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  “Are you laughing at me?” I screwed up the blank note and threw it in the trash.

  “No, at the joke, not at you.” She jumped up from the desk and gave me a patronizing pat on the head.

  “But he told the joke to laugh at me, so if you laugh at the joke, then you’re laughing at me.”

  “What? Oh, for goodness’ sake, it was funny, Tobi. Lighten up!” I heard her giggling all the way back to her desk.

  It was the day after the second gnome story had appeared and I’d received emails from journalists around the country, none of which were praising my talents. Some of them were congratulatory, but most were laughing at me, too. How did I get into this mess?

  “Fletcher!”

  I looked up to see Kevin at his office door. “Yes?”

  “My office.”

  Good sign or bad? I followed him in and closed the door.

  “All the major national papers picked up the gnome story, and three internationals.”

  The phone on his desk rang. He held up a finger then took the call. I was looking at the photos on the wall when my mobile buzzed in my pocket.

  “Tobi Fletcher.”

  “Hello, Tobi, this is Anna Hanson.” She sounded as if she’d rehearsed it. As I’d told her grandfather, she was cute for a kid.

  “Hello, Anna, how are you?”

  “I am good. But a gnome was gnome-napped last night. Can you come and help us again?”

  “Gnome-napped?” The gods were toying with me, surely?

  “Yesterday it was in Cosmo Brown’s front yard and this morning it was gone.”

  Remembering Simon’s point about protecting Anna from ridicule, I kept my voice gentle. “Are you sure someone didn’t just move it to another house?”

  There was silence and I could picture her nodding her head, blond bob flying. “I asked everybody in the street. Cosmo’s very sad. Will you come?”

  I held back a groan. If the boss heard this, I’d be back at Los Alamos Court faster than I could say “mental asylum”. “I don’t think I can—”

  “Fletcher,” Kevin growled—I hadn’t realized he was off the phone again. “Is that the gnome people?”

  “Hang on, Anna.” I put the cell to my chest. “Yes, why?”

  “Has something else happened?”

  “No—”

  “Did I hear you say gnome-napping?”

  Dammit. “Yes, they think one of the gnomes has been stolen.”

  “Good. I was just about to tell you to go back and find something else to write about—the readers are lapping this up. We’ve even been receiving cards for the dogs.”

  Every cell in my body screamed, “Noooooo,” and I had to brace myself to not join in. “But what about the stories I’m working on?”

  “This is more important. Give them to Sofia. Off you go.” He gestured at the door. I’d been dismissed.

  I trudged out and lifted the cell to my ear again. “Are you still there, Anna?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Tell your grandma that I’ll come over and see you soon.”

  It was late afternoon. I’d have to leave straight away if I wanted to avoid seeing Simon again, and after his innuendoes and laughing at my sneeze, I did want to avoid him. I packed a couple of things, announced the good news to Sofia and walked down to my car.

  Why did I really want to avoid Simon Hanson? Was it just because he’d teased me a few days ago? I didn’t like being teased, but that seemed like a pathetic reason to avoid someone. There was also that spooky comfortable silence thing. I pulled out of the parking lot and drove to Los Alamos Court.

  No, it was more. Something happened inside me when I was near Simon. Not good, not bad, just little body reactions: a tingle here, a goose bump there; here a twitch, there a flush, everywhere a nervous blush. Almost like some of my nerve endings were making decisions on their own. This lack of control over my body’s reactions was more than annoying—it was humiliating.

  And teasing me about sneezing had been the last straw.

  I could interview Anna and get out again quickly. Perhaps use one of Matias’ leftover photos—I might even find one of the missing gnome if I was lucky.

  However, I hadn’t counted on Dot’s ability to talk, or on Valentina being there to help with loads of tiny pieces of “vital” information. So, two hours later, I was still trying to get away when I heard a car in the driveway.

  Chapter 7

  I mumbled hasty goodbyes to Dot and Valentina and made for the door. I was halfway across the porch when I saw him. He’d undone his tie and it hung from the collar of his olive-green shirt. It was a good look. Damn good.

