good. You wanna try ’em?”
Emily looked them over, turning them first one way then another, gently rubbing her fingers over their fuzzy surface. Then, with a serious, furrowed look, she shook her head.
“No, I don’t think so. They look like monkey heads.”
“Monkey heads?” Grace laughed.
“Little green monkey heads.” And Emily began giggling, too. She was soon laughing so hard that, when she went to put the two kiwis back on top of the stack, she set off an avalanche. “Oh, no, there go all the monkey heads.”
Emily stood still, watching helplessly, her lower lip starting to pucker in what Grace recognized as a four-year-old’s fine line of not knowing whether to laugh or cry.
“Come on, Em. Help me pick up these monkey heads before we both get into trouble.”
The two of them began scrambling to pick up the rolling fruit. Soon Emily was giggling again. Grace’s arms were full of kiwi when she noticed Emily on her hands and knees, staring at the last kiwi captured under the toe of a scuffed tennis shoe.
Grace looked up and almost dropped the fruit in her arms. Jared Barnett smiled down at her, his dark eyes like hollow-point bullets, empty but dangerous. He stood there with his toe holding the last piece of fruit hostage, as if there was nothing unusual about him being here, as if it were a mere coincidence.
“I didn’t know you had such a beautiful little girl, Counselor,” he said casually, but his tone injected ice-cold liquid into her veins.
“Emily, come here.” Grace kept her own voice calm, trying not to alarm her daughter, yet unable to move. Somehow her knees had decided to go spongy. Emily, however, was focused on retrieving the last kiwi, waiting with fingers ready to grab it when the shoe was lifted.
“Emily.” This time it sounded like a scold and she regretted it even before Barnett grinned. He stooped down and retrieved the fruit himself, handing it to Emily.
Grace held her breath, wanting to tell her child not to take it, not to touch it. As if to do so would contaminate her, would burn her with his evil. But, instead, she waited while Emily took the last kiwi and put it on the pile. Then Grace grabbed Emily’s hand and shoved the shopping cart forward, moving them away from Jared Barnett as quickly as she could, feeling his stare like pinpricks on the back of her neck.
“Who is that man, Mommy? Do I know him?”
“No. He’s nobody.” She pushed the cart to a free checkout counter. “Why don’t you watch the man bag our groceries. You like doing that, right?” Grace helped her squeeze past the cart to the end of the conveyor belt, and immediately Emily’s attention transferred to the boy carelessly tossing items into the plastic bags.
Grace glanced around the store, checking to see where he might be, then pulled out her cell phone and punched in the number, needing to redo it because her fingers kept hitting the wrong numbers.
“Pakula here.”
“I just ran into him again.” She tried to whisper but the anger made her sound a little like Elmer Fudd.
“Is he still hanging around the courthouse?”
“No, the produce department here at HyVee.”
The elderly woman in line behind Grace perused the tabloid magazines, but Grace knew from the woman’s frown and sideway glances that she was listening to her conversation. Grace turned her back to her and kept an eye on Emily, who was now instructing the teenage boy how to bag groceries.
“Could it be a coincidence?”
“You think he just happens to shop at the same fucking store I do?”
Grace ignored the cashier’s admonishing look. She didn’t care what some twenty-year-old college kid thought. She had more important things to worry about. Like the fact that a man she had prosecuted five years ago for murder, a man who she had argued should be sentenced to death, was now free. Free and shopping at the grocery store she just happened to frequent.
Grace scanned the store again, startled when she heard
Emily looked them over, turning them first one way then another, gently rubbing her fingers over their fuzzy surface. Then, with a serious, furrowed look, she shook her head.
“No, I don’t think so. They look like monkey heads.”
“Monkey heads?” Grace laughed.
“Little green monkey heads.” And Emily began giggling, too. She was soon laughing so hard that, when she went to put the two kiwis back on top of the stack, she set off an avalanche. “Oh, no, there go all the monkey heads.”
Emily stood still, watching helplessly, her lower lip starting to pucker in what Grace recognized as a four-year-old’s fine line of not knowing whether to laugh or cry.
“Come on, Em. Help me pick up these monkey heads before we both get into trouble.”
The two of them began scrambling to pick up the rolling fruit. Soon Emily was giggling again. Grace’s arms were full of kiwi when she noticed Emily on her hands and knees, staring at the last kiwi captured under the toe of a scuffed tennis shoe.
Grace looked up and almost dropped the fruit in her arms. Jared Barnett smiled down at her, his dark eyes like hollow-point bullets, empty but dangerous. He stood there with his toe holding the last piece of fruit hostage, as if there was nothing unusual about him being here, as if it were a mere coincidence.
“I didn’t know you had such a beautiful little girl, Counselor,” he said casually, but his tone injected ice-cold liquid into her veins.
“Emily, come here.” Grace kept her own voice calm, trying not to alarm her daughter, yet unable to move. Somehow her knees had decided to go spongy. Emily, however, was focused on retrieving the last kiwi, waiting with fingers ready to grab it when the shoe was lifted.
“Emily.” This time it sounded like a scold and she regretted it even before Barnett grinned. He stooped down and retrieved the fruit himself, handing it to Emily.
Grace held her breath, wanting to tell her child not to take it, not to touch it. As if to do so would contaminate her, would burn her with his evil. But, instead, she waited while Emily took the last kiwi and put it on the pile. Then Grace grabbed Emily’s hand and shoved the shopping cart forward, moving them away from Jared Barnett as quickly as she could, feeling his stare like pinpricks on the back of her neck.
“Who is that man, Mommy? Do I know him?”
“No. He’s nobody.” She pushed the cart to a free checkout counter. “Why don’t you watch the man bag our groceries. You like doing that, right?” Grace helped her squeeze past the cart to the end of the conveyor belt, and immediately Emily’s attention transferred to the boy carelessly tossing items into the plastic bags.
Grace glanced around the store, checking to see where he might be, then pulled out her cell phone and punched in the number, needing to redo it because her fingers kept hitting the wrong numbers.
“Pakula here.”
“I just ran into him again.” She tried to whisper but the anger made her sound a little like Elmer Fudd.
“Is he still hanging around the courthouse?”
“No, the produce department here at HyVee.”
The elderly woman in line behind Grace perused the tabloid magazines, but Grace knew from the woman’s frown and sideway glances that she was listening to her conversation. Grace turned her back to her and kept an eye on Emily, who was now instructing the teenage boy how to bag groceries.
“Could it be a coincidence?”
“You think he just happens to shop at the same fucking store I do?”
Grace ignored the cashier’s admonishing look. She didn’t care what some twenty-year-old college kid thought. She had more important things to worry about. Like the fact that a man she had prosecuted five years ago for murder, a man who she had argued should be sentenced to death, was now free. Free and shopping at the grocery store she just happened to frequent.
Grace scanned the store again, startled when she heard
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