Chapter Twelve
J odi checked Alma’s seat belt and then the contents of her bulging tote. Camera, plastic gloves, Ziploc plastic bags, her tattered notebook, water bottles, a spare jacket for Alma, new library books for Gramps, plus some homemade cookies which Dougie had surprised her by leaving on her desk.
Jodi figured it was either guilt or a bribe. And if the home baking was supposed to impress her with Dougie’s diverse talents, then she counted herself as impressed.
“Can I play on Gramps’ iPad?” Alma asked hopefully.
The words sent a fresh pang of sadness through Jodi. For the first time, she understood the true depth of courage shown by foster parents. Not only nurturing the confused and often angry children who entered their homes and their lives, but knowing that parting was almost inevitable.
She drove through the town and then slowly down the winding lane to the retirement village, watching for runaway wheelchairs and senior citizens whizzing by on e-bikes.
“Sure, honey,” she told Alma, who was bouncing up and down in her seat, waving to some of her favorite old folk. “After you spend ten minutes at least in proper conversation. I know Gramps always asks you the same stuff, but that’s because he really is interested. Tell him something new.”
“Can I tell him about my mom?” Alma’s brown eyes were excited.
Jodi was momentarily thrown. “I guess so.”
Her mind flipped back to the two deeply unhappy teenagers who had been foisted on their grandfather more than a decade ago. Gramps, no doubt comfortable in his settled, widower life, enmeshed in church and community, had never by action or word made them feel unwanted. In fact, he had implied that their mom was bringing Jodi and Jaylee to live with him as a favor.
Bringing a gift. Not leaving a burden.
She shrugged off any further meandering down memory lane and parked. A sense of urgency, that they were running out of time to solve this mystery, had being growing on her all night.
“Now, I need to take some photos while we’re here, so you stay with Gramps.”
Alma appeared behind her, her day pack already on.
“What kind of photos? Like flowers and stuff?”
Jodi wrestled briefly with her conscience and decided that the partial truth was the best choice.
“There was a suspicious fire in the old garden shed, you know, over by the tennis courts? And I need some photos for The Monitor .”
“Suspicious? Like someone started it on purpose?” Alma sounded shocked.
Jodi nodded. “So you stay with—”
“Well, howdy!” A familiar voice boomed in the distance. Gramps, his face wreathed in smiles, was making his way down the pathway from the independent living units.
Alma waved vigorously. “Gramps,” she yelled. “We’re going to look at the fire and take pictures!”
“No way.” Jodi shook her head. “And keep your voice down, honey.”
Alma’s expression turned crafty. “I need a news story for current affairs on Monday. This is a scoop, right?”
Out of the corner of her eye Jodi saw Bonnie Browning appear, as though the manager had been lurking in the shrubbery.
“Shit,” muttered Jodi. “I mean, fine. But you can’t touch anything.”
Alma looked offended. “Of course not, I’m not a dummy. And this story is way better than telling people about our new kitten.” She frowned. “The one we have to give away.”
“What new kitten?” Jodi shook her head, puzzled. This was what came of trying to multitask, she reminded herself severely.
“It’s a rescue cat,” said Alma sadly. “Someone left it in a box on the doorstep, but Hattie says we gotta take it to the animal shelter because the twins are super allergic.”
***
I t was a good ten minutes before The Temple Mountain Monitor investigative team headed for the scene of the crime.
Team , because there was no way Rev. Bob Ruskin was going to miss out on the excitement. And of course no one was going anywhere without Bonnie Browning.
“I’m afraid that official clearance is needed before taking photos or video on the premises,” Bonnie explained in a pleased voice, a little puffed from hurrying to catch them up. “So if you could apply through the usual channels—”
Bonnie’s heels and smart magenta knit dress made Jodi feel like a soccer mom in her old jeans and faded Toronto Raptors t-shirt.
Jodi raised her eyebrows. “That’s not going to look good, Bonnie. Keeping out the media. People will think you’re hiding something. Readers love a good conspiracy.”
Bonnie glanced at Bob Ruskin, whom she knew still commanded considerable influence in the community. A couple of residents, possibly enroute to chair yoga now that the gardening club was temporarily suspended, had paused expectantly.
