Sinda gently touched Tara’s arm, but the child pulled away as though she’d been slapped. “I think you both should come inside and follow me.”
“Follow you where?” Glen asked, lifting his dark eyebrows.
The intensity of his gaze sent shivers of apprehension up Sinda’s spine. Was he angry? Should she be inviting them inside? Her mouth compressed into a tight line as she considered her options. Did she really want the police coming to her house? Police officers had made her feel uncomfortable ever since. . .
“Where do you want us to follow you to?”
Glen’s deep voice invaded Sinda’s thoughts, and she jerked her attention back to the situation at hand. “To my basement.” She stepped onto the porch and set Sparky down. “Did you close the gate between our yards when you came over?”
Glen nodded, and Sinda motioned them inside. She led the way downstairs, and when they reached the bottom step she snapped on the overhead light.
Tara gasped and grabbed her dad’s hand as the beam of light brought into view several small babies and two toddlers lying on a table in the center of the room.
“What in the world?” Glen’s open mouth told Sinda how surprised he was by the unusual sight.
“I know this might appear a bit strange, but it’s really quite simple.” Sinda gestured toward the array of bodies. “You see, I’m a doll doctor, and these are my patients.”
Tara’s face turned ashen. “But, I–I thought—”
“The children you thought were coming and going from my house were dolls, Tara,” Sinda explained. “I don’t have my business sign nailed up on the house yet, but I do have a business license and a permit from the city to operate a doll hospital here.”
Tara hung her head. “I–I guess I sort of got things mixed up.”
“I would say so.” Glen gave his daughter a nudge. “Don’t you think you owe Sinda an apology?”
“It’s all right. There was no harm done,” Sinda said quickly. Despite Tara’s accusation, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for the child. Sinda had made her share of blunders when she was growing up, and Dad had never treated it lightly.
“Tara,” Glen stated with a scowl on his face, “you owe Sinda an apology. We’ll discuss the consequences of your behavior at home.”
Tara continued to stare at the concrete floor. “I’m sorry, Sinda.”
Sinda took a few steps toward the child. She wanted to give Tara a hug but didn’t think it would be appreciated. Instead, she merely patted the child on top of her head. “It was an honest mistake. Any intelligent little girl could have gotten the wrong impression by what you saw.”
Tara’s head shot up. “I am not a little girl!”
“Good, then you won’t mind doing some honest work to make up for your error,” Glen asserted.
Tara’s gaze darted to her dad. “What kind of work?”
Glen motioned toward Sinda. “I’m sure the doll doctor can find something for you to do right here in her workshop.”
Sinda sucked in her lower lip. “I might be able to use some help.” Although she wasn’t sure she wanted the help to come in the form of a child’s punishment.
“Dad, you know I don’t play with dolls anymore,” Tara said with a moan.
“You wouldn’t be playing, Tara,” Sinda insisted. “You’d be helping me with some necessary repairs.”
Tara’s eyes filled with sudden tears. “It’s not fair. This old house is creepy, and I hate dolls!”
Glen bent down, so he was making direct eye contact with his daughter. “This case is closed, Tara.”
❧
Glen stood in front of the dresser in his bedroom, studying Tara’s most recent school picture. She’s such a cute kid, even though she can be a little stinker at times. He drew in a deep breath as he reflected on the happenings of the evening. He should never have listened to Tara’s crazy idea about Sinda selling kids on the black market, much less gone over there and made a complete fool of himself. He and Tara had been on their own for nine years, and it was hard not to indulge her. He knew he’d let her get too carried away, and tonight’s fiasco made him realize how necessary it was to gain control. After they’d come home from Sinda’s, he’d fixed dinner, seen to it that Tara did her weekend homework, then sent her to bed without any dessert. All her pouting, pleading, and crying over the idea of going to Sinda’s to help repair dolls had nearly been his undoing, but Glen remained strong, even though he felt like an ogre.
