Good Girls Do (8 page)

“Un-huh.” Julia’s attention was wandering to where her mother and sister were huddled together—studying the contents of her fridge and shaking their heads. Not a good sign.

“I heard a rumor that you might be using the llamas as prognosticators. Does that mean that if there’s a gas leak or something, that they’d die first and alert us? Like canaries in the coal mines?”

“No. The groundhog is a prognosticator, foretelling the future weather.”

“And llamas can do that sort of thing, too? Tell us if we’re going to have a longer winter?”

“That’s a possibility I’m investigating.”

“Well, that’s exciting, dear. It may well be an advantage for us to have in our efforts regarding the Best Small Towns in America judges. I wonder if any other towns have llamas like that?”

“I’m going to have my mother research that on the Internet.”

“I wanted to take a course about the Internet, but it was full by the time I registered.”

“That’s too bad.” Julia waved her mother and sister away from her fridge, but they ignored her and opened a large garbage bag instead. “Listen, Mrs. Selznick, I’ve got to go now.”

“Okay.”

“Please let me know when you speak to your cousin and pass on my sympathies to him. Good-bye.”

The instant she hung up the phone, Julia raced over to protect her food. “What are you doing?” She grabbed a container of Cool Whip from her mother’s hands. “Put that back!”

“It’s full of chemicals. And artificial sweeteners.”

“I don’t care.”

“Well, I do.” Angel yanked the container away from her and dropped it into the garbage bag that was already half-full. “Your body is a temple. You should honor it by only allowing pure foods to enter.”

Julia stood spread-eagle in front of her open fridge, her hands gripping the edges.

“Step away from my refrigerator!” she ordered them both. Her kick-butt Carmen Diaz personality was back.

“Now, Julia, we’re only doing this for your own good,” Angel said in a soothing voice.

Skye was blunter. “The chemicals in all this processed food have clearly messed up your mind.”

No, Skye and Angel were doing that. They were the ones messing up her mind.

“This is my house, and you’ve got no right to tell me what I can have in my own fridge.” There, she’d made her stand. Drew her line in the sand. Made her feelings known.

Two seconds later, Toni walked up and bit Julia right above her kneecap.

“Ow!” Julia had to hop away from the fridge over to a chair, where she sat and stared at the set of teethmarks on her skin.

Angel shook her head. “You see, even a small child realizes that this food is bad for you and should be removed.”

Julia stared at her in disbelief. “She bit me!”

Angel shrugged. “Her way of communicating to you that you were behaving inappropriately.”

“Me? She’s the one doing damage. I told you, no biting.” Julia fixed Toni with her best librarian stare.

Toni responded by sticking out her tongue at her. “I don’t like you.”

“I don’t like you, either.”

“That’s not nice,” Angel told Julia.

“She started it,” Julia muttered.

How had she ended up like this, bitten and battered, so quickly? Her family hadn’t even been in town for twenty-four hours, and already she’d been reduced to arguing with a child who could give that shark from
Jaws
a run for his money.

All in all, it was a sad state of affairs and one she resolved to get under control—right after she went to the store and got more Cool Whip. First things first.

“Are you Luke Maguire?” a nun asked him.

He eyed her suspiciously. He wouldn’t put it past the loco mayor to have called in religious experts to perform an exorcism on him, so he wasn’t really eager to identify himself without additional intel. “Who wants to know?”

“I do.” She extended her hand and gave him an unexpectedly firm handshake. “I’m Sister Mary with the Sisters of the Poor Charities from over in Rock Creek.”

“Oh, right.” Luke remembered belatedly that he’d called them first thing this morning and been told everything would be picked up between four and five. “The stuff is all upstairs. I’ll show you and then you can have the guys move it.”

“There are no guys. There’s just me and Sister Margaret.” She tilted her head toward the beanpole tall nun beside her.

Neither woman was what you’d call athletic . . . or young.

“That won’t work.”

Sister Mary’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean there’s too much heavy furniture and other stuff for the two of you to carry it.”

“I can assure you that Sister Margaret and I have hauled plenty of heavy items into the truck before.”

