Читать книгу Mixed Up with the Mob - Ginny Aiken - Страница 9

Lauren ran to Mark’s side. “Hush, honey. It’s okay. It’s Mr. Latham’s job to ask questions, even—” she shot David a poisonous glare “—nasty ones.”

By then, David did feel as nasty as dog slobber and even less welcome. He went to defend himself, but Mark proved quicker to the draw.

“You gotta go do time-out in the corner, mister.” He pointed toward the back of the room. “That’s what Miss Green does at school.”

David took the chance to lighten the moment. “So Miss Green spends lots of time standing in the corner. Wow, Mark. She must sure be a greeny-meany.”

For a heartbeat, the boy seemed to weigh the sincerity of David’s joke. But David saw victory at the quirking of Mark’s mouth. Then he burst into a full-blown grin.

“Hey, Aunt Lauren! He made a good funny.”

“Yes, Mark. He did.”

The look she sent David this time made him feel too many things, too many to identify at once. Yes, she saw the humor in his dopey comment, which made him ridiculously proud of himself. But she didn’t trust him any more than she would an angry rattler, which for some reason made him want to prove himself—to the subject of an investigation. Go figure.

And she hadn’t forgiven his blunt and hurtful questions. Questions he still needed answered.

He sighed. He couldn’t very well badger her with the boy in the room. He’d lost his opportunity, and he’d have to bide his time. Because the opportunity would arise again. He’d make sure of it.

He rose. “I see I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

“Hey!” Mark cried. “Aren’t you gonna stand in the corner?”

The boy’s frown broadcast what he thought of David shirking punishment.

“Ah…sure,” he backpedaled. “I’ll check out the corner of my office. And I will think about all those nasty questions I asked.”

Two pairs of green eyes studied him, very different messages in them.

“You gonna ask ’em again?” The boy’s wisdom caught David by surprise.

Lauren smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile. “Oh, I’m sure he won’t, Mark. He’s going to come up with new, nastier ones, I’m afraid.”

The boy planted his fists on his slim hips. “You’re gonna spend lots a time in time-out then, mister. You better like your corner a whole bunch.”

David’s cheeks tingled again. “From the mouths of babes…”

“Let me show you out, Mr. Latham.” Lauren’s otherwise polite voice had that nip back again. “Mark and I are busy this afternoon, and we must get ready.”

The boy’s eyes grew big and round. “We are?”

“Of course, we are.” A touch of pink brightened her creamy cheeks. “We’re going to the library.”

“Sudden need for a good book, huh?”

Her chin tipped up, and she strode to the front door. “Always. Reading is an absolute necessity, Mr. Latham. You’d be surprised by how many take the ability to read for granted and don’t even make use of it.”

A blast of frigid air rushed in the open doorway—it matched the temperature of her voice as she added, “It’s by far the best road to true wisdom.”

“Hmm…and here I thought that road ran through God’s Word.”

“And how does one access the Father’s Word, Mr. Latham?”

“Touché!” He stepped past her and into the cold. “But there is one thing you really, really have to do—or stop doing.”

He didn’t let her ask. “It’s that Mr. Latham thing, okay? I keep looking over my shoulder to see if my dad’s standing somewhere behind me. My name’s David, okay?”

She shrugged. “I’m hoping not to have to use either one again.”

“Ouch!” He struck a theatrical pose with a hand over his heart. “You wound me so, Miss DiStefano. And me, a poor wandering soldier on a mission.”

Her snort caught him off guard. “Someone’s called you charming much too often, but you won’t charm me. I’ve seen you at work.”

“Which is where I need to be,” he conceded. “Have a good afternoon at the library. See ya, Mark!”

The little boy turned to his aunt. When she nodded, he faced David. “Bye, Mr. Latham.”

David loped down the front steps, careful to avoid globs of heavy slush here and there. He knew trouble when he saw it; he could lose his heart to the little fellow.

Once in his car, he looked back at the mansion, and caught the curtain’s movement in the front window. He hadn’t seen her, but he didn’t need to. He knew Lauren had watched him get into his car.

