Chapter XIX – Timothy Teller

Timothy had watched the conclusion of Ginger and Mary’s argument with a growing sense of unease.

There’s too much anger on the one side and far too much willingness to react on the other. It’s a recipe for disaster.

Anna had said nothing for awhile, but seemed lost in her own world. Timothy, with the initial effects of the explosions and the discovery of the corpse wearing off, needed something to do. He wandered off toward his laptop, still resting where he left it at one side of the two unoccupied tables.

Fried. That’s not good. At least, I have backups.

He got up to wander again and happened to catch Ginger’s eye in passing. Arms crossed and gaze narrowed, she appeared to be seething. Timothy gave her a wide berth.

Fabian beckoned for him to join Renee and himself, his deep voice very quiet. “I believe that we need some form of entertainment. Renee disagrees.”

Timothy frowned. “Entertainment?”

“Yes. Some people,” he waved in Mary’s direction, “need distraction from their current circumstances.”

Timothy looked at the tall brunette beside Fabian. “You don’t agree?”

“I-I think it will depend on what he means by entertainment.”

“Ideally, we could have a movie to pass the time.” Fabian folded his hands on the table.

“I think that would add unnecessary chaos and would cause us to be less vigilant.” Renee shrugged and brushed a hand across her stomach. “We are in the presence of a murderer after all.”

“Possibly.” Fabian smiled a bit. “As we have no means to play a movie anyhow, I suppose that the question is moot.”

“Do you have other ideas for entertainment?” Timothy asked.

“Do I have any other ideas for entertainment? No.” Fabian shook his head rather sadly. “I hoped that, perhaps, you might.”

“I suppose that something interactive might keep us cognizant of each other and our surroundings, while affording a distraction from our circumstances.”

“If one could come up with something interactive, that isn’t a party game that no one is up for playing.” Fabian steepled his fingertips, watching Timothy over them.

Timothy glanced around the room, hoping for inspiration. A book on the floor near the counter caught his eye. He jumped for it.

“That’s mine.” Kimberly hardly seemed to care, if her tone could be trusted, that she claimed ownership.

“May we use it?”

“Be my guest.”

“What do you have in mind?” Fabian asked.

Timothy turned the book over in his hands. 4:50 From Paddington. He hadn’t read that particular Agatha Christie book, but at least it was an author that he recognized. He’d try it.

“My sisters and I used to read a book by turns.” He resumed his seat, still holding the book. “Everyone sits together, each taking turn to read for, say, ten minutes at a time.”

“Not everyone is going to want to read aloud.” Renee rubbed her stomach, then sighed.

“Possibly not. Or possibly everyone will be so happy for something to do, that they’ll do it anyway.” He smiled to try to soften what might come off as harsh.

Renee only shrugged.

Fabian reached for the book and looked it over. “So, we read a fictional murder mystery – while we live through a real murder mystery?”

Timothy cocked an eyebrow. “I suppose – yes. Do you have a better idea?”

“No, actually. The idea is intriguing. Hearing Mary Dill, for instance, attempt to voice a rational character should be fascinating.”

Timothy paused and tried to picture Mary calmly reading about a murder. He failed. Maybe we’ll be proven wrong. Maybe it will relax her somehow. He heard the woman’s voice rise in excited conversation with Kimberly a few feet away. Maybe.

Fabian took it upon himself to get the four women to join them. Adrian and Xavier, of course, couldn’t join them; they were busy. And, if they interviewed everyone, they would frequently lose a reader for awhile, but they could manage well enough. To Timothy’s surprise, no one balked.

Fabian set to moving two of the round tables close together and then surrounding them with chairs. He gathered everyone, assigning seats that kept Mary between himself and Kimberly. Timothy saw Ginger watching the proceeding with crossed arms.

He hesitated. He didn’t want to engage with Ginger. He usually avoided her as much as possible and with good reason. He watched her glaring, and sighed.

Sometimes, loving your neighbor means talking to the person that you usually do your best to avoid. He sighed again, but went toward her.

“Are you planning to join us?”

She slowly turned her glare toward him, before her face softened just barely. “What?”

“Are you going to join us while we read?”

