Perfect Family by Pam Lewis Read Free Book Online Page A

was very difficult, but would they mind?
    â€œNo,” Tinker said. “I mean, no, I don’t mind.”
    â€œWas she in the habit of leaving the child while she went for a swim?” Officer Rivers asked. He had a round, pink face, fair eyebrows like hers.
    â€œHe’s not even a year old.” Tinker shrugged. “There were no habits.”
    â€œWas she a careful mother?”
    â€œYes,” her father said.
    â€œI’m sorry. Of course.” Officer Rivers had a Vermont accent. “Do you know why she might have been”—he lifted his shoulders, opened his pudgy hands—“exploring the anchor?”
    â€œPony always attaches it on Memorial Day. But nobody ever goes down there other than that. It’s dark, slimy,” Tinker said.
    â€œSomething wrong with it, perhaps? Something she might have been checking?”
    â€œI don’t know why she’d have thought she needed to check it,” her father said. “We just checked it a few weeks ago—” He broke down, regained his composure. “It had a repair, but the repair was fine.”
    â€œDid she have any trouble with anyone that you know of?”
    â€œOh God, you think somebody did this?” The thought took Tinker’s breath away.
    Officer Rivers pushed his glasses up so they rested on his forehead. “We have to consider the possibility.”
    â€œPony had no enemies,” her father said.
    â€œWas anybody here with her?” the officer asked.
    Tinker shook her head.
    Officer Rivers put away his notebook and pen. He thanked them. He said there’d be a preliminary report in a day or two and a full report later on.
    Then they were all gone. It was just Tinker and her father standing side by side on the grass looking out at the water, the enemy, sparkling brilliantly in the early-morning sun. The day was very still. It would be a hot one.
    She could think of nothing to say. She glanced at her father. Tears glazed his eyes. “Oh God. Andrew. I’ll go to the Bells’,” she said.
    They entered the Bells’ house by the back door. Andrew was in a high chair in the crowded kitchen. The counter space was covered with small appliances, a tangle of cords behind them. Sayings adorned the walls in heart-shaped frames. Anita, grim-faced, was feeding Andrew; she got to her feet. She hugged Tinker’s father andthen Tinker. “I’m so sorry, Jasper.” She had put on makeup that morning—eye shadow and very red lipstick, but her uncombed hair stuck out in stiff peaks.
    The minute Andrew saw Tinker and her father, he recognized them and banged his fists on the metal tray of the high chair. Tinker raised the tray and picked him up. The weight of that baby was everything just then. Solid, stable, warm. She wanted to hold him longer, but he was restless, so she put him back and took the jar of baby food from Anita. Her hand shook as she raised the spoon to his mouth, but he opened wide.
    They all watched Andrew eat. Everybody had to be thinking the same thing: This was what they had of Pony. He opened his mouth for spoon after spoon, enjoying their fixed attention, and then he caught on. He looked in alarm at Anita, at Tinker, at her father, then wildly around. “Mama,” he wailed, looking about. His face drained when he couldn’t find her.
    Just then Denny slouched in and leaned against the doorjamb, half in and half out of the kitchen. All Tinker knew about the Bell kids was that there were several, mostly girls. She didn’t know names or ages, just that every summer, there they were in some new incarnation of themselves, a year older, a year louder. She thought this one, Denny, might be the youngest. He was a sullen, caved-in-looking kid with an expression that was both frightened and belligerent. All the attention shifted to him. He shot a look at his mother. “They find out who did it?” he said.
    â€œOh my,” Anita said.