Something about that woman intrigued him.

And it had nothing to do with her brother. Or her nephew. Not even his job.

David’s gut told him he was in trouble—big trouble.

He started to pray.

After she told David she and Mark were library-bound, Lauren couldn’t not go. Although she came up with the idea as a way to get the man out of the house, she often did take Mark to Story Hour in the children’s section. It was an every-afternoon event at their small local branch, so her nephew didn’t need much of an explanation.

While the children were busy, Lauren usually satisfied her hunger for fresh reading material. She read all the time—even the jokes and stories on the back of a cereal box made do in a pinch. But that day Lauren just wandered the racks. She didn’t bother to search for anything. She couldn’t focus on her surroundings.

What had really happened on that dark, slushy street? In that moment when the car hurtled toward her, she saw a face she knew almost as well as her own. But it couldn’t have been Ric. And now she had to wonder if stress really had taken over her common sense, as she’d told David.

Her brother’s death had come as a complete shock. True, Ric had been a lot older, but he’d also been in her world her entire life. As a child, she’d always seen him as the hero brother any little girl could want. He’d spoiled her, treated her like a princess. But then he’d finished high school, headed to college, and she’d been left behind.

She hardly ever saw him after that. Sure, she was in his wedding, she visited when Mark was born, but other than that and the occasional holiday, as years went by, theirs became a card-here-and-there relationship. That’s why, after her parents’ deaths, and then that of her sister-in-law, when Ric called and asked if she’d be willing to devote herself to little Mark, she hadn’t hesitated.

“Aunt Lauren, Aunt Lauren!”

She turned, saw him and the other Story Hour kids burst from the room like a circus of fleas run amok.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Uh-huh.”

On the way home, Lauren bought a copy of the evening paper. She did have to start that job hunt. The words of the headmistress at her former school lingered in the back of her mind. “You’ll always have a position here, Lauren. We want you back.”

But to get to that school she had to drive all the way across town. She didn’t think it would be in Mark’s best interest to uproot him from the preschool he liked so much just because she had to commute to work. She hoped to find something closer to home.

If she managed to hang on to the home.

But gloom and doom wouldn’t get her anywhere, so she turned to the Lord in prayer. She asked for wisdom, for strength, for guidance. She couldn’t see how she was going to pull it all off, but she had faith the Father would see her through.

At home, she made a simple meal of grilled chicken, salad and savory seasoned rice. She watched a children’s video with Mark, listened to his prayers, and then tucked him into bed. From the doorway, she watched him doze off, a wealth of maternal love in her heart.

She couldn’t love him more if he were her own.

Lauren frowned. She’d told David those very words, or some very much like those, not so long ago. And just that fast, once again, thoughts of her troubles returned. But the events of the last month had left her tired, drained, exhausted. And then that car…

She pushed the concerns of the day to one side, changed into a nightgown, washed her face, brushed her teeth and crawled under her blankets, Bible in hand.

After a good, long while with the Lord, she set the Holy Book on her nightstand, and turned off the light.

But later on, much later, she didn’t know quite how long, a child’s cry pierced her sleep. Lauren sat up with a start, heart racing, head whirling, temples pounding.

Mark!

“It’s okay, honey!” She grabbed her comfy old chenille bathrobe and ran from the room. “I’m coming.”

His cries didn’t ease, but rather intensified as she approached his open door. She always left it ajar, just in case he needed her—as he did right then.

By the soft glow of his robot night-light, Lauren saw him sitting in the middle of a puddle of blankets. His little boy’s eyes looked enormous in his pale face, and tears shone on his cheeks. Mark leaped right up into her open arms.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Did you have a bad dream….”

Her words trailed off when she felt the wetness soak through where his legs wrapped around her waist. Uh-oh!

Mark hadn’t wet the bed in years. “Oh, sweetheart…let’s get you cleaned up.”

She went to put him down, but his arms tightened in a stranglehold around her neck and he burrowed deeper into her embrace.

“No!” he screamed, his warm, sturdy body shaking. “The lights…they’re coming, Aunt Lauren! They’re coming….”