“We here at the village pride ourselves on our transparency,” Bonnie said frostily, shooing away the spectators with an imperious hand, “but if you so rudely insist, I need to accompany you to the site, just to protect the interests of the owners and these dear people who reside at Temple Mountain Retirement Village.”
She glared at an elderly lady still lingering on the path. “Maud, did I hear that you put your newspaper in the trash bin instead of the recycling bin?”
Maud scuttled away.
Jodi bit back an unprofessional snarl. Fortunately her grandfather was more than equal to the occasion.
“That’s just about the kindest thing ever, Bonnie,” he oozed in the trademark mellifluous voice which had secured his spot as Temple Mountain’s most charismatic preacher for several decades. He hooked his arm into Bonnie’s, wheezing a little (rather theatrically, in his granddaughter’s opinion).
“I know how worried folks here are about the fire...”
“Not a fire, Bob dear,” interjected Bonnie. “More of a smolder.”
“And might I tell you how very fine you look today? A sight to gladden an old man’s heart.”
Bonnie fell back to match Bob Ruskin’s slow pace.
“I was saying that precise thing only the other day when the woodworkers were worried about the place going up in smoke. ‘Calm down. Ms. Bonnie has got this,’ I said. That’s what I told those old doomsayers.”
Jodi rolled her eyes. Gramps was such a showman. And boy, was he enjoying this.
He stopped and rubbed his knee with an apologetic grin. “Old football injury.”
Bonnie shot Jodi an unreadable glance.
“You are such a charmer, Reverend Bob! The owners are of course keen that any publicity about this minor incident reflects well on the community. We have the highest safety standards at the village for our dear elderly folk. Sally Lett and I have prepared a press release with all the facts for Jodi, to save her from relying on that Dougie Moon. I can’t think why he still has a job after that dreadful story.”
“Ahhhhhh!” Bob staggered, letting out a cry as though felled by invisible snipers. Bonnie was forced to pull up.
“I was in Nam, you know,” he said conversationally. “1968. Never fully recovered ...”
Jodi had heard enough. Gramps had handed her and her young assistant five minutes. And they needed to use it well.
***
J odi and Alma rounded the corner to see the small wooden shed standing forlornly in a sea of muddy grass, taped off from the curious. The green door hung crookedly on the remaining hinge, and there were scorch marks either side of the entry. Inside was pitch black and smelled strongly of soot and chemicals.
Jodi began snapping photos, working the perimeter, while Alma drifted around the ruined structure, astonished at the noxious devastation that fire could inflict on something as benign as a garden shed.
Jodi sidled up to the small window, trying to avoid the worst of the mud and leaning across the tape as far as she could without falling on her face. She took a few shots through the filthy glass but knew they would be rubbish.
She tried to see inside, but the inky interior was impenetrable.
“My God, what a smell!” said Bonnie. She appeared at Jodi’s shoulder, wrinkling her nose. “The whole shed will have to be demolished.”
“Such a shame,” said Jodi. “And it looks like a wasted trip for me, I’m afraid.” She made a show of looking through the digital files. “Can’t see a thing.”
She glanced at her grandfather, who threw her the faintest of winks. He linked his arm through Bonnie’s and steered her towards the tennis courts.
“While I have you here Bonnie, there are a couple of safety concerns I have about the tennis courts,” she heard him say gravely. “Doris, you know the gal I mean, big hair and a Southern accent?”
Jodi looked at Alma. She put a finger to her lips, and Alma nodded. Her eyes flashed mischievously, and Jodi had the rueful thought that, at the very least, she was providing entertainment to two of her favorite people in the world.
She snuck under the tape, taking a series of snaps from inside the doorway. With no other source of light, it was hard to make out anything inside apart from vague lumps.
She glanced behind her. Alma was doing a fine impression of a lookout as she wandered over to peer into the dense shrubs lining the path, all the while keeping an eye on Bonnie’s back as the manager grudgingly inspected minute cracks in the tennis court. Bob Ruskin had his hands on his knees, and they could hear words like “physio” and “black and blue”.
Jodi poked her head right through the doorway and instantly wished that she had brought a mask. The acrid air coated the back of her throat as she took a few tentative, shuffling steps into the murk. Unknown lumps crunched underfoot, and a fine spray of soot landed on the bare skin at the back of her neck.
The camera in her smart phone automatically switched on the flash, and Jodi took more photos before moving back carefully. Not carefully enough to avoid banging the back of her head on the door frame, sending a cascade of black grit down her back.
