best course of action.
“I’m seeing someone,” she said.
Oliver nodded, his face turning pink with embarrassment. Right then he wanted to kill the manager who had told him to go for it. Some great advice.
“Oh,” he said, looking down. “I didn’t know.”
Emma didn’t like to hurt anyone’s feelings. “It’s kind of new,” she said quickly. “He lives in Seattle. Goes to the U.”
“Cool,” he said, lying through his teeth. He watched Emma as she went to fetch her coat.
“Yeah, don’t know where it’s going. I mean, I know it isn’t serious, but it is kind of new and I want to focus on hanging out with him.”
Oliver finished what he was doing and he gave the restaurant one last once-over. It was clean, ordered, and, he thought, perfectly bland. Just right for the customers who started the next day’s shift. He dimmed the lights and the pair exited. Emma went toward the bus stop and Oliver left on foot to wherever it was that he’d parked his mom’s car.
He stood still a moment and watched her, wondering why it was that no one had told him about her boyfriend.
Before turning in for the night, Dan Walton and Diana Rose checked all the locks on the windows and doors in their two-story Craftsman on Proctor in North Tacoma. It was a lovely neighborhood of fine old homes, a couple nice restaurants, and antique shops, but there had been a series of break-ins in the neighborhood over the past few months and caution had segued into routine. It wasn’t that the Roses were the kind of family to leave the front door unlocked at night, but neither were they the paranoid type who insisted on doing a perimeter sweep every time the sun dipped down behind the Olympics to the west.
Lately everyone was feeling a little uneasy. Tacoma neighborhoods had been experiencing a rash of violent crime—including the murder of a man who’d simply posted an ad for his late wife’s diamond tennis bracelet. He’d been robbed and bludgeoned five blocks away from the Roses’ house. Another case that had made headlines in the
News Tribune
was the story about a missing Pacific Lutheran University student, Lisa Lancaster. The last time anyone had seen the slender brunette had been in a campus parking lot.
Dan was an engineer with the city and Diana taught music at Annie Wright, an ivy-clad private girls’ school not far from their home. Diana had been depressed the past few weeks as her fiftieth birthday was approaching. She’d had breast cancer three years prior and had more cause to celebrate her half-century milestone than most, but Diana Rose was vain enough to try to thwart any semblance of advancing age. She readily admitted to friends that she’d had Botox treatments a time or two, but lately she’d been contemplating something a little more extreme than having toxins injected into her face. She wanted something more permanent. At least as permanent as could be, given the fact that no matter what anyone did, time did not stand still.
“You are as beautiful as the day I met you,” Dan said to his wife when she ruminated on getting older, losing their daughter to college in the fall, being empty nesters. Dan was a heavyset fellow, with stout arms, grey eyes, and hair that he combed over with such meticulousness each morning that many people who noticed it wondered just how it was that he’d managed to stretch so little so very far.
Diana, who was rail thin with angular features and wiry black hair, looked at the clock with a fixed gaze. Much longer than needed to determine it was ten-thirty.
“Emma must be out with friends,” she said. She’d always been a worrier, which, of course, accounted for the lines she wanted erased from her face.
“She’s fine,” Dan said, touching her shoulder gently. “She’s nineteen and you can’t control every minute of her life.” The words were said with more love than harshness and Diana quickly nodded. He was right. Emma was very, very responsible.
“Usually
“I’m seeing someone,” she said.
Oliver nodded, his face turning pink with embarrassment. Right then he wanted to kill the manager who had told him to go for it. Some great advice.
“Oh,” he said, looking down. “I didn’t know.”
Emma didn’t like to hurt anyone’s feelings. “It’s kind of new,” she said quickly. “He lives in Seattle. Goes to the U.”
“Cool,” he said, lying through his teeth. He watched Emma as she went to fetch her coat.
“Yeah, don’t know where it’s going. I mean, I know it isn’t serious, but it is kind of new and I want to focus on hanging out with him.”
Oliver finished what he was doing and he gave the restaurant one last once-over. It was clean, ordered, and, he thought, perfectly bland. Just right for the customers who started the next day’s shift. He dimmed the lights and the pair exited. Emma went toward the bus stop and Oliver left on foot to wherever it was that he’d parked his mom’s car.
He stood still a moment and watched her, wondering why it was that no one had told him about her boyfriend.
Before turning in for the night, Dan Walton and Diana Rose checked all the locks on the windows and doors in their two-story Craftsman on Proctor in North Tacoma. It was a lovely neighborhood of fine old homes, a couple nice restaurants, and antique shops, but there had been a series of break-ins in the neighborhood over the past few months and caution had segued into routine. It wasn’t that the Roses were the kind of family to leave the front door unlocked at night, but neither were they the paranoid type who insisted on doing a perimeter sweep every time the sun dipped down behind the Olympics to the west.
Lately everyone was feeling a little uneasy. Tacoma neighborhoods had been experiencing a rash of violent crime—including the murder of a man who’d simply posted an ad for his late wife’s diamond tennis bracelet. He’d been robbed and bludgeoned five blocks away from the Roses’ house. Another case that had made headlines in the
News Tribune
was the story about a missing Pacific Lutheran University student, Lisa Lancaster. The last time anyone had seen the slender brunette had been in a campus parking lot.
Dan was an engineer with the city and Diana taught music at Annie Wright, an ivy-clad private girls’ school not far from their home. Diana had been depressed the past few weeks as her fiftieth birthday was approaching. She’d had breast cancer three years prior and had more cause to celebrate her half-century milestone than most, but Diana Rose was vain enough to try to thwart any semblance of advancing age. She readily admitted to friends that she’d had Botox treatments a time or two, but lately she’d been contemplating something a little more extreme than having toxins injected into her face. She wanted something more permanent. At least as permanent as could be, given the fact that no matter what anyone did, time did not stand still.
“You are as beautiful as the day I met you,” Dan said to his wife when she ruminated on getting older, losing their daughter to college in the fall, being empty nesters. Dan was a heavyset fellow, with stout arms, grey eyes, and hair that he combed over with such meticulousness each morning that many people who noticed it wondered just how it was that he’d managed to stretch so little so very far.
Diana, who was rail thin with angular features and wiry black hair, looked at the clock with a fixed gaze. Much longer than needed to determine it was ten-thirty.
“Emma must be out with friends,” she said. She’d always been a worrier, which, of course, accounted for the lines she wanted erased from her face.
“She’s fine,” Dan said, touching her shoulder gently. “She’s nineteen and you can’t control every minute of her life.” The words were said with more love than harshness and Diana quickly nodded. He was right. Emma was very, very responsible.
“Usually
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