Sobs overtook him again, and nothing could have budged his hold on her. Not that she really wanted to let go of him, but the night was cold, and by now, they both were soaked. Still, something far worse than wet nightclothes and linens had gone wrong here. And it didn’t take a psychiatrist to figure it out.

“Mark, honey. The lights—the car—didn’t hurt us. Mr. Latham’s car blocked the other one, and it only gave me a little bump. But I’m all right, and you didn’t get hurt one bit. It’s okay. We’re home, and no one’s going to hurt us.”

She hoped.

He shook his head—hard. “No! No-no-no-no-no-no-no!”

Tears flew from his eyes, cheeks, and struck her. His misery was so deep, his fear so intense that her own eyes welled up in sympathy. She perched on the edge of the bed, aware of the soaked middle.

“It’s okay,” she murmured yet again, her voice little more than a croon. “I’m here, and I won’t let the car hit you. You know Aunt Lauren always takes care of you, right?”

Her gentle rocking motion must have helped. His muscles no longer felt like short steel ropes in her arms, and his sobs didn’t sound as though ripped right from his soul. But he didn’t answer her. Evidently, he still couldn’t.

She began to sing. “Jesus loves me, this I know…”

Lauren sang her entire repertoire of children’s tunes, praise and worship songs, and even a hymn or ten, before Mark’s tears ran dry. Finally, even though he’d stopped crying, she knew he hadn’t fallen back asleep. His eyes glowed their clear green in the dark of the quiet room.

“Think you might want some clean pj’s now, kiddo?”

His fingers fisted in her robe.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said, a hint of humor in her voice. “At least, I’m not going anywhere without you—you got that?”

His lips took on a slight upward curve. “Promise?”

“Absotively, posilutely, babe. You and me…we’re a team.”

He giggled. “You got it wrong again, Aunt Lauren. It’s abos-No, no! Not abos. Absolittle, pos…posilately!”

“So, tell me, Mark. Are you ready for those clean jammies now?”

Even by the dim glow of the night-light, she saw his cheeks turn red. He lowered his gaze, and whispered, “I’m sorry. I dinn’nt mean to…to—”

“I know, honey. It was an accident, and I bet it happened during that bad dream. Right?”

He nodded.

“So…when an accident happens, we clean up the mess, fix whatever’s broken, and ask God to help us go on. What do you think?”

“Mmm-hmm.” He turned his face into her chest, rubbed his nose against her robe and nodded. “Smells good, Aunt Lauren.”

She chuckled. “Tell you what, pal. Let’s get some water in the tub, clean you up and put you into pajamas that smell exactly like my robe.”

“It’s that soften stuff, isn’t it?”

“Fabric softener. A true modern marvel, my friend.”

Lauren eased him off her lap, turned on the bedside lamp, and then rummaged through his dresser for clean clothes. She stripped the bed, redid it with fabric-softener-scented sheets, and then piled the mess outside his bedroom door.

“Here we go, into the deep blue yonder…” she warbled.

Holding hands, they marched into the adjoining red-and-white bathroom. She ran the water, Mark stripped, hopped into the tub and she ran the pajamas and linens down to the laundry room. As she went through the kitchen, she thought she heard a scratch at the back door.

Ooooh, that cat!

“Go away, Adolf! I have no fish bones for you.”

She felt sorry for the neighbors’ ratty-looking tomcat. The Scharffenbergers let the poor animal run wild most of the time, and Philly’s winters were notoriously cold and mean. Still, the critter had outstayed his never-warm welcome in her yard. She’d had to rig up an Adolf-proof system for trash can storage, otherwise, the half-eared thing would knock them over and strew garbage all down the drive.

Still, as much of a trial as he was, Lauren couldn’t make herself rat on the neighbors. She figured the ugly cat’s lot would worsen at the pound. No normal child would beg a mother to take the big, fat, mean-as-a-snake thing home. So she never failed to bungee-cord the trash cans shut and set the brakes on the wheeled, aluminum-rail-sided cart where she kept them.

