Neighborly Thing Read online

  No wonder he looks so physically fit. Sinda had noticed a whole lot more about Glen Olsen than the uniform he wore, but she’d never have admitted it—especially not to his daughter.

  “Now that you know everything about us, tell me something about you,” Tara blurted out.

  Sinda felt her face flush. She wasn’t about to disclose anything from her past. Her life was not a book, left open for anyone to read. “There—isn’t much to tell.”

  “Why did you buy that creepy old house?”

  Sinda gave Tara a blank stare. Where were the child’s manners, anyway?

  “I heard that all the property on this block belonged to the first owner of your house. They built new homes all around it.” Tara wrinkled her nose, as though a putrid smell had suddenly invaded the room. “Your house looks really weird sitting on the same block with a bunch of nice homes.”

  How could Sinda argue with that? Especially when she’d thought the same thing herself. “You’re probably right,” she agreed. “However, I got the house for a reasonable price, and it’s perfect for my needs.”

  Tara’s eyes brightened as she leaned forward on her elbows. “What exactly are those needs?”

  Sinda blinked rapidly. Why is she asking so many questions?

  “What do you do in that big old house?”

  “Do?”

  “Yeah. What I really want to know is why you—”

  Tara’s words were cut off when her father stepped through the swinging door separating the kitchen from the dining room. “Sorry to keep you lovely ladies waiting. It took some time to get everything dished up.” Glen looked over at Sinda and offered her a friendly grin. “I hope you’ll soon see—or rather, taste that the wait was worth it.” He placed a huge platter of fried chicken on the table. “I’m glad you could join us today, Sinda.”

  “It was nice of you to invite me, Glen.”

  Glen took a seat at the head of the table. “Tara, would you please run out to the kitchen and bring in the salad and potatoes?”

  “Can’t you do it?”

  Sinda sucked in her breath, waiting to see how Glen would respond to his daughter’s sassy remark.

  “I’ll be lighting the candles,” he said patiently.

  Sinda could hardly believe how soft-spoken he was. She’d expected him to shout at Tara and tell her she was being insolent.

  “Dad, you’re really not going to turn this into a fancy dinner, are you?” Tara asked, casting her father a pleading glance.

  Glen turned toward Sinda and gave her a quick wink. “It isn’t every day that the Olsens get to entertain someone so charming.”

  Sinda felt the heat of embarrassment creep up the back of her neck. There was no denying it—Glen was quite a handsome man. His wavy, dark hair and sparkling blue eyes were enough to turn any woman’s head. She averted his gaze by pretending to study the floral pattern on the dinner plate in front of her.

  “Tara, I asked you to bring in the salad and potatoes.”

  “Okay, okay. . .I’m going.”

  Tara left the room, and Glen pulled a book of matches from the front pocket of his pale blue dress shirt. He proceeded to light the candles and had just finished when Tara returned, carrying a bowl of mashed potatoes.

  “Don’t forget the salad,” he reminded.

  The child gave him a disgruntled look, then she stomped off toward the kitchen. A few minutes later she was back with a tossed green salad.

  “Thank you, Tara. Great, we’re all set now,” Glen said, offering Sinda another warm smile. She was beginning to wonder if he ever quit smiling. Even when his daughter was acting like a brat, he kept a pleasant look on his face. It was a little disconcerting.

  Tara reached for a piece of chicken, but Glen stopped her. “We haven’t prayed yet.”

  “Sorry. I forgot.”

  When Glen and Tara bowed their heads, Sinda did the same. It had been awhile since she’d prayed—even for a meal. She knew why she’d given up praying; she just wasn’t sure exactly when it had happened. Somehow it felt right to pray today, though. Glen seemed so earnest in his praises to God. Of course. . .

  “Amen.”

  When she realized the blessing was over, Sinda opened her eyes and helped herself to a drumstick. “Everything looks and smells wonderful.” She bit into the succulent meat and wasn’t disappointed.

  Tara sniffed the air. “Speaking of smells—I think something’s burning.”

  Glen jumped up, nearly knocking over his glass of water. “My buttermilk biscuits!” He raced from the room, leaving Sinda alone with his daughter one more time.

