Even the Wind: A Jonas Brant Thriller Read Online Free Page B

town before incurring a late pickup penalty.
      Little Acorn daycare was housed in a converted church on Warren Street. It wasn’t the best neighborhood, nor was it the ideal school for Ben, but it was safe and the staff seemed attentive.
      The daycare’s head teacher met him at the door of the center, her arms folded in a gesture of defense — or defiance. He could never tell.
      Carolyn Growski was a big woman, bulky with a cap of brown hair and a round, doughy face. She’d been a university librarian in a past life but had decided she was unsuited for the academic life and had devoted herself to young children ever since. Her demeanor was open and warm, but tinged with a sharpened edge he found off-putting. She could be mean-spirited and she knew it.
      ``He’s been cranky all day,’’ she said without greeting. ``We’ve been trying to keep him busy, to keep his mind off whatever’s bothering him, but nothing we do makes any difference. Is everything okay at home? Is there anything bothering him?’’
      Growski wore big, voluminous dresses and moved in a slow, deliberate fashion. Her voice was deep, her hair thinning. Had he not met her husband at the daycare’s Christmas party the previous year, Brant would have taken her to be a lesbian.
      ``He’s been hitting the other boys,’’ a teaching assistant who’d taken up position beside the head teacher said. ``We’re worried he’s not getting enough stimulation at home. He needs deep contact with other people.’’
      Brant thanked them, apologized for Ben’s behavior and promised he’d talk to his son.  
     
     
     

      Dusk and the sky above Back Bay was a pale gray, turning to black. The first stars of the night had appeared. The moon, high overhead, was a crescent of light. To the left, the city spread out, the skyline punctuated by office towers and blinking lights.  
      They’d made their way through rush hour traffic accompanied by The Who. Quadrophenia. Daltrey doing his best to keep pace with Townshend. Deciding he was in a different frame of mind, Brant changed over to some Springsteen and Thunder Road. Ben hummed along, trying to match the Boss word for word. Nothing like Springsteen to clear a bad day, Brant thought, replaying the scene in the alleyway. He edged onto Cambridge, turned left onto Prospect and coasted, passing the Irish pubs, whole food grocery stores and art galleries. Solid stone buildings, gray and elegant, flanked each side of the street. A closed, claustrophobic feeling.  
      Ben said nothing. In the rearview mirror, Brant watched his son as he fiddled with the seat belt, struggling to break free of his restraints.  
      ``Did you have fun today?’’
      Again, Ben remained silent, his eyes fixated on the restraint’s latch, his small hands poking and prodding at the locking mechanism. Finally, the boy looked up.
      ``Stevie farted.’’
      Steven Stover. Ben’s best friend at daycare. Before Maggie’s death, many a night had been filled with Ben’s reciting of the day’s events and Steven Stover’s exploits.
      ``Did you have a good time?’’
      ``Stevie hit me. In the face.’’
      ``What did you do when that happened?’’
      ``Hit him back.’’
      A broad smile appeared on his son’s face as he punched at the air, no doubt mimicking the pasting he’d given his best friend. Brant was crestfallen.  
      ``You know that’s not what to do, right Ben?’’
      ``He hit first.’’
      ``I know but you can’t go around hitting people. It’s not right.’’
      ``But you have a gun. You shoot people.’’
      Brant sucked air in through his teeth. How did he explain to a four-year-old the difference between a cop and a common criminal? He and Maggie had considered the point many times before, giving up and deciding Ben had been too young to grasp the subtleties of the discussion. The truth was, he wasn’t sure he understood the difference himself anymore.
      Brant tapped the