She shrugged, arms still crossed. “I said that I would.”

“You’re not going to do it from where you’re standing, are you?”

“If it means that I don’t have to sit anywhere near Mary Dill, I will. I’m quite nearly out of all patience with the woman.”

Timothy bit back a laugh and looked toward the seating arrangements. “I think you’re safe. I think Fabian is putting you next to himself and an empty seat. Probably for Eddie. Mary is two seats away.”

Ginger dropped her arms. “I’m coming.”

Timothy nodded and smiled a bit. “That’s the spirit! Let’s see how this goes.”

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Chapter XVIII – Adrian Terrence

Adrian watched Eddie take a seat. He sent a glance in Ginger’s direction and then tugged at his carrot hair.

It’s a wonder that he hasn’t pulled every strand out by now!

The moment Eddie sat down, he sighed. “I didn’t kill the guy. I didn’t even know him.”

‘Neither of us accused you,” Xavier said.

“But she did. Several times now. And she doesn’t care about protestations of innocence.”

The cousins didn’t try to argue.

“How long have you been working at Café Chocolaté, Eddie?” Adrian turned to a new page in his notebook. “What was your surname again?”

“McIntyre.”

“Very Irish. I named a book character McIntyre once.” Adrian looked up in time to catch Xavier’s half-smile and shook his head.

“Oh.” Eddie seemed to remember the first question. “I’ve been working here for three years.”

“That’s a good length of time. Do you ever plan to go anywhere else?”

Eddie shrugged. “I want to be a nurse, but it takes time to save up for college. I can’t get a loan.”

Adrian nodded. “How old are you, Eddie?”

“Twenty-five.” He sat on the extreme edge of his seat, as still as could be, one hand on each of his legs. He looked up to speak, but otherwise stared at the dark tabletop as if it mesmerized him.

“Are you well acquainted with anyone in the café?” Adrian closed the notebook and pushed it aside.

Maybe it will help to relax him.

“I know Ginger.” Eddie glanced around the room and shrugged. “I recognize most of you, but I’ve never been friends or even enemies with anyone. Ginger usually talks to people and I get the orders ready.”

“Why is that?” Xavier asked. Monique seemed to have fallen quite asleep again. “Is that what you were hired for?”

Eddie tugged on his pant leg. “Yes and no.”

“Meaning?”

“We were both trained to do everything, but Ginger hates getting orders ready. So, we… worked it out.”

“Your boss doesn’t mind?”

“As long as we get the work done and the customers are happy, no. He doesn’t mind. She helps with cleanup and all in the evenings too.”

“How long has Ginger worked here, Eddie?” Adrian rolled his pencil between his fingers.

“Two years.”

“Did you help her get the job?”

Eddie shook his head. “Of course not.”

“Tell us about finding the ice pick.” Xavier seemed to be watching the young man’s face closely.

Eddie jumped. “What about it?”

“Describe it for us.”

Eddie opened his eyes wider, then cleared his throat. “I was just fixing Mary Dill’s coffee. When I went to hand it to her, something rolled off the shelf under the counter, I think, and hit my foot. I looked down and saw the ice pick, and some… red on the floor.”

“Did you know what the red was?”

“It looked like blood to me. It… It wasn’t right to be anything else.”

Xavier nodded.

“Mary started yelling at me and Ginger didn’t look down where the ice pick was. I don’t know why, except I kinda kicked it under the bottom edge of the counter. And why would she. Anyway, I didn’t really think – I didn’t know why the ice pick would have blood on it in the first place, so I picked it up. That’s all. You saw the rest.”

“Why did you pick up the ice pick, if you recognized blood on the blade?”

Eddie shrugged with another tug on his pants. “I don’t know. I didn’t know there had been a murder. I didn’t know what was going on!”

The men sat in silence for a moment or two. Adrian opened his notebook, marked a few things down, then closed it again. Eddie sat, his eyes focused on the tabletop again. Xavier looked thoughtful.

“Eddie, you said that you saw Gary Bradshaw last week, correct?” Adrian asked.

Eddie raised his head. “Yeah, I saw him. He sat in the same seat for most of the afternoon, I think.”

“You think?” Xavier interjected.

