Sinda shivered and rubbed her hands briskly over her bare arms. “I suppose that would be all right.”
“You are cold.” Glen draped one arm across her shoulders, and she shivered again, only this time she knew it wasn’t from the cold.
“Tara mentioned that you moved here from Seattle,” Glen remarked. “She said you used to run a doll hospital there too.”
Sinda nodded. I wonder what else Tara told her dad.
“I understand your father passed away, and your mother died when you were Tara’s age?”
Sinda skidded to a stop. The camaraderie they’d begun to share had been blown away like a puff of smoke. “We’ve certainly done our homework, haven’t we? I guess your daughter isn’t the only detective in the family.”
“She is the only one. At least, she thinks she is.” Glen chuckled, apparently unaware of her annoyance.
“If you wanted a rundown on my past, why not ask me yourself?” she snapped. “Wouldn’t it have been better than getting secondhand information from a child?”
“I did not ask my daughter to get the lowdown on you. She volunteered it—plain and simple.”
Glen’s tone had cooled some, and Sinda suddenly felt like an idiot. Maybe she was making a big deal out of his questions. Perhaps Dad had taught her too well about keeping to herself. “I guess I jumped to conclusions,” Sinda said apologetically. “I think that’s enough about me for one night, anyway. Why don’t you tell me something about yourself?”
“Let’s see now. . .I’m thirty-four years old. I’ve been a Christian since I was twelve. My parents are missionaries in New Guinea. I have one brother, who is two years younger than me. I’m a mailman who loves his job but hates the blisters he gets when he wears new boots. I love to look for bargains at yard sales and thrift stores. I’ve been a widower for nine years. My daughter is the official neighborhood snoop, and I’m the best cook in Elmwood, Oregon.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Anything else you’d like to know?”
Sinda couldn’t help but smile. She and Glen Olsen had more in common than she would have guessed. At least she liked yard sales and thrift shops, and they did enjoy the same kind of music and eating Chinese food. Glen was like a breath of fresh air—able to make her smile and even temporarily forget the pain from her past. “How come a good-looking, great cook like you has never remarried?” she asked.
“I have dated a few women since my wife’s death,” he acknowledged. “I was in too much pain the first few years to even think about another woman, but when I did finally start dating, Tara didn’t like it.” He reached for Sinda’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “To be perfectly honest, until recently I’ve never met a woman besides my wife, Connie, who could hold my interest.”
Until recently? Did he mean her? Dare she ask? She was about to, but he threw a question at her instead.
“How about you? Have there been many men in your life?”
She shook her head, hoping, almost praying, he wouldn’t pursue the subject. “It’s getting dark. Maybe we should go. You did say you wanted me to take a look at that doll, right?”
Glen nodded, and they turned back toward his car.
❧
Sinda waited in the living room while Glen went upstairs to get the doll. When he returned a short time later, she was standing in front of the fireplace, looking at a photograph on the mantel.
“That was the last picture ever taken of Connie,” he said, stepping up beside Sinda. “It was about a year before she died.”
She placed the photograph back on the mantel. “She was lovely.”
A few tears shimmered in Glen’s sapphire blue eyes as he replied, “Her sweet attitude and Christian faith never wavered—not even when the end came near.”
Sinda swallowed hard, trying not to feel his pain, yet in spite of her resolve, her heart went out to Glen. What would it be like to raise a child alone? Her father knew, but she’d never asked him. She hadn’t dared to ask any personal questions, especially about her mother.
Yanking her attention away from the captivating, dark-eyed brunette in the picture, Sinda leaned over the coffee table to examine the old doll Glen had placed there.
The bisque-head, ball-jointed doll lay in pieces, and the blond mohair wig was nearly threadbare. Several fingers and toes were missing as well. Sinda held the head gently, turning it over to see if it had any special markings that might indicate who had made it. “Ah. . .a German doll,” she murmured. “She’s quite old and a real treasure.”
