That evening, when Auburn
went to bed, she slept soundly. Very
soundly, indeed. Sure, she’d been
through a harrowing experience at the old movie theater, and she’d had to read
one of the most horrifying lists of all time, but that list was now safely in
her possession. Better yet, she had a
two-phase strategy that would set things up perfectly for the start of her
scheme.
Phase one came early next
morning, after Mrs. Reynolds left for work.
Auburn, who’d been reading in her room since breakfast, waited the usual
ten minutes to make sure Mrs. Reynolds didn’t forget anything. Not that she was in the habit of forgetting
stuff, just that…well, for lack of a better way to put it, she was in the habit
of forgetting stuff.
She hadn’t forgotten
anything today, though, and when the ten minutes were up, Auburn went into
action. She slipped into the office room
of the house and opened up the filing cabinet, looking through it until she
found exactly the folder she was looking for.
Pulling out a piece of paper, she made her way over to the telephone and
dialed a number off the sheet.
“Thank you for calling
OG&E. Please tell us the reason for
your call, so that we may better assist you.
To pay your bill, press—”
“Operator!” Auburn wasn’t
going to waste her time with any recorded messages.
“I’m sorry, but I didn’t
quite catch that. Did you say—”
“OPERATOR!!!” bellowed
Auburn into the phone. Why can’t these
things ever get it right the first time?
“Thank you. I’m transferring your call…”
[Thirty
minutes later. Yes, thirty. Nothing’s ever that easy over the phone.]
“Thank you for calling
OG&E; this is Carl. How can I help
you?”
“Yes, I’m calling about
the Larkin Hotel building in Blackwell.
I believe your company did the electricity for that.”
“I can find out for you,”
Carl said. “Do you have the address?”
“Yes, it’s 201 South—no,
make that 201 North Main Street.
Blackwell, Oklahoma.”
“I’ll check on that for
you right away.” Since Auburn had gotten
a real person, “right away” meant right away, and Carl was back on the line in
three seconds. “Yes, we did supply power
to that building, but it’s been off for over ten years—”
“I’m well aware of that,”
said Auburn. “I’m Auburn Reynolds,
assistant manager for the property, and I’d like to have it turned back on as
soon as possible.”
“We can do that for you,”
said Carl. “There’ll be a service
charge—”
“That’s perfectly fine,”
said Auburn. “Do you all do automatic
transfer?”
“We do indeed,” said
Carl. “What’s the name of your bank?”
We can’t print the next
part of the conversation, for obvious reasons.
This might be a good time, however, to tell readers about Auburn’s
financial situation. You see, Auburn was
loaded. Quite literally loaded. Her parents, while well-put financially,
could hardly be considered wealthy.
However, Auburn was extremely good at managing her money. Normally, she never spent more than twenty
percent of what she took in. Both her
parents gave her an allowance, based on how many chores she got done at
home. Auburn was practically a robot when
it came to these, and she maxed out her salary nine out of ten weeks. Her grandmother on her mother’s side sent her
fifty dollars a month; this, Auburn always put straight in her bank account,
without spending a cent. A few years
back, she’d spent a couple summers going door to door selling lemonade, earning
more than all the kids that stuck with the traditional cardboard stand
setup. She had a few other (honest)
schemes too. To sum it all up, very few
twelve-year-olds anywhere in the world had as much money as Auburn Reynolds.
This meant that Auburn
could easily afford the bill to power the old hotel for a few months, and that
was just what she was going to do for however long it took to get Richards out
of business. She and Carl hashed out the
payment details; once this had been taken care of, Carl said:
“We should have that on
for you by tomorrow morning.”
“Tomorrow morning? There isn’t a chance you could do it later
today?”
“We might, but I can’t
promise that.”
“I see,” said Auburn,
frowning. “Well, thanks a lot!”
“You’re welcome!” said
Carl. “Have a nice weekend!”
“Oh, I shall!” said
Auburn, hanging up. “Now for the water
company,” she muttered, flipping through the phonebook.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Saturday night,
Blackwell’s Kiwanis Club threw its annual Dinner Gala at 6:00. Everybody who was anybody in Blackwell (which
didn’t automatically mean that they were anybody elsewhere, but at least they
had local fame) was in attendance.
Including Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds.
“Don’t scratch at your
collar!”
“Honey, shh!” Mr. Reynolds looked around the crowded
banquet room self-consciously. “They’ll
think you brought a dog inside if you go on that way.”