Eddie started to raise a hand toward his hair, but tugged on his pant leg again instead. “I can’t pay attention to everyone in the café. I’m too busy making orders. I saw him when he sat down and noticed him once or twice after that. There were a lot of people in that day and Mary Dill wanted her order changed half a dozen times.”

“You can remember Mary being here on the same day?” Adrian asked.

“She’s here on most days.” Eddie shook his head. “That day, she was more needy than usual and nearly spilled her coffee on – Gary Bradshaw? – when he took his order from me.”

“I see.” Adrian had reopened his notebook. “Can you recall who else might have been here on that specific day?”

“No. Not besides myself.”

“And Ginger Thomas?” Xavier asked.

“Of course. Ginger too.”

“Coming to today,” Adrian rolled his pencil between his fingers again, “why don’t you tell us everything that you know about Gary Bradshaw’s visit. Did you see him come in?”

“No.” Eddie moved further toward the edge of his seat, but nearly fell off altogether. “I was busy.”

“Did Ginger take his order?”

“No, actually. I did. Ginger hadn’t come in yet. She had a flat tire this morning and got in late.”

Adrian frowned, but Eddie kept talking.

“He ordered a coffee and a sandwich, I think, if it makes any difference. I took his order, he walked away. I gave him his food a few minutes later.”

“Had Ginger arrived yet?” Xavier asked.

“I don’t know. What difference would that make?”

“You were doing what when the first explosion occurred, Eddie?” Adrian decided not to allow a rabbit trail.

“Fixing Mary Dill’s coffee. Again. She said it was too hot.”

“And you saw nothing? The service area is right beside that booth.”

“I was busy. When the explosion happened, I nearly dropped the container of ice I’d brought out. I turned to see if Ginger was okay, then I saw that the lady over there,” he gestured toward Kimberly, “had fallen and I went to help her up. I didn’t even notice Gary Bradshaw.”

“You had a container of ice on the counter when the explosion occurred, Eddie?” Xavier spoke very quiet, very clear.

Eddie tugged at his pants. “Yes.”

“Were you using the ice pick?”

Eddie stared hard at Xavier, one hand going into a fist just barely in Adrian’s line of sight. “No.” He swallowed visibly. “I didn’t need it.”

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Chapter XVII – Ginger Thomas

Ginger and Eddie sat in silence after Adrian’s prayer. Ginger had never heard a prayer like it. Most of her experiences listening to prayers had come from movies anyway.

She started listlessly swirling the cold dregs of her coffee around the bottom of her cup. She paid no attention to Eddie beside her, who didn’t make enough noise to draw attention otherwise.

Mary Dill rose and decided, for some inexplicable reason, to join them at their table, and Ginger stopped her listless thoughts. She grit her teeth at the sight of Mary in such close proximity to herself and set her coffee cup on the table. Mary appeared oblivious.

She placed her hands one on top of each other almost primly, then leaned forward against the table, her eyes focusing on Eddie.

“Tell me how you did it.”

Eddie stared at her.

“Come on. It’s silly to play this game. Just tell me.”

Ginger glanced across the room at Adrian and struggled to keep her voice even. “He already told you that he didn’t kill the man.”

“That’s what he said.” Mary nodded knowingly. “Or rather, what you said. He’s hardly said anything at all himself.”

Ginger grit her teeth even harder.

“I already told you that I didn’t kill anyone.” Eddie glanced in the direction of Gary Bradshaw and shuddered. “I didn’t even know him! Why would I kill him?”

“You tell me.” The wail and whine seemed gone from Mary’s voice and she almost seemed to grin. She patted her own hand. “You tell me.”

“I had no reason.”

Mary shook her head this time, quite slowly, and Ginger dropped her hands to her lap, gripping them into fists. “I know that you did it. I just think… I’m sure I could figure out why.”

“You weren’t voted in as investigator.” Ginger spoke without ungritting her teeth.

“Who cares about investigating!” Mary raised her palms up to shrug, then returned them to their former position.

Ginger sent another glance toward Adrian and clenched her fists tighter. She didn’t know why she cared if she gave him another fight to settle, but she did and for that reason alone, she didn’t answer Mary at all.

