Southern Comfort - Fern Michaels [78]
“Kate,” Sandy interjected, then sat beside Rosita. “Can you eat another bagel? I don’t think I can finish mine. All those mangoes filled me right up.” Sandy shot Kate the all-knowing look, which Kate knew was meant to tell her to stop her questions, give the child a moment to recover from her questions about Tyler.
Kate nodded. “I think I could eat another bagel, too. Pete, would it be too much trouble to ask you and Tick to toast two more?” She gave a slight nod in Rosita’s direction.
Pete grabbed the sack of bagels from the refrigerator. “I could eat the entire bag myself, so I’ll just toast them all. You hungry, Tick?” Pete asked.
Tick lingered in the kitchen doorway. “You bet. I’ll have one, too.”
Rosita lifted the edge of her mouth in a small smile, as though she knew what they were trying to do in order to make her more comfortable. “I would like another as well, please.”
Kate’s eyes widened. She’d never been around kids that much, but she was sure of one thing: The few she had been around weren’t nearly as polite as Rosita. Before anyone had a chance to reply, Pete placed two bagel slices slathered with cream cheese on Rosita’s plate.
“Thank you, Mr. . . . Pete.”
Smart, too, Kate observed. She hadn’t been told how she should address them, yet she had enough manners to know what was proper and what wasn’t. Kate was sure she was nowhere near eighteen just by the looks of her. Last night, rather early this morning, she’d thought she was possibly ten or maybe eleven. Now, in the bright light of day she thought possibly Rosita was thirteen, fourteen at most. However, her mannerisms were those of a refined adult. Someone had spent a lot of time with this child. Could it be that her parents were a wealthy Cuban family, and she’d lived a privileged life in Cuba? If you could call living in Cuba privileged. But Sandy had lived there as a child, and now look at her. She had a doctorate.
When Rosita was out of earshot, she would ask the others their thoughts on the subject. Maybe Rosita had been kidnapped, and her family was looking for her this very moment. There was no time to waste, Kate figured, and with that in mind, decided to ask Rosita a few more questions. But she would make sure they were worded just so. Pete dropped a bagel on the plate in front of her.
“Thanks,” she said.
“Sure.” Pete placed a plateful of bagels in the center of the table with a large container of cream cheese and a jar of jelly beside them. Kate guessed the twins liked bagels. She smiled. Maybe they didn’t know how to cook. Hell, it wasn’t a crime not to be on The Next Food Network Star, a show she’d become addicted to before Jelly brought her back on board.
Pete took a seat next to Sandy, and Tick leaned against the counter. Kate took a hefty bite of her bagel before speaking. “Rosita, I know this isn’t easy for you, but it’s important that you tell us how you came to be at that . . . house.” Kate looked at Sandy. She gave her a slight nod, indicating she was heading in the right direction.
Rosita wiped her mouth, then placed her napkin to the side of her paper plate. “I was told not to speak of that, Miss Kate. I’m sorry.” She looked as though she were about to cry.
Kate tried another tactic. “Sweetie, whoever told you not to talk about this isn’t a very nice person. We know you’re afraid to tell, but I promise you that you have absolutely nothing to be afraid of. I’m going to see to it that whoever took you there never does this to anyone else. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Rosita nodded. “Yes, but they said they would . . .” Her dark eyes drifted toward the screen door and beyond. “They said they would drop me in the middle of the water where it’s real deep. I cannot swim.” Rosita paused, not for impact but to wipe the tears from her face. “They told me one large cement block was all it would take, and I would be shark bait or food for the bottom feeders, whichever came first.