Worse, the last thing she had said kept clanging in his head like some church bell. I don’t need anyone. There it was, the big chasm between them. He needed her. He’d had told her so, had told her he loved her. But Robin had not once said she loved him. Which only made him realize that what he feared most of all—now that his heart was so tangled up in all this mess—was that she would, eventually, be lured away by the better deal. And when it happened (he figured it was inevitable), it was going to kill him, he could feel it. Just kill him.
Inside, Robin was nowhere to be seen. Zaney was busy finishing up the archway they had created upstairs, singing an old Monkees tune. The paint crew was finishing up the last touches upstairs, and an electrician and plumber were working in the kitchen while the trim on the new cabinetry was installed. Jake started to strip the paint from the brick in the dining room, the last room to be renovated.
He had just gotten the veneer off the window casings when his cell phone rang.
“Jacob?” his Mom wheezed into the phone.
“Hey, Mom. How are you doing?”
“Not too good. Your nephew has run off again.”
Jake stopped what he was doing. “He’s not in school?”
“Nope. Only reason I know that is because Billie Margoyle—her son Bill played baseball with you, remember him? Well, Billie’s in that front office in the school now, and I asked her to call me if Cole was reported absent. He was reported absent, all right.”
Jake immediately thought of the levee. God, he was going to strangle that kid. “I’ll go find him,” he said.
“You don’t need to. The cops have him down at juvenile hall.”
Jake groaned, closed his eyes, swallowing down the bit of terror that crept up.
“He and Frankie went down to the levee and got caught smoking a marijuana cigarette,” Mom said, the disgust evident in her voice. “I’d sure like to know where those kids find that crap. Good Lord, what did I ever do to deserve this?”
“Mom, it’s okay. I’ll go down there and get him out.”
“Don’t try and tell me it’s okay, Jacob. This is serious. I’m not going to have a pot-smoking juvenile delinquent dropout in my house.”
“Okay, Mom,” he said, his patience wearing thin. “We’ll talk about that later. I’ll handle it for now.”
“I just hope you can. I hope it’s not too late.”
So did he.
Jake found Zaney, told him he’d be back after a while, and looked once more for Robin. Still nowhere to be found. Apparently, she’d already left for Burdette. Before he could say anything.
The Weasel was winning.
The juvenile facility was a zoo—parents, lawyers, and kindhearted souls who apparently tried to work with troubled kids milled about, but no one seemed to know what was going on. Jake finally found a woman who, when he got her attention long enough to ask about Cole, pointed toward a courtroom. “Detention hearings are over there.”
Detention hearing. He didn’t like the sound of that.
Jake squeezed into the overcrowded courtroom, then watched as a string of children—babies, really—were brought before a judge. Some had stolen cars, others had been caught with drugs. But what astounded him was how many were brought in for more serious crimes, such as sexual assault and armed robbery. They were children, Cole’s age, with no more sense or sophistication than a goat. For two hours, Jake sat watching the parade, growing increasingly frustrated and appalled. When he thought he couldn’t stand it another moment, they brought Cole in.
The kid looked like hell, completely disheveled, his face white. He stood between two men in ill-fitting, cheap suits, nodding mutely as the judge asked him if he understood why he was there. Then the judge asked if there was anyone in the courtroom on behalf of Cole Manning.
Jake stood. “I am.”
He peered over the top of his reading glasses. “Please come forward.”
When Jake reached the table where Cole was sitting, the child would not even look at him. He looked beaten down. Frightened.
“Are you his father?”
“I’m his uncle, Jacob Manning. Cole’s father is dead.”
“Does he live with you?”
“He lives with my mother, his grandmother.”
“Ah,” the judge muttered, nodding, and looked down at the papers in front of him. “And where is the boy’s mother?”
“Uh . . . no one knows, Your Honor,” Jake said, despising how soap-operaish it sounded. “She took off a couple of years ago and we haven’t heard from her since.”
“How nice,” the judge drawled and looked at the papers again, then at Jake. “Mr. Manning, this is Cole’s first trip to juvenile court. He has been charged with minor in possession of marijuana. That’s a serious offense. Nonetheless, I am inclined to hand him over to your care if I can be assured that you will pay close attention to this child’s needs. He is in desperate need of adult supervision and guidance. Do you think you and your mother can provide that?”