“Let’s see…” Mary raised one hand to her chin. A hint of whining came back into her voice. “You killed him. Probably when the bomb or whatever it was, went off. Easy. Stab and run, no one noticed!”

“I told you that I didn’t.”

“Oh, but I know that you’re lying!”

Ginger jumped and stiffened. Eddie touched her arm, surprising her into silence.

“He looked like a lonely man.” Mary nodded in the direction of the corpse. “Sad too.”

“Where on earth do you divine that from?” Ginger crossed her arms and tried to relax her hands.

“His face.” Mary wiped a tear. “His mouth drooped down so pathetically.”

Ginger and Eddie both stared at the woman.

Mary wiped another tear. “So alone and full of sorrow, and then to just have his very life snuffed out!”

“You derived all of that… from the face… of a dead man?” Ginger looked at Eddie, who continued to stare at Mary in bewilderment.

“It was so obvious. After coming here for a taste of humanity, that humanity cruelly cut him short!”

Ginger raised an eyebrow. “What, now?”

“It’s such a tragedy!” Mary dabbed at her eyes again.

“A tragedy that is making no sense whatsoever,” Ginger muttered.

Mary sniffed and looked at Eddie with a shadow of horror in her wide eyes. “What turned you into such a monster?”

“Just stop already.” Ginger might as well have spoken to the table.

Mary shuddered, her shoulders and head moving dramatically. “The depths of darkness in your eyes… They chill my very blood.”

Ginger, caught between growing anger and sudden amusement, didn’t know how to respond. Who talks like that?

“Maybe you were supremely bored and it sounded like a happy release?”

“Who kills someone because they’re bored? That’s beyond demented!” Eddie’s bewilderment turned to disgust. “You need some serious help.”

Mary cocked her head. “There’s darkness in your eyes, but something to be pitied in your face.”

Ginger rolled her eyes. “Probably the pain of listening to you.”

Mary ignored her. “You had a rough and difficult childhood, perhaps.”

Eddie stiffened and the woman noticed.

“You did! Was the murder a cry for help? A reaction to the longing for a loving childhood that no one ever fulfilled?”

“I-I keep telling you. I didn’t kill anyone.”

Mary shook her head. “Did the poor man represent your father in your mind? The one who never gave you the love that you needed?”

Ginger saw Eddie blanch, then shake his head. He started to answer, but Mary plodded on.

“You saw him sitting there all alone and unnoticed during the explosion, probably staring at a picture of he and a beloved son on his tablet, and you snapped!”

“That doesn’t even make sense and you’re just guessing,” Ginger interjected.

Mary half-rose from the table, towering over Eddie, who leaned back in his chair. “He represented everything you never got – all you could think about at that moment was the man who ignored you your entire life, pouring out all of his love on a sibling, perhaps? He ignored you, hurt you, pushed you aside, and-”

“Stop!” Ginger didn’t care that she raised her voice. She glared and dropped to a menacing tone. “Leave. Him. Alone.”

Mary Dill dropped back into her seat again, the immediate victim. “I-I only… He-”

Ginger pounded her fist on the table and raised her voice to a natural volume. “I said to leave him alone! I meant it.” The look of terror on Mary’s face infuriated her and the likelihood of a scream made her strike the table again. “Leave him alone – and so help me, if you scream or even begin to scream, I’ll throttle you before Eddie can do a thing to stop me!”

Mary’s chin quivered and the rest of the café had fallen silent.

“I’m only bringing out the truth!” Mary’s voice leapt to a wail again. “We need the truth! You heard it! He did it!”

Ginger started to jump to her feet, but for once in his life, Eddie anticipated her and pulled her back down.

“You wouldn’t recognize the truth if it introduced itself to you in human form!”

“Ginger. Stop. Please!” Eddie hadn’t let go of her, probably for fear that she would fulfill her promised throttling.

Her hands shook with anger and she clenched her fists. Eddie had only spoke loud enough for her to hear him and no one else.

“Just… calm down. She’ll just start screaming again and none of us want that. You’ll just get more angry and she’ll scream more.”

