The officer’s eyes scanned me once more, as if each piece of information he pried out of me added to his picture of who I was. Truthfully, I guess it did, but I was determined not to give him the last item, about my being a witch. Most towns didn’t like those with had even a tiny bit of power. Such females were deemed difficult, unruly, and sometimes, evil.
The inside of the policeman’s station was stark. It needed green plants and fresh flowers. Even a picture on the wall would soften the atmosphere, but I sat down in the simple wooden chair where he’d directed me and said nothing. The boys were being extremely quiet, as well. Their eyes were huge circles of fear.
I lifted Carlo up and set him down in my lap. Frances crawled up on his own, sliding onto the side of my chair as if he’d been invited. I hugged them both. I didn’t bother telling them that everything would be okay. It wouldn’t be. Their mother was dead. Their father was in prison. Their life would go on in some fashion, but in a far different manner than they were accustomed to. False platitudes should not be used to cheer them up.
The officer eyed me again, his glance taking in the position of the boys. Mrs. Penn noticed, too, and said, “See. It’s just what I told you, Frank. We can’t separate them. The widow Smith’s house would do nicely. There’s really no room in the facility.”
Since I had no idea what they were talking about, I tuned out and instead continued my surveillance of the police station. Where was the holding pen with the bad guys who were behind bars? Was the door on the back wall, the entryway to the cells? Was the boys’ father inside there right now? Should the boys be invited to see him? Would they want to?