“I know you’re not used
to ties, dear, but this is a formal occasion—”
“Oh, I’ll be alright. Once I get out of here and buy a clip-on tie,
that is—”
“Janna! So good to see you!”
“Why, Mary Lou! I thought you and your husband were going
hiking this weekend.”
Mrs. Reynolds’s friend, a
tall lady five years her senior, came over and embraced her. “I thought so too, darling, but my blisters
had other ideas. Ooh! Who’s this handsome gentleman you’ve got with
you?”
“Oh, that’s my
husband. Ron, I want you to meet my
friend Mary Lou.”
“Hi,” said Mr. Reynolds,
somewhat stiffly. Not because he was
being unfriendly, but because he had absolutely no notion on how to act at
formal events like this. “It’s a
pleasure to meet you, Mrs.—”
“McPherson. Mary Lou McPherson,” said the lady. “Janna’s told me so much about you—all good
stuff, of course.”
“I told her how you were
named Welder of the Month in Gardner, three years ago.”
“Yes, well, that was
sheer coincidence, really. I happened to
be a welder, and they happened to have a reward for one. If they hadn’t picked me, it would have been
someone else—”
“Why, Mr. Reynolds, you
have such a wonderful way of putting things.
I’d like you to meet my husband.
Jeffrey, Jeffrey, JEFFREY!”
“I’m right here,
darling!” Mrs. McPherson jumped as she
realized her husband was to her left.
“That was Mr. Grudzielanek you were calling to, I believe.”
“Oh!” Mrs. McPherson was
taken aback. “I hope he didn’t hear.”
“He’s always eager for
someone to talk to, so if he had, I wouldn’t have worried. I believe you wanted to introduce me to
someone?”
“Hi,” said Mr. Reynolds.
“Well, howdy, pardner,”
said McPherson, stretching out his hand.
“I’m Jeffrey McPherson, Jr., but folks usually just call me Jeff.”
“Alright, Jeff.” Now, at least, Mr. Reynolds had a talking
point. “You’ve got a bit of an accent
there. Are you from Texas?”
“Born, bred, and raised
in the Lone Star state—banished here because there’s more oil in this town than
there was in all of Sterling City. It’s
close enough that I go back and visit once in a while.”
“Texas is a nice state,”
agreed Mr. Reynolds, showing that he was also from out of state. “You know, I get the funny feeling that we’ve
met before.”
“Maybe we have,” said
McPherson, intrigued. “You work out at
the oil fields?”
“No, I’m a welder,” said
Reynolds. “It wouldn’t have been there.”
“Ever been to Sterling
City? I’ve only been here for seven
years—”
“No, I haven’t been to
that part of Texas—”
“Where in town do you
live?” When Reynolds gave his address,
McPherson’s face lit up. “I think I know
what it is. Ever stop by that Conoco?”
Reynolds nodded.
“You’ve probably seen my
oldest, Brittany. She’s the cashier
there for the summer, works most days each week.”
“Brittany takes after her
dad a lot more than she takes after me,” Mrs. McPherson commented.
“Feature-wise, she does,
but all the attractiveness comes from you, dear! I could never look that pretty if I tried.”
Mr. Reynolds
laughed. “Don’t waste your effort.”
“How many children do you
have?” Mrs. Reynolds asked.
“Two girls: Brittany and
Allie,” Mr. McPherson replied.
“Brittany’s seventeen; Allie’s nine.”
“Ours is in between,”
commented Mr. Reynolds. “She’s twelve.”
“You all have a
daughter?” Mrs. McPherson said. “Why, I
never knew—”
“Mr. and Mrs.
McPherson! It’s so good to see you!”
The man who was speaking
was more famous than the mayor. His name
was in each issue of the Blackwell
Journal-Tribune, but he wasn’t the editor.
His long, thin legs ended in brown dress shoes, neatly polished. This was the man’s second engagement of the
day…earlier, he’d been visiting a nursing home!
“Well, hello, Mr.
Richards! I haven’t seen you in a
while!”
“Too long, I know,” Mr.
Richards gave a playful frown. “One of
these days, I’m thinking of throwing a dinner for all the parents of club
members. After all, you’re the ones that
give these kids good, stable homes to return to when my work is done—”
“Yes, but we can’t give
them the outside attention you’re so good at providing,” Mrs. McPherson
said. “Oh, Mr. Richards. You do know the Reynolds’s, don’t you?”
