymore.” This time the discomfort lingered.

I sighed. “Sam? Did you date him?”

Her brow knitted together. “What? Sam? Oh—no. No, I’ve never had the pleasure.” She winked at me. “But by the way your face is turning that lovely shade of red, I’m guessing you have.”

“I’m not—I mean—”

Maureen laughed. “No comment is a perfectly acceptable answer. No, I knew—know, that is—Alison. But it was years ago.” She paused, as though remembering. “We sort of drifted apart. But at one time, I thought she was going to end up part of my family.”

I was confused for the space of a moment, and then everything clicked. Evans. Of course. This woman must be the sister of Ali’s lost love, Bridget’s real father. Examining her more closely, I thought I saw a tiny bit of resemblance.

And if this were Bridget’s aunt, and Graham was the child of her sister ... that meant Bridget had a first cousin, right here in town. In her class. I blinked, wondering if Ali knew about this. Of course she had to. This was Burton. Nothing was hidden.