Luke frowned at that news. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d set foot in a church, but still . . . Nuns and little old ladies deserved certain courtesies. “It’s not right.”

“Well, perhaps not, but volunteers are hard to come by these days.”

“You’re telling me you can’t round up a few guys to do the heavy lifting?”

“Are you telling me you’re volunteering to assist us?”

Luke hesitated. The plan was for the charity to haul the stuff out without him having to deal with it or see it again.

“I didn’t think so,” the nun noted briskly. “Come along, Sister Margaret.”

Luke put his hand out. “Hang on. For God’s sake . . .”

She fixed him with a steely glare. “Do not take the Lord’s name in vain, young man.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll go round up some guys. Give me a few minutes.”

“You’re welcome to try. Meanwhile, Sister Margaret and I will go on up and see what is involved.”

“Don’t lift anything heavy,” Luke warned them.

It was Sunday. Who could he get?

He checked with Adele. She’d know what to do.

“Try Big Al a few doors down,” she suggested. “He owns Cosmic Comics and should be closing up about now. I’ll contact Tyler and see if he can come over.”

The CLOSED sign hung on the door of Cosmic Comics, but the lights were still on so Luke banged on the door.

“Open up!” His years in the FBI guaranteed that the order was obeyed. But not happily.

“We’re closed,” a big black guy growled.

Luke actually had to look up to meet his eyes. The guy was a giant. He had to stand at least six-foot-five and weigh more than three hundred pounds. He had the build of someone who’d spent plenty of time doing physical labor, and he reminded Luke of that actor from
The Green Mile
—another bear of a man.

“You Big Al?”

“Who wants to know?” he repeated Luke’s earlier words.

“Me and the Sisters of the Poor Charities.”

“Look, I give to United Way once a year, and that’s it.” He went to close the door again, the overhead lights shining on his smoothly shaved bald head.

“No, wait.” Luke shoved his foot in the doorway. “I need your help.”

“And you are?”

“Luke Maguire.”

“The new owner of Maguire’s?”

“Yeah.”

“So?”

“So I’ve got these two nuns at my place—”

“Whoa man, I’m not into those two nuns, a rabbi, and a priest walked into a bar jokes.”

“I’m serious. I need help carrying some furniture out to their truck.”

“Whose truck?”

“The nuns’.”

“Since when do nuns drive a truck?” His look turned increasingly suspicious. “Is this some kind of Halloween scam?”

“No, look, I’m donating a bunch of furniture to this charity for the needy. Only they don’t have anyone to carry it. I need another set of hands, Big Al.”

“The name’s Algee Washington,” he said. “Only buddies are allowed to call me Big Al.”

“Sorry. Adele sent me over.”

“Well, hell, why didn’t you say so in the first place? I’d do anything for her. Let me just grab my keys and set the alarm.” A second later, he’d switched off the lights and joined Luke on the sidewalk. “Lead me to the nuns.”

Of course the two sisters hadn’t obeyed Luke’s orders, and he and Algee walked into the upstairs apartment to find the nuns struggling at either end of a table. “Put that down,” Luke ordered.

They obeyed. “I’m sorry. We thought all the furniture in this room was being donated.”

“It is, but I told you two not to carry anything heavy.”

“Which is why we didn’t pick up the couch,” Sister Mary retorted in exasperation.

“Allow me to assist you, sisters,” Algee said with enough charm to stop an elephant in its tracks.

Sister Margaret giggled like a schoolgirl but Sister Mary kept her mind on business, directing them all with efficient orders.

Tyler showed up a few minutes later. Even with Algee and Tyler’s help, it still took more than an hour to move all the stuff out.

“You sure you don’t want this talking mackerel?” Algee asked.

Luke nodded. “Positive.”

“And the beer collection? Seems the perfect thing for a tavern to have.”

Luke shot him one of his don’t-give-me-any-more-crap looks, one of several things he’d picked up in the Marine Corps. “The point is to get rid of this junk, not try in vain to talk me into keeping it.”

“You could probably get good money for this beer can collection on eBay,” Algee added.

