I hurried to my mother’s side. “Mom,” I said, “do I have to change my library plans with Danny?”
She looked at Mr. Tate. “I’m really sorry about this, Mike. Holly does have some plans with a friend of hers. And I think she’s right, you should call ahead. As for today, I believe I’ll be staying home with my daughters.”
Now it was Mr. Tate’s turn to look shocked. “Don’t let Holly run your life, Susan,” he retorted. “If she were my daughter I’d—”
“Well, she’s not your daughter, Mike. Not now or ever. And if you don’t mind, I have some important business to take care of.” Hastily, she showed the bewildered-looking man to the front door.
Zachary started to cry.
Oh great, I thought. Just when Mom was doing so well and telling it like it is, Zach—the real focus of her affection—was going to get emotional and spoil everything!
“Come here, darling,” Mom said, reaching for him. She knelt on the floor and cuddled him. “You’re okay. That’s right,” she said, stroking his hair, rocking back and forth.
“As you know, Zachary is easily upset,” Mr. Tate said accusingly. “He’ll be fine when we’re back home. Come along, Zachary.”
“I want to stay here,” the boy whined, clinging to Mom. “I want Susan to be my mommy.”
Talk about manipulation. Here was a seven-year-old pro.
“I know, I know,” said Mom in hushed tones. “We’ll have to see about that later.”
“I’ll call you, Susan,” Mr. Tate said, leading Zach out the door.
“No, I’ll call you,” Mom said with determination.
I wanted to cheer as the Tates backed out of the driveway. Inside, a strong feeling told me Mom and Mr. Tate were through. Finished!
SEALED WITH A KISS
Chapter 13
Deliberately, Mom turned and marched into the kitchen. I wanted to cheer her actions, but I bit my tongue.
At exactly three o’clock the phone rang. It was Danny.
“Hi, Holly-Heart,” he said.
I laughed softly. “Did you ask my mom if you could call me that?”
“Is she there?” he asked seriously.
“Danny, how can you be so gullible? Of course you don’t have to ask her permission.”
“I was just joking,” he said, but I wondered if he was saying that to cover up. “I called the library about the handwriting book. It’s on reserve in your name. We can pick it up today if you’d like.”
“Perfect. Now all I have to do is find Mom’s letters so we can compare the handwriting.” I walked downstairs with the phone, hoping for some privacy. Carrie was reading on the sofa, so I ducked into the bathroom. “My mom doesn’t know anything about what we’re up to,” I said, lowering my voice. “We have to keep this mystery-solving stuff a secret, okay?”
“That’s cool,” he said. “But will you be in trouble if she finds out?”
“You know what? I think she’d really like to know who’s sending the anonymous letters. And, get this, the last one was signed, ‘With sweet thoughts of you.’ Isn’t that romantic?” I almost forgot I was talking to a boy!
“Wouldn’t it be even more romantic if she knew who was writing to her?” he said.
“That’s what I’m hoping to figure out. With your help, of course.”
Danny was quiet for a moment, then he said, “Holly, are you hoping your mom’s secret admirer might qualify for a stepdad?”
“Not exactly. But if Mom’s going to have a boyfriend, er, man friend, it would be nice if he’s someone I like, too. And so far, the mystery letter writer beats the competition to pieces.”
“Even better than that nice man with the sick boy?”
“Well, between you and me, Mr. Tate’s not so nice. And his son isn’t so sick anymore. It’s too bad about Zach, though. He would have been a nice stepson for Mom.”
“Really?” He seemed surprised.
“Yeah, Mom got attached to him. It all started last spring when she signed up to teach Zach’s Sunday school class, then found out he had cancer. This summer he’s been around here a lot. Besides, Mom has a soft place in her heart for kids. If she and Daddy had stayed married, there’d probably be a bunch of us by now.”
“It’s hard for me to imagine brothers and sisters running around everywhere,” he said. “Being the only child isn’t that bad.”
I could tell he wasn’t ready for sweet talk on the phone. And that was fine with me. After all, for two members of the opposite sex, Danny and I were nearly as close as best friends could be—minus the boy-girl stuff.
There was a click, signaling another call.
“Uh, Danny, can you hold a sec?”
“No problem.”
I answered the incoming call. “Hello?”
“This must be one of my favorite nieces,” said a deep voice.
“Uncle Jack, hi!” I said, excited to hear from him.
“Has Stephanie arrived there yet?” he asked.
“She’s coming tonight for supper. You could probably still catch her at the Millers’ house.”
“Thanks.”
“When are you coming back to Dressel Hills?” I asked.
“Next week sometime. The boys and I are doing some sightseeing here in Seattle today before my business meetings start up again.”
“Wow, it’ll be cool having you and my cousins living so close to us.”
“Cool, indeed,” he said, chuckling. “See you soon, Holly, dear.”
I switched back to the other line. “Danny, are you still there?”
“Uh-huh.” He seemed distracted. “I’m making loops.”
“You’re what?”
“Perfecting my handwriting. Trying to imitate my mother’s flawless penmanship.”
I filled him in on the other phone call. “That was my uncle Jack calling long distance.”
