wanted to fix everything that had and ever would go wrong for my children.
I pulled out my cell phone and started dialing.
The playground had never seen so many adults. I’d called Marina and Erica. They’d each called four people. Each of those people had called four more. Within minutes of my red alert, parents started arriving. Claudia Wolff had brought her friend Tina, who had brought her husband, Tony, who had brought Don the dry cleaner, who had brought Kirk Olsen. Instead of six degrees of separation, Rynwood had more like three.
“Did we miss anything?” Claudia Wolff charged up. “Hey, who was that handsome hunk we saw you with this noon? You sly cat, you. Do your children know?” She winked at Jenna.
“I’m pulling out these stakes!” a burly man shouted. “Every time she puts them in, we’ll pull them out.”
A murmur of assent ran through the group; I was suddenly sorry I’d called anyone. They called Madison “Mad City” for a reason, and Rynwood was close enough to Madison for the city’s history of civil disobedience to be contagious. “Um . . .”
No one paid attention to me. The crowd was turning nasty, and I sincerely hoped Agnes didn’t make an appearance. These people were ready for a witch hunt. Give them pitchforks and torches and they’d set upon Agnes even if she lacked the black dress and pointed hat.
“Pull them out!” Claudia yelled. “We’ll pile them on her front porch.”
Jenna tugged on my coat sleeve. “Mom, I’m hungry.” I looked at her face and knew the tightness had nothing to do with a delayed dinner.
“Me, too.” Oliver ducked his head under my arm and snuggled close.
It was past time I took the kids away from this. “Me, three,” I said. Jenna smiled, and I felt Oliver’s giggle against my hip bone. “How about a treat tonight? What do you say to Hot Dog Heaven?”
A single shout became a chant. “Pull them out! Pull them out!” Mob rule took hold, and the pack surged forward.
My children and I went in the opposite direction, hand in hand in hand.
“My tummy is all happy now,” Oliver said as I was starting the animal good nights.
“I’m glad.”
“Mom?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Will Robert’s dad get into trouble for taking out those little poles? The men who put them in said to leave them alone or the police will put us in jail.”
“Robert’s dad isn’t going to jail.” I supposed the surveyors had been trying to keep their stakes intact, but scaring children was a poor way of going about it. “I promise.” And one day soon I’d have to figure out who Robert’s dad was. “Time to sleep. It’s way past your bedtime.”
“I know.” He grinned, and my heart went mushy around the edges. “But you made us go out to eat.”
“That’s right.” I picked up an armful of stuffed animals and started the routine. “Good night, Rex. Good night, Fred. Good night, Dancer.” By the time I’d finished, Oliver’s eyes were drooping. “Good night, Oliver.” I kissed my son’s forehead. “Sweet dreams and may tomorrow be your best day ever.”
“Okay,” he said sleepily.
Jenna was already out. I took away her Sports Illustrated and clicked off the bedside light. “Night, sweetheart,” I whispered, and kissed her lightly.
I went downstairs as quietly as I could. After half an hour, Oliver slept like a rock, but for the first thirty minutes a cough two floors away would wake him. I flicked on the desk light in the study and turned on the computer. Good little secretary that I was, I wanted to finish the minutes of last night’s meeting before falling into bed.
The first pages of my handwritten notes were filled with quotes from concerned parents. Each succeeding page had an increasing number of doodles. Every person talking had said the same thing, over and over, the same things I’d heard on the phone all day. And I’d probably had dozens of e-mails on the subject, too.
My own eyes were drooping when I