face is perfect.”
Eden looked pleased. “I’ve worked on the mask all week.”
“Do you come to the Haven a lot?” Annie glanced around the art room. Kids of all ages drew, painted, modeled clay, and made posters. She expected some of the posters would be in evidence tonight at the talent show.
“Every day. I work in the kitchen at lunch and I make a little money. My brothers and sisters are here and I keep an eye on them.”
“Ms. Hughes said you know everything going on at the Haven.”
“Most things.” Eden was matter-of-fact. “I talk to everybody.”
“You knew Click Silvester.”
“Oh.” Eden’s voice was sad. “That’s awful. Click was kind of clumsy, but who’d think he’d fall off a platform?”
Clearly no one at the Haven suspected Click’s death to be anything other than accidental. Annie didn’t want to start a brush fire of gossip. “Eden, I’d like to ask you something on a confidential basis. Will you please not tell anyone?”
Eden looked wary. “How about my mom?”
“That would be fine. And the idea may be crazy. But Max and I are worried. Could Click have been mixed up in drugs?”
“Nope.” Eden was firm but understated, dealing politely with a grown-up’s foolishness. “Click’s dad died of a drug overdose and his uncle’s a drunk. Click was always warning the other kids about drinking and drugs.”
M OST OF THE intent faces in the video room belonged to boys. Max spotted Freddy Baker sitting cross-legged on the floor beneath a whirring ceiling fan.
“Hey, Freddy.”
Freddy looked up. He clicked off a DS and came to his feet. He was scruffy, scrawny, and usually hyper. His normally cheerful face was solemn. “Hi, Max. I talked another couple of guys into coming to the sailing class. Can I show them how to rig the sail?”
“That would be great.” Max knew Freddy, who was small for his age, was thrilled to find a sport where his agility paid off. A tenth-grader, Freddy was a head shorter than most of the guys his age. “Hey, Freddy, I hear you were one of Click’s buddies.”
“Yeah. I was .” He spoke as if the past-tense verb was strange.
“Had you talked to him lately?”
Freddy’s face was abruptly stricken. “Like yesterday. He was pumped. He was so excited about tonight I thought he’d bust.”
Max packed away his last worry about drugs. Kids into drugs didn’t get excited about talent shows.
Freddy’s lips quivered. “He told me he was going to have a special part that nobody knew about. He said it was a big secret. Now he’s not going to be here.” Brown eyes stared at Max, seeking help. “He’s not anywhere.”
M AX SHADED HIS eyes as he walked outside, seeking Annie. The mid-morning July heat washed over him. He glanced at his watch. If it was this hot a little after ten, the air would be baking by afternoon. He waved at several kids he knew. Encouraged by his talk with Freddy, he felt more confident the Haven remained a good and safe place for young people.
Max surveyed the grounds. Kids played soccer. A half-dozen fished from the pier. Max was suddenly alert. Larry Gilbert, who looked summer-comfortable in a blue polo, white slacks, and darksandals, stood near the tennis court, taking a photo with a digital camera. The net slacked in the middle and had a hole at one end.
According to Henny’s report to Annie, Larry’s vote might be ripe for the picking. Larry sold insurance and dabbled in various businesses. A first-rate tennis player, he was active on the social scene as a divorced bachelor. Several single moms had made a real effort to snag him, but he avoided commitments. He once told Max, as they cooled off with a Tom Collins after a tournament, women with kids were damned expensive and he’d rather spend money on stamps. He proudly described his collection, which included a three-cent Hawaiian missionary stamp and a 1918 Inverted Jenny. When Max failed to indicate the proper awe, Larry turned to Dale