The Babysitter Murders - By Janet Ruth Young Page 0,27

her, but she didn’t understand.”

The cop shrugs. “Something tells me we’re about to get her attention. Give me your address, dear.”

Dani gives her address, and Sergeant Mason repeats it to someone—presumably headquarters—on the radio.

“Rich kid,” Officer Pinto mutters.

They drive along the depot, where the first commuter train from Boston spills its briefcased commuters. The siren isn’t on and the lights aren’t flashing.

Officer Pinto slides the panel open. He speaks to Dani for the first time, without smiling.

“Is there anything else you need to tell us? Anything you 94

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may have said or done to that little boy? We have to call Social Services, you know. They’ll question him, and anything that needs to come out is going to come out. It might be better if you tell us now.”

“Nothing.” Dani says. She pictures Alex being questioned by a stiff-backed lady in a suit. She doubts he has anything damag-ing to say other than that she sometimes talked to Shelley on her cell phone when she was supposed to be playing with Louie. She doesn’t want anyone to talk to Alex about her if they don’t really have to, but she doesn’t know how to stop them.

“Dear, answer me honestly,” Sergeant Mason asks. “Is this stabbing business something you cooked up? Is it a cock-and-bull story you made up just to get out of babysitting?”

“No,” Dani answers. “I didn’t make it up. I didn’t make up any of it.”

“No further questions until we see the mother,” Sergeant Mason tells his partner. “They might want to get somebody.”

“Get somebody who?” Dani asks.

“Your mom may want to hire a lawyer. I would advise you not to tell me or Officer Pinto or anyone else any more about this, if you can help it. That’s what that yellow card says.”

They’re a few blocks from school, and Dani sees three guys she knows walking with a basketball. She considers ducking, but that would make it look like she’s done something wrong.

“Wait. Officer? Sir?” she asks the one driving.

“What’s that, dear?”

“Can we not go past the high school? I don’t want to see any-95

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body I know. I mean, would they really believe you were only giving me a ride home?”

The policeman signals and turns left, avoiding the school by a couple of blocks.

“That’s the kind of thing you’re supposed to consider before-hand,” Officer Pinto tells Dani.

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Beth sees the cruiser in the driveway and opens the front door. The police officers follow Dani.

“Dani! What’s wrong?”

“I’m okay, Mom.” The odor of wet paint restores Dani. Like avocado-and-cucumber lotion, it’s the smell of Beth and home.

Dani feels the corners of her mouth sag, but she doesn’t cry. She’ll wait till the officers leave. Then she’ll cry as much as she wants.

“What happened, Dani?” Beth turns to address the officers.

“Was there an accident? Is she hurt?”

“I’ve been through a rough time, Mom,” she says, “but now it’s done and I’m just glad it’s over.”

“Oh my God, are you all right?” Beth scans Dani for signs of trouble—cuts, bruises, bandages, torn clothing. “What’s going on? Did someone hurt Dani?”

“Your daughter’s having some problems, ma’am. Why don’t we go inside and talk about it?”

Beth lets them in. “What kind of problems is she having?”

“Apparently she indicated to the mother of the child she babysits for—,” Officer Pinto begins.

Sergeant Mason stops him and nods at Dani. “Why don’t you tell your mother yourself?”

“Mom, my mind has been feeling funny. I was having all these JANET RUTH YOUNG

thoughts I didn’t really want to have.” Dani’s voice sounds childish, even to her. She didn’t realize how relieved she would feel to be home with Beth.

“Your mind? Oh, Dani, what’s wrong? Are you depressed? Do you need to see a doctor?” Beth gets between Dani and the police and wraps her arms around her.

“Just a moment, ma’am,” Officer Pinto says. “Young lady, why don’t you tell your mother exactly why we made a call at Mrs.

Draper’s house?”

“All right, Mike,” says the older cop. “Why don’t I do this?”

The younger partner wiggles his head as if he’s bored. Dani gets the floating-up feeling she had when she told Mrs. Alex. Things would have been so different two days ago if she had been able to tell her mother at the time and in the way she had wanted to.

Now her mother is asking what’s wrong, the bad cop is making her tell what’s wrong, and what’s wrong