Elated by her achievement, Jodi was oblivious. With any luck, she thought, once they looked at the raw files, they would be able to see whatever was in the room. She slipped her phone in her pocket.
Two things happened at once.
Alma gave a breathy warning squeak which would have instantly ruled her out of any decent criminal gang, and Bonnie Browning came storming across the grass.
“Come out of there this instant, Jodi Ruskin! Didn’t you see the tape? It says, No Entry . And that means you, madam!”
Bonnie’s bosom heaved with anger. She ignored Bob Ruskin’s attempt to explain more about Doris’ bruised ribs, and did Bonnie agree that the court was a trifle slippery after rain and dangerous for nonagenarians?
“Just getting some shots of the interior,” said Jodi breezily. “Happy to share them with the village insurer.” She brushed away the soot which had magically appeared on her shoulders and tried her best to look sympathetic. “A lot of valuable equipment lost, I expect?”
“Not at all. A bunch of charred old rubbish,” snapped Bonnie. “Which is exactly what you look like.”
“Oh?” said Jodi. Shit, there was even soot in her hair. She probably looked like a chimneysweep. “Then probably a fire hazard.” She pursed her lips.
Bonnie’s eyes were daggers. “Don’t be ridiculous! I see where you are going! I can tell you, Ms. Nosy, that the only things inside were a bunch of decrepit tools and a few bottles of weed killer and anti-mold, and some old camping stuff.”
She stepped closer. “If you use those photos in that dreadful rag or quote a single thing I have said, my father will sue you so fast and so hard that you will lose every financial asset you have...I most certainly did not give you permission—”
“Organic?” Alma piped up. Bonnie blinked. “Organic, natural pesticides that don’t kill the birds? Some chemicals are poisoning the planet. We learned about this in school. You see, the birds eat—”
Bonnie’s voice was cold. “Thank you but I know what birds eat. Everything we use here is designed to protect the environment as well as our dear residents.”
She turned back to Jodi. Her gaze was calculating. “Disgusting burned out sheds are not the only thing you’re sniffing around, Jodi Ruskin,” she hissed.
Jodi’s skin prickled, and not just from the grit working its way down her spine. Bonnie zeroed in, oblivious to Alma’s lecture and the fascinated attention of Rev. Bob Ruskin, plus a couple of women in tracksuits carrying tennis racquets who had slowed down to watch.
“My impeccable sources tell me that local hero Ricky Sharp hasn’t come home to be a good son like he claims. So sad, what happened to him in New York City. Dreadful. And what a terrible way to find out the truth.” She shook her head.
Much as she wanted to walk away, Jodi was transfixed. She wanted to blurt out that she knew all about the fire thanks very much, and that Ricky had been the one to find Chrissie Caitens’ body, but the words stuck in her throat.
Bonnie’s last words hung in the silence.
The truth?
Bonnie continued. “And if I’m honest, I’ve got to say that Ricky has not shown a lot of gratitude for the folks who have tried to help by giving him a job and being a support.” She mimed zipping up her mouth. “But some of us know how to keep a secret.”
Alma, meanwhile, was clearly running out of content. “And don’t forget about the whales, they eat those teeny fish that start with a ‘k’ ...”
Jodi swallowed. She ignored the cold weight which had settled in her chest and pulled out her phone.
“Whoa! Is that the time? Gotta get this young lady here to her...ah...next thing.” She blew a kiss in the direction of her grandfather, who winked, and grabbed Alma’s hand.
“Thanks Bonnie,” Jodi trilled brightly. She headed off towards the parking lot at a sharp clip. “You’ve been a great help!”
A couple of minutes later they dived into the Miata, giggling as though they had been chased across a field by a large and angry bull. Jodi couldn’t resist pulling out her phone while Alma buckled up.
“Excellent,” she muttered, flicking through the photos. “Just a bunch of junk, but it’s the principle. A free press is what it’s all about Alma. Remember that.”
She checked for geriatric traffic and eased out into the road.
“Nice work, by the way,” Jodi said admiringly. She snuck a lightning glance at her small passenger. “We make a good team.”
Alma grinned. “Thanks. Though I couldn’t remember the name of those fish that the whales eat. You know, Ms. Stokes says that they are disappearing from the oceans because of overfishing?”