As he moved toward the window and stared at the house next door, Glen’s thoughts shifted to Sinda. He hadn’t dated much since his wife’s death, but of the few women he had gone out with, none had captured his interest the way Sinda had in the short time since they’d met. Some unseen pull made him want to seek out ways to spend more time with her. He wasn’t sure if it was the need he sensed in her or merely physical attraction. The vulnerable side of Sinda drew him, but he would need to be cautious. She was like a jigsaw puzzle. So many pieces looked the same, but each time he tried to make them match, the pieces didn’t fit. Sinda could be friendly one minute and downright rude the next. He had a hunch she was hiding something, only it was far beyond anything Tara had conjured up in her imagination. Glen’s sixth sense told him that Sinda Shull had been hurt and might even be running from someone or something.
The fact that Sinda was a doll doctor had been a real surprise, but even more astonishing was that she’d given no evidence of her unusual occupation until Tara made her ridiculous accusations. Except for having dinner with them that one Sunday afternoon, Sinda had kept pretty much to herself.
“Sure wish I could get to know her better,” Glen mumbled as he leaned against the windowpane. Is Sinda a Christian? He hoped so, because it would be wrong to begin a relationship with her if she wasn’t. He raked a hand through his hair as confusion clouded his thinking. “I’d better pray about this before I approach Sinda with any questions about her faith.”
❧
Sinda sat at the long metal table in her basement workshop, watching Tara sand an old doll leg. She couldn’t help but notice the forlorn expression on the child’s face, and without warning, vague memories from the past bobbed to the surface of her mind. She’d been sad most of her childhood. . .at least after her mother had gone. She’d tried hard to be the best daughter she could, but she’d apparently fallen short since she was never able to please her father.
I won’t think about that now, she scolded herself. I have work to do. Quickly reaching for the doll head that went with the leg Tara was sanding, Sinda asked, “Do you recognize this doll?”
The girl’s only response was a shake of her head.
“It’s one of the original Shirley Temple dolls. It’s a true collectable and quite valuable.”
Tara squinted her dark eyes at Sinda. “You mean it’s like an antique or something?”
Sinda nodded. “Right. See the cracks in her composition body?”
A glimmer of interest flashed across the young girl’s face. “What’s composition?”
“It’s compressed sawdust and wood filler that’s been poured into a mold. It has the look and feel of wood, but each part is actually hollow,” Sinda explained. She ran her fingers gently along the antique doll’s face, relishing in the notion that she had the power to transform an old relic into a work of art. “When composition ages, it often cracks or peels. Then it needs to be sanded, patched, and repainted.”
“Who’s Shirley Temple?” Tara asked as she continued to sand the doll leg.
“She was a child star who used to act in a lot of movies. When she became famous, the Ideal Toy Company created a line of dolls to look like her. Today, Shirley Temple dolls are worth a lot of money.”
Tara shrugged, as though she’d become bored with the topic. “Say, where are you from, anyway?” she asked suddenly.
“I grew up in Seattle, Washington.”
“Did you run a doll hospital there?”
Sinda nodded, then picked up a new
wig for the doll and applied a thin layer of white glue to the bald head. “I took a home study course and started working on dolls when I was a teenager.”
“Did you make lots of money? Enough to buy this creepy old house?”
Sinda clenched her teeth so hard her jaw ached. Tara’s inquisition was beginning to get on her nerves. “I’ve never made enough money repairing dolls to entirely support myself, but after my dad died, I started buying and selling old dolls and a few other antiques.”
“So, that’s how you could afford this place?”
“My father left me his entire estate, and I used the money from the sale of our house in Seattle to purchase my new home and a minivan.”
Tara’s freckled nose crinkled, and Sinda was pretty sure more questions were forthcoming. “How come your dad didn’t leave everything to your mother? Isn’t that how it’s supposed to be when a husband dies?”
Sinda’s mouth fell open. She hadn’t expected such a direct question, not even from her nosey little neighbor. “Uh—well—my mother’s gone too.” She secured the doll wig in place, fastened a rubber band around the head to keep it from slipping while it dried, then grabbed the other composition leg and gave it a few swipes with a piece of sandpaper.
