Nick was performing tricks on his skateboard out front when Catherine went by with Polly and a tall boy with a wild mop of red curls who called himself Spike. Nick grabbed up his skateboard and followed.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“Just to my car,” Catherine explained. “I found a good buy on some rugs, and they aren’t too heavy.”
Nick flexed his biceps. “So what if they are? I’ve got muscles.”
“Yeah, in your head,” Spike scoffed.
“You think you’re so smart? What’s fifty-six times twenty-eight?” Nick challenged.
“Hell, I don’t know.”
“It’s 1568,” Nick announced proudly.
“What is that, the one answer you know?”
“Gentlemen, please,” Catherine scolded softly. “If you can’t get along, Polly and I will carry the rugs ourselves, won’t we, Polly?”
“We sure will.” Polly twisted around to make a face at Nick, but he just laughed at her.
Catherine unlocked the back of her Volvo, and Nick slipped past Spike to grab the first of the rugs. He took a step back and rolled it up on his shoulder. “These going to Luke’s office?”
“No, the hall, but his office floor could sure use some help, couldn’t it?” Catherine glanced toward the nearby carpet warehouse. Luke’s office was a neat rectangle, so it wouldn’t be much of a challenge to purchase and install a remnant while he was away. She wondered if they had anything in a deep russet that would complement the walls.
She waited until Spike and Polly had picked up the other tightly rolled rugs, then slammed the rear door shut. “Have any of you seen Dave Curtis this morning?” she asked.
Spike shook his head and started off toward the hall with Polly and Nick trailing. “He’s got to be around someplace,” Nick answered. “You want me to find him?”
“Yes, please,” Catherine replied. She was sure Dave would think it a fine idea to carpet Luke’s office while he was away for the day. As soon as they had the rugs scattered in front of the bookcases, she explained her idea to Pam and then went to the carpet warehouse to survey the possibilities.
Dave Curtis had been every bit as enthusiastic as Catherine had anticipated, but with padding, the carpet project had taken longer than either had expected, and it was nearly three o’clock before she was ready to leave for home. When she entered the parking lot, she was amazed to find a slender young man leaning against her car. With long, black hair and sideburns, he resembled an Elvis impersonator, and it was all she could do not to laugh.
He was older than the homeless youth frequenting the center, and when she came within five feet of him, she noticed the name Ford embroidered above the left pocket on his blue work shirt. Immediately understanding who he was, she greeted him by name. “Good afternoon, Mr. Dolan.”
Ford shoved away from her car. He laced his hands together, showing off nails ringed with grime, and cracked his knuckles menacingly. “So, you’ve heard of me.”
He appeared to be immensely flattered, but Catherine wouldn’t repeat what she’d heard. His eyes were a pale watery blue that reminded her of a Weimaraner’s, except they lacked the big gray dog’s intelligent sparkle.
“Did you wish to speak with me?” she asked, but she remained at a wary distance.
“You could say that.” Ford reached into the pocket of his oil-stained jeans, withdrew a handful of shiny pink paper scraps and tossed them into the air. “Quit giving Violet your silly books, or I’ll just rip them up like I did the last one. Then I’ll come looking for you.”
As a large scrap drifted toward Catherine’s feet, she recognized an embossed letter from the title of the book Violet had been so thrilled to find. As much as she abhorred violence, she was sorely tempted to kick Ford in the balls for not only abusing Violet but good books as well.
“You’re an ignorant punk,” she exclaimed, “and while your pathetic threats might work on Violet, you don’t frighten me. If you really cared about Violet, instead of just your own miserable self, you’d be taking her to bookstores and buying her what she loves to read. You’re not clever enough to understand that, though, are you?”
Ford hunched his shoulders as he took a step toward her. “Are you calling me stupid?” His upper lip twitched, as though he had yet to master Elvis’s classic snarl.
“No, I’m calling you ignorant, and deliberately so, which is infinitely worse. Now get out of here and don’t come back.”
Ford clenched his fists at his sides. “I go where I choose, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay away from Violet.”
Catherine wished she knew how to spit on the ground, but unfortunately, it was a skill she’d neglected to learn as a child. She was about to spray Ford with the fiery string of obscenities he so richly deserved when Luke drove into the parking lot. Ford recognized his black Subaru and took off at a run.
Catherine’s anger had fueled a brave front, but now her hands began to shake so badly she was unable to unlock her car. Embarrassed to be so stressed, she leaned back against the silver Volvo and made a concerted effort to gather her composure.
Luke sprang from his car and slammed the door. “Was that Ford Dolan?”