Jodi snorted. “Krill.” Her giggle turned into slightly hysterical laughter. “ Don’t forget the whales .”
She negotiated the back lanes until they hit the main road. Bonnie’s words hovered in the back of her mind, but Jodi ruthlessly kept them at bay.
Point scoring. A stab in the dark. There was no way that Bonnie Browning could resist telling a secret if she did indeed have one to share.
“So,” said Alma cheerfully. “Since I’m one of the team, then we should look at the evidence together at your place.”
“You think so?” Jodi forced a smile. “Maybe. But I don’t think the photos will be all that interesting.”
The little girl’s shrug was more teenage than eight-year-old. “What about the stuff I found in the bushes? That could be evidence, couldn’t it?”
Jodi steered the car into the parking garage and turned off the engine.
“Like what?” she asked, expecting a pocketful of ice cream wrappers or some empty tablet blister packs. She sincerely hoped that those were the worst things you could find in the bushes of a retirement home.
They walked together to the stairs, and Jodi began worrying about how to wash soot from her clothes. Would the smell ever come out?
“Like this.” Alma stopped. She slid her small hand into her jeans pocket and pulled out something small and square.
“Some naughty nana or grandpa has been smoking,” she said seriously.
Jodi stared at the now familiar, tatty object in the small palm. Cosimo’s pizza store must have given away a lot of matchbooks.
***
R icky didn’t finish sorting through the mess and muck in the garden shed until late afternoon. Bonnie had hung around for the first half hour, chatting away as he pulled on his protective gear and carried out bags of sooty items.
He hadn’t answered, other than the odd grunt, partly because keeping up a conversation while wearing an industrial mask was close to impossible, and partly because he really didn’t want to engage on the subject of those wicked foster boys and their destructive ways.
Not to mention that sneaky and totally unprofessional Jodi Ruskin, who had bulldozed her way into taking photos of the crime scene. Bonnie’s bosom heaved with outrage.
Could Ricky imagine, such a nerve!
Yep , thought Ricky stolidly. He could imagine that .
He had some sympathy with Bonnie, in fact, about Jodi turning up early and then trampling over the crime scene, but Ricky wasn’t about to share his views.
Bonnie finally gave up. She hurried away with her phone clamped to her ear.
“Perhaps a quick drink in the Sunset Bar later?” she threw over her shoulder, waving in the direction of the charming indoor/outdoor bar next to the village restaurant.
“Mywhff,” Ricky grunted. He hoped that Bonnie would correctly interpret this as “Sorry, way too busy with urgent firefighter stuff, my mom is expecting me home for early dinner...” and not a “Maybe, gorgeous”.
His spirits were at rock bottom by the time he had stored the bags in the truck and stripped off his protective gear. He recognized lumps of pizza boxes, the acrid tang of printer fluid...but without specialist gear, it was impossible to tell how the fire had started.
His phone buzzed. Jodi appeared on Facetime. Her face bobbed around as she moved out to the patio.
“Hey Ricky,” she began brightly. “Can you come around—” Her nose twitched. He could tell she was trying not to laugh. “Did Bonnie rub your face in the dirt? She was very big on that back in third grade.”
Ricky switched the view and caught sight of his black-streaked face.
“Shit.” He rubbed at the spot on his nose and succeeded in spreading it to his cheek. “Not Bonnie this time, I’m happy to say. But if you want a lead on a story about the crap firefighting equipment at the Temple Mountain Fire Department, then consider me Deep Throat. I think those protective overalls had an expiration date before the millennium.”
He switched back to see Jodi and caught a flash of dark blond hair and a brief close-up of her narrow nose as she settled into a chair.
“I heard that you had already been out at the village. At the scene of the crime, no less.” He kept his voice level.
Jodi’s eyes skittered away briefly. “About that...Alma’s therapist cancelled, and she was really keen to see Gramps, so we...got there a bit early. And then things kind of took on a life of their own. I’m sorry.”
Ricky nodded. He guessed there was no rule that said a journalist had to wait for his permission before she took a few photos, even if she had indeed stepped over the crime tape as Bonnie insisted.
The phone bounced around again as she moved, and he caught a glimpse of greenery and a snatch of birdsong. Then Jodi’s ear, up close, and finally her face again.