  As I absorbed the masculine perfection before me, that annoying body reflex thing came into play. My skin flushed and my body temperature crept up a few degrees. And worse than that, I realized he was blatantly running his eyes over me in return. A tingle followed everywhere his gaze touched.

  “Daddy!” Anna streaked past me and propelled herself at her father.

  Simon’s face lit as if his world had brightened and he bent to scoop her up. He sauntered over, Anna on his hip, and pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket.

  “What’s this?” I asked, taking the paper and opening it.

  “I did some research today. Did you know it’s not just the blood vessels in your brain at risk when you hold back a sneeze?” He adjusted Anna on his hip and gave me a slow smile. “You can rupture one in your neck, too, and die.”

  I scanned the printout, folded it precisely and handed it back. The whole world seemed to care about my potential death by sneezing. Lucky me. “Thank you, Simon, that was thoughtful of you. I was just leaving.”

  I was at the edge of the stone-paved porch when I heard him say, “Anna and I will walk you to your car.”

  “Thanks, but I have something to drop off to Jazlyn and Gerald first.” I feigned a polite smile and all but ran to the sidewalk.

  “Then we’ll come with you.” He put Anna down. “Anna, go and get your coat, we’re going for a walk.”

  I watched her go then turned back to Simon. “This isn’t necessary. I’ll be fine.”

  “You shouldn’t be walking around alone at night. Besides, Anna will enjoy it—she likes you.” He wasn’t teasing now. His eyes held mine with honesty and warmth.

  Anna came rushing back wrapped in a fluffy pink coat with a hood, effectively ending any further argument.

  When I reached my car, I picked up a box filled with cards sent to the newspaper. There were about five hundred cards, printed-out emails and letters—the biggest response we’d had to a story in quite a while. One of the receptionists had bundled them with rubber bands.

  “What are they?” Anna asked.

  I lowered the box to show her. “These are cards and well wishes for Deefer, Remington and their puppies. People have been sending them in since the article was in the paper.”

  “Daddy, we haven’t got a card for Deefer.” She was open-mouthed with worry about the lapse in protocol.

  He knelt down and his expression became serious. “Maybe you and Granma could make one for her tomorrow?”

  She thought for a second and nodded. “And one for Remington and cards for the puppies. How many puppies will there be, Tobi?”

  I had no idea. I was fairly certain that some magical thing happened when you became a parent, and you suddenly knew the answers to little kids’ questions. That magical thing had not happened to me, so I was in no way qualified to answer. I shrugged.

  “Nobody knows,” Simon answered.

  Well, there you go. I knew that I didn’t know, but who knew that no one else did either? He definitely had the magical-answer thingy.

  “But not even Deefer?” Anna was frowning.

  “Not even Deefer,” Simon confirmed. “We won’t know until she has them. There could be just one or there could be twelve.”

  “Twelve?” I said. “That’s a lot of puppies.”

  “Yes,” said Anna. “That’s
more than all my dolls.” She looked seriously at me. “I have nine dolls.”

  Anna stared me in the eye. Apparently some reply was necessary to the pronouncement of owning nine dolls. “Right. Yes.” I changed the subject. “Now, I’ve got to get over to Jazlyn’s house and drop some of these off.”

  “Can I carry some?”

  “Um, sure.” I handed her a bundle of the cards then secured the box under my arm.

  After examining the cards, Anna reached for my hand with her free one. We set off, Anna chattering away, Simon on her other side.

  There was something nice about the three of us walking along a street at night. There hadn’t been much of that in my family; we didn’t do things with all four of us together. Mom would take Grace and me out shopping—often with all three of us in matching clothes. But the clothes didn’t bring the sense of togetherness she’d intended—it felt more like a set of chains, like there were expectations on me to be a Stepford Kid, not myself. I had Dad’s name—Tobi—and Mom’s clothes, but who was I? The flimsy sense of belonging I felt was conditional.

