Dressed to drill, p.28
Dressed to Drill, page 28
Ginny smiled at me. “And a cherrywood wand doesn’t mind being shared.”
“Yeah?” I said, my tongue planted firmly in my cheek. “Maybe I’ll take it for a spin sometime.”
“That would make me very happy,” Mom said. “But I know you’re just teasing me.”
I gave her a one-armed hug. “Sorry, Mom. You know it’s not my thing.”
She kissed my cheek. “I love you anyway.” Then she turned back to Ginny. “Now, we have plenty of room at the table and lots of food. We would love to have you join us.”
“That’s very sweet,” she said. “But I think we’re just going to go home. We’ve had a long day.”
Gazing up at me, Charlotte whispered, “My daddy went to heaven.”
“Oh no.” Tears instantly filled my eyes, and without another thought, I knelt down and met the little girl on her level. “I’m so sorry, honey.”
She said nothing, simply wrapped her arms around my neck and began to cry.
I was well-known for my sympathetic tear ducts, but even my tough big brothers wouldn’t have been able to withstand reacting to this little girl’s pain.
I wondered how her father had died, but now wasn’t the time to inquire.
Ginny placed her hand on my shoulder and quietly explained, “We picked up Hank’s ashes today. Charlotte wants to buy a pretty box to put them in.”
“She’s such a sweet little girl,” I murmured.
Mom gave her friend a hug. “Why don’t we all go inside and warm up around the Christmas tree. Just for a few minutes.”
After another sniffle, Charlotte loosened her grasp and looked up at me. “Mommy said you have a cat.”
I smiled. “I do. Would you like to meet her?”
“It’s a girl cat?”
“Yes. Her name is Charlie.”
She managed a watery giggle. “It sounds a little like my name, except Charlie is for a boy.”
I smiled at her. “I think some girls might like the name, too.”
She thought about it and nodded. “Maybe so.” Without consulting her mother, Charlotte took my hand, and we walked into the house and toward the stairs. I took a quick look back at her mother and got a nod of approval.
“Your cat isn’t coming to the party?” Charlotte asked.
“No, she’s pretty shy. She likes to stay upstairs when there’s a lot of people in the house.”
“I can stay with her,” she whispered.
“Okay. Let’s go find her.” In the bedroom, I sat down on the floor next to the bed and whispered Charlie’s name.
“Is she under there?” Charlotte asked.
I nodded. “This is where she usually hides.”
“Do you think she’ll come if I call her?”
“Maybe,” I said. “Give it a try.”
Charlotte nodded, then whispered, “Charlie? Hello? Charlie?”
Sure enough, after a few seconds the cat peeked out from under the bedspread. “There she is.”
She flashed me a tremulous grin. “She came out.”
“She must like you,” I said, then reached for the cat. “Come on, sweetie. I want you to meet my friend Charlotte.”
Charlie came into my arms and draped herself bonelessly over my shoulder. I stroked her soft fur, then angled her toward Charlotte. “Charlie, this is Charlotte. She wants to say hello.”
The little girl tried to follow my lead by patting Charlie’s back. It was an awkward move, but the cat didn’t seem to mind.
“Hi, Charlie,” Charlotte said tentatively. “Hi, Charlie.” She looked at me. “Will she let me hold her?”
“I think she’d like that. Why don’t you sit down on the floor and lean back against the bed? I’ll put her in your lap.”
“Okay.”
I stroked Charlie a few more times, then gently passed her over to Charlotte, who wrapped herself around the cat.
“Hi, hi,” she whispered in Charlie’s ear. “Hi, Charlie.” She closed her eyes and swayed slightly from side to side, as though she was rocking the cat to sleep. Charlie seemed to like it, because I could hear her purring. She was such a good cat.
I glanced at the doorway and saw that my mother and Ginny had followed us upstairs. They stood by the door, watching the action, and I could see tears in both their eyes.
I quietly pushed myself off the floor and walked over to my mom. “I was thinking of getting something to eat. Do you think Charlotte would like some hot chocolate if I brought it up here?”
Ginny looked from me to Mom and took hold of our hands in hers. “You are both so kind. Thank you. I’m sure Charlotte would love it.”
The little girl was still clutching the cat, so I said, “I’ll be right back.”
Downstairs in the kitchen, I ran into my sister Savannah. “Can I add two more for dinner? Another one of Mom’s Wiccan friends and her little girl came by to give Mom a present.”
“That’s nice.”
“Yeah. Turns out her husband just died.”
Savannah exhaled. “Oh no. That’s terrible. Yeah, we’ll squeeze the two of them in somewhere.”
“Thanks, Bug.” She rolled her eyes at the nickname and went dashing off. My parents had come up with quirky middle names for each of us, and Savannah’s was Dragonfly. At some point in her early childhood, “Dragonfly” had become “Bug,” and we still called her that.
I pulled a packet of hot chocolate mix from the cupboard, then filled a mug with water and heated it for two minutes in the microwave. I poured in the powder and mixed it well, then I walked back upstairs and stopped when I noticed that my bedroom door was closed. Mom and Ginny stood in the hallway talking quietly.
“Everything okay?” I asked, warming my hands around the mug of hot chocolate.
Mom nodded. “Charlotte was curled up on the carpet with Charlie and fell right to sleep.”
“The poor thing is exhausted,” Ginny said. “We’ve had a long, sad day.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “Do you think she’ll still want the hot chocolate when she wakes up?”
Ginny grinned. “Oh, trust me. She’ll drink it even if it’s ice-cold.”
I turned to Mom. “Did Charlie stay with her?”
“She never left Charlotte’s side.”
I noticed Ginny’s eyes fill again. “What a dear creature she is.”
I was ridiculously proud of Charlie for keeping watch over Charlotte.
Ginny reached for the mug. “Let me hold that for you. You must want to go down and mingle with your guests.”
Mom jumped in. “Yes, Brooklyn, you go find Derek and enjoy your party. We’ll be down shortly.”
I chuckled. “It’s everybody’s party, Mom. But I should go make sure everything’s running smoothly.”
“You’ve planned this party down to the matching tartan napkin rings,” Mom said with a laugh. “What could possibly go wrong?”
A shiver ran across my shoulders, and I gave her a look. “Don’t tempt fate, Mom.”
And that’s when my phone began to ring.
About the Author
New York Times bestselling author Kate Carlisle worked in television for many years before turning to writing. Inspired by the northern seaside towns of her native California, where Victorian mansions grace the craggy cliffs and historic lighthouses warn fishermen and smugglers alike, Kate was drawn to create the Fixer-Upper Mysteries, featuring small-town girl Shannon Hammer, a building contractor specializing in home restoration. Kate also writes the New York Times bestselling Bibliophile Mysteries, featuring Brooklyn Wainwright.
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Kate Carlisle, Dressed to Drill
