Death in the Secret Garden by Richard; Forrest

reacted.
    â€˜Nix on the woods and screw the birds,’ the boy said.
    â€˜Of course, dear,’ Rebba said. ‘We won’t make you go into the scary woods if you don’t want to, will we, Mr. Wentworth?’
    Actually, Lyon had had every intention of continuing on to the state forest, but her determined remarks from the rear seat discouraged the possibility. ‘We can go on to my place and have our sherbet,’ he said.
    â€˜Oh, goody, goody,’ the boy said. ‘Wow! Real ice cream sherbet.’
    Lyon turned the Saturn into Nutmeg Hill’s drive that wound its way up to the promontory. He idly wondered if a fall from a moving car would kill the kid.
    â€˜What a lovely place you have, Mr. Wentworth,’ Rebba said. ‘I’d heard a lot about it, and a few years ago I took the Garden Club tour when Beatrice had the house open to the public.’
    â€˜I think that one day it’s going to fall off the cliff into the river,’ added the architectural critic in the front seat.
    A few minutes later they stood on the patio by the parapet and looked out over the river valley. Lyon wondered if a fall from the cliff might do the trick. An eagle flew in the distance. They didn’t have to go to the state forest after all.
    â€˜You have a good life here. You must be a contented man, Lyon.’
    â€˜Yes, I am,’ Lyon replied and wondered why she had suddenly switched to a first-name basis. He turned to point out the eagle to Edward. The boy had disappeared. ‘Where is he?’
    â€˜Oh, he’s just playing a game with us. Didn’t you ever play hide-and-seek when you were young?’
    Lyon’s smile was tempered by the thought of a dozen insidious possible mischiefs the boy might be perpetrating. ‘I’ll take a look,’ he said and bolted from the patio.
    He found Edward Dirk sitting at the computer console in his study. The boy had managed to switch the machine on and boot it up. He was banging on the mouse to flit from icon to icon.
    â€˜Sherbet time,’ Lyon said.
    â€˜Werbet time,’ the boy answered with a double wham on the mouse.
    Lyon contemplated rewiring the computer mouse for an electrocution. The kid was small enough so that it probably wouldn’t take a great many volts.
    They sat in the breakfast nook with bowls of peach sherbet. Edward consumed his with great appetite while his mother smiled across the table at Lyon. ‘The three of us together like this are just like a family,’ she said.
    Lyon coughed.
    â€˜Yuk,’ Edward responded.
    â€˜Edward is really a very good boy,’ Rebba said hastily. ‘He knows that I work very hard at the Nutmeg Insurance Company and he tries to do his part by delivering papers.’
    â€˜I’d make out better in an orphan asylum,’ the boy said as he handed Lyon his empty bowl for a refill.
    â€˜See you later, alligator,’ Lyon called after them as he delivered Rebba and Edward back to their small ranch home. He knew it was silly, but often kids liked that sort of stuff. He expected a return of ‘after a while, crocodile.’ Instead, the kid flipped him a finger.
    Rebba Dirk fumbled in her purse for the door key. Lyon was not sure if she saw the finger or chose to ignore it. Either way, the gesture created the final decision concerning his mentorship of Edward Dirk. There was no way he could continue to be a Big Buddy for this child. He made the phone call as soon as he arrived back at Nutmeg Hill.
    â€˜Big Buddy,’ Ed Larsen, the organization officer, said when he answered their Middleburg telephone.
    â€˜This is Lyon Wentworth and I quit.’
    â€˜You have the Dirk kid, don’t you?’
    â€˜How did you guess?’
    â€˜Sweet, isn’t he?’
    â€˜You could say that. I’m afraid I’m just not up to it. We’re on different wavelengths and he’ll do better with a different man.’
    â€˜You’re