“Well, I was there ordering my coffee, and who do I see but this boy, also ordering coffee, and he starts petting my dog—everyone loves to pet my dog because she’s just so cute, if I do say so myself. And I think to myself, ‘Well, this boy looks just like the boy from the photo in the paper this morning.’ Only he’s wearing a baseball hat, maybe as a disguise, but I think, ‘Well, that’s not a very good disguise, because you can still see all the tattoos and the ear thingies.’ And do you know what, Sheriff? I could smell him. And this boy smelled exactly like the hooded shirt you all found at my house! Not only that, but do you know what he said to me?”
“I do not,” John said.
“He notices me looking at him and he says, ‘I bet you’re thinking I’m that guy from the paper today.’ Well, I couldn’t have been more shocked, because that’s exactly what I was thinking! And I said to him, ‘As a matter of fact, I do. You know that boy robbed me and also vandalized my library.’ And he laughed and said, ‘Oh, that was your library? I thought it was the people’s library.’ And I said, ‘It is, but I’m the person who donated all the money to renovate it.’ And he said, ‘Well, thank you for that. We need more libraries in this world. I’m sorry my friends and I did that to your library. But you know it technically belongs to the people, and we’re the people, so we have the right to do what we want.’ And so of course I said, ‘Young man, respectfully, I disagree.’”
John could feel himself beginning to sweat, even though he kept the air-conditioning at the sheriff’s department—as opposed to his home—at a strict seventy degrees. He was clutching the phone so tightly, he thought it might break in his hand.
“And he has the nerve to smile at me and say, ‘Well, you’re not going to turn me in, are you?’ And do you know, Sheriff, I was so scared—I mean, he scared me! Something in that smile! And his eyes—like he was dead inside. So I said, ‘Of course not. You’re kind to dogs, so how bad can you be?’ Because he was standing right there! Petting my dog! He could have broken little Daisy’s neck! What else could I do?”
“You did exactly the right thing, Mrs. Tifton,” John said into the phone. Covering the mouthpiece, he said to Marguerite, “How many?”
“We’ve got one car in the area, two on the way. The one in the area should be there any second.”
“Who is it?”
“Martinez.”
“Good.” To Mrs. Tifton, he said, “So how did you end up at the gym, ma’am?”
“Well, I figured I should follow him, see where he’s staying.” John almost rolled his eyes. No wonder the widow and Molly Montgomery got along so well. The two of them had both read way too many detective novels. “And it turns out, it’s the gym.”
Of course. Of course it was. Beckwith could rent a locker for his stuff, have all the hot showers and clean towels and soap he needed, get in a good workout, and probably even sleep there in some dark space if there was no one else around—and if the night staff was female or gay, he could charm them into letting him stay, depending on how susceptible they were to his charms—all for only twenty dollars a day. It was so much cheaper than a hotel room and so much more convenient than crashing in some vacant house or building.
John could have kicked himself for not having thought of it before.
“And you’re sure he’s there now, Mrs. Tifton?”
“Well, I’m watching him right now on the elliptical—Oh, there’s a sheriff’s deputy coming in—did you send him?”
“I did. Listen, Mrs. Tifton, I want you to stay out of the way. You’ve done an absolutely amazing thing, but I can’t afford to let you get hurt.”
“Don’t you worry about me, Sheriff. I’m a tough old bird. Ooh, your deputy is arresting the boy! He’s putting handcuffs on him!” Mrs. Tifton wasn’t bothering to whisper anymore. “I can’t wait to tell all of my friends!”
“Tell them what, Mrs. Tifton?”
“That Daisy and I caught the High School Thief, of course!”
“Neither can I, Mrs. Tifton,” John said, feeling better than he’d felt in a long time. “Neither can I.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Molly
“Oh, Tabby.”
The two people standing in the doorway to Tabitha’s hospital room could only be her parents. Her mother even looked like her a little—but with a more stylish haircut, highlights, and decidedly inappropriate clothing for Little Bridge: a wool sweater set with twill trousers and designer boots.
