Gingerbread Man

become altered—then start over again from there.
    If she could do that, though, she'd pull that thread all the way back to October 10, 1983. Start
that
day over.
    She forced herself not to think about that. Things were off today. And there was a niggling in the back of her mind, but she was ignoring that, as well. She was very good at ignoring things. It only took concentration. She'd had lots of practice.
    "Honey?"
    She looked up, realizing she had walked all the way across the diner to the table where her mother waited, and shaking herself, she managed a smile as she slid into the booth. "Hi, Mom. How did your morning go?"
    "Holly... honey, are you all right?"
    Startled, she searched her mother's face. "Of course I am. Why would you think otherwise?"
    "Well..." She reached across the table, covered Holly's hands with her own. "You were counting just now."
    Holly rolled her eyes. "Oh, I was not."
    "You were. You were counting as you crossed the room. Your steps, I think. Very quietly. Sweetheart, did something happen this morning?"
    Holly tensed and gazed around the diner, wondering if anyone else had noticed her odd behavior. Counting. Dammit, she had stopped counting
years
ago.
    Oh, hell.
He
was here, sitting on a red vinyl-topped stool at the counter, and watching her. He lifted a hand in greeting. She pursed her lips, nodded hello, and looked away.
    "Should I make an appointment with Dr. Graycloud?" her mother asked.
    Holly bit her lip, swallowed her anxiety, and turned back to her mother with a forced smile. "I was thinking about floor tiles for the dining room," she said. "Like these—different colors, of course—but the texture and the quality of these are just what I had in mind."
    "Floor tiles." The words were heavy with doubt.
    "Uh-huh. I was thinking about square footage just before I walked in here. I just didn't realize when I started figuring how many tiles we'd need, and what it would cost, that I was counting out loud." She made her smile broader. "I guess I was more into my planning than I thought I was."
    Her mother still looked doubtful, but Holly knew she would believe her. Her mother would want to believe her too badly to give in to suspicions. But if this nonsense kept up….
    Her mother looked past her, distracted by something. And Holly turned to follow her gaze.
    Vince O'Mally was bearing down on them, carrying a coffee carafe he must have charmed away from Tracy, the teenage waitress. Not saying a word, he reached for the coffee mug in front of Holly, flipped it upright, and filled it. "Coffee's on me, Red," he told her.
    "That isn't necessary," Holly said.
    "Sure it is. You told me yourself you never got a cup this morning." He glanced across the table. "You haven't introduced me to your friend." As he spoke he lifted the pot and arched a questioning brow. Doris nodded and Vince filled her cup as well.
    "I'm Doris," she said with a smile. "Holly's mother."
    Holly didn't like the man. Something about him set her teeth on edge. Still, she said, "Mom, this is Detective O'Mally—"
    "Vince," he said.
    "Right. Vince. He's with the Syracuse Police Department. Their special library crimes unit or something." He shot her an amused look as he took her mother's hand in greeting.
    "It's a pleasure, Ms. Newman."
    "Call me Doris," she said. Then she turned to Holly. "And how is it you two know each other?"
    "I had some business with the chief this morning," Vince said before Holly could answer. "There was a mishap with the coffee, the pot got smashed to bits, and I think it was partly my fault. I doubt Holly ever got her morning caffeine."
    "Really?" Doris looked from Vince to Holly and back again. "And, um... are you here at the cafe all alone?" When O'Mally nodded, Holly knew what was coming but couldn't speak quickly enough to prevent it. "Well, why don't you pull up a chair and join us?"
    Vince glanced at Holly, but where she expected to see a smirk of triumph in his eyes, she saw only a question. Reluctantly, she nodded. Only then did he say, "Thanks, I think I will." He pulled up a chair from a nearby vacant table, and sat down at theirs.
    "What brings you to Dilmun, Detective?"
    "Oh, just vacation time. I have a couple of weeks to fill. Thought someplace quiet would do me good."
    "I'd say you came to the right place. We used to live in Syracuse, you know. Liked it so much down here we never wanted to go back."
    "Really?" Vince glanced at Holly. "You didn't mention that."
    She only shrugged.