“Hear that sisters?” Luke pointed to the three boxes. “You can get good money for the beer can collection on eBay. Go for it.”

“Excellent idea,” Sister Mary said before turning to Tyler. “We have warm meals at the shelter in Rock Springs if you need any assistance.”

“He just looks homeless, but he’s not,” Algee said on Tyler’s behalf.

“He’s probably socking all his money into some investment portfolio on the stock market,” Luke said.

“Is that true?” Obviously not one to be distracted from a possible noble cause, Sister Mary laid her hand on Tyler’s arm, right above a tear in his flannel shirt.

“I’m not investing in the stock market.” Tyler’s voice sounded rusty. “Don’t worry about me, sister. There are plenty of folks worse off than I am.”

“If you ever want to talk . . .”

“I’m not one for much talking,” Tyler said curtly.

Sister Mary nodded her understanding and removed her hand. “If you should change your mind, here’s my card.” She handed it to him. “The offer goes for you, too, Luke.”

He frowned, not at all pleased to be lumped in the same category as Tyler.

But Luke still retained enough of a trace of manners not to reject the card the nun handed him. “I don’t need any help,” he said. “I just want to get rid of all this junk, that’s all.”

“Ridding yourself of the material goods doesn’t mean you’ll rid yourself of the memories,” Sister Mary said.

The knowing look in her eyes remained with Luke long after she’d left, making him feel guilty for tossing the card she’d given him . . . but not preventing him from pitching it anyway.

“Trick
or treat!”

Angel smiled at the young girl standing on the doorstep. “And who are you supposed to be?”

“Cinderella.”

“Really?” Angel bent down so she was eye-level with her. “Did you know that Cinderella actually went into the shoe business? She designed footwear that was environmentally friendly and didn’t harm any animals. So obviously leather was out. Her business was so successful that she bailed out the king and queen, who’d driven the kingdom’s economy into the ground with huge deficits caused by their excessive lifestyle. In return, Cinderella demanded free elections so every citizen could participate in the selection of their government. The Green Party won and opened the palace to everyone. And that’s the way to get a happy ending.” Angel paused to reach for a bowl.

The self-proclaimed Cinderella eyed it suspiciously. “What’s that?”

“Organic apples.”

“Yuck. Where’s the candy?”

“Candy is poison.”

The little girl’s eyes widened. “Poison? You mean like what the witch gave Sleeping Beauty?”

“Of course not. And they prefer to be called Wiccans, not witches. Speaking of Sleeping Beauty, we’ve got a spinning wheel on display in the front yard. Did you see?”

“The witch had one of those.”

“That was all a big mistake. Actually, she taught Sleeping Beauty how to spin the most beautiful things so she could be self-sufficient and not dependend on some prince to support her or rescue her. Soon SB, as she was known in the business world, had an entire line of scarves and sweaters all woven out of the finest natural fibers. Hey, where are you going?”

“To find candy,” the little girl stated in disgust.

 

 

Julia returned home from a long day at the library only to be almost mowed down by a mini-Cinderella tearing down the front sidewalk as if the hounds of hell were after her. She appeared more aggravated than frightened, however.

“What are you doing?” Julia asked Angel the minute she reached the front door.

“Greeting the trick-or-treaters.”

“Where’s the candy I asked you to hand out?”

Angel shuddered. “I threw it away, of course.”

“Then what are you giving the kids when they come to the door?”

“Knowledge and organic apples.” She held out the bowl so Julia could check it out.

But Julia wasn’t that interested in the fruit at the moment. “What kind of knowledge?”

“That witches aren’t bad. And you’d be amazed how many children don’t know the real story about Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty.”

Julia sighed as she removed her coat and put it on one of the wooden pegs on the wall. “None of them know it, because you made it up.”

“So did the male chauvanists who wrote the fairy tales in the first place.” Angel planted her hands on her hips, which were covered by one of the filmy skirts she favored in colorful Indian cotton. “They made it up, so why can’t I? Especially since I’m improving on the original story, which only perpetuates the myth of a woman’s dependency on a man for happiness.”