“Mom?” Tabitha seemed less happy and more stunned to see them.
Molly wasn’t certain what to do. On the one hand, it didn’t seem right for her to intrude on this family reunion.
But on the other, if this wasn’t what Tabitha wanted—and last night Molly had kicked John out because she’d been sure it wasn’t—then maybe she should stay. Someone needed to look out for the girl, no matter how misguided she seemed.
“Tabby, darling.” Mrs. Brighton hurried forward to give her daughter a hug and kiss.
Tabitha didn’t respond. She seemed frozen in shock. The baby, meanwhile, had fallen asleep at her breast.
“Oh, what a little sweetheart,” Mrs. Brighton said, and swept a gentle finger over Cosette’s forehead while at the same time tugging at Tabitha’s hospital gown so that her chest was covered.
“Mom,” Tabitha said, finally seeming to find her voice. “Dad. What are you doing here? How did—how did you find me?”
“Well, the sheriff called us, sweetheart,” Mrs. Brighton said. She moved to sit down in the chair Molly had vacated. “He was very concerned for you. And the baby, of course.”
Tabitha looked stonily from her mother to her father.
“I don’t understand why. We’re fine.”
Cecile the nurse lifted her iPad—clipboards seemed to be a thing of the past—and said, “Why don’t I take the baby back to the nursery?”
“That won’t be necessary.” Tabitha’s voice was cold. “These people are leaving.”
“Now, Tabby.” Mr. Brighton had the patient voice of a man used to dealing with irrational customers and hormonal women. Molly wondered what he did for a living. “Let’s be rational. It’s not just you anymore. You’ve got the baby to think of.”
“I am thinking of her.” Tabitha wrapped her arms more tightly around Cosette. “The last people in the world I want around her are you.”
“And on that note—” Cecile reached for the baby. “Why don’t I take little Cosette down the hall so you all can talk and she can sleep undisturbed?”
Tabitha gave the nurse her daughter—but not without saying, cuttingly, “All right. But just remember, I’m the only one allowed to take her from this hospital. Don’t let them do it.”
“Tabitha!” Mr. and Mrs. Brighton looked shocked. Even the nurse looked mildly offended.
“Around here we only allow babies to go home with their parents,” she said to Tabitha. She shot the Brightons a stern look as she wheeled Cosette, in her bassinette, from the room. “Their legal parents, the ones on their birth certificate.”
“Now, see here,” Mr. Brighton began, but Mrs. Brighton put a hand on his arm and shook her head. Not now, dear.
This reunion was going exactly the way Molly had feared it would, which was why she’d warned John against it in the first place. She felt obligated to jump in. “Maybe I could be of some help here.”
“And who are you?” Mr. Brighton demanded, his patience beginning to wear thin.
“I’m Molly Montgomery, the island’s children’s media specialist—”
“She’s the lady who found me,” Tabitha interrupted. “She found Cosette, too. If it weren’t for her, neither of us would even be alive.”
“Oh.” Mr. and Mrs. Brighton looked at Molly with renewed interest. Molly ducked her head modestly.
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” she said.
“No, it’s true.” Tabitha was doing up her hospital gown now that Cosette was gone. “She’s been really nice to me. Everyone here has, even though I don’t necessarily deserve it.”
“Oh, well—” Molly had been about to assure Tabitha that of course she deserved it when she remembered what she and her fellow Sunshine Kids had done to the media room in the new library. She pressed her lips together and said nothing.
“Can we just talk sensibly here for a minute?” Mr. Brighton said. “Of course we’re very grateful to you, Ms. Montgomery, for helping our daughter and granddaughter. But what exactly is your plan, Tabby? You have a child of your own now. How do you intend to support her? Where do you plan to live? Don’t you think it’s time you gave up on all this ‘living off the land’ foolishness and came home?”
“Yes, darling, do.” Mrs. Brighton reached out to squeeze her daughter’s hand. “Daddy and I would love to have you and—Cosette, is it?”