“There is nothing I’d like better than to join you on that patio,” he said truthfully. “But I urgently need a shower. I smell like an ashtray that hasn’t been emptied in years. And I’m sure some of those spiders managed to creep into my boots.”
She looked away, twirling a lock of hair.
“This is not just a social call,” she said quietly.
Ricky’s spirits took another dive. He cursed his foolish heart.
“Of course. Yeah. Understand.” His voice was suddenly brisk. “So tomorrow morning? Your office? I should be fit for human company by then.”
She paused, choosing her words.
“I found something today that you need to see.”
That was definitely a guilty face. His expression tightened.
“You searched the crime scene—the taped-off crime scene—and removed evidence?” he ground out.
His mind began spinning with potential implications. None of them good.
“No,” she said patiently. “To both questions. I took photos, that’s it. However, my clever assistant Alma found something in the bushes nearby that she did...ah...put in her pocket. So this is me informing the appropriate authorities of that find and offering to hand it over like the good citizen and journalist that I am.”
There was silence. Ricky stared at his phone, only now noticing that the late afternoon light had faded into darkness. The reception area of the village still blazed with light, and he had the uncomfortable thought that Bonnie Browning was in her office, peering through the blinds so she could catch him before he left.
He started the truck, just as a shadow crossed behind the blinds.
“Five minutes.” He ended the call and peeled out of the parking lot.
***
“S o what does an old matchbook prove? That the pizza shop in Seneca Falls gave out so many freebies that they are still circulating in the old folks’ home?”
“But Silas told us that they found the boys’ stash three months ago. So, they didn’t leave that matchbook. Someone else did. Someone who wants to incriminate the twins.” Jodi tried to remain patient.
“Maybe.” Frustrated, Ricky ran his fingers through his damp hair, which now stood up in dark spikes. “None of this is evidence. Especially when the so-called evidence has been removed from the scene.”
Jodi bristled, though she knew he was right. Any first-year journalism student knew that much basic law. She ruthlessly squashed a warm buzz of pleasure that Ricky had showered at her place and seemed to be making himself right at home.
And in spite of her determination to stay on task, to keep things purely professional, the worm of suspicion planted by Bonnie would not be dismissed.
Ricky was stretched out on the lounger, feet crossed and a cider in his hand.
Maybe she should ask him straight out. Jodi looked up from drawing circles in the condensation on the coffee table and realized he was waiting.
“There are a couple of possibilities. Just because the boys pocketed a couple of packets doesn’t mean that there aren’t more matchbooks out there. Maybe everyone in town still has a bunch from the pizza place in their top drawer. And, well a lot of folks do collect stuff...”
Ricky’s gaze was thoughtful. “Coincidence? Conspiracy? Collusion?”
Jodi rolled her eyes. “This is not helping, is it?” she said sadly. She peeled at the label of her cider bottle, frowning at a chipped nail. This whole mess, and that included Ricky Sharp, was ruining her carefully curated life.
“I’m sorry, but a matchbook in the bushes doesn’t rule the boys in or out.” His sudden smile made her treacherous heart flip flop like a teenager. “But I agree. Too many coincidences.”
He put his cider on the table and sat up, pulling his jacket close. He shook his head at her offer to move inside out of the chill.
“I’m enjoying the fresh air!” He closed his eyes, and she took the opportunity to study his face. The grim expression he’d been wearing since he arrived had relaxed.
“That shed was pretty bad,” she said softly. Some instinct warned her to tread softly. “Do you ever get used to that smell?”
A brief flash of something like pain crossed Ricky’s face. He opened his eyes and forced a smile. “Smelled much worse. Comes with the job.”
He gazed out over the back yards and skeletal trees, and she wondered what he was really seeing.
Chill air snaked down her spine and she went inside and grabbed the well-worn quilt on the sofa.
“You have it,” said Ricky with a smile. “Are those goosebumps on your arms?”
Goosebumps, sure, but not from cold.
Jodie wrapped one end around her shoulders and, acting on impulse, offered Ricky the other end. He scooted a chair over until they were elbow to elbow. He draped the quilt around her shoulders and pulled the other end around him, creating a warm cocoon.
She sipped her cider. Her throat was suddenly so dry that she couldn’t speak.
“Let’s not forget the printer fluid.” His shoulder was hard against hers, and she resisted the instinct to wipe away a drop of water rolling down his neck from his damp curls.