  Sinda spooned some mashed potatoes onto her plate and added a pat of butter from the butter dish sitting near her. She was about to take a bite, when the next question came.

  “Do you know who Mrs. Higgins was?”

  “My Realtor said she was the previous owner of my house.”

  “Yep, and she was really weird too.”

  Sinda wasn’t sure if Tara had emphasized the word she on purpose or not, but with a slight shrug, she decided to ignore the remark.

  “Mrs. Higgins hardly ever left that creepy old house, and sometimes you could hear strange noises coming from over there.” Tara’s forehead wrinkled. “Some of the neighborhood kids think your house is haunted.”

  “What do you believe, Tara?”

  “Dad says the noises were probably her old blind dog, howlin’ at the moon. He thinks I shouldn’t believe what other kids say—especially stuff like that.” The child tore a piece of dark meat from the chicken leg she’d speared with her fork. “You couldn’t pay me enough money to live in that creepy old place.” She tapped the tines of her fork against the edge of her plate.

  Glen stepped back into the dining room, interrupting Tara a second time. “That was close! My biscuits were just seconds from being ruined.” He set the basket of rolls and a jar of strawberry jam on the table, then took his seat. “I believe I can finally join you in eating this meal.”

  “The fried chicken is wonderful,” Sinda said, licking her lips. “I think Tara’s right. You are the best cook in Oregon.”

  Glen transmitted a smile that could have melted the ice cubes in Sinda’s glass of water. “You’ll have to try some of my famous barbecued chicken this summer.”

  “Oh, great,” Tara muttered.

  Glen shot his daughter a look that Sinda construed as a warning, and she swallowed so hard she nearly choked. Maybe Tara’s dad wasn’t quite as pleasant or patient as he first let on. “What did you say, Tara?” Glen’s voice had raised at least an octave.

  “I said, ‘That sounds great.’ ”

  Glen nodded at Tara, then Sinda. “I think so too.”

  Sinda dipped her head, unsure of what to think or how to respond.

  “So, how about it, Sinda? Would you be interested in trying some of my barbecued chicken sometime this summer?”

  Without even thinking, she replied, “I always enjoy a good barbecue.” Now, what made me say that?

  “Great!” Glen declared with another winning smile. “The first time I do barbecued chicken, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

  Four

  Glen couldn’t believe his eyes! Tara was peering through the cracks in the tall fence that separated their backyard from Sinda’s. He’d just paid Mrs. Mayer her monthly check for watching Tara and seen her to her car. Now he had to deal with this? Slowly, he snuck up behind Tara and dropped one hand to her shoulder. “At it again, Miss Olsen?”

  She spun around. “Dad! You’ve gotta quit sneakin’ up on me like that. I’m too young to die of a heart attack.”

  “Maybe so, but you’re not too young to be turned over my knee,” he said, biting back a smile. While Glen did believe in discipline, he’d never had to resort to spanking Tara. Ever since she was old enough to sit in front of the TV, and he’d discovered how much she enjoyed it, he had used restrictions from television whenever she got out of line. It had always been fairly effective too.

>   With hands planted firmly on her small hips, Tara stared up at him. “Dad, I was only—”

  “Don’t say anything more,” he interrupted. “I’m not interested in your excuses.” He glanced down at the ground. “Look where you’re standing! You’re going to ruin your mother’s flowers if you’re not careful.”

  Tara hopped out of the flower bed, just missing the toe of his boot. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I’ll try to be more careful when I’m doing my investigating.”

  “I think you should leave the detective work to the Elmwood Police Department and try acting your age, Tara—keeping in mind that you’re only ten years old and should be playing, not spying.” Glen pointed toward the house. “Why don’t you go play with your dolls for awhile?”

  Tara’s forehead wrinkled. “I can’t waste my time playing, Dad. I’m on a case right now. Besides, dolls are dumb. I put mine away in the hall closet ages ago.”

  He drew in a deep breath, reached for Tara’s hand, and led her to the picnic table on the other side of the yard. “Why don’t we have some cookies and lemonade? After we’ve filled our stomachs with something sweet, maybe we can talk about this some more.” He guided her to one of the wooden benches.