“You mean the doll could be worth something?” he asked, lifting his eyebrows in obvious surprise.
“Several hundred dollars, I’d say.”
Glen frowned. “It needs a lot of work, though.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Nothing I haven’t done before.”
“How long do you think it would take?”
“Probably a month or two.”
He nodded and gave her another one of his heart-melting smiles. “Then for the next month you’ll have my handyman services.” They shook on it to make it official, and Sinda said she should be getting home.
As Glen walked her next door, Sinda could hear Sparky barking from inside the house.
“Be quiet, you dumb dog. You’ll alert the whole neighborhood,” a child’s shrill voice hissed.
“Alert them to what?” Glen bellowed.
Tara, who was crouched in one corner of Sinda’s front porch, jumped in obvious surprise, and so did Sinda. “Dad! What are you doing here?”
“I think the question should be ‘What are you doing here, Miss Olsen?’ Aren’t you supposed to be at Penny’s?”
Tara rocked back and forth on her heels, clasping her hands tightly together. “I–I—that is—”
Sinda’s gaze swung from Tara, to Glen, to a strange-looking object on her front porch. She leaned over for a closer look. “Where did this old trunk come from?” she asked, glancing back at Tara.
The child rubbed the palms of her hands over her blue jeans and licked her lips before she replied. “I—uh—was upstairs in Penny’s room, and I happened to glance out the window, when—”
“I’ll bet you just happened to,” Glen interrupted.
“Go on, Tara,” Sinda prompted.
At her father’s nod, Tara touched the trunk with the toe of her sneaker and continued. “I saw a dark-colored van pull into your driveway. A man got out, and he took this big thing out of the back. He carried it up the walk and set it on your front porch. Then he knocked on the door, but when nobody answered, he left it and drove away.”
“Did you get a good look at the man? Did you see any markings on the van or anything that might give us some clue?” Glen questioned.
Tara shook her head. “No, but I decided to come over here and see if he left a note or anything.”
Sinda dropped to her knees beside the trunk. She thought she recognized it, but under the dim porch light she couldn’t be sure. “There’s a shipping tag attached to the side. It has my name and address on it.” She glanced up at Tara. “The man you saw was probably from the freight company who sent the trunk.”
“Who’s it from, and what’s inside?” Tara asked excitedly.
“That is none of our business, young lady.” Glen offered Sinda his hand, and she stood up again. “That thing looks kind of heavy. Want me to carry it into the house for you?”
“I’d appreciate it,” she replied.
Glen pointed at Tara. “Get on back to Penny’s. We’re going to have a little talk about this in the morning.”
Tara bounded off the porch, but she turned back when she reached the sidewalk. “Say, Dad, what’s in that cardboard box you’re holding?”
Glen nodded in the direction of Penny’s house. “Go!”
Sinda waited until Tara was safely across the street and had entered her friend’s house before she opened the front door. Glen handed Sinda the box with the antique doll in it, then he hoisted the trunk to his broad shoulders and followed her inside.
At her suggestion, Glen set the trunk in the hallway, then moved toward the door, hesitating slightly. To her surprise, he lifted his hand and gently touched the side of her face, sending shivers of delight up her spine. She breathed in the musky scent of his aftershave and held her breath as he bent his head toward her. Their lips touched briefly in a warm kiss as delicate as butterfly wings.
“I guess I should apologize for that,” Glen whispered when he pulled away. “I’m not usually so forward.”
Sinda’s cheeks flamed as she realized how much she’d enjoyed the brief kiss. “Good night, Glen,” was all she managed to say.
With hands in his pocket and shoulders slightly slumped, Glen ambled out the front door. Did he think she was angry? Should she have said something more?
Sinda shut the door, shuffled to the living room, and slumped to the couch with a groan. She sat there, staring vacantly at the unlit fireplace, then reached up to touch her mouth, still feeling the warmth of Glen’s lips. As extraordinary as the kiss felt, she could never let it happen again!