Ricky continued. “The recent fires were all started by the same method. A pretty sophisticated method, but not beyond anyone who knows how to internet search. From what I can tell, thanks to Dougie Moon who helpfully did my job for me there, the previous fires were much more of the amateur, spur-of-the-moment variety.”
“The ones that the twins admitted to starting,” supplied Jodi. “And remember the pizza boxes. They belong to the recent fires.”
He nodded.
It was getting harder to focus.
“Did you...um...find any pizza boxes in the shed?” she managed.
They were barely inches apart. Close enough to smell her own shampoo on his skin, see the amber flecks in his eyes, and discover the small scar on his cheekbone. A shiver that was nothing to do with the weather tingled across Jodi’s shoulders.
“Why do you always wear your hair up?”
“Huh? Oh.” Her hands flew to her head, and she fiddled with the pins, aware that her cheeks were pink. The quilt dropped away, and cold air stung her hot face. She wanted to say that that was none of his business, or to make some flirty throwaway remark.
But Jodi knew that she wasn’t good at flirting, so she told the bald truth.
“Some visitors still assume that I’m the receptionist when they walk through the office door. I guess I’m trying to channel a little Ruth Bader Ginsburg.”
He nodded thoughtfully.
“I know about the fire. About Chrissie.” The words popped out before she could stop them.
His eyes flared with surprise. Then he shrugged. “So you know I’m on extended leave. No secret. Spending some time with my folks.”
Neither one had moved, and yet the distance between them had become a chasm.
He glanced at her and continued. “It’s not something that I’ve been able to talk about. We kick-butt firefighters are better at running around with axes and climbing ladders than we are at talking about our feelings. But I’m working on it.” He cocked an eyebrow and attempted a roguish smile. “There’s a sensitive new age guy underneath this hard-boiled exterior.”
Jodi squeezed his hand briefly. The silence lengthened until she knew with painful certainty that there was indeed more to this story. Fair’s fair, she thought. One personal question deserved another.
“But that’s not the only reason you are here Ricky.”
She made it sound like a statement, but both of them knew better.
Ricky’s expression seemed to close down like a shopkeeper pulling the window blinds. He stared at her through hooded eyes, and his face was suddenly that of a stranger. An adult man with little or no connection to the boy she had kissed in the pantry. He was bigger, stronger, and life had hardened him in ways she could never imagine.
“An investigation,” he said slowly. Jodi’s eyes narrowed, and he huffed out a laugh. “Nothing official. A...personal matter.”
Jodi felt as though she had been slapped, hard. He reached for her hand under the quilt and squeezed.
“But I—” he began.
The rest of the sentence was cut short by the buzz of his phone. He dropped the quilt and rummaged around in his pocket.
“Ricky,” he said shortly. Jodi heard what sounded like an elderly male voice on the other end. Ricky’s languid pose disappeared. His face tightened. He threw her a quick glance.
“I’ll be there in fifteen.”
He stood tall and looked down at Jodi. Every line of his body quivered with tension.
Her eyes widened. “Are you all right? Has something happened? Your father...?”
He shook his head abruptly. “No, nothing like that,” he said in a clipped voice. “Something...has come up on...the other case I’m working on.” He went to pick up the empty bottle.
“The personal investigation.” Jodi dredged up a cool smile. “Don’t worry, leave all that Ricky. We were done here anyway.”
She drained her own bottle and tried not to think about the pizza she had already taken out of the freezer to slip in the oven. Looked like she would be eating pizza for a few nights to come.
Jodi hooked the bottles with one hand and grabbed the quilt with the other. Ricky slid the patio door shut behind her.
“Jodi. I wasn’t planning on leaving but—”
She cut him off. A little voice reminded her that this was the way it was always going to be. Ricky had his own agenda, of course he did, and so did she.
“I’ve got a pile of work to do,” she said breezily. “My regular workload hasn’t disappeared just because I’ve disappeared down a rabbit hole in search of the firebug.”
His voice was quiet. “I’m looking for someone. Someone young and vulnerable who needs me.”
Jodi was barely listening. She had the front door open and her game face firmly attached. Even her mother Lucy-May, the globe-trotting socialite, could not have gotten rid of an unwanted guest so quickly.
“Then you must be on your way,” Jodi purred. She closed the door on his surprised face.