“Isn’t he the husband of your favorite aunt? The one who died last year?” asked Danny.
“You remembered?” I was sincerely impressed.
“Of course,” Danny said softly. “And I was sorry to hear about it.”
“You know, I still miss Aunt Marla. Next to Mom she was the sweetest person I’ve ever known. She used to wear her hair up sometimes, too,” I said. “Oh, tell your mother I really like how she fixed my hair.”
“Well, it wasn’t my favorite,” he said. “But come over any time.
My mom likes girls, probably because she doesn’t have any.”
“Maybe she’ll have a daughter-in-law someday,” I said.
That topic must’ve made him nervous. He changed the subject instantly. “Can you meet me at the library in thirty minutes?”
“Sure, I’ll be there.”
“Good-bye, Holly-Heart.” The way he said my nickname sent a tingle down my spine.
“Bye,” I said.
Carrie was still curled up on the sofa, reading. I darted past her, heading upstairs. On the living room couch, Mom lay sound asleep. I crept over to snoop at a piece of paper lying on her lap.
It was a copy of the contract on the mountain property. Leaning closer, I scanned some of the first paragraphs. Wow, it looked like she was getting out of the deal with Mr. Tate. She’d marked out words and initialed everything. More than ever I hoped their short-lived romance was over.
Turning toward the kitchen, I went in search of Mom’s secretadmirer letters. The last I’d seen them, they were in the kitchen on the desk. I poked through the bills, separating them from a pile of coupons. I looked under the phone book. No letters.
The next most logical place to look was probably Mom’s bedroom. Logical. Wait—was I beginning to think like Danny?
Tiptoeing upstairs to her bedroom, I sneaked across the floor. I spied something colorful sticking out of her Bible on the lamp table beside her bed—the foreign stamps on the envelopes.
“This is not really stealing, Lord,” I said as I whisked the letters away to my room. “I’m doing this with Mom’s best interest in min
d, but I’m sure you already know that, right?”
Curling my legs under me, I snuggled against Bearie-O on my window seat. I’d almost forgotten to thank the Lord for answering my prayer about Mr. Tate and Mom.
Impulsively, I hopped off the seat and rushed to open the bottom dresser drawer. Reaching for my secret prayer list, I found the page with my number-one most urgent request: Please keep Mom and Mr. Tate from ending up together. I added the date of the answered prayer: Sunday, August 22.
ONLY GOD COULD DO THIS! I wrote in giant letters.
SEALED WITH A KISS
Chapter 14
The public library was nearly empty when I arrived. Danny—punctual as always—waved to me from a table near the reference section.
“Hey, Holly. Check this out.” He pointed to a page in the handwriting book.
Sitting down, I saw a lineup of famous signatures from George Washington to John Kennedy. And…Winston Churchill, Laura Ingalls Wilder, and Billy Graham.
I pulled Mom’s letters out of my backpack. “Here’s the first one…from Japan.” I showed him the second letter. “This one has a Hong Kong postmark and stamp, with the same handwriting. Then a third letter came from Hawaii. The writing is different, don’t you think?”
He agreed with me, then opened the handwriting book to chapter two. “Let’s take a look at the slant of the letters. It says here that if the writing leans to the right, the writer has a strong urge to communicate. In other words, your mom’s mystery man is talkative.”
We compared the two different handwritings.
“What do you think?” I reached for my tablet.
“We need a list of characteristics for the writer of the first two letters and a separate list for the latest letter writer,” Danny said.
“I can do that.” I marked my headings on the lined paper. Writer 1 for the two letters from Asia and Writer 2 for the letter from Hawaii.
An hour later, the great list maker had two lists—with Danny’s help, of course.
WRITER 1
WRITER 2
Left-handed
Communicative
Immature
Fun-loving
Imaginative
Practical joker
Determined
Confident
Brave
Family pride
Arrogant
Intelligent
Sloppy
Trustworthy
Athletic
Athletic
Business-minded
Religious
Romantically inclined
“Hey, I think I like writer number two,” I said, studying the two lists. “He’s cool.”
“Stepfather material?” Danny joked.
“Puh-leez!” I said it too loudly. The librarian raised her dark eyebrows and stared at us like a bull ready to charge.
Just then, out of the shelves behind us, came a mysterioussounding voice. “Better keep it down over there, or you might end up with the boogeyman’s signature.”
Startled, I whirled around, catching a glimpse of Jared Wilkins’ brown hair. I’d know him anywhere.
“Who was that?” Danny asked, looking around.
“Just your imagination,” I said, laughing.
Now the librarian really did look ready to charge. In fact, she stood up and leaned against her desk.
“We’re going to get kicked out of this place. That’s never happened to me before,” Danny said, a worried look on his face.
“Shh,” I said, my finger on my lips.
“Can we please not get thrown out?” he whispered.
“Relax. Don’t worry so much. Here,” I said, shoving a blank piece of paper under his nose. “Write your first, middle, and last name.”
Danny frowned. “What for?”
“For me to figure you out, that’s what.”
