Why not? After all, her office encouraged drop-in visits, and she always tried to stop in unannounced at least once early in every placement. Besides, letting her see what the home was like when there was no notification that she would visit also served notice on the foster family that she was watching. Angie Garvey would certainly be within her rights to refuse to let her in the door, but most foster parents never exercised that right. After all, if someone refused her a look inside a house where one of her kids lived, it would send her back with a warrant until she found out what was going on.

Her mind made up, Kate pulled to a stop in front of the Garvey house, picked up her shoulder bag and strode quickly up the walk. s.h.i.+vering in the cold morning air, she rang the bell.

The look of surprise on Angie's face when she opened the door seemed genuine, and when the woman immediately opened the door wide, Kate was already sure she would find nothing amiss.

"Kate! What a surprise!" Angie said as she stepped back to let Sarah's caseworker in. "Come in. The house is a mess, but I think I still have some coffee."

"I was in the neighborhood," Kate said. "So I just thought I'd drop by."

"I'm so glad you did," Angie said, picking up a jacket and hat from the sofa and hanging them on the coat tree by the door. "Do you have time for a cup of coffee?"

"I wish I did," Kate said, her eyes quickly appraising the room and finding it no messier than the last time she'd been there. "I just wanted to see how Sarah's doing."

Angie shrugged. "Well, all things considered, I think she's doing pretty well. Would you like to see her room?"

Another good sign, Kate thought as she nodded and began following Angie up the stairs. Most foster parents-especially the bad ones-couldn't say enough about how well their charges were doing. The really good ones recognized that nothing was going to be perfect, especially at the beginning, and Angie Garvey certainly seemed to be aware of it. "She's doing all right with these stairs?" Kate asked as they came to the top.

"Well, they're not easy for her, but she won't use her crutches and she insists she's fine, so I let her get the exercise and try to keep an eye on her in case she trips." Angie opened the bedroom door and Kate followed her into the girls' room.

Both beds had been made and everything was orderly. The bed by the window was covered with stuffed animals, and the other bed was bare, with only a clock and light on the nightstand, and the sight gave Kate a little pang. She should have thought to bring a stuffed animal for Sarah's bed. "Very nice," Kate said. "Actually, it's a lot neater than most teenagers' rooms I see."

"Mitch and I insist on it," Angie said. "We bring our kids up right, and we'll do the same with Sarah."

"How's she getting along with Tiffany and Zach?"

Angie sighed. "As well as can be expected, I think. Needless to say, Tiffany isn't quite used to sharing her room yet, but she'll get over it. At least they're not tearing each other's hair out."

"Has she talked about school yet?"

"I think she's a little bit behind in her studies," Angie said, "but she's smart and should catch right up." Angie paused. "It's the social part I'm more concerned about."

Kate felt the first pang of concern since she'd arrived at the Garveys', but thought she knew what was happening. "It's her leg, isn't it?"

"Well, that's probably part of it, I suppose," Angie mused. "But she's a troubled girl." She offered Kate a wan smile. "But then, that's why she's here, isn't it?"

Kate turned Angie's words over in her mind as she looked again at Sarah's side of the bedroom, bare of any decoration at all. She had never thought of Sarah as "troubled," at least not in the way the Protective Services people defined it. On the other hand, the girl had not only been torn out of her home, but away from everything else familiar to her as well. Why wouldn't she be having some adjustment problems? At least Angie Garvey seemed to understand what Sarah was going through.

"It'll all be just fine," Angie a.s.sured her. "We'll introduce her to the whole community in church on Sunday, and our family is one hundred percent committed to bringing her into our love. Don't worry-she'll be lucky if we don't just smother her with love."

Kate followed Angie out of the bedroom and back down the stairs, deciding she had, indeed, made the right choice in picking the Garveys for Sarah.

"You just pop in on us any time," Angie said as Kate walked toward the front door. "Any time at all."

"Thanks," Kate said. "I don't usually come unannounced."

"Doesn't matter to me," Angie said, smiling broadly. "I'm usually here."

Kate returned Angie's smile, then headed back to her car. For a moment she considered dropping by the school to check up on Sarah personally, then changed her mind. Better just to let Angie handle things for now. She could spend some time with Sarah by herself later.

Whatever fears she'd had about Sarah's placement well allayed, Kate started her car and headed back to Burlington. Her caseload was overwhelming right now, and each placement seemed harder and more complicated than the last. If Sarah Crane was happy and adjusting well, it was at least one case she didn't have to worry about.

At least for now.

Sarah Crane filled her lunch tray, steeling herself against the words she could already hear being whispered and the mocking eyes that were watching her limp through the cafeteria line. She paid for her macaroni and cheese and a tiny dish of fruit with the three dollar bills Angie had given her that morning, pocketed the change, then took a deep breath and turned around to face the crowded lunchroom.

