Sliding his binoculars into their case, he took off the way he’d come, through the surrounding forest to a back road that he’d taken after following her home from the clinic where she practiced. Telling himself he had to be patient, he broke a trail through the snow.
It wouldn’t be much longer.
CHAPTER 7
“ You’re sooo grounded.” Pescoli glared at her daughter as Bianca slunk through the front door.
“Why?” Bianca asked as she headed to her room and Cisco, who had been sleeping on a pillow on the couch, jumped down and began wagging his tail frantically.
“Are you serious?” Pescoli had had it with her kid. “You skipped school.”
“I told you I didn’t feel good.”
“Well.”
“Whatever.” Yanking off her gloves with her teeth, Bianca deigned to pat the dog on his head, then headed straight for the refrigerator. She tossed her gloves onto the table with the mail and opened the refrigerator, only to stare inside. “Isn’t there anything to drink?”
Pescoli followed after her and slammed the refrigerator door shut with the flat of her hand.
“Hey! Watch out!” Bianca said, stepping back quickly and facing her mother. She was pale, dark circles showing under her eyes as she pulled off her stocking cap and tossed it onto the table next to the gloves. “What’s your problem?”
“Exactly what I was going to ask you.”
“I said I’m sick. Duh!” She glared at her mother as if Pescoli were as dense as tar and certainly not as interesting.
“You didn’t call me, and you didn’t come home.”
“I hung out at Chris’s.”
“Instead of going to school?” Pescoli stepped back, allowing Bianca access to the refrigerator again.
“I was sick.” She pulled out a can of Diet Coke and pulled the tab. Pop. Ssst.
“And when you are sick, the protocol is to phone me and let me know that you need to A”—she held up a finger—“come home, or B. .” She held up a second finger. “Go to the doctor. There are no other options.”
“I could call Dad.” Bianca took a swig from her can.
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“ ’Cuz it wasn’t an option, I guess.” Another swallow of cola.
“Nor was going over to your boyfriend’s house. Were Chris’s parents home?”
“No. Duh. They work.”
“Precisely.”
“It’s not like I need a babysitter.”
“I’m not sure,” Pescoli said. “So what did you do?”
Her daughter’s eyebrows drew together. “Hung out. What did you think? Oh, God, I know. You think we were having sex or something.”
Pescoli’s insides curdled. “Yeah, I think that when you’re alone with your boyfriend for hours, lying to everyone about where you are, that you could be getting yourself into some serious trouble!” She heard the accusations in her voice and dialed it back a bit. “Okay. . listen. . tell me, what were you doing? I know, I know, about the ‘hanging out’ part, but let’s get a little more specific.”
“We watched TV, played video games, rented a movie…. It was no big deal.”
“Except that you were supposed to be in school,” Pescoli said, keeping her voice low and serious. “It was a big deal, Bianca. A very big deal. I don’t know what’s going on between you and Chris, but I do know that whatever it is, it’s not worth cutting school and getting behind in your classes.”
“You’re so ridiculous! I just watched some movies!” She started huffing her way out of the kitchen, trying to act like she was affronted. Pescoli caught her elbow as she passed and spun her around.
Nose-to-nose with the fifteen-year-old, she said, “We’re not talking about me, Bianca. Don’t try to deflect. This is about you, your behavior, consequences, and yeah, the rest of your life. Because you seem intent on messing it up.”
“Just get off my case!”
“Nuh-uh. Not for a few more years.”
Bianca yanked her arm back. “I could call Child Services on you! You can’t touch me.”
“Is that what Chris told you?”
“You can’t touch me!”
Pescoli reached for the phone, grabbed the receiver, and held it close to her daughter’s face. “Take it. Call. See what happens. If they believe you, they’ll remove you from this home, and where will you go? To your dad’s? To a foster family? Is that what you want?”
“Maybe!”
Despite the pain in her heart, Pescoli said, “Fine. Make the call.” Bianca eyed the phone, and for half a second Pescoli thought her daughter would call her bluff. For another half a second she didn’t care. No fifteen-year-old was going to bully her or try that stupid-ass emotional blackmail on her. She slapped the receiver into her daughter’s free hand.
Bianca sputtered, “They — they won’t believe me. You’re a cop! You’ll twist things around!” She slammed the phone onto the counter, and this time she marched off to her room.
“Slam that door and I’ll take it off its hinges! Bianca, I’m not kidding!”
Slam! The entire house shook. Cisco let out a startled yip.
“Son of a bitch,” she muttered under her breath and left the phone on the counter, then made her way to the garage, where she found Joe’s twenty-plus-year-old toolbox and carried it back inside.
The front door burst open, and all six feet and then some of her son walked inside. A gust of cold wind followed him, and Cisco went nuts again. The little dog yapped and spun in elated circles.
“Hey, Cis,” Jeremy said, bending down and scooping up the wiggling dog in his big, gloved hands. At eleven, Cisco still thought he was a puppy and washed Jeremy’s unshaven face with his eager tongue. “What’s for dinner?”
“I haven’t gotten that far, yet,” Pescoli answered.
“So, what’s going on with Dad’s tools?”
“I was just about to wrestle your sister’s door off its hinges.”
“Oh, Mom, don’t do that.” He set the dog down and pulled off his gloves, then stuffed them in the pockets of his down vest.
“Why not?”
“It’s lame.”
“So is slamming the door so hard, it nearly breaks the jamb.”
He yanked off his stocking cap, and his hair, still filled with static electricity, stood on end, giving him a few more inches and a shocked look.
“You can help,” she suggested.
“No way… uh-uh, I’m staying out of that catfight.”
“What’re you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”
He looked suddenly uncomfortable and worked hard at smoothing his hair while avoiding her eyes.
“What happened?”
He hesitated. “Okay, I got laid off.”
Her heart took a nosedive. “Because?”
He shrugged his big shoulders. “Dunno. The economy, I guess.”
“You guess?” Not now. She didn’t need this now.
Jeremy heaved a loud sigh, then fell onto the couch. The old springs groaned. Cisco leaped up to his lap, and he absently petted the wriggling dog’s head. “I got fired,” he admitted.
“Fired,” she repeated in a careful voice.
“Lou claims I stole from the station, that the receipts didn’t add up.” Head lowered, he looked up at her from the tops of his eyes. “Swear to God, Mom, I didn’t do it.” His Adam’s apple bobbed, and his big hands clamped over his jean-clad knees.
“You told Lou that?”
“About a hundred times! You know what? I think it’s either Manuel or Lou himself, like maybe he’s covering his ass. Manuel’s a good guy. Really honest. But I thought Lou was, too. Shit!” He gritted his teeth. “How could this happen?”