“Oh, I get it. You think now that you’ve seen one book on the subject, you’re a pro at graphology.”
“Hey, that’s good,” I said. “Let your emotions come out sometimes. It’s not good to hold them in so much. Gives people ulcers.”
“I already have one,” he said so straight-faced I believed him.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Once again, I spotted Jared sneaking around behind the shelves, holding his hand over his mouth to cover his laughter. While Danny studied our list, I shook my head at Jared. It was a warning for him to get lost. Fast!
I should’ve known he would ignore my signal. Here he came, wearing jeans and jacket to match, rolled up at the sleeves.
“Hello, Holly Meredith,” he crooned, soft enough to keep us from getting booted out.
Danny looked up. “Doing research today?”
Jared grinned at me. “You might say that.”
I couldn’t help it; I blushed.
Danny sat up straight in his chair. “Ready for track season?” he asked.
“Always,” Jared said, flexing his arm muscles. “Well, it looks like you two have some work to finish. Catch you later.” He swaggered past the librarian, who seemed to be holding back her urge to charge us…and not for overdue books, either.
“Let’s review all the angles,” Danny said, “and take a look at the content of the letters.”
I pushed Jared Wilkins out of my mind as we reviewed the silly riddles about the bald man without any locks, the “your honeyness” queen bee, and the beehive.
“It appears someone knows your mother was dating that Tate fellow and hoped to divert her attention,” Danny said.
“Makes sense.”
“Here’s something.” He pointed at the first letters. “It looks like a young person started writing the letters and then someone with ‘family pride’—that could be a father or an older friend—took over the writing.”
“According to our lists, these two writers have something in common. Athletic ability,” I said, rechecking.
“Now think, Holly. Who do you know that’s left-handed, has a great imagination, isn’t afraid to take risks, and plays sports?”
I kept staring at the list. “And he must have a messy room and think he’s hot stuff.”
Danny leaned closer, elbows on the table, resting his chin on his fists.
“Only one person fits that description,” I said after a long moment. “My cousin Stan.”
“Who?”
“My fourteen-year-old schizoid cousin. Uncle Jack’s son.”
“Are you sure?” Danny asked, his eyes searching mine.
“I’m positive.”
Just then I noticed Kayla Miller crouching down, pretending to look at the bottom shelf in one of the reference sections. No way did I want her in on this secret mission. Quickly, I gathered up our notes. “I need some fresh air,” I said.
Danny followed, checking out the handwriting book, asking for my card as we arrived at the bullpen, er, check-out desk.
“Keep those lists handy,” he said as we headed into the bright Colorado sun.
It was fabulously hot for late August. As we passed the city park, near the library, I noticed the sky was cloudless. Families were gathered for picnics under stately cottonwood trees, enjoying the last days before school doors opened.
My mind zoomed back to my oldest cousin. Why would Stan write those stupid letters to Mom? And what was he doing in Japan?
I knew he had gone along on a business trip with Uncle Jack, but I’d never heard they were going overseas. And what older buddy did he know in Hawaii who could have been bribed to write the latest letter?
I studied the list for writer number two as we strolled through the grounds near the courtyard. “This writer is talkative, has a great sense of humor, would write an anonymous letter as a joke, and takes pride in his family,” I said, thinking out loud.
Danny continued, “And he must have kids, or else he’s proud of his own parents.”
“Good point.” I sat on the concrete strip that ran along the front of the county courthouse grounds.
“If he’s reli
gious, that might mean he’s a Christian,” Danny remarked. “That’s good.”
“And he has a good head for business. But best of all he’s romantic,” I said loudly, hoping the notion might rub off on Danny.
“Any idea who that might be?” Danny asked.
“Let me see the book again.”
“Here.” Danny held the book for me.
It fell open to the chapter on famous people. My eyes almost popped out. There was the name of the famed mystery writer, Leigh, written with an ornate flourish.
“Let me see that,” I said, almost pulling the book out of Danny’s hand. I held it close, studying the slant, the loops, the beginning and ending strokes. “This is so cool—Marty Leigh’s handwriting.”
“Who’s Marty Leigh?” Danny asked.
“You don’t know?”
He leaned back on the cement wall, crossing his arms in front of him. “Should I?”
“She’s the greatest mystery writer of our time,” I said proudly. But I didn’t say that I was pen pals with her nephew.
“She? So Marty must be a woman.”
“And what a writer she is.” I didn’t like the way Danny was looking at me. Like he doubted my opinion.
“Guess I’m not much into novels,” he said.
“If you don’t like fiction, what’s left?” I studied him incredulously.
“For me it’s science and nature books, mostly.”
“I like nature, too. But I also love fiction.”
“Nonfiction broadens the mind. You should try it more often. It’s true, you know. Fiction is merely someone’s imagination running wild.”
I wasn’t sure where he was going with this. “I thought you were interested in my fiction…my imagination running wild,” I reminded him.
“Sure, I’ll read your stories sometime. Right now we have a mystery to solve.”
“I’m not sure if we do or not,” I said, feeling hurt.
“What’s wrong, Holly?”
Holly's Heart Collection One Page 29