Just like yesterday, almost every chair in the room was already taken. But now her backpack was starting to slide off her shoulders, and if she didn't find a place to put her tray down within the next few seconds, it might slide all the way down her right arm, bang into her bad hip, and throw her off her feet. She turned back toward the cas.h.i.+er, but another student was standing there, paying for his meal.

Maybe over by the busing station.

Now there was someone behind her, probably trying to put his own tray away.

Or getting ready to trip her.

Sarah stiffened, leaning her good hip against the metal cabinet to steady herself, getting ready for whatever was about to happen. But instead of feeling an "accidental" b.u.mp or feeling a foot at her ankle, she heard a soft, uncertain voice.

"Can I help you?"

Was it a trick? Was someone just setting her up? But when she turned around to see who it was-sending her backpack sliding down to the crook of her elbow-she saw a face she recognized.

The boy she'd seen watching her from across the street the day she arrived at the Garveys' house.

The boy who sat alone at the back of the cafeteria yesterday.

The boy who looked down when she looked at him.

Now, instead of waiting for her to answer his question, he simply took the tray away from her. "You can sit by me if you want," he said, flus.h.i.+ng a deep enough red that Sarah knew he was expecting her to refuse the offer.

Hoisting her backpack onto her shoulders as soon as her hands were free, she followed the boy through the maze of tables and chairs, ignoring the whispers and snickers-and a single wolf whistle that she would have known wasn't meant as a compliment even if it hadn't been followed by a wave of laughter. After what felt like an eternity but couldn't have been more than thirty seconds, they were at an empty table in the back of the room, and the rest of the kids finally seemed to find something else to talk about.

Sarah sat down across from the boy and pulled her tray close enough to move the food and utensils off it. "I remember you," she said. "I saw you on the street the day I moved into the Garveys'."

He nodded, blus.h.i.+ng again, but not quite as badly as before. "I wasn't staring," he said. "I'm Nick Dunnigan."

"I'm Sarah Crane." She tipped her head toward the tray. "Thanks for the help. I was afraid I was going to fall."

"Actually, you don't need to fall for them to make fun of you. All you have to do is-" His words were cut off by a series of loud beeps coming from his s.h.i.+rt pocket. He quickly silenced the cell phone, blus.h.i.+ng again.

"Thanks for reminding us again, Nick," someone yelled from across the room. "We wouldn't want to forget you're a fruitcake, would we?"

So that was it-at Warwick High, Nick was in the same boat she was.

"Meds," Nick muttered, fumbling a pill bottle out of his pocket, shaking two into his hand and was.h.i.+ng them down with a swallow of milk.

"How come the alarm?" she asked. "They might not tease you if you didn't beep."

Nick shrugged. "They'll tease me anyway. And I can't trust myself to remember to take the pills."

"Even if it's the same time every day?" Sarah asked, frowning in puzzlement.

He nodded, his lips twisting into a wry grimace that Sarah was pretty sure was meant to be a smile. Should she volunteer to remind him herself, the way he'd volunteered to carry her tray? Or would that make him feel even worse? She picked up her fork and began to poke at her macaroni and cheese, but Nick just sat silently, staring at the hamburger and fries on his tray. Sarah paused, her fork hovering in the air.

"Aren't you going to eat?"

He nodded, but made no move to pick up his fork.

Sarah glanced around, but no one seemed to be looking at them. "What is it?" she asked quietly. "What's wrong?" He glanced up at her, and she could see the fear in his eyes. "Just tell me," she pressed. "Maybe I can help."

Nick looked at her again. "Promise not to laugh?" he whispered.

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Oh, sure, I'm going to laugh my head off, just like you did when I couldn't even hold on to my tray any longer."

Nick still hesitated but finally leaned closer, and when he spoke, his voice was so soft she could barely hear him. "I see things sometimes. Things that aren't there. That's what the pills are for."

Saw things? What did he mean? What was he, some kind of a nu-Sarah cut off the thought even before it was fully formed, but still felt a wave of shame-she wasn't any better than the other kids in the room.

Except that at least she hadn't said what she'd thought out loud, and from now on, she promised herself, she wouldn't even think it. "So are you seeing something right now?" she asked, keeping her voice as level as if they were just talking about the weather.

Nick nodded.

"What?" Sarah asked, her own lunch forgotten for the moment. "What do you see?"

He hesitated, but then looked straight at her. "Worms," he said. "I know there's supposed to be french fries on my plate, but that's not what I'm seeing."

Sarah glanced at Nick's plate and saw the tangle of skinny fries. Reaching over she picked one up. "Mind if I eat one?" she asked. "I always used to like worms with my mud pies when I was little." Without waiting for an answer, she popped the fry into her mouth, chewed it, and swallowed. "Pretty good-tastes exactly like french fries. Looks sort of like worms, though, doesn't it?"

"But it's not, right?" Nick asked.

"It's not," Sarah promised. "It's just french fries."

