Blindside

same as a tuna casserole, ma’am?” Miles asked her.
    “My granny called it a casserola and that’s just the way it is around here. Hello, Dillon, Sherlock. And who are you, sir?”
    “I’m Agent Glen Hodges, ma’am.”
    She shook his hand. “Welcome, all of you. Please, call me Minna. Ah, and the beyond-perfect specimens of kidness—Sam and Keely. Come on in, and let me give you each a big hug and an even bigger chocolate chip cookie, fresh out of the oven.”
    “What about us, Mom? Just look at Dillon here. The man’s back is hurting bad. He could probably use a cookie about now.”

    Minna Benedict was not quite as tall and slender as her daughter, but she had thick red brown hair even more lustrous than Katie’s. She said, “All right. One for each of you, and two for Dillon because of his back. Come in, come in, don’t dawdle. There’s enough time before dinner. Dessert is always better than dinner any day of the week, isn’t it?”
    After the three King Charles spaniels had finally calmed down, their silky ears stroked by every adult and child, and the canaries were quiet beneath their night sheets, everyone trooped into the small dining room. To Miles’s surprise, Sam took one bite of the tuna casserola and didn’t stop until he downed two helpings and three of Minna’s homemade biscuits. He and Keely had their heads together throughout the meal.
    “Let me tell you one good thing I did today,” Katie announced to the table at large.
    Sherlock waved her fork. “Out with it, Katie, we need to hear something positive.”
    “I had a boy steal a Snickers bar from a local grocery. His family’s poorer than dirt and both parents drink. I went to the middle school, pulled twelve-year-old Ben Chivers out of class and offered him a deal. He works for Mrs. Cerlew at the grocery three hours a day after school. She pays him minimum wage for two of those hours, then he works free for the other hour. Mrs. Cerlew is all for it, too. If he does well for a month, she’ll keep him on and pay him for the full three hours, three days a week.”
    Miles’s head was cocked to the side. “That’s very good, Katie. This way the kid doesn’t have to go into the juvenile system.”
    Katie shuddered. “Something I like to avoid at all costs. He’s not bad, just helpless. This will give him a sense of worth, and a bit of money. I told him to keep his new job to himself as long as he could, or his dad would hit him up to buy some cheap wine.”

    Minna said, “Of course old Ben would too. Now, Katie, Mrs. Cerlew doesn’t have an extra dime, so I’ll just bet that you’re subsidizing his wages, aren’t you, dear?”
    Katie gave her mother a tight-lipped frown and didn’t say anything.
    How, Miles wondered, could a sheriff, on a small-town sheriff’s pay, afford to subsidize a kid’s wages? He was chewing his tongue he wanted to ask so badly when Katie’s mom said, smiling, “After the settlement, Katie saved Benedict Pulp Mill, and a lot of local folks’ jobs, and every so often, she helps folk here in Jessborough, mainly the kids.”
    “This is my home,” Katie said very quietly. “Actually, you could have pulled the mill out of trouble yourself, Mama.” She added to everyone at the table, “She’s an excellent manager, something Dad just wasn’t. Now, that’s enough.” She looked down at the last bite of tuna casserola on her plate. “Keely, you want one more forkful?”
    Truth be told, the very large tuna casserola and the platter of biscuits were memories in fifteen minutes.
    Miles sat back and folded his hands over his stomach. “That was delicious, Minna. Thank you very much for letting us come.”
    “Well, I put up with you adults just so I can get my hands on Sam and Keely. Now, who’s ready for coffee and apple pie?”
    Savich said, “May I give you my mom’s e-mail, Minna? You can give her your recipe for the casserola and she’ll give you hers for Irish beef stew.” He grinned at his wife. “Then Sherlock and I can bid good-bye to our waistlines.”
    After Minna assured the adults that both kids were lying in front of the television, glued to Wheel of Fortune, Katie set down her cup of coffee, pulled out a file and said, “EleanorMarie McCamy Ward was only sixty-three when she died of a fall down the front stairs. The ME’s report showed that her neck was broken and that the broken bones and internal injuries were consistent with such a fall. Neither Sooner nor Elsbeth