“When did your mother die?” Tara prompted.
“She’s been gone since I was ten.”
“I was only a year old when my mother died, so I don’t even remember her.” Tara shrugged her slim shoulders. “If you have to lose someone, I guess that’s the best way—when you’re too young to remember.”
Sinda’s eyes filled with unexpected tears, and unable to stop the thoughts, her mind drifted back in time. Painful memories. So many painful memories. . .
Sinda had been small at the time. . .maybe five or six years old, but she remembered hearing a resonating cry waft through the house, followed by muffled sobs. She closed her eyes and saw herself halt on the stairs. There it was again. Her skin tingled, and her heart began to beat rapidly. A man and a woman were arguing. She held her breath. The woman’s pleading escalated, then it abruptly stopped.
Silence.
Sinda’s muscles tensed.
The woman screamed.
“What’s wrong with Mama?” young Sinda had murmured. “Did she fall?” She hurried up the stairs. . .
Sinda felt a tug on the sleeve of her sweatshirt. She blinked several times, and the vision drifted slowly away. “What’s wrong? I asked you a question, and you spaced off on me,” Tara said, giving Sinda a curious stare.
“I–I must have been in deep thought.”
“Yeah, I’ll say.”
“What was your question?”
“I was asking if your doll hospital did so well in Seattle, how come you moved to Oregon?”
Sinda frowned deeply. How many more questions was Tara going to fire at her? “I thought Elmwood would be a good place to start over,” she answered through tight lips.
Tara leaned forward with her elbows on the table. “Why would you need to start over?”
Before Sinda could think of a reply, the telephone rang upstairs. She jumped to her feet, a sense of relief washing over her. “Keep working on that doll. I’ll be right back,” Sinda said, then she scurried up the steps.
Seven
Several minutes later, Sinda hung up the phone. She smiled to herself. There was no telling when she might get another offer as good as the one she’d just had. The owner of a local antique shop wanted her to restore five old dolls. Two of them were bisque, and the other three were made of composition. The work was extensive and would bring in a fairly large sum of money. It looked as though Sinda’s Doll Hospital was finally on its way.
Too bad Tara hates being here, she thought ruefully. With all this extra work, I could probably use her help even after she’s worked off her debt for spying on me. I wonder if she might be willing to extend the time if I offer some payment.
Sinda crossed to the other side of the kitchen and opened a cupboard door. Tara might enjoy a treat, and it would certainly keep her too busy to ask any more personal questions.
She piled a few peanut butter cookies onto a plate, then filled a glass with cold milk. She placed the snack on a tray, picked up the cordless phone she’d left in the kitchen, and headed downstairs. She’d only descended two steps when she ran into Tara, nearly knocking the tray out of her hand.
“I–I heard a noise,” the child squeaked.
Sinda’s eyebrows furrowed. “What kind of noise?”
“A rustling sound. It was coming from one of the boxes over there.” Tara pointed toward the wall lined with long shelves, but she never moved from her spot on the stairs.
“It’s probably a mouse,” Sinda said with a small laugh. “Should we go investigate?”
Tara’s eyes grew wide. “No way!”
Sinda tipped her head to one side and listened. “Sparky’s barking. Someone may be at the front door.” She handed the tray to Tara. “Why don’t you go back to the worktable and eat this snack? I’ll be right down, then we’ll check on that noise.” She disappeared before Tara could argue the point.
When Sinda opened the front door, she discovered Glen standing on the porch. He held a loaf of gingerbread covered in plastic wrap. “This is for you,” he said as Sparky darted between his legs and ran into the yard.
Little crinkles formed at the corners of his eyes when he smiled, and Sinda swallowed hard while she brushed a layer of sandpaper dust from the front of her overalls. I wish he wouldn’t look at me like that. “Thanks, I love gingerbread,” she murmured, taking the offered gift.
