Man With A Mission. Muriel Jensen

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СКАЧАТЬ her, he tried, “Thank you.”

      She sighed and walked to the door, turning to say grimly, “Well, at least you learned ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’ I’ll be right back.”

      If she were kidnapped by aliens, Lord, he prayed, falling into his chair to soak up the moment’s respite, friendly ones, you know, that play Bingo and have Ibuprofen and mentholated rubs readily available, I could deal with it. She’d be happy. I’d be happy. No, I know. No such luck. I have to learn to cope with her. And with seeing Jackie regularly, too, I suppose. Fine. But just wait until St. Anthony’s needs a microphone for the Blessings Blow-Out auction. See what happens then.

      Hank opened the single drawer in the table to retrieve his Palm Pilot when the room fell into complete darkness.

      He sat still, experiencing a sense of foreboding. Faulty ancient wiring, he wondered, or God responding to being threatened?

      CHAPTER THREE

      JACKIE INSERTED HER KEY in the lock on the front door of her home two blocks from downtown, grateful that her assistant manager had all the night shifts at the inn this week. She anticipated a cozy dinner with the girls and a peaceful evening. That did happen more often than not—at least, it used to—but she knew the moment she opened the door and heard screeching voices that it wasn’t going to happen tonight.

      She heard the baby-sitter’s quiet efforts to calm the girls. They seemed to be having no effect.

      With a wistful wish for a different life—any other life, at least for tonight—Jackie dropped her coat and purse on the nearest chair and hurried toward the kitchen, where the melee was taking place.

      “I can’t believe you did that!” Erica was shrieking at Rachel, who faced her down stubbornly, bony arms folded atop a flowered dress Jackie had never seen before. The fabric looked familiar, though. “It was mine!” she said, her voice high and shrill and almost hysterical.

      Ricky had been a casual father at best, sometimes attentive but more often unaware of his children, caught up with the pressures of his work and his own needs. But the children, of course, had grieved his loss. Erica had turned from a happy, cheerful child to a moody one. Rachel seemed less affected personally, except that she wanted details about death and heaven and didn’t seem to be satisfied with Jackie’s explanation. “Mom bought it for me! You’re such a selfish little brat! I hate you, hate you!” With that Erica flung herself at Rachel.

      Jackie ran to intercept her just as Glory Anselmo caught Erica from behind and held her away. Glory was in her second year at Maple Hill Community College’s computer classroom program. She played volleyball in her spare time and was built like a rock. A very pretty brunette rock.

      “Erica Isabel!” Jackie said, pushing Rachel aside with one hand while catching one of Erica’s flailing fists with the other. Erica was dark-featured, tall and slender, built like her father’s side of the family. Rachel was petite like Jackie, and blond. Both seemed to have inherited personality traits from some long-lost connection to the Mongol hordes. “Take it back.”

      “I won’t! Look at what she did to my pillowcase!”

      “I made it beautiful!” Rachel extended her arms and did an end-of-the-runway turn. That was when Jackie realized she’d cut a hole for her head and two armholes in Erica’s pillowcase, the one patterned with cabbage roses and violets, and was wearing it like a dress. She’d added a white silk cord that also looked familiar.

      Jackie groaned. Glory, she could see, was having a little difficulty keeping a straight face. It was funny, Jackie had to admit to herself, if you weren’t the one required to make peace.

      Glory caught Jackie’s expression and sobered, still holding on to Erica. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Bourgeois,” she said. “I should have checked on Rachel. She was being really quiet.”

      Rachel, who had brains beyond her years and an almost scary sense of style in everything she did, said, “I was quiet ’cause I was…what’s that word for when you get a really good idea and you just have to do it?”

      “Inspired?” Jackie guessed.

      Rachel smiled widely, delighted that she understood. “That’s it!”

      “Well, I think you should be inspired to give Erica your pillowcase,” Jackie ruled. “It’s fine to be inspired, but you don’t try out your designs using someone else’s things.”

      “Please.” Erica clearly loathed the idea. “It has pigs and ducks on it. I think she should clean my room for a year!”

      “No way!” Rachel shouted.

      “Then she’ll pay you the amount of the pillowcase out of her savings,” Jackie arbitrated, “so you can buy a new one.”

      Rachel pouted. She was also frugal.

      The tension eased somewhat, Glory freed Erica’s arms.

      “Now take back the ‘I hate you,’” Jackie insisted.

      Erica looked her mother in the eye. “But I do hate her.”

      That cold-blooded admission might have chilled someone who hadn’t seen Erica defend Rachel from the neighborhood bully who’d tried to take Rachel’s candy bar just two days ago. The fact that Erica had demanded half the candy bar in payment for her protection didn’t really figure into it. Rachel understood commerce.

      “No, you don’t.” Jackie touched Erica’s hot cheeks. She was a very physical child and touch usually soothed her. “You’re just too young to understand the difference between frustration and hatred. What’s our rule about hate?”

      Erica gave her a dark look but repeated dutifully, “We can hate things, but not people.”

      “So?”

      “So, I take it back,” Erica conceded ungraciously, “but if she messes with my stuff again, even if I don’t hate her, I’ll…” She hesitated. Jackie also had rules against violence or threats of violence. “I’ll let Frankie Morton take all her candy!” Frankie Morton was the bully.

      Rachel ran upstairs in tears.

      Jackie grinned over Erica’s head at Glory. “Want to stay for dinner? Promises to be eventful.”

      Glory acknowledged the joke with a nod. “Thanks, but I’m meeting a friend.”

      “It’s a guy friend,” Erica informed Jackie. “They met at the library. But tonight he’s taking her to dinner.”

      Jackie was happy to hear that. Glory worked so hard that she seldom had time for dating. “Anyone we know?”

      “I don’t think so,” Glory replied, gathering up her things off one of the kitchen chairs. “His name’s Jimmy Elliott. He works for Mr. Whitcomb. He’s a fireman and fixes furnaces when he’s off.”

      “Oh.” The mention of Hank’s name darkened her already precarious mood.

      Glory, purse over her shoulder and books in her arms, asked worriedly, “Is that bad?”

      “Of course not.” Jackie walked СКАЧАТЬ