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through the back window of Trudy’s shop. A blue Chevy Aveo
swung into the group home driveway and come to a sharp stop inches
from the garage door. Sister Bernadine unfolded herself from the
little car—a gift from the parishioners from St. Theresa’s Church
on the twenty-fifth anniversary of her taking her final vows. I
always wondered how this tall slim woman fit in the teeny car. I
still didn’t know how she did it.
    I hadn’t seen much of Sister Bernadine
since she became the administrator of Mary’s Haven Group Homes. I
put down my crocheting, snatched my jacket from the back of my
chair, and headed for the door. Bernie hurried across the yard, her
short navy blue veil flying behind her a navy blue sweater covering
her white blouse. In her no-nonsense voice she asked, “What the
heck is going on here?”
    I started to answer her when the back
door of the group home opened and almost everyone in the house
tumbled out. Several of the residents were talking at the same
time. Most were trying to tell her what they thought had happened.
Izzy and Pete were trying to talk over the residents. Finally,
Bernie stuck two fingers in her mouth and gave a shrill whistle
while holding up her other hand in a stop sign. Everyone froze,
including me.
    Bernie took a few minutes to talk to
each of the residents, then shooed them back into the house. All
but two of them moved slowly toward the house.
    “Izzy, what’s going on?” she
asked.
    While Izzy was giving Bernie a rundown
of what had happened, Pete maneuvered around Bernie until he was
next to me. Bernie reached into the deep pocket of her navy blue
skirt and pulled out a bright red cell phone. She hit two buttons
and was soon connected to the Sheriff’s Office.
    “Lieutenant Jacobs, this is Sister
Bernadine, can I bother you to come out to the Sunrise Group Home?
We’ve had a little vandalism here and one of the residents is
involved. Thank you.” Pushing another button, she shoved the phone
back into her pocket. “Harold must be held responsible for his
actions,” she said instructed her staff. “Where’s Whitney? I need
her to sign a complaint.”
    I started to explain how we found the
car and the tablecloth, which were both still in the backyard. “I’m
worried that something has happened to Whitney. Okay, she might
leave her car and get a ride from someone, but why would she leave
the tablecloth on the ground in a heap? And, why was Harold so sure
that she was out here asleep and he couldn’t wake her? This whole
scene is odd.”
    Everyone was quiet for a few moments,
and then Izzy said, “I need to get supper started. Marsha and John,
it’s your turn to help.” She went into the house with the two
residents following her.
    “I’m surprised you allow them to cook.
Isn’t it dangerous?” I asked Pete.
    Pete explained, “The residents are
adults, not big kids. They’re responsible for many of the chores
around the house. They do their own laundry and clean their own
rooms. Although, sometimes they need a little help and direction
from the staff.”
    That’s great,” I said. “I had no
idea.”
    “Harold can drive the riding lawn
mower. Now we have to hide the key or he’ll drive it over to the
convenience store if he has enough cash for a Mountain
Dew.”
    We were laughing about that when the
unmarked navy blue sedan with the whip antenna pulled in behind
Bernie’s little car. Pete had looped his arm casually over my
shoulder and I didn’t pull away because I didn’t want to hurt his
feelings and, frankly, it felt nice.
    Lt. Jacobs, a large black man in a
wrinkled suit, exited the car on the passenger side. When the
driver’s door opened and Detective Jerry Decker got out, I tried to
slip out of Pete’s arm. Pete hung on. Decker look at me and his
dark eyes turned black.

    5
    Decker and I had sort of a casual
relationship. Although we’d never promised to date each other
exclusively, I took it for granted that he was only seeing me. I’m
so