“Has anyone ever told you what gorgeous eyes you have?”
“What?” Sinda’s heartbeat quickened.
“You have beautiful eyes.”
She felt herself blush and knew it wasn’t a delicate flush, but a searing red, covering her entire face. She quickly averted his gaze. “Shall I call Tara?”
Glen shook his head. “I didn’t come over to get Tara.”
“You—you didn’t?” She glanced back up at him, feeling small and shy, like when she was a child. She wished he would quit staring at her. It filled her with a strange mixture of longing and fear.
“I came to bring you the bread, but I also wanted to ask you something.”
“What did you want to ask?”
“Do you like Chinese?”
She stood there looking at him for several seconds, then realized he was waiting for her answer. “As in Chinese food?”
He nodded.
“I love Oriental cuisine.”
He shuffled his feet a few times, bringing him a few inches closer. “I was wondering if you’d like to go out to dinner with me this Friday night.”
Sinda could see the longing in Glen’s eyes, and it frightened her. The scent of his aftershave stirred something deep inside her as well. “Just the two of us?” she rasped.
“Yep. I have other plans for my detective daughter.”
Warning bells went off in Sinda’s head. Say no. Don’t go out with Glen. Do not encourage him in any way! When she opened her mouth to respond, the words that came out were quite different from those in her head, however. “I’d love to go.”
Glen smacked his hands together, and she jumped. “Great! I’ll pick you up around six-thirty.” He bounded off the porch, calling, “Send Tara home when she’s done for the day.”
Sinda stood in the doorway, basking in the tingly sensation that danced through her veins. A question popped into her mind. Would Dad approve of me going out with Glen Olsen? She shook her head. I shouldn’t be thinking about Dad again. Sinda was so innocent when it came to dealing with men, but she wanted to find out what Glen was really like. He appeared to be nice enough, but appearances could be deceiving. To the world her father had been a wonderful man, faithful in attending church, and attentive to Sinda’s needs. But if Dad had truly loved God, wouldn’t his actions at home have revealed it? Wasn’t Christianity meant to be practiced in one’s personal life,
not just at church? As a child Sinda had practically worshiped her dad, but about the time she started into puberty she’d begun to question his motives. Driving the disturbing thoughts to the back of her mind, Sinda focused on the gingerbread Glen had given her. It needed to be put away.
When she returned to the basement, Sinda found Tara sitting on the third step from the bottom. She’d eaten all the cookies and was just finishing her milk. “What are you doing on the steps? I thought you would take the tray over to the table.”
“I wasn’t going near that box with the weird noise,” Tara said, lifting her chin in defiance.
Sinda stepped around the child. “Let’s go check it out.”
Tara remained seated, arms folded across her chest as though daring Sinda to make her move. “You check it out. I’ll wait here.”
Sinda shrugged and started across the room. “And I thought you were a detective.”
“I am!”
“Then come help.”
Sinda glanced over her shoulder and was pleased to see Tara following her. However, it was obvious by the child’s hunched shoulders and the scowl on her face that she was anything but thrilled about the prospect of trying to determine the nature of the strange noise.
When they came to the box in question, Tara stepped back as Sinda searched through the contents. “If it is a mouse, aren’t you afraid it’ll jump out and bite you?”
Sinda glanced over at Tara, who was cowering near the table. “I don’t like mice, but I’m not afraid of them. I can’t have a bunch of rodents chewing up my valuable doll parts.”
“Why not set some traps?” Tara suggested. “That’s what we used to do before we got Jake.”
“Jake’s your cat, right?”
“Yep, and he can get really feisty when there’s a mouse around. I’d offer to lend him to you, but he wouldn’t get along with your dog.”
“You’re probably right,” Sinda agreed. She rummaged quickly through the rest of the doll parts, then set the box back on the shelf. “There’s no sign of any mice. If there was one, it’s gone now.” She turned to face Tara. “That phone call I had earlier was an antique dealer. She has several old dolls for me to restore.”
Neighborly Thing Page 5