  Unlike me, Grace had embraced the conditions, modeling herself on Mom, something that both delighted Mom and fulfilled Dad’s low expectations. Even so, Dad seemed to find it easier to relate to Grace as mini-Mom than he did to me, with my unknown qualities. After the divorce, Dad would take us shopping for clothes and jewelry, something that had worked for him with Mom, so he’d generalized to the other female family members. Fourteen-year-old Grace lapped it up. I, at fifteen, felt insulted. Our father was one of the country’s pre-eminent attorneys, and the only thing he could spare me was a few dollars’ worth of jewelry. What I craved was intellectual stimulation—I certainly wasn’t getting that with my mother. I craved to be taken seriously, to be asked my opinion on things that mattered—but I realized early that neither parent knew how to provide it. It had dawned on me that if I was going to attain the things I wanted out of life, I had to make them happen myself. I needed to stop relying on adults or others to hand things to me, and take control of my own life.

  Besides, as they say, success is the best revenge. And deep down, that concept of revenge called to me like a siren.

  “Tobi, how do we know which cards are for Deefer and which cards are for Remington? Will we read them all first?”

  I looked down at Anna as she swung our joined hands and smiled at me with trust. What was it that she needed from the grown-ups around her? And was she getting it? “I don’t think we can read them all, Anna. I was thinking I’d just divide the pile in two and give them half each.”

  “But Deefer should get more, because she’s got all the puppies.”

  She had a point, but I wasn’t getting into a mathematical discussion with a four-year-old at this time of the night. “How about we give them half each this time, and when the puppies come, we divide the next lot of cards into three. One lot for Remington, one lot for Deefer and one lot for the puppies.”

  “Okay, Tobi.”

  She smiled with that same faith and acceptance shining in her eyes and I felt a pang of sadness sweep over me. I had a feeling that was what she needed from grown-ups—to be able to trust them and, therefore, her world. Such a simple thing. I looked over at Simon, looking as trustworthy as they come. Anna had it now, but how long would it last? Until she was five? Eight? Eighteen? Would she be able to keep it her whole life? What age had I been when I’d lost mine?

  Oh, crap. No good ever came from self-analysis. I shook my head and walked on.

  We spent about half an hour handing over the cards, letting Cosmo and Anna flick through them, looking at the pictures, then went to Gerald and Ethel’s house.

  Anna rushed to make the announcement. “Grampa, Grampa, Remington got some cards! Look.” She handed him some of the pile and he took them, turning them over in his hands, smiling.

  He looked at me, and I swore I saw a twinkle before he handed a card to Remington, who sniffed it and jumped on the floor to sniff the others. Anna asked Ethel if she could hang the cards up like Christmas cards on a string and Ethel rolled her eyes but went to find the string, followed closely by Anna. Simon stood on the other side of the room, reading the inscriptions on the assortment of cards.

  “I knew you’d come.” It was no more than a whisper, but I heard Gerald’s words clearly. I glanced at Simon—he hadn’t heard.

  “Gerald?”

  He looked out the window and nodded. “The rain will be good for my veggie patch.”

  I felt Simon’s hand on my arm. “He’s not fully aware of what’s going on around him.”

  I indicated with my eyes for Simon to follow me to the other side of the room. “He is sometimes, though, isn’t he? He’s said a few things to me which seemed to suggest he knew what he was saying.”

  “He has moments of lucidity, but they’re pretty rare now. I haven’t seen him lucid in a long time.”

  “I think I have. He was talking about Anna.”

  Simon looked over at Gerald, still facing the street. “It’d be great for her if he was aware more, but I’m not getting my hopes up.”

  “Daddy! Daddy! Look what we’re doing with Remington’s cards!”

  While helping to hang the cards, I had another fleeting sense of the belonging I’d never had as a child. In our house, kids weren’t allowed to help trim the Christmas tree—we might damage the expensive glass ornaments. Our family had a designer holiday: from the tree to the house decorations to the mistletoe in the doorways. Stringing up Remington’s cards, however, had a warm, fuzzy feeling. Anna chatted away about the puppies with Simon asking encouraging questions, and even Gerald turned to watch us.

