Page 6 of Out of the Shadows (Angelhart Investigations)

“Who are you?”

The boy stopped short of entering the kitchen as Jack refilled his coffee.

“I’m Jack Angelhart, a friend of your Uncle Logan.”

The boy’s light brown hair fell into his eyes that were the same blue as his mother’s. Those eyes narrowed as he assessed

Jack.

“You’re Cody, right?” Jack said.

“Where’s Mom?”

“In the barn.”

He walked through the kitchen and out the broken back door. Probably a smart kid, not taking Jack’s word without confirmation.

Jack watched from the large kitchen window as the two Labs bounded up to Cody and then followed him into the barn, tails wagging.

Laura had a nice setup here with the animals and the space. It angered him that someone had violated it. But it was the accident

that gave him pause. From what Logan had told him earlier, Laura had driven to Cave Creek to have dinner and see his new house.

They were together for more than four hours. If someone had been watching her, waiting for an opportunity to break into her

house, they’d had ample opportunity. Unless the police learned something new, they didn’t know when the house had been breached—sometime

after Laura left at five thirty and before she returned at midnight.

Had the hit-and-run truly been a coincidence? Or had it been to scare her?

He had a lot of questions and hoped Laura wouldn’t be offended when he started asking.

Jack took his coffee back outside and watched the chickens, which had spread out in the pen. There were six white chickens

that looked skinnier than the others, eight or nine big brown hens, and three—no, four—bluish-black hens. Three black-and-white

chickens were off together in the far corner as if having a conversation. He didn’t know enough about these birds to know

what kind they were. But there were nearly two dozen hens running around and twenty eggs in the basket, and suddenly he was

thinking breakfast.

Cody came out of the barn and looked at him. “Mom says she’ll be done in fifteen minutes.”

Jack wondered if it normally took more than an hour to care for the animals, or if Laura was delaying the inevitable conversation.

“Nice chickens.”

Cody looked at the flock, nodded. “I gotta get breakfast started.”

“You cook?”

“Yep. Not as good as Mom, but much better than Sydney.”

Cody picked up the basket of eggs, counted. Then he put the basket down, walked around to the tall side of the pen and opened

the gate. All the chickens ran to him.

“You’ve been fed, girls. Leave me alone,” he said as he walked through the clucking hens.

Jack hadn’t noticed that the hutch had a bigger access door on the opposite side, with a short staircase that led into the

hutch. Cody went in and a minute later came out with three eggs, all greenish-blue.

“Green eggs?”

“Yeah, those girls over there—” he gestured to the flock and Jack couldn’t tell who he was pointing to “—the Ameraucanas.

They look like Rhode Island Reds, but they’re not as big.”

“You know your chickens.”

He locked up the pen and put the eggs in the basket. “They’re all different, lay different eggs. The skinny white chickens

are leghorns, lay nearly an egg a day, white eggs. The Rhode Island Whites—those two bigger white chickens over there—give

about five eggs a week, they’re brown but not as dark brown as the Reds.”

He walked into the house and Jack followed.

“Need help?” Jack asked.

“Naw, I’m just going to prep for Mom. We were in an accident, and she’s really sore.”

“I heard about that. Are you sore?”

He shrugged. “Not really. Just bummed we can’t go to the rec up in Anthem today. We go there every Monday and Wednesday, all

my friends do.”

Cody went about sorting the eggs into trays and putting them into the refrigerator. He said, “You’re staying for breakfast,

right?”

“Yes, sir,” Jack said, amused at Cody’s efficiency in the kitchen.

Cody took eight eggs that had already been in the trays and carefully cracked them into a large bowl. He added a healthy dollop

of milk, scrambled them with a whisk, and put them aside. He went into a pantry and brought out a loaf of thick white bread

and put it next to the stove. Then he went back to the refrigerator and took out a package of bacon, opened it and laid the

slices on a plate. Finally, he opened a cabinet and pulled out a shaker of cinnamon and set it on the counter. “My mom likes

French toast when she’s upset.”

“You’re a good son. So you prep and she cooks?”

He held up his arm. There was a burn scar on his forearm, about three inches long and a quarter inch wide, faded but visible.

“Over Easter I was stupid and burned myself, so I can’t cook unless she’s in the kitchen with me until I’m ten.” He rolled

his eyes.

“What about me? Think she’d let me cook?”

Cody shrugged, but his eyes lit up. “Don’t see why not.”

Jack washed his hands and asked Cody for instructions. Cody showed him how to work the stove, which had a grill in the middle

for the bacon and French toast. The kid supervised every move with a critical eye. When he was satisfied Jack knew what he

was doing, he retrieved a large glass jar from the refrigerator half filled with fresh strawberries and blueberries. He carefully

poured equal portions into small fruit bowls. “We usually don’t make breakfast during the week because Mom has to be at work

by eight.”