“Why, no, I don’t believe
we’ve ever met. Are these the—”
“Mr. Richards, this is my
friend Janna Reynolds, and her husband Ron.
Ron and Janna, may I present Jack Richards?”
“Hi,” said Mr. Reynolds.
“It’s so wonderful to
meet you,” said Mr. Richards. “I’m
trying to get to know everyone in town, but I obviously haven’t succeeded…yet.”
“I’m surprised you
haven’t met them before,” said Mrs. McPherson.
“Isn’t your daughter in the club, Janna?”
“Club? Oh, you mean the Brotherhood—gasp!
You’re that Richards!”
Mr. Richards laughed
awkwardly. “You say that like I’m
notorious—”
“No, no, not that—I mean,
I see your name all the time in the Tribune!
You’ve done so many wonderful things for this town, out of the goodness
of your heart. From what I hear, you’re
an angel, Mr. Richards.”
“I can assure you I’m not
that special, Mrs. Reynolds. I’m just a
normal person like yourself trying to do what good I can for the
community. Did Mary Lou just say you had
a daughter?”
Mr. Reynolds wanted to
slip back into the conversation.
“Auburn. She’s twelve years old.”
Richards’s face lit
up. “Is she really? My club would be perfect for her! Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds, let me tell you a bit
about it—”
“Oh, no, Mr. Richards,
you don’t understand—”
“Tut, tut, tut, let me
finish what I’m going to say. If you’ve
read about the club in the paper, Mrs. Richards, you’ve seen the good we’re
focused on doing. We’re rebuilding
homes, we’re painting businesses, we’re cleaning up parks—I’ve got the kids
doing whatever they can to make Blackwell a better place to live. Meanwhile, I’m teaching them to be good
citizens so when they get home—”
“I know what your club
does, Mr. Richards.” Mrs. Reynolds
smiled. “It sounds wonderful. Really, it does, but I’m afraid—”
“Oh, you don’t have to
worry about the cost, Mrs. Richards. My
parents didn’t have a whole lot when I was growing up, and that kept me out of
some groups. I resolved that, if I ever
ran something, the same thing wasn’t going to happen to others. If it’s money you’re worried about—”
“Goodness, it’s not
that,” said Mrs. Reynolds. “I don’t know
how much your club costs, but I know we can afford it. It’s just not the type of thing for Auburn.”
“Mrs. Reynolds, my club
is for anyone between the ages of 10 and 18, and when I say anybody, I mean
ANYBODY. If you’re girl’s twelve, she’ll
be just the right fit for the club.
She’ll have so many peers her age who can encourage her as she goes
about her daily business—”
“I’m sure she’d love it,”
Mrs. Reynolds said, in a tone that got Richards to shut up. “She can’t do it, though. You see, my daughter’s an invalid.”
“Ohhh!” Richards’s
optimism vanished. “Mrs. Reynolds, I’m
so sorry—”
“It’s not that bad,” said
Mrs. Reynolds, “but we try to keep her from being outside too often. We’re afraid, if we don’t take really good
care of her, something might happen—”
“Mrs. Reynolds, I
understand completely. In fact, I’d have
to say you’re right. Children have a
special place in my heart, and I take my work with them very seriously. Unfortunately, I’ve never been very good at
kids with disabilities. I don’t have the
patience they require, and I don’t know enough about that sort of thing to deal
with them. Even if I did, I’d always be
nervous that something would happen to them, the way you are with your
daughter. Mrs. Reynolds, please
understand that if I’d known, I never would have been so pushy—”
“It’s alright,” said Mrs.
Reynolds. “You were just doing what you
were supposed to do. Our Auburn can’t
join your club, but I’ve been very impressed reading about what you were doing. Weren’t you all repainting the baseball field
last week?”
“You read about our
Maxwell Field project?” Richards beamed.
“I didn’t know they’d already published the story. Yes, and I was very proud of our kids on that
one. Jimmy alerted me to the fact that
our field was in a sorry state of disrepair…”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mrs. Reynolds had a fan
in her closet she never used, and the Reynolds’ had a couple fans in their
basement in case of water damage…which they also never used. That only made three, though. In Oklahoma, in the summer time, in a
building without air conditioning, three fans just weren’t going to cut it.
Auburn was pretty certain
the Larkin Hotel didn’t have air conditioning.
It had been abandoned too long for that.
