there were three kids in the picture. Oh, and Sam said there’s an eviction notice on the front door of their rental house. We think that’s why they left home.”
And apparently ended up in the cottage behind Jen’s house. “Their father?” Lucas asked.
“They clammed up when we asked.”
“And how long have they been in the cottage?”
“A night and a day.”
Three kids—alone in an empty cottage. No electricity. No adults. Dealing with the recent loss of their mother and now their grandmother’s death on top of it.
“Sam says I need to call DHS in the morning, and I know he’s right, but what’s going to happen to them? I can’t bear the thought of what they’ve been going through. Colie—she’s only twelve but she’s been taking care of her siblings alone for days.”
Jenessa lifted her eyes—a deep, dark blue, they penetrated with so many emotions just now he couldn’t make out one from another. Until they brightened under the tawny light of the fixture overhead and she grinned. “That frilly apron is a good look on you, Luke.”
He glanced down. He’d forgotten he’d even put on the silly thing. Only had because he’d figured it’d make Jen laugh.
“Do you smell burning?”
Shoot. He whipped around, slid the spatula under the pancake, and freed it from the heat. Not burnt, just a smidge overly brown. He dropped it on a plate, half-covering another, and turned back to Jen, setting the plate in front of her. “You can start eating these now, but how about scrambled eggs, too?”
“Sure, thanks. Although if you’re being so good to me because you’re hoping to avoid a lecture for missing the party tonight . . .” She shrugged. “Well, then you’ve completely succeeded.”
He’d been in Jenessa’s kitchen often enough to know where to find her silverware. He pulled open a drawer and nabbed a fork, plunked it and a bottle of syrup in front of Jen. “I saw the For Sale sign, by the way. You’re finally going to sell this place?”
She nodded as she cut into a pancake. “I think so. I have a feeling I was premature in putting up the sign, though. I’m not sure I’ll get any takers with the property in its current condition—especially out back.”
She was probably right. Although, personally, if he had a house this nice, even cluttered as it was, he’d think twice about selling. The kitchen alone was impressive. A person didn’t have to be a gourmet chef to appreciate the gray marble countertops and cupboards painted a stylish navy blue filling the spacious kitchen. He especially liked the exposed wooden beam overhead.
He still remembered the first time he’d seen the inside of Belville Park—after Jen’s dad had passed but before her mom had followed. It’d been all he could do to hide his shock at the size of the place. Sure, it was crowded—boxes, bric-a-brac, books—as if someone, probably Jenessa, had begun the job of organizing the overabundance of possessions but quit mid-mission.
Yet the hardwood floors and ornate woodworking, the walls painted in an array of neutrals and pastels were all in good condition. Swap out some of the overly fancy furniture for comfortable couches and chairs, move all the boxes and clutter out of sight, and this place could make an amazing home for a family.
Jenessa, though, had seemed embarrassed about the messiness the first time she’d given Sam and Lucas a tour. She’d also been exhausted, grieving her father, worried over her mother, buried in work at the newspaper. It’d been one of his first hints that all wasn’t as idyllic in the Belville family home as he’d once thought.
He grabbed a carton of milk from the fridge. Expired a week ago, but they could risk it. The fact that he’d found any groceries at all in the pantry was a surprise given that Jen had all but moved in at the Everwood.
“Hey, Luke?” Jen had paused with her fork in midair. “I didn’t really demand we be friends, did I?”
He grinned at her echo of his earlier words. “That’s exactly what you did.” He cracked two eggs into a bowl. “You waltzed into the coffee shop one day, practically dragging Sam along with you, and came right up to me as I was stirring creamer into my coffee. You said, ‘I’m Jenessa Belville and this is my friend Sam Ross and we’re in the market for another member of our inner circle. Which makes us sound cult-ish, but I promise we’re not.’”
“I sound like a