  I picked up the last card. There was a Labrador puppy on the front with a ball. Inside were well wishes in a child’s handwriting. Part of me didn’t want to hang this last card, because it would end the coziness of the scene, but another part of me, possibly the louder part, wanted to toss the card in the bin, walk out, and leave all this silly wistfulness behind. I needed to go straight home to write the article and then put Los Alamos Court firmly in my past.

  I looked up to find everyone watching me, waiting. I handed the card to Anna and she hung it.

  *

  Gnome-napping Traumatizes Beleaguered Santa Fe Street

  By Tobi Fletcher

  The aftershocks of the latest crime against gnomanity are still being felt across Santa Fe. A gnome has been gnome-napped and his friends are shaking their heads in concern.

  The human residents of the street are dazed and upset. “He was such a charming little fellow,” neighbor Valentina de la Vega said yesterday, “always smiling and happy. He didn’t deserve this.”

  Another neighbor, Anna Hanson, aged four, is more optimistic. “He’ll come back, because we’re having a gnome’s picnic on the weekend and he wouldn’t miss that.”

  The missing gnome is six inches tall and is wearing a blue jacket and cap. He is smiling and looking to the left.

  Anyone with information is urged to pass it on, care of this paper.

  *

  “Tobi, dahlin’.”

  I winced at my mother’s voice down the line and checked my bracelet-watch. I didn’t have much time to get this road-toll article finished for the next day’s edition. “Hi, Mom. Can I call you back later? I’m in a bit of a hurry finishing an article.”

  “You always say that, and this won’t take long.”

  I sighed and kept typing. “Okay.”

  “I just called your editor, and we had a nice chat about—”

  “You did what?” I stopped typing and pressed my fingers to my eyelids. I knew this wouldn’t work. When Grandpa Jack’s company bought the publisher that put out my paper, I was worried I’d have to find another job. I didn’t want any favors or interference. I’d immediately called his secretary to make an appointment to inform him of my concerns. When I’d finally seen him, Grandpa Jack told me he was far too busy to worry about a small-time journalist who worked for a paper he may
or may not keep and that I had his word he wouldn’t stick a single finger into my career.

  Unfortunately, my mother had different ideas. As a major shareholder in her father’s company, she sat on the board and had grand delusions about her power. Her responsibilities, however, were another matter entirely—she often missed meetings and fobbed off work. The other board members called her “the princess” and tried to pretend she wasn’t there. And now here she was, calling Kevin.

  “I just called him for a little chat. I don’t see why you’d be upset about that.”

  I closed my eyes and moved my fingers from my eyes to my temples. My mother had an amazing ability to generate migraines—it was something the army should be investigating. “What did you say to him?”

  “That I thought your gnome stories were wonderful and that he should give you a promotion.”

  Oh. My. God. I’d be lucky if he didn’t give me the sack.

  “I’ve got to go, Mother.” I hung up the phone and stole a furtive glance at Kevin’s door. I’d have to finish the road-toll article first—I didn’t want to give him another reason to fire me. I madly typed the last paragraph and submitted it, then took a deep breath and headed for Kevin’s office.

  Halfway there, Matias stepped out into my path. “Hey, gnome girl, can two gnomes screw in a lightbulb?”

  “Not now, Matias, I’m in a hurry.” I pushed past him.

  “They can, but it freaks them out if you turn it on while they’re in there,” he called out as I continued down the hall.

  “Ha crappity ha,” I muttered as I smoothed down my trouser suit and knocked.

  “Come in,” Kevin barked.

  I walked in and shut the door behind me. “Kevin, I’ve just found out—”

  “Fletcher. Good. Sit down, there’s something I want to ask you.”

  I sank into a seat, my palms raised in surrender. “I apologize for anything she—”

  “Fletcher, does your mother like flowers?” He paced back and forth behind the desk between us.

  I frowned. Not seeing any relevance, I dismissed the question and continued with my main priority. “I’m sorry about the phone call, it won’t happen again, I—”