“You don’t care as little about what she said as you’re pretending!” She glared at him, then actually wished she hadn’t. It almost seemed to burn him.

“No.” Eddie’s voice sank so low that she could scarcely catch it. He let go of her. “But if you don’t stop, someone will start accusing you next.”

She tried to read his face, but failed. Again. Is he suggesting that I…

Focused on Eddie, Ginger had managed to miss the conversation going on in front of her, but Mary’s wail could not be ignored.

“He’s a killer! Someone has to prove it and protect us!”

Ginger huffed and clenched her fists once more. “He never said he killed anyone. He keeps telling you that he didn’t.”

“I don’t know why you care so much what she says about me, Ginger. I really don’t.” Eddie sighed. Ginger looked at him sharply, but he wasn’t looking at her.

“We’ll question Eddie – along with everyone else.” Adrian stood beside Mary. He smiled slightly, then led her to a different seat nearer to Kimberly. “Why don’t you try to relax and let us take care of it?”

Mary didn’t look like she cared for the idea, but she did as he asked. Adrian turned around.

“Eddie? Would you mind if we talked to you next?”

Eddie nodded and stood. He put his hand on Ginger’s shoulder and bent over her just a moment before walking away. “Try to ignore her, Ginger. At least, try not to let everyone see how angry she makes you. There’s been a murder – do you really want them to make you their primary suspect instead of me?”

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Chapter XVI – Adrian Terrence

Adrian and Xavier didn’t have an immediate plan. For awhile, they discussed possibilities for investigation in low tones that didn’t invite input from anyone else. Monique drifted off to sleep while they talked, Mr. Pickles tumbling onto the bench beside Xavier.

Fabian eventually sauntered away from Renee and Mary, coming to stand beside the table where the cousins sat, one finger tapping lightly against the top. “Are you going to begin investigating or just sit here chatting? Some people are getting antsy.”

“You, for instance?” Xavier looked the man up and down with a hint of amusement in his brown eyes.

“Not I.” He indicated the rest of the room with a vague movement of his head. “I am perfectly relaxed. There are others that are nothing short of high strung.”

Adrian resisted the urge to physically stop the man’s constant tapping. “We have decided to conduct interviews one-on-one. Would you care to be the first?”

Fabian grinned. “Would I care to be first? Sure.” Adrian moved down the bench to accommodate him, and the other man sat. “What is it that you want to know?”

Adrian pulled his writing notebook out of his coat pocket. He possessed a reasonably good memory, but thought that taking notes would be a wiser method of keeping records. He flipped past a few pages meant for his current book, titling the first clean one “Fabian Smith.”

“You said,” Xavier spoke in a low, even voice, entirely devoid of obvious emotion, “that you didn’t personally know Gary Bradshaw, but that you recalled seeing him in the café previously?”

Fabian raised a deprecatory hand and shook his head. “I said that I believed that I saw him in here last week. I wouldn’t swear to it.”

“Why not?” Adrian couldn’t help but wonder why the man seemed so cool and collected.

“Why not?” Fabian shrugged. “I only saw the man in passing, buried behind his tablet. We didn’t even meet each other’s eyes. Besides, it’s a bit difficult to match anyone to their living counterpart, once they’re dead, wouldn’t you say?”

Adrian couldn’t say that he agreed. In the few funerals that he had attended in his life, those departed resembled their living selves quite sufficiently for identification. He didn’t really see a point in arguing, however.

Fabian continued speaking. “I do believe that it is the same man though. Most people don’t use that booth that I’ve seen, except what’s-his-name.” He snapped his fingers. “Oh, Timothy.”

“So you have noticed that few people use that table? For how long have you been visiting Café Chocolaté?” Adrian tapped his notebook lightly with his pencil once or twice.

“How long have I been visiting? Today? Or ever?”

Adrian set his pencil down altogether. “When did you first come inside?”

Fabian nodded. “When did I first come inside? About six months ago, I suppose.”

“How often do you come?” Xavier shifted Monique’s weight a little.

“How often do I come? Pretty nearly every day. I come for coffee. I don’t make it at home.”

“Just coffee? No food?” Xavier sounded skeptical.

Fabian leaned forward with a chuckle. “Have you tried the food here?”

