Dead In The Water (Rebecca Schwartz Mystery #4) (The Rebecca Schwartz Series)

stage.
    She screamed, “Where’s my mom?”
    “My name’s Rebecca and I’m a friend of hers.” I knelt down to make contact.
    “Where is she?”
    “She’s all right. She’s fine. I just—”
    But Libby flounced away in midsentence. Keil said, “She’s always like that.”
    I gave him a big smile. “I don’t blame her. It must have been pretty upsetting waking up to find your mother gone.”
    “Ahhh—no big deal.”
    I thought he was working very hard to be brave. “Listen, Keil, I’m going to need some help. Could you get dressed and show me where things are in the kitchen? I’ll make you some—uh—” What did kids like? “—French toast.”
    “Okay,” he said, and went back to his room. Screams and wails were now coming from Libby’s. I didn’t know where to start.
    I knocked on Keil’s door. “Keil. Do you know how to make coffee? I think I’d better talk to Libby.”
    “Sure. I’ll go make you some.”
    Libby was lying facedown on her bed, emitting high-volume screams. Keil came up behind me. “She’s just trying to get attention.”
    Very well then, I’d give her some. “Libby, do you know who I am? Your mom’s friend from San Francisco that likes fish?”
    No answer. Gingerly I touched the small of her back. Her legs kicked out violently.
    I said, “Honey, your grandmother’s on the way—”
    “I hate my grandmother!”
    “How about breakfast? What do you think about breakfast?”
    “I hate breakfast!”
    And me
?
You hate me
,
too
,
right
? I nearly had to bite my tongue to keep from saying it. “How about ice cream?”
    “I hate ice cream!”
    I walked to the door. “Too bad. I thought we’d have some for breakfast.”
    She turned around, her face pink and swollen. “I thought we were having French toast.”
    “We could—would you rather have that?”
    She smashed her head down on the pillow again. “No!”
    I went down to my coffee, which Keil, now in jeans, was just dripping into a mug that had a whale’s fluke for a handle. He didn’t waste a word. “Rebecca, where’s Mom?”
    “She’s fine, Keil. Do you believe me?”
    “If she’s fine, why won’t you tell me where she is?”
    “I am going to tell you. I just don’t want to do it twice. If you can get Libby to come down—”
    Libby said, “I’m here,” and padded in on bare feet, still in her nightgown. Hair hung over one eye, and, I had to admit it, she looked very cute.
    “Aha! You came for French toast, did you?”
    Keil said, “Tell us, Rebecca!” sounding as threatening as any street punk. I stared at him, shocked—he had seemed such a nice child. He looked half out of his mind with worry.
    “Oh, Keil, I’m so sorry—I know you’re very worried. Kids, your mom is fine, but something really bad has happened. She didn’t do anything wrong—there was a terrible misunderstanding—but I’m afraid she had to spend the night in jail.”
    Libby’s blue eyes widened into circles of sky.
    Keil had recovered his composure. He rinsed the coffee funnel, making sure he kept his back elaborately turned. “What’d she do? Get in a brawl at a fern bar?”
    “Keil. Libby. There’s another piece of it.” I paused, wondering if I really had to tell them, and concluding it wasn’t right to keep it back. For all I knew, it was in the morning paper. “Something really, really bad has happened to Sadie Swedlow.”
    Fear, primitive, childish fear, the kind of fear you can only feel when you’re a kid and things go out of control, filled Libby’s eyes, contorted her face. “How bad?”
    “Real bad, honey. She died last night.”
    Deep, wracking sobs erupted from her small body—not the angry, confused ones of a few moments ago. This was real sadness. I held out my arms to her and took a step forward, but she turned and ran. I realized I was crying myself. The back door slammed and I looked around, but Keil had left. I hadn’t heard him move. I stood in the middle of the kitchen feeling miserable.
    I hadn’t been around kids much. I was shocked at how much of Libby’s sadness I had picked up, and I thought I could feel Keil’s, too. It was as if I’d gone suddenly psychic, lost the adult defenses it had taken me a lifetime to build. I took deep breaths, trying to figure out what was happening.
    Were they so upset because they had loved Sadie? She hadn’t been around long, but I was sure they’d been spending weekends, at least, with her and Don. There might have been time to