“What do you and your sister do while she works?”

“The rec twice a week, and then we stay here or go to a friend’s house. Mom lets me stay if Sydney is here, but if she has

plans I have to go to a friend’s house.” He rolled his eyes. “I am more responsible than my sister even if I’m younger.”

“Liar,” a girl said as she walked into the kitchen. She gave Jack a long look. Sydney had blond hair like her mother, but

her eyes were a warm golden brown.

“This is Uncle Logan’s friend Jack,” Cody piped up. “That’s Sydney. She’s not a morning person.”

“Shut up,” Sydney said and poured a cup of coffee. Then she added a hefty amount of milk and honey.

Cody didn’t seem phased by his sister’s comment and continued talking to Jack as if they had been friends for years. Sydney

sat at the table and stared at the broken dishes and bowls in the corner.

“Hey, buddy, you think you can finish up the bacon without incident?” Jack said.

“Sure, it’s almost done!”

Jack walked over to Sydney and said, “Where do you keep the broom?”

“Pantry,” she said glumly.

Jack retrieved the broom and dustpan and found a heavy-duty black garbage bag. He handed the bag to Sydney and said, “Can

you hold that for me?”

She sighed, took the bag, opened it.

Jack swept up the mess, setting aside a few larger pieces that hadn’t completely shattered—there was a chance they could be

repaired. In ten minutes, the room was clean, and Cody said, “Sydney, tell Mom breakfast is ready.”

Cody happily set the table, then poured real maple syrup into a small carafe and warmed it in the microwave.

Sydney and Laura came back in and Laura said, “Cody—”

“Jack cooked with me, promise!”

Laura glanced at Jack. He couldn’t read her expression. He didn’t want to upset her, he just wanted to make her day less stressful.

Laura looked at the bag he’d swept up, and the row of pieces that Jack felt might be salvageable. “You really didn’t have

to do all this,” she said quietly.

“I don’t mind,” he said. “Let’s eat, then maybe I can ask you a few questions?”

“That’s fine,” she said. “Thanks, Jack, Cody, for making breakfast. I’m actually starving.”

They ate and Cody had dozens of questions about what Jack did. He answered them. Sydney listened, but didn’t contribute much

to the conversation.

When they were done, Jack started to help Sydney clear the table, when Laura said, “Cody, would you mind helping your sister?

Jack and I need to talk about the break-in.”

“Okay,” he said, not quite as cheerful as he’d been when he was cooking.

“Mom,” Sydney said, “did you talk to Dad?”

“I left him two messages last night,” Laura said.

“And he didn’t call back?”

“It’s still early.”

“It’s after nine. Can I call him?”

“Of course. You never have to ask permission to talk to your dad.”

“Okay. Just—well, I’ll clean up first,” she mumbled.

Laura walked over to her daughter and spoke quietly. Jack stepped outside, not wanting to intrude on their conversation. A

few minutes later, Laura came out of the house.

“Is she okay?” Jack asked.

Laura nodded. “She’s shaken and scared. I’m not scared, I’m just angry.”

“Is it like your ex not to answer your calls?”

She shrugged. “If he has his phone on him, he’ll always pick up. But whether he remembers to charge his phone or take it when

he’s leaving the house is fifty-fifty.”

They walked north to the end of the barn, where a vine-covered awning shaded a brick patio furnished with outdoor seating.

The chicken coop extended nearby, offering a clear view of the hens that braved the morning sun, as well as the few that had

fluttered up to roost beneath their own sliver of shade. Trees bordered the eastern split-rail fence, creating a natural boundary.

From this quiet spot, most of Laura’s property was visible, yet still felt tucked away, both private and peaceful.

“This is nice,” Jack said and sat.

“I come out here a lot, especially in the evening.” She put her coffee mug down on the solid wood table between them. “I’m

sure Logan gave you an earful about Charlie.”

“He doesn’t think your ex-husband is responsible for this. He said Charlie loves the kids, and you still have a relationship

with him.”

Laura smiled, shook her head. “Not that kind of a relationship, not anymore. Charlie was my high school sweetheart. I loved

him. Still do. I’ve known Charlie almost my entire life, and he’s always going to be in my life because of the kids. I don’t

hate him.”

“I don’t think Logan does, either.”

“Logan doesn’t hate anyone. If Logan had his way, he would have bailed us out of Charlie’s financial mess and wouldn’t have

cared if we stayed together. He wants everyone to be happy. Sometimes, he thinks money fixes everything. It helps, but it