Adrian couldn’t repress a bit of nodded assent at the unspoken declaration, when Fabian turned toward him.

“It isn’t good?” Xavier asked.

“Good? Frankly, it’s terrible.” Fabian shrugged and leaned back in his seat once more. “The coffee is superb – the kid knows what he’s doing. The chocolate – imported and perfection. The rest of the food though? I wouldn’t recommend anything I’ve tried. I don’t know what he does, but he even ruins a simple sandwich!”

“By ‘he’ you refer to Eddie McIntyre?” Xavier asked.

“Of course.” Fabian nodded. “I don’t know how he got hired.”

“The waitress, Ginger Thomas, doesn’t she prepare orders?”

Fabian chuckled again. “Not that I’ve ever seen. I don’t think she’s fond of that kind of work.”

Adrian frowned. While he had seen Eddie run the register on occasion, he realized that he hadn’t ever seen Ginger prepare a single order. Even when Eddie had been overrun. She just waited and made the customers wait as well. That is peculiar…

Fabian started tapping the table again. “Maybe the kid knows the owner or had a hard luck story or something. Who knows? Maybe they think his coffee skills outshine everything else.”

“Maybe no one has really complained.” Adrian tried to ignore the tapping. “I know that I haven’t.”

“I suppose.” Fabian grinned. “I would have complained, if I knew who to complain to. That was the worst sandwich I’d ever had!”

Adrian decided that they had rather wandered off the subject, and a glance at Xavier confirmed that he seemed to agree.

“Were you well acquainted with any of our friends here before today?”

“Was I well acquainted with any of them? Goodness, no. Seen them, of course, but I didn’t even know the names of any of you.” Fabian glanced around the room and smiled slightly. “They’re a mixed bunch, aren’t they? Can you imagine…” His eyes glinted with humor as he turned toward the cousins again. “Can you imagine if we’re all locked in here for 24 hours? 48?”

Adrian had considered a similar scenario, but hearing Fabian suggest it gave the idea a new and chilling aspect. He stared down at his notebook, picturing the possible scene.

I don’t know what state we would be in for certain by this time tomorrow, but it won’t be a good one. This time forty-eight hours from now? We’ll have some desperate people.

Fabian smiled grimly. “Quite a thought really, isn’t it. Some of us will probably kill each other if we wait too long. Some of us will go hungry, while others will succumb to bad food. Or maybe we’ll boot Eddie out of the kitchen and try our hands at making something decent!”

A shout from one of the women caused the men to turn, while the child whimpered.

“I said to leave him alone! I meant it.” Ginger’s eyes blazed and she pounded a fist on the table. Beside her, Eddie shook his head, while Mary sat across from her with a dropped jaw. Ginger struck the table again. “Leave him alone – and so help me, if you scream or even begin to scream, I’ll throttle you before Eddie can do a thing to stop me!”

Adrian sighed. Here we go again… What do we do with those two, Lord?

Fabian raised an eyebrow, cocking his head in Ginger’s direction. “See what I mean? 24 hours looks fascinating already…”

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Chapter XV – Timothy Teller

Timothy hadn’t expected Adrian to pray aloud. He never would have done so. It never would have occurred to him. It almost made him uncomfortable, but he couldn’t have told why. It shouldn’t have.

I’m a Christian. Why does listening to another Christian talk to the Lord make me uncomfortable outside of church or the dinner table?

Adrian’s prayer didn’t last long. He kept it short and to the point, thanking the Lord for hearing him, asking for wisdom, guidance, and protection. Then, he ended by praying for repentance for the perpetrator, and praising God for Who He is.

A silence followed his prayer. Not awkward, really, but almost questioning. As if several in the room weren’t sure of what they just witnessed and if they were allowed to act normal at the end of it.

“Xavier and I will confer and decide our best course of action.” Adrian seemed to anticipate further questions from Ginger, as he nodded in her direction.

Timothy still shifted under his unease regarding that prayer. Anna coughed, but when he looked at her, she seemed far away in a world of her own.

Kimberly stood with a huff and joined them, dropping a cup of black coffee onto the table with rather more force than necessary. “Just what does he think he is?”

