Carolina Isle Read online

  “You can go into town if you want,” R.J. said softly.

  “And hand Ariel the eyeshadow brushes? No thanks. Let David do that. But you’re going to owe Ariel. Thanks to her, it looks like you’re going to be able to spend time alone with all six of the Nezbit kids.”

  “Do you think any of them will be in diapers?” There was fear in his voice.

  “At least two. You know, don’t you, that some kids stay in diapers until they’re four years old. That means she could have several in diapers. Cloth diapers that have to be washed. Wonder if she has a washer, or does she wash them in the creek?”

  “You have an ugly sense of humor.”

  “I developed it while working for my boss. Someday I’ll have to tell you about him.”

  “Not today. I’ve had enough for today.”

  Sara pulled the front of her shirt out and glanced down. “And it’s not even seven A.M. yet.” She laughed when she saw the little spark in his eyes. “Obviously, you’re not dead yet. Come on.” She started walking down the driveway.

  “If there are diapers, I’ll give you a ten percent raise to change them,” he said.

  Sara shook her head. “Not enough. How about the corporate apartment by MoMA?”

  “Do you know how much that thing is worth?” he asked, aghast.

  “I hope they’re cloth diapers.”

  “A twenty percent raise.”

  “I’ll think about it,” she said, smiling. It was nice to think about being off that island and home in safe New York.

  They didn’t see the house until they were above it, looking down on its long, narrow roof. A stone hillside had been cut away and the back wall of the one-story house had been built to fit against the rock. The front of the house faced the water—and the most spectacular view either R.J. or Sara had yet seen.

  “Wow,” Sara said, looking across the roof to the water. In the distance she could see three other islands, their forms misty and beautiful. There was a narrow expanse of beach in the front, the honey-colored sand meeting the water. Trees shaded the house but didn’t block its view.

  “Who do you think built this?” Sara asked.

  “Nezbit,” R.J. answered, and Sara couldn’t help laughing.

  “Another stolen house,” she said. “But this one … I’ve never seen anything like it before. Have you?”

  When R.J. said nothing, she looked at him. He was frowning in a way that made her sure he knew something.

  “What is it?”

  “When I was in college, I saw a plan for a building a lot like this one,” he said.

  “Do you think they stole the idea?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Sara wanted to kick him because she was sure he was keeping something from her. But in the next moment they heard a shot and in an instant, R.J. had pushed Sara to the ground again. “Don’t be scared,” said a small voice from beside them.

  They turned and saw two children, a boy and a girl, standing there. They were both about four years old, had brown curly hair, and, despite being grubby from head to toe, were two of the loveliest children Sara had ever seen. They didn’t look as though they could possibly be the product of a union of Fenny Nezbit and his sun-wrinkled wife.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “ARE YOU NEZBIT CHILDREN?” SARA asked, standing up slowly so as not to frighten them, but they didn’t look scared. Whoever had fired the shot hadn’t frightened them.

  The girl nodded.

  “Do you have a gun?” R.J. asked.

  Sara started to tell him not to be absurd, but the children giggled. They were very dirty, their pretty faces darkened with what looked like weeks of not bathing. Their clothes were raggedy and drab-colored. Their feet were bare, calloused, and ingrained with grime.

  “You didn’t think we were elephants and you took a shot at us, did you?” R.J. asked and the children giggled more.

  She’d never seen R.J. around children before, and she smiled.

  “So who did fire that shot?” he asked.

  “Gideon,” the boy said. “For rabbits.”

  “For supper,” the girl said.

  “You don’t eat what your mother gets at the grocery?” Sara asked.

  “Sometimes,” the little girl said, then in the next minute, they ran off into the woods.

  “Rabbits for dinner,” Sara said. “They’re living wild.”

  “I’m not so sure.” R.J. turned back to look at the house. “Shall we go down and meet the rest of the family?”

  “Only if we must,” Sara said, but she followed him down the path to the front of the house.

  When they got to the bottom of the hill, they saw that the house was in need of repair. But in spite of gutters hanging down, cobwebs as big as towels, and piles of trash, underneath it all, the house was beautiful. “With some paint …” Sara began.

  “And a crew of carpenters,” R.J. said as he knocked on the front door.

  In a few seconds it was opened by a girl, about twelve, who was obviously Fenny Nezbit’s daughter. She was as skinny as her parents, and she had ears that stuck straight out, parting her lank, blonde hair on both sides. Her nose was long, her eyes drooped at the corners, and her mouth was in what looked to be a perpetual downward bend.

  “You the baby-sitter?” the girl asked in a voice that said she knew all about everything and was sick of it all.

  “I guess so,” Sara said tentatively and glanced at R.J. She’d really like to know how information traveled so quickly around the island.

  “Then come in,” the girl said, “but don’t touch anything. My dad finds out you stole anything and he’ll get you in court.”

  Behind the girl’s back, R.J. raised his eyebrows.

  Inside, the house was cool and shady, enough so that Sara didn’t think there was any need for an air conditioner. As they followed the girl to the back of the house, they looked around. To the left was a big living room, with worn furniture facing an enormous TV that must have cost thousands. A stereo with speakers that a rock band would envy was on the wall opposite the big windows. On the back wall was a built-in cabinet with glass shelves. It looked as though it hadn’t been dusted in years, but it held porcelain flowers that Sara knew were expensive. In the corners she saw stacks of boxes with the names of the TV shopping channels. It didn’t look as though the boxes had been opened.

  When Sara nudged R.J. to look at them, he nodded toward the right and she looked toward a hallway that contained more unopened boxes. At the end of the hall was an open door and inside was a huge bed that looked as though it was carved into the shape of a shell. It wasn’t to Sara’s taste, but she recognized that it cost a lot of money.

  When the girl stopped, they were in the kitchen. Before them, sitting at a small round table, were two more girls who looked just like the first one: stringy hair, skinny bodies, ears sticking out. They looked up at Sara and R.J. without curiosity, then down again at their empty plates.

  Smoking on the stove was a big cast-iron skillet with about half a pound of bacon frying. The tallest girl cracked half a dozen eggs into the skillet on top of the bacon grease.

  “Are you Effie?” Sara asked, taking a step forward. “Your mother told us about you. She said—”

  “Don’t come no closer,” the girl at the stove said, her face turned into a snarl. “Yeah, I’m Effie, but no matter what you try to butter me up with, you ain’t gettin’ none of this food.”

  “We had breakfast, thank you,” Sara said stiffly.

  “Yeah, I bet you did,” the girl said, smirking. “I know you ain’t got nothin’ to eat.” This idea seemed to please her so much that she smiled as she used a spatula to place eggs and bacon onto three plates.

  Sara looked at R.J. as though to ask for help, but he was looking around the house.

  “Who built this place?” he asked.

  “Nobody you ever heard of,” Effie said nastily.

  Sara rolled her eyes. “Mind if I use your restroom?” she asked as