Nick took a deep breath, nibbled a fry, then picked up his hamburger and bit into it. As he chewed, Sarah finally took her first forkful of the macaroni and cheese, then pulled all but the first taste back out of her mouth. "You sure it wasn't this that looked like worms?" she asked.

Nick just shook his head. "That always looks like maggots." Abruptly, he grinned. "But I'm not sure that's a hallucination at all."

Staring at the lunch she now knew she wasn't going to finish, Sarah decided she liked Nick Dunnigan.

At least she liked him a lot better than the macaroni and cheese.

Chapter Eight.

Sarah sat quietly at her table in Miss Philips's room as her cla.s.smates disappeared out the door into the corridor.

What had she done?

Why had Miss Philips told her to stay after school?

Had she done something wrong today? But there wasn't even an a.s.signment-all they'd done was listen as Miss Philips talked about still life drawings and how the really good ones were so carefully composed they didn't look composed at all. And Sarah knew she certainly hadn't done anything wrong-in fact, she hadn't done anything at all, except take notes.

When the room was finally empty except for the two of them, the teacher pushed the big door closed and perched on the edge of her desk. Sarah's heart began to pound.

Witch.

Her foster mother's words from last night rose in Sarah's mind, and she glanced at the window in the door to make certain Tiffany and Zach weren't peering in, ready to tell their mother that she had stayed after school.

"What did you think of the cla.s.s today?" Miss Philips asked. "It must have seemed pretty simple, given your talent."

Sarah shrugged, saying nothing.

The teacher paused, s.h.i.+fting her weight, and then Sarah knew that whatever this was about, it wasn't today's cla.s.s. Sure enough, Bettina Philips's next words confirmed it.

"Sarah, did I embarra.s.s you when I stopped to offer you a ride this morning?"

Sarah felt the color rise in her cheeks, but shook her head.

"Then what was the problem?" Miss Philips went on.

Sarah cast around in her mind for something that might sound reasonable, then remembered the kids in the cafeteria. "You didn't offer the other kids a ride," she said quietly. "Just because I can't walk very well doesn't mean I need a ride. And if the rest of the kids had seen me taking it, things would have just gotten-"

She cut herself off-if she started complaining about the kids who were teasing her, Miss Philips might go to the princ.i.p.al, and the princ.i.p.al might go to the kids' folks, and then things would get really bad.

"You're sure that was it?" Bettina asked. "There wasn't anything else?"

Sarah hesitated, then decided there wasn't any reason not to tell Miss Philips the truth, even if it did make her foster mother look-"Stupid" was the word that came to mind, but she quickly rejected it. Anyway, it didn't matter how it made Angie Garvey look-she wasn't going to lie about what her foster mother had said. Sarah cleared her throat and looked directly at Bettina. "My foster mother says I can't spend time with you except in cla.s.s."

Bettina gave her a rueful smile. "That's what I figured. Did she call me a witch?"

Sarah flushed, looked down again, but nodded.

"You're not going to tell me you believe in witchcraft, are you?"

Sarah decided this had to be the most uncomfortable conversation she'd ever had. "I guess not," she whispered, her eyes on the table in front of her.

"Good," Bettina said. "I just wanted to set the record straight. You have a lot of talent, and I'd hate to see it wasted because of what people say about me."

Sarah's head came up, and the face she saw was hardly that of some kind of witch, but a perfectly normal one, with soft eyes and a kind smile. Why on earth would anyone talk about this woman the way the Garveys had?

As if she'd read Sarah's mind, Bettina Philips began answering her unspoken question. "I live in an old mansion called Shutters that's seen better days. A lot of better days. So naturally all the kids say it's haunted. It isn't, of course, but it was built a hundred and fifty years ago, and my family has lived in it for generations."

Her gentle smile broadened into a grin. "But living in a haunted house is just the beginning. I'm also 'different.'" She p.r.o.nounced the word in a way that turned it from a simple adjective into an insult. "I'm an artist," she went on, and then her voice dropped so it sounded almost conspiratorial. "But it's even worse than that: I'm also interested in tarot cards and astrology and all kinds of religions, especially the more mystical ones. I've studied the medicinal properties of various herbs, and grow them in my garden. And worst of all, I don't go to church, and in Warwick that alone would make me suspect. I also don't lunch with the ladies, or serve on the right committees, or attend the right fund-raisers. I also tend to dress the way I please, and mind my own business. All of which, as I'm sure you would have come to find out even if Angie Garvey didn't tell you so, makes me different. In fact, I've always been different, even when I was your age."

She paused, and Sarah suddenly understood exactly what Bettina Philips was saying: that when she herself was a student at this school, she was the one everyone whispered about and laughed at. When Bettina had been her age, it was probably Angie and Mitch who sat in the cafeteria making fun of the girl who wasn't quite like them.

"And here's the best part, Sarah," Bettina said, moving to a chair on the opposite side of the art table. "Those same people who are always gossiping about me are the ones who always come to me when they're in trouble. Would you believe it? They actually come and knock on my back door and ask to have their fortunes told."