In fact, that was probably the reason the third-floor window was open—it
must have contained an out-the-window unit at one time. Getting those, however, was out of the
question. They’d work, but they’d be
noticed, and folks would be curious about the building. Part of its advantage was that it wasn’t
noticeable, and Auburn aimed to keep it that way. Fans would be the best option.
So, scribbling a note on
her list, Auburn set out to begin Phase 2.
If she was going to be housing a lot of kids, they were going to need to
eat. Probably, they were going to need
to eat a lot. Auburn needed to stock the
hotel with groceries as cheaply as possible, so she scooted on down to the
Dollar General.
Once there, she went to
work as if she’d won free groceries for a week.
Thirty boxes of cereal—mostly value size. Fifty bottles of juice, many bottles of
Gatorade (varying shapes and sizes).
Soda, too—Cart 1 was filled.
“Could you watch this for
me while I fill up another one?”
The clerk didn’t answer,
his eyes bugging out at the load. “I’m
starting a restaurant,” Auburn told him, before heading out to fill up another
cart.
Eighty boxes of
Cheez-Its, Wheat Thins, and Club Crackers.
Thirty bags of Goldfish. Cart 2
was more than full.
Twenty packages of Oreos
and Chips Ahoy. Fifty bags of Hersheys,
Milky Way, Twix. While spinach might
have been healthier, Auburn knew these products stood a much higher chance of
getting eaten.
She still needed
something for dinner, though. Auburn
knew she couldn’t count on being at the hotel to cook a meal for people every
night; she had to have something substantial that wouldn’t spoil. Something such as a frozen dinner?
No. Those required microwaves, and some of the
kids on that list might never have used one before.
Then again, microwaves
weren’t hard to find, and how difficult could it really be to teach someone to
use one?
So, Cart 4 contained
pretty much every frozen dinner the store had to offer. As well as five fans.
Auburn tried to act as
nonchalant as possible as she pushed the last cart from the back of the store
to the register. That guy at the counter
looked like he was about to throw a fit, but she didn’t want anyone else to see
her buying all that stuff. Not that
large grocery purchases would be associated with what she was about to do, but
Blackwell was a small town, and she didn’t want word of this to work its way
around to Richards. That’s why Auburn
moved the cart all the way to the right side of the aisle when she saw two
salespeople bent over a shelf on her left.
She needn’t have
worried. The employees, one of whom
appeared to be the manager, were much more concerned with something on the
shelf.
“Yeah, I don’t know why
they sent that, but I’m sure we didn’t order it,” the manager was saying. “Who’s going to buy 200 purple porcupine
stickers?”
“Maybe the CEO of the
sticker company has a daughter that likes porcupines.”
“Well, she’s the only one
then. Throw those out. No one’s ever going to buy—”
“Excuse me, but if you
don’t want those, I’ll take them—”
“They’re yours. Give them to her,” the manager instructed the
employee. I’ve got to get back to work.”
The employee passed the
stickers to Auburn, then darted after the manager with another question. Auburn glanced down at the stickers, then up
at the ceiling, then back at the stickers again. A mischievous grin crept over her face.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The bill was a little
larger than you’re probably used to paying at grocery stores. In fact, if you pay as much as Auburn did at
the Dollar General, you probably need to start looking for another place to get
your groceries. The cashier nearly
fainted when Auburn swiped her debit card and said, “Put it on my account.”
Once she was outside,
though, Auburn faced the problem of getting four carts of stuff to the train
station—by herself. If only she had some
friends in town, or if only her parents could help her. The first was a fantasy; the second, completely
out of the question. It was only a
fifteen minute walk from Dollar General to the Larkin Hotel, but four shopping
carts made it tougher.
The trickiest part, in
fact, came right away. Doolin Avenue,
also known as Oklahoma Highway 11, was the busiest street in town. Four lanes stretched between Auburn’s carts
and the quiet side streets that led down to the old hotel. The speed limit on this part of the highway
was only about 45 miles per hour, but there were too many cars for Auburn to
safely get across with all the carts—or, for that matter, with only one of
them.
Oh, what to do? Auburn had all the carts tied together so she
could take them all at once, but she had to wait for traffic to stop completely
before she could do it. And that wasn’t
going to happen unless something came and blocked the entire street.
Glancing to her left,
however, Auburn saw how that might happen.
There was a chance that all traffic would come to a stop for as much
time as she needed to get the carts across.
This might even happen soon. If
only she didn’t have to wait long…
HONNNNNNK!
Ah-hah! That was it!