Evidently, her yell sent her nocturnal visitor elsewhere. By the time she dumped the stinky bedclothes into the washer, poured a capful of detergent and one of softener into the appropriate dispensers, all she could hear was Mark’s happy splashing directly overhead.

She closed the washer, turned the knob to the right setting and started the cycle. One of the songs she’d sung to Mark just a while earlier came back to her, and she hummed a few bars on the way back to the front of the house.

Then she heard it again.

The scratching sound.

At the front door.

Her heartbeat sped up. Her breath caught in her throat. The fear she’d felt as the car rushed at her returned. Her muscles felt frozen, but she knew she had to act.

Mark!

“Lord Jesus,” she whispered on the first step up, “guide me, protect Mark, and keep me safe so I can care for him….”

Screetch! Scratch-scrape-scrape, screeeeeeetch!

Whoever was out there meant to pick that lock.

Lauren gave up on stealth and ran the rest of the way up to her room. She picked up the phone, but all she heard when she put the receiver to her ear was deafening silence.

He’d cut the line.

She ran for her purse. “Thank you, Father, for cell phones!”

On the way to the bathroom, she hit 911. In bursts of whispers, she relayed her plight to the dispatcher. The kind woman assured her she’d sent for help, then kept her on the line, her warm voice a comfort within the swirl of danger around her.

Lauren knew better than to expect a siren; the dispatcher had told her the officers wouldn’t want to alert the intruder.

Still, she kept listening for…something, she didn’t know what, but a signal that would tell her she and Mark were safe, that help had arrived.

Mark was still in the water, splashing his rubber toys in complete oblivion—just the way Lauren wanted it. The last thing the child needed, right on the heels of that terrible nightmare, was another fright. And an intruder in the wee hours of the night was nothing but frightening.

Then pandemonium broke out.

A car drove by at normal speed.

At the front door, a man shouted a curse.

Blazing lights strobed into the house despite the curtains on the windows. She heard scrambling, more voices, more cars. Brakes squealed, doors slammed shut.

“Stop!” someone hollered.

Another car sped up, this one’s tires crunching ice and snow and finally shrieking against the pavement. Others followed, and did the same. A heartbeat later, someone pounded on her front door.

“Open up!” a familiar voice shouted.

Lauren looked at Mark, whose eyes were again wide-open, round, frightened. His mouth formed an O, and his naked limbs shook with fear.

The pounding downstairs never let up.

He yelled again. “Lauren! Let me in! It’s David—David Latham.”

“The monster,” Mark sobbed. “No, Aunt Lauren! Don’t let him in. He’s gonna…he’s gonna eat us up!”

And although she knew Monster David didn’t have a cannibalistic bent, Lauren hesitated.

How could she let that man inside her house again? How could she subject Mark to another trauma? The child had suffered too much already.

But someone had tried to break into her house. She’d heard them at the back and front doors, she’d heard the curse when the cops drove up, heard the running footsteps when they gave pursuit.

And David was a Federal Agent.

Even though he didn’t seem to believe her, she didn’t think he would hurt them, while the intruder wouldn’t have any such qualms.

She took a deep breath. “It’s okay, Marky. Everything’s going to be okay.”

The bright red-green-and-purple-striped bath sheet she used to wrap her nephew felt wrong in their current situation. It belonged to happy summer days, not to a horrifying winter night.

Still, she held the boy close to her heart and ran down the stairs. David’s pounding grew louder the closer she came. At this rate, she wouldn’t have much of a door left by the time she let him in.

She ran.

Mark shook.

Her fingers trembled on the doorknob. She finally got everything to work, threw open the door and glared at the enraged man on her front step. Before he could get a word out, she spoke.

“You’d better have your checkbook ready to pay for a new door, Agent Latham. It was an irreplaceable antique.”

He scowled. “Forget the door, lady. It’s fine. It’s your irreplaceable lives I care about. You and the boy could’ve been killed!”

Lauren’s knees shook then gave way.

On the way down, her only thought was of Mark. The child whose weight left her arms as she slid into a midnight-black hole.