Hometown Honey. Kara Lennox
a field day with this.”
“Cindy, if you think your friends and neighbors are getting enjoyment out of your bad luck, you’re wrong. Everyone who knows you is worried. Can I come in?”
With a careless shrug, she retreated down the short staircase and he followed. The boat wasn’t as bad as he’d feared. She’d obviously been cleaning, because the whole place smelled like oranges.
“You want some coffee?” she offered grudgingly. “It’s instant, not like what I serve at the café, but the caffeine still works.”
“Sure, I’ll have some. Where’s Adam?”
“Still asleep. We’ve been busy the last couple of days trying to get settled in here.”
She moved into the tiny galley, which was only a couple of steps away. In fact, nothing was more than two steps away. It was a cute and cozy boat, he’d give it that. The carpeting and upholstery all looked new, the paint surprisingly fresh. Everything was tidy and efficient—except for the stack of boxes shoved to one side of the living room.
Moments later, Cindy handed him a steaming cup of black coffee.
“What, no biscuit with honey?”
“You know, a few days ago I was complaining about all the biscuits I had to bake. Now I’d give anything to be back in that stifling kitchen with flour all over my hands.”
“Maybe you can get it back.”
“How? I don’t even know where to start.”
“To start, you need to talk with Sonya and Brenna.”
“You mean they’re still here?”
“They’re trying to pick up as much information as they can about Marvin, but they don’t have much without you.”
“I’m not sure what the point is.” She sank onto one of the miniature built-in sofas opposite him and sipped on her own coffee. “Everything I know about him is a lie, apparently.”
“But maybe not. Con men often use bits and pieces of the truth to make themselves sound more authentic. You might know more than you think. For instance, his car. You spent a lot of time in it. Do you recall the license plate or any distinguishing features like dents or scratches? We might be able to trace him that way.”
Cindy’s brow furrowed. “It all seems like a blur. But I’ll try to remember.”
“Talk to the ladies.”
“Oh, all right.”
He hesitated to press her further, but there were questions he had to ask. “Cindy, what are you going to do? You can’t live here.”
“Why not? I have a kitchen.” She pointed to the one-burner stove, a single cabinet and about one square foot of counter space. “I have a bathroom.” She indicated a closed door marked Head, which probably housed only a marine toilet and sink—no bathing facilities.
“Where do you sleep?”
“There’s a compartment in the bow. You can see for yourself.”
“I don’t want to wake Adam if he’s—”
“It’s really time he got up.”
Luke put down his coffee and worked his way to the front of the boat. He had to stoop slightly—he couldn’t even stand upright, the ceiling was so low. He pushed open a couple of louvered doors and found himself in the “bedroom”—a tiny triangular area with sheets and blankets spread out over oddly shaped cushions. Adam was already awake, sitting up in bed, looking out the porthole. Most babies he knew of started screaming the instant they awoke. But from what he’d seen of Adam, he was an easygoing kid.
“Hey, there, sport,” he said softly. Adam turned and studied Luke, appearing neither scared nor pleased to see him. More curious. “I bet you’re ready for some breakfast.”
“Do you mind bringing him out?” Cindy asked.
“If he’ll let me.” But when Luke reached for Adam, the baby held his arms out, perfectly accepting. Not that Luke was a complete stranger. But the baby had seen him up close maybe half a dozen times in his young life. Luke wrapped his arms securely around Adam’s warm body, dressed snugly in Carter’s pajamas. Adam babbled happily and snuggled against Luke.
Luke felt an odd sensation holding that baby. If things had gone the way he’d once hoped, Cindy’s child would also be his child. They’d have had a houseful by now.
“There’s my little man,” Cindy said with a dopey, maternal smile, holding out her arms. “Bet you need a diaper change.” She glanced at Luke as she took the baby. “Don’t worry, I’ll open some portholes first.”
He laughed. “I’m not worried. You want me to get you a diaper?”
She pointed to a box of disposables and a container of baby wipes, and she proceeded to efficiently change Adam’s diaper.
“Where do you bathe?” Luke blurted out. Though it sounded as if he was being nosy, this really was his business, he told himself.
“The marina has a very nice bathroom with showers and everything.”
“So Adam’s a shower man.”
“He’s learning. We shower together.”
Luke didn’t want to dwell on the image that popped into his mind.
“Cindy…you can’t stay here.”
“Why not? We’re managing just fine. Anyway, it’s only temporary, just until I figure out what to do.”
“Does this place have any heat?”
“No. But the weather’s very mild right now.”
“It’s October. You know the weather can change in a heartbeat.”
“I’ll deal with that problem when I come to it.”
They were saved from further argument by another knock on the hatch. For a moment, Cindy had a look on her face that reminded Luke of a scared rabbit.
“You want me to get that?”
“Would you, please?” She was just snapping up Adam’s pajamas. “And if it’s those women, tell them I’ll talk to them when I’m ready, not before,” she added crossly.
Luke climbed the steps and unfastened the barrel bolt. He pushed the hatch outward and found himself staring into the round, brown eyes of an attractive African-American woman wearing a worn sweaterdress, white stockings and scuffed black pumps. Not exactly boating clothes.
She smiled uncertainly. “Hi, I’m Beverly Hicks. I’m looking for a Cindy Lefler?”
Alarm bells went off in Luke’s head. The woman’s appearance and demeanor screamed one thing to him—government employee. Required to dress up for work but not paid enough to look slick or stylish. Polite demeanor with just a hint of authority.
“You’ve got the right place,” Luke said. Keeping her out wasn’t going to help Cindy in the long run.
“How can I help you?” Cindy said coolly.
“I’m from Social Services. I’ve had a report that you’re living with a baby on this boat.” Beverly Hicks looked pointedly at Adam, then at the stack of boxes.
Damn. The social worker had picked the worst possible time to show up—when the boat was redolent with a used Huggie. Luke grabbed the plastic bag that held the old diaper. “I’ll take care of this.” He’d seen a trash barrel on the dock and he exited the boat in search of it.
When he returned, Beverly was going through the same list of questions Luke had just asked Cindy—bathroom facilities, sleeping arrangements, heating and cooling. And she apparently didn’t like the answers she was getting, judging