The Santa Fe railroad ran right by the parking lot for the Dollar
General as it crossed Highway 11. And
once whatever was coming down the line came by, all cars would be stopped as
they waited for the train to pass.
Eagerly, Auburn waited for
the train. There was no sign of it,
however. Three minutes passed without
another sound. Auburn was losing hope
when, suddenly, she heard the horn again, giving the crossing signal (two long
blasts, one short, one long). It was a
little louder now, though there was still no sign of the train.
Hurry
up,
Auburn thought, but then she realized that this was good. If the train was moving slowly, she could
take her time getting the carts across, as opposed to having to bunch them all
along—
HOONNNNNK! It sounded like the train was just a few feet
away, but Auburn still couldn’t see it.
She glanced at the crossing and scowled.
Those red lights (Blackwell was too small for gates) still hadn’t turned
on.
The train had hit another
crossing apparently, and after its last blast, Auburn could just make out the
rumble of wheels going down the track.
She pushed the carts as close as was safe to the tracks, then glanced
north up the line. The train still
wasn’t in view, but the noise was getting louder.
After what seemed like an
hour (but in reality was probably much closer to ten minutes), the train
finally pulled into view, and Auburn saw the reason for its slow speed. It was a row of tank cars from one of the
oilfields, pulled by a funny little box-shaped blue engine with yellow
trim. Two smokestacks stuck out on top,
and the arch-shaped cab sat at the back of the locomotive. Behind it was another engine identical to the
first, only it didn’t have a cab. This
was the B unit, only used when hooked up to an engine that could be
guided. The rather unusual engine never
strayed far from railyards; obviously, its job today was to store the tank cars
in the yard to wait for pickup.
Drivers slowed down
reluctantly as the lights began to flash; Auburn braced herself. She’d seen crazy drivers try to outrun trains
before, so she waited a couple minutes until the train was completely across
the road before making her move. Tugging
as hard as she could, she managed to get the carts rolling across the
road. She tried not to look at the cars,
knowing that she must be drawing some weird stares from the waiting drivers.
Once she got across, the
job was much easier. The carts were very
heavy, and it was all Auburn could do to keep them moving, but she kept tugging
until she reached a side street. After
that, she passed only two cars, the drivers of which took no notice of the girl
with the four shopping carts.
Heavily-laden, it took her forty minutes instead of fifteen, but the
hotel soon came into sight—
“You there!”
Auburn’s heart leapt into
her throat as she came to a dead stop.
She whirled around to see who had spoken.
Behind her, a little mutt
was high-tailing it up the street as fast as its shrimpy legs could carry
it. Out on her porch, an old lady was
holding a squirt bottle and glaring daggers after the canine. “Next time I catch you in my flowerbed, I’ll
use the shotgun instead!” she yelled after the fleeing pooch.
Turning, she went inside,
taking no notice of Auburn, who paused to catch her breath before going on.
Once reaching the hotel,
Auburn steered the carts into the alley on its left, working hard to push them
over the bumpy brick. When they were all
off the street, she wandered down to the alley door and got to work prying the
boards off it. Most of them were rotten,
and the job was more dirty than difficult.
Soon, Auburn had enough of them removed for the door to open.
It was still locked,
however, so she went around to the front window and slipped in, just as a car
drove down the street. Auburn watched to
make sure it kept going, then she raced to the back staircase, unlocked the
door, and forced it open. Instead of
trying to maneuver the carts over the bumpy doorframe, she left them sitting in
the alley, unloading just a few bags at a time.
To her delight, the
freezer still worked—icicles formed on Auburn’s eyebrows when she opened the
door. She put away all the frozen goods
first, then spent the next hour arranging all the other goods on the kitchen
counter. She wandered through the hotel
trying lightswitches and was pleased to see that most of the bulbs were
functioning. Poking around the hotel,
she plugged in all eight fans and turned them on and off, just to make sure
they worked. One didn’t seem to, but it
soon turned out the outlet was faulty—a different spot solved the problem.
Work completed, Auburn
wandered out into the street and took a look across at the hotel. From the outside, nothing had changed—the
empty lodging still looked as haunted as ever.
Inside, the building now had electricity, running water, air
conditioning, and enough food to last for months. The hotel was all set to hide any imperiled
citizens in Blackwell.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mrs. Reynolds was already
back from work when Auburn returned, but Auburn had a (false) reputation for
late afternoon naps, and she’d left her door closed when she went out. All she had to do was slip back inside
through her window, which she then locked behind her. She wandered over to the bed and sat down to
rest, pleased with her work for that day.