She closed her eyes momentarily, and when she opened them, her gaze rested on the massive trunk sitting in the hallway. Who sent it and why? Should she open it now or wait until morning?
Sinda forced herself to get up from the couch, and she moved slowly across the room. Why put off until tomorrow what you can do today? She could hear her father’s words as if he were standing right beside her. How many times had he reprimanded her for procrastinating? How many times had he screamed at her for forgetting things? Why was it so important to do things right away? Worse yet, why was she still doing things his way? He was dead. Shouldn’t she be able to make her own decisions and do things her way?
“I guess old habits die hard,” Sinda said as she knelt beside the trunk. With trembling fingers she grasped the handle and pulled. It didn’t budge. That’s when she noticed the hasp was held securely in place by a padlock. The key! Where was the key?
It had been many years since Sinda had seen the trunk, though she’d never viewed any of its contents. She was certain it was her mother’s trunk, which she’d seen in her closet on several occasions. She’d always figured Dad had thrown it out after Mother left. Seeing it now was a painful reminder that her mother was gone forever. It made her feel as if she were ten years old again. . .sad, betrayed, and confused by everything that had happened.
Driving the troubling thoughts to the back of her mind, Sinda directed her focus to the old trunk. On closer examination, she discovered a business card attached to the handle. A light finally dawned. Alex Masters, their family lawyer, must have had access to the trunk, for it was his name and address inscribed on the card.
Without a key Sinda had no way of getting into the trunk tonight. She may as well go up to bed. In the morning she’d give Alex a call and see if he had the key. She was in no hurry to open up old wounds, anyway. There were too many hurts from her past, and after such a lovely evening with Glen, she would rather not think about them.
Ten
It was Saturday morning, and Tara, recently home from Penny’s, had been sent outside to do more weeding in the flowerbeds. Glen watched her wipe the dampness from her forehead and heard her mutter, “If my mother was still alive, she’d be out here in the garden with me. Dad wouldn’t be acting so goofy around our weird neighbor, either.”
“Who are you talking to?” Glen tapped his daughter on the shoulder, and she whirled around to face him.
“Myself.” She glanced at the toolbox in his hand. “What’s that for?”
“Starting today I’ll be helping Sinda do some repairs on her house during my free time, so if you need me just give a holler.”
Tara’s mouth dropped open like a broken hinge. “I thought you and I were goin’ shopping today. Summer will be here soon, and I need new clothes.”
Glen shrugged. “I had planned to take you to Fuller’s Mall, but since you snuck out of Penny’s house last night, you’ll be spending the entire day doing chores. I’ve also decided that when your time is up at Sinda’s, you can do another thirty days of doll repairs.” Tara’s eyes widened, and he drew in a deep breath, wondering if he was being too hard on her. He knew he was lenient at times, but there were other times, like right now, when he snapped like a turtle. I have good reason to be stern with her, he reasoned. Tara disobeyed me, in spite of my warnings.
Tara looked up at him as though she might burst into tears, and he chastised himself for feeling guilty. He leveled her with a look he hoped was admonishing. “If Sinda and I ever go out again, you’ll be staying with Mrs. Mayer or at Uncle Phil’s.”
Tara thrust out her chin. “Aw, Dad, Uncle Phil lives in a dinky little apartment. He has no kids, and there’s never anything fun to do there.”
Glen couldn’t argue with that. His younger, unmarried brother had his own successful business and was hardly ever home, so Phil didn’t need a large place to live.
Tara’s lower lip protruded. “And I don’t see why I have to do more work for that weir—”
“Don’t even say it,” Glen interrupted. He motioned toward the flower beds. “When you’re done weeding here, you can start out front.”
“But, I did those a few weeks ago,” she argued.
“Then do them again!” Glen disappeared, forcing all thoughts of his disobedient daughter to the back of his mind. Right now, all he wanted to do was get over to Sinda’s and start working.