  Tara’s eyes brightened. “That’s a great idea, Dad. Mrs. Mayer made fresh lemonade when I got home from school. I think there’s still a few ginger cookies left too.” She smiled up at him. “Of course, you’re gonna have to make more pretty soon. Can’t have an empty cookie jar, now can we?”

  “No, that would never do,” Glen said with a chuckle. “Maybe one evening this week I’ll do some more baking, but that’s only if you can stay out of trouble.”

  She offered him a sheepish grin. “I think I can manage.”

  “Good girl.” Glen gave one of her braids a light tug. “Don’t move from this spot. I’ll be right back with cookies and lemonade.”

  When he returned a few minutes later, Glen was relieved to see that Tara was still sitting at the picnic table, and Jake was lying in her lap, purring like a motorboat.

  “That cat sure has it easy,” Glen said as he placed a tray loaded with cookies, napkins, a pitcher of lemonade, and two glasses in the center of the table. “All he ever does is laze around.”

  Tara stroked the gray and white cat behind its ears. “Yeah, he’s got life made most of the time. Of course, he does work pretty hard when he chases down mice or poor, defenseless birds.”

  Glen took a seat on the bench across from her and studied the cat. “His green eyes sure are pretty.”

  Tara reached for a cookie. “Speaking of green eyes—I need to tell you something about our green-eyed neighbor lady.”

  Glen snapped to attention. “Sinda?” Against his will, and probably better judgment, he’d been thinking about Sinda ever since she’d come to dinner.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What about her?”

  Tara leaned as far across the table as she could and whispered, “I saw her carrying more boxes into the house today.”

  “Sinda only moved in a few weeks ago, Tara. She told me the other day that she still has some things in storage and is bringing them home a little at a time.”

  “You don’t understand,” Tara asserted. “There was something really strange about one of those boxes.”

  Glen raised his eyebrows. “Strange? In what way?”

  “Well, there was a—”

  Tara’s words were halted when Jake screeched, leaped off her lap, sailed across the yard, then scampered up the maple tree. Tara jumped up. “Ow! Stupid cat! He dug his claws into my legs!”

  “I wonder what’s gotten into him?” Glen shook his head. “It’s not like Jake to carry on like that for no reason.”

  “That’s why,” Tara said, pointing to the gate that separated their backyard from Sinda’s. It was open slightly, and a puny black dog poked its head through the opening. “Oh, great! You know how much Jake hates dogs.”

  A smile lifted the corners of Glen’s mouth. “Yeah, and that little dog looks so ferocious.”

  Before Tara could respond, the dog took off like a streak of lightning, heading into the Olsens’ yard, straight for the maple tree. Sinda was right behind him, calling, “Bad dog! Sparky, come back here right now!”

  Glen’s smile grew wider as he watched Sinda chase the small dog around his yard. He left the picnic table and moved toward her. “Is that your dog?”

  “Yes,” Sinda answered breathlessly. “He’s a bundle of fury too! He won’t come when I call him, and I’ve already discovered that he likes to sneak out of the yard. No wonder he was advertised as ‘free to good home.’ ”

  Sparky was now poised under the maple tree, barking furiously and looking as though he could devour a mountain lion.

  “He’s after Jake!” Tara screamed, running toward the dog. “Dad, do something, quick!”

  Sinda gave Glen a questioning look. “Jake?”

  “Jake is Tara’s cat. He ran up the tree when your pooch poked his head into our yard.”

  “I’m sorry,” Sinda apologized. She moved in on Sparky, bent down, and scooped the yapping terrier into her arms.

  “I didn’t even know you owned a dog,” Glen remarked. “We haven’t seen or heard anything of him until a few minutes ago.”

  “Actually, I don’t. I mean, I didn’t have a dog before today.” Sinda had to yell in order to be heard above the dog’s frantic barking.

  “He’s kind of cute. Probably good company for you,” Glen said in an equally loud voice.

  “I did get him for companionship, but I also wanted a watchdog.” Sinda held on tightly to the squirming, yapping terrier.