Suddenly, she remembered
promising her mom to sort through some CDs.
The movers had hastily thrown them in a box when they were packing up;
as a result, the collection was all jumbled.
“Mozart’s 39th, 40th, and 41st
Symphonies” lay right next to “Sinatra’s Blues,” stuck under a disc that told
“How to Turn Your Thumb Green, as Well as Your Grass.” The box was on Auburn’s desk, and Auburn
sprang up to get to work on the project.
And that’s when she felt
it coming on.
The room began to sway before
her eyes. Sunlight coming through the
window seemed to grow dimmer, then brighter, then dimmer, then brighter—too
rapidly to be caused by clouds. The
floor rocked as if a minor earthquake was going on, and an awful humming
started in Auburn’s ears.
Panic swelled up within
Auburn, and she whirled around before the sensation could get any worse. She hadn’t gotten very far from her bed, and
she sank down, just managing to grab the post before the room really began to
spin. Auburn tried to shut her eyes and
block out the world from her senses.
“Mom!” she screamed. “MOM!”
Auburn couldn’t hear
anything over the humming. The house
wasn’t moving, but it might as well have been, the way Auburn was rolling
around on the floor. Her knuckles turned
white as she gripped the bedpost as hard as possible.
“MOM!!!” she yelled.
The door to her room flew
open, and Mrs. Reynolds ran in, knowing instantly what was happening. “Relax,” she said, in a voice as gentle as honey
dripping off a honeycomb. Mrs. Reynolds
dropped to the floor too and put her arm around Auburn. “Everything’s going to be alright.”
“It’s happening again!”
Auburn’s eyes remained shut, but her face was white with fright. “The humming…that awful humming!”
“Try to calm down dear,”
Mrs. Reynolds was reassuring. “Nothing’s
going to happen while I’m here.”
Auburn tried opening her
eyes. She’d rolled over, and she saw her
mother’s face, but it was spinning like a pinwheel in the wind. She closed her eyes again, desperate to block
out the awful images.
“Make it stop!” she
wailed miserably.
“How long has this been
going on?” asked Mrs. Reynolds. “About a
minute? It’s almost up, don’t worry.”
“Oh, oh, oh, OH!” The humming grew louder in Auburn’s ears, so
loud she no longer heard the air conditioner, running at top speed on this
blazing hot day. Just when it seemed
like it couldn’t get any worse, the humming ceased. Just like that. Auburn opened her eyes, and the spinning
diminished, gradually, until she could stare up at her mother’s face without seeing
it vibrate back and forth.
“There,” said Mrs.
Reynolds. “You’re better now.”
Auburn was, but she was
also sobbing. “It hadn’t happened for a
week-and-a-half,” she said. “Oh, why
does it have to come back now?”
“I don’t know,
dear.” Mrs. Reynolds remained on the
floor with her daughter. “The important
thing is, you didn’t get hurt. You were
alright; you’ve always been alright.”
“I know, but it’s
terrifying!” Auburn was still
shaking. “You can’t know what it’s like,
seeing everything whirl around and not being able to control yourself. It’s—it’s—it’s the most frightening thing
I’ve ever experienced.”
“It’s over now, though,”
said Mrs. Reynolds. “Try to forget about
it, will you? As long as you’re in this
house, you have nothing to worry about.”
Auburn didn’t say anything,
just pulled herself onto the bed and remained there, shaking, as her mother
left the room.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
NEW BOOK AVAILABLE
Is there a girl missing,
or isn’t there?
Nancy and Susan Anderson
arrive in Waurika, Oklahoma at midnight, just in time to discover a
mystery. Christina Molle, 12-year-old
heiress to a fortune, has just disappeared, and her guardians are the prime
suspects…or so says a girl at the train station. But when Waurika’s chief of police says the
guardians never had a foster child, Nancy and Susan realize they’ll have to
convince him she exists…a task that’s easier said than done. Can they trust the girl, or is there
something more than meets the eye? With
an exciting mystery, hair-raising suspense, and an ending you’ll never predict,
you won’t want to miss
A
LIGHT IN THE CABOOSE
Available
at https://www.amazon.com/Light-Caboose-Anderson-Family-Mystery-ebook/dp/B01NBUUCBW/ref=sr_1_1
I'd like a copy!
ReplyDeleteThe last person I called an "angel" almost shot me with a Nerf gun...the Reynoldses should be careful...