“Which do I have more of, football or baseball?”
“Baseball.”
“You’re right, baseball. And that ‘decrepit Bible’,” he said slowly, “belonged to my grandfather, then my dad and now me. Decrepit is not the word I would use to describe it.”
It was a treasure, an honored treasure, handed down through generations, something Janie didn’t have. “I take back the term decrepit,” she offered.
That got her a smile, followed by another question. “How about Nathan Williamson’s office? Could you draw that?”
“It would only take me two minutes. There’s really nothing there.” What she didn’t say was that his office was almost as barren as her cottage. At least he had one photograph.
“Instead, why don’t you take two minutes, get dressed and we’ll stop at the Corner Diner before going to Brittney’s.”
“And let your mother see us together?” Janie’s stomach gurgled. She wasn’t sure it was from the thought of dealing with Rafe’s mother or from hunger.
“I wondered if you knew she was my mother.” Rafe followed Janie into the living room.
“How could I not know? She showed me your picture the first time she waited on me. The second time she showed me a few more pictures and told me you were single. On my third visit, she ran down your list of accomplishments. And on the fourth—”
Rafe held up his hand. “I got the same treatment about you, sans the photos.”
Not wanting to explore that further, Janie hurried to her bedroom, wondering what Rafe would notice about her space.
Her paintings were everywhere, most stacked against the wall with only a few of her personal favorites hanging. As for family photos, there were two. One from when Janie was very young and the whole family had posed. In it, baby Janie, her eyes unfocused, stared at the world from her mother’s lap.
The other was her high-school graduation photo. It depicted Janie decked out in a blue robe, cornered hat and tassel, holding a diploma in the air. Katie stood next to her, all smiles because she’d been the one to raise Janie, the one to make sure this step in life had been taken.
Janie needn’t have worried about Rafe’s opinion; he wasn’t interested in her decor. After she dressed, she found him at her kitchen table, leaning forward and studying her drawing of Brittney’s murder.
“You think Derek was by the car, turned away?”
“I do,” Janie said, “but it might be because I knew him. And because he said he didn’t approve of what was going on. Didn’t have the stomach for it.”
“I’d put them farther in the woods, away from the street.”
“But they were scared and wanted it over with.”
“Is she still there?” Rafe asked softly.
“I’d say yes,” Janie said, “and I believe they buried her deep because they didn’t want her found. They proved that when they got rid of Derek.”
“You made them all look young,” Rafe noted.
Janie stared at her drawing. She’d been so purposeful in representing their feature, but she’d not consciously realized she’d pinpointed their ages.