  “He sure does bark loud. That should be enough to scare anyone off,” Tara put in.

  “Maybe he’ll calm down if we move away from the tree.” Glen took Sinda’s arm and guided her toward the picnic table. “Would you like to join us for some cookies and lemonade? I’ll go inside and get another glass.”

  Sinda looked down at the bundle of fur in her arms. “Thanks, but I’d better get this little rascal back home.” She started moving toward the gate.

  “Why do you need a watchdog?” Tara asked, stepping in front of Sinda. “Is there something weird going on in that creepy old house of yours?”

  “Tara!”

  “No, no. I mean, everything’s fine,” Sinda stammered.

  Glen couldn’t help but notice how flustered she was. Her face was red as a tomato, her hair was in complete disarray, and she looked like she was on the verge of tears. “Tara, move out of Sinda’s way so she can take the dog back to her yard.”

  Tara stepped aside, but Glen could see by the stubborn set of her jaw that she was none too happy about it.

  Sinda offered Glen the briefest of smiles, then she disappeared into her yard.

  “What’s that scowl you’re wearing about?” Glen asked as Tara slumped onto the picnic table bench.

  “Don’t you see it, Dad?”

  “See what?”

  Tara squinted her eyes at him. “Can’t you see how weird Sinda is?”

  “I don’t think she’s weird.” Glen snorted. “You, on the other hand, are apparently getting some weird ideas from watching too much TV. I’m going to speak to Mrs. Mayer about putting a limit on how much television you can watch after school.”

  “But, Dad, I—”

  “A girl your age should be playing with her friends, not sitting in front of the TV all afternoon.” Glen made an arch with his hand. “Instead, you’re trying to dig up something on the neighbors!” He glanced across the yard searching for inspiration. “The flower beds could use some investigating. As soon as you finish your snack, you can get busy tending the garden.”

  Tara stuck out her lower lip and folded her arms across her chest. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Glen held up one finger. “You were spying.” A second finger joined the first. “You were rude to Sinda.” A third finger came up. “Then you said she’s weird.” He frowned deeply. �
��We keep discussing these same manners problems over and over, Tara. I’m going inside to start supper. You need to have that weeding finished before it’s ready.”

  ❧

  By the time Sinda clipped a leash to Sparky’s collar and secured him to a long chain hooked to the end of her clothesline, she was all done in. “Maybe getting a dog was a bad idea,” she mumbled as she gave the furry creature a gentle pat. “So far, you’ve been nothing but trouble.”

  The little dog tipped his head and looked up at her as though he was truly sorry. Sinda couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll bring you inside after awhile.” She turned and headed for the house. Sparky let out a pathetic whine, and she almost changed her mind about bringing him in before she fixed supper. When she was growing up, Sinda had always wanted a dog, but her father would never allow it. He used to say that pets were nothing but trouble, and after today Sinda thought he might have been right. Still, dogs were supposed to be companions and loyal friends. At least the mutts she’d seen on TV had been devoted to their masters.

  When Sinda reached the back porch, she stopped beside the outside faucet and turned on the spigot. They hadn’t had much rain yet this spring, and she figured the yard, though overgrown, could use a good drink. As the sprinkler came on, a spray of water shot into the air, and a miniature rainbow glistened through the mist.

  She swallowed against the nodule that had formed in her throat. Rainbows always made Sinda think of her mother and, like it was only yesterday, she could hear Mother saying, “Rainbows are a reminder of God’s promises. Whenever you see one, remember how much He loves you.”

  “Do You love me, God?” Sinda whispered as she looked up at the cloudless sky. “Has anyone ever truly loved me?”

  The telephone was ringing when Sinda entered the kitchen a few minutes later. She grabbed the receiver with one hand while she reached for a towel with the other. In the process of turning on the hose, she’d managed to get her hand and both sneakers wet. Of course, when a faucet leaked like a sieve, what else could she expect?

  “Hello,” she said breathlessly into the cordless phone.

  “Hi, Sinda, it’s me.”

  Sinda dropped into a chair at the kitchen table. “Hey, Carol, how are you?”