“I’m sorry?” Timothy had no idea to whom Kimberly’s words directed.

She huffed again. “Subjecting us to all that praying. Prayer never did me an ounce of good and I don’t really care to listen to anyone else waste their breath!”

Timothy swallowed, willing himself to speak, but no words came. Kimberly kept going.

“This isn’t the dark reaches of Africa or the lands of the Aborigines. If he wants to be a missionary, he should go someplace else!”

Timothy looked away. Except he literally can’t.

“His prayer didn’t sound meant for us.” Anna moved her arm gently, wincing in pain. “I thought it sounded like a genuine petition and glorification directed to God.”

“If he had no idea of witnessing, as they call it, then he should have left his prayer in his head, Anna. No need to foist it on the rest of us!”

Timothy felt like he ought to have something to say, but he didn’t. He, at least, ought not to agree with the woman, but he nearly felt inclined to. Only, he didn’t know why. The thought bothered him as much as his earlier unease.

Anna hadn’t replied either and her blank expression told little about her thoughts.

Kimberly apparently took their silence as a cue to keep talking, because after a beat or two, she moved to her next subject.

“The way that he and his cousin are coddling that little brat is going to make us all miserable before long. I can’t stand it when people baby a child who ought to be straightened out!”

“She was crying.” Timothy found his voice. “She didn’t scream or throw a fit. She was just crying.”

“Because you’re a father and know the difference?” Kimberly folded her hands around her coffee and leveled her eyes at Timothy.

“No, I’m not. I do have five younger sisters though, so I have a good idea of what little girls are like.”

Kimberly blinked rapidly, as if trying to process this new information. At last, she took a sip of her coffee. “My daughter would never have behaved in such a way.”

“Your daughter would have stuffed down every emotion she had while you were nearby, in fear of your punishment or scolding, and then cried when she found a safe place to do so.” Anna shook her head when Kimberly started to respond. “Maybe that poor child over there found someone who makes her feel safe.”

“Safe?” Kimberly slammed the coffee onto the table. Several other people in the café glanced toward her. “Anna Carpentier, my daughter never looked for a safe place or safe person to cry with in her life!”

“How would you know?” Tears glistened in the bright green eyes. “She never would have told you!”

Timothy wanted to leave the conversation. He felt like an intruder. Kimberly, however, decided to address him next.

“This is what you get.” She looked at him, using the same heartless tone that he had identified earlier. “You do your best all of your life, only to get your work twisted and thrown in your face. And by those who ought to be the first to praise you!”

Timothy had absolutely no idea what to say. He hardly knew what the woman meant.

Anna choked at the last words.

“Very good. Add disrespecting your elders to your list for today, Anna.” Kimberly huffed and picked up her coffee once more. “I should have expected it.”

“I didn’t say anything at all.” Anna squeezed her arm tighter.

“You showed plenty.” Kimberly shook her head at Timothy. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I would prefer not to be dragged into a conversation that I know so little about.” Timothy tried to sound respectful, but firm. “I hope that you understand.”

Kimberly shrugged. “Very diplomatic of you, but I can’t say I blame you either.” She jumped to her feet quite suddenly. “I think I’ll go sit alone again. It’s more peaceful and less painful.”

Neither Timothy nor Anna tried to stop her. Timothy almost felt relief as she moved off.

“I assume that you understood far more of what she said than I did.”

Anna nodded, still watching the woman. “She had a gentler side once. It showed at times. I’m not sure it exists anymore.”

“You’ve known her awhile then?”

Anna smiled at him just barely; a truly sad smile. “All of my life.”

“What made her change so much then?”

Anna glanced at Kimberly again. “Her husband died two years ago after a long and terrible illness.” She sighed heavily, the tears glistening again. “A few months ago, she lost her only daughter, as well.”

Timothy looked back toward the gray-haired woman, who had returned to her lonely seat, her coffee held tight between both hands.

“Everyone has a story, Timothy.” Anna waved her hand lightly to indicate the room. “No matter how unpleasant some of them – or even all of them – may be, everyone has a story. It doesn’t excuse them, but when you know their story, you can often understand the person behind it far better.”

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