Dawn's Light by Terri Blackstock Page B

to the paper.” She changed the subject. “About the counselor. I guess I could talk to her, but I don't know what you want me to say.”
    “She just wants to see if she can help you. You've seemed depressed lately, honey.”
    “I don't want people discussing me behind my back.”
    “We won't. But a lot has happened in the last year. Things are better now. We can see light at the end of the tunnel. Everyone's so excited, but you just still seem so depressed.”
    Tears welled in her eyes. “I just … I don't want the family to be hurt—”
    “You're not hurting us, honey. We're hurting with you. We want to see you get through this.” She touched Beth's perspiring face, made her look at her. “Will you talk to her? Her name's Mrs. Latham and she lives a few blocks over.”
    “Benny Latham's mom?”
    “Yes, I think so.”
    “He's been in some of my plays,” Beth said. “I know her. She's nice. She helped make some of the props when we did the Christmas play.”
    “Oh, good.” Maybe this would work out better than Kay thought, if Beth already had a relationship and a sense of trust in the woman who'd be counseling her. “Now that school's out, when will you be rehearsing the play? We'll work the appointments around that.”
    Beth propped her chin on her hand. “I've decided not to do the play.”
    “What? Why not? You've already written the script.”
    “I have too much to do, what with the papers and all. I gave the script to Cher. Logan ran it over to her last night. She'll have to do it without me.” She got up. “Can I go to my room now?”
    Kay tried to hide her disappointment. “Well, yes. Sure.”
    Kay watched Beth leave the kitchen. What was going on? Beth loved entertaining. She loved writing scripts, directing, casting. Giving the children something to think about other than the hard work they did all day. It was an outlet for them and provided a much-needed source of refreshment for the neighborhood.
    Beth loved the accolades she got from handling so much herself. Everyone had been so proud of her when she started this. So what had happened? It had to be PTSD. The aftereffects of the trauma they'd all faced were draining the life out of her. Her child needed help, and soon. Maybe she could catch Anne Latham at home tonight and set up a session for tomorrow.

 

    twenty-three
    S HE HAD TO COME OUT SOONER OR LATER . T HE KID NAMED Beth who'd seen him kill Tomlin would show her face at some point, and when she did, he'd take care of her. He'd been looking for her since that Friday, riding the streets of the neighborhoods on the east side of Crockett—the direction he'd seen her go. Occasionally, he would ask kids in the neighborhoods if they knew a girl named Beth—blonde hair, shoulder length, about eleven or twelve years old. Most of them refused to talk to him. With all the crime these days, people were on their guard.
    But a few kids who'd bought his friendliness had given him some answers.
    They didn't know any Beths in Broadmoor subdivision, and in Bradford Terrace there was one, but she was six. There were two Beths in Pecan Grove—but he'd seen them both. One was a red-haired sixteen-year-old. The other was four.
    There were still several other neighborhoods, with miles between them, at intervals down that long country road. He turned into Oak Hollow, trying to look as if he belonged there. People were out working in their yards, pulling up weeds in gardens in their front yards, planting food. There was money in this part of town. He bet all of them had had cash to withdraw from the banks. And they hadn't had to kill anyone to get it.
    He rode around the neighborhood, skimming the heads of the children he saw, looking for his Beth. He came to a well where several neighbors stood talking. Stopping and balancing his bike with his foot on the curb, he said, “Hey, guys. Wonder if you could help me. I saw this kid over at the produce stand the other day, and she dropped this necklace. The