He opened the gate and trudged through her overgrown yard. I should offer to mow this mess. Glen set the toolbox on Sinda’s porch and knocked on her back door. She opened it right away, but he was disappointed when she didn’t return his smile. She was wearing a pair of dark green overalls and a pale green T-shirt that deepened the color of her eyes, and her hair was pulled up into a ponytail. A strange sensation spread through Glen’s chest. Despite her casual attire and sullen expression, he thought she looked beautiful.
“Good morning, Glen,” Sinda said with downcast eyes. What was wrong? Why wouldn’t she look at him?
“Morning,” he responded cheerfully. He hoped his positive mood might rub off on her. “You have my services for most of the day, so where would you like me to begin?”
“You sound rather anxious to work up a sweat on such a warm spring day.”
“Just keeping true to my word.” He gave her a quick wink, but there was no response. Not even a smile. It might be that she’s upset because Tara was snooping around on her front porch last night. Or maybe it was that unplanned kiss. Should I ask?
“I haven’t started on your wife’s old doll yet,” Sinda said, breaking into Glen’s contemplations.
He shrugged. “I just gave it to you last night.”
“Before you tackle any of my house repairs, would you mind moving that old trunk upstairs?” she asked, changing the subject.
“No problem.” He stepped inside, hoisted the trunk to his shoulders, and followed Sinda up the stairs.
When they came to the first room, she moved aside. “This room is full of boxes and things I haven’t had time to find a place for yet, so let’s put it here.” She frowned deeply. “I don’t even have a key that will open the trunk.”
Glen raised his eyebrows. “No key came with it?”
She shook her head. “I have several old keys with some of my antiques, but nothing fits. I found my lawyer’s business card on the handle last night, so I’ll contact him to see if he has the key.”
“Would you like me to break it open? I don’t think it would be too difficult.”
At first Sinda looked as though she might be considering the offer, but to his surprise she replied, “I’ll wait and see what my lawyer has to say. There’s no sense ruining a perfectly good padlock if it’s not necessary.”
Glen turned toward the door. “Where would you like me to begin? Should I start by mowing the lawn?”
“I think I can handle that myself,” she said. “Why don’t you try to do something about the front porch? It�
��s even more dilapidated than the back porch, and since my customers come to the front door, I’d rather not have someone trip on a loose board and sue me for everything I don’t own.”
The expression on her face softened, and it made Glen’s heart race. He grinned and started back down the stairs with Sinda following on his heels. He was glad the tension he’d felt when he first arrived seemed to be abating. “By the time you finish your breakfast, I should have a fairly good start on the project.”
Her forehead wrinkled. “How’d you know I was about to eat breakfast?”
They were at the bottom of the stairs now, and Glen turned to face her. “My daughter’s always telling me that I’m the best cook in the world. What kind of cook would I be if I couldn’t smell scrambled eggs and sausage?”
Sinda grimaced and covered her face with her hands. “Guess I’m caught. If you haven’t eaten yet, you’re welcome to join me.”
Glen held his stomach and gave her what he hoped was his best grin. He’d eaten a bowl of cereal and a piece of toast around seven, and it was a little after nine now. He could probably eat again.
❧
“Please, Dad, not another Sunday dinner with Sinda!”
Glen was putting away the leftovers from their Saturday evening supper of pizza and salad, while Tara cleared the table.
“Tara Mae Olsen, what is wrong with you? It seems like all you do anymore is whine and complain. What is your problem?”
“It’s actually your problem, Dad, not mine,” she answered sullenly.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Sinda’s the problem, not me.” Now Tara looked like she was going to cry, and she flopped into a chair and lowered her head to the table.
Glen took the seat across from her and reached out to take her hand, suddenly feeling like a big heel. He hadn’t meant to make her cry. “What kind of problem do you see attached to Sinda Shull?”
Tara’s head shot up, and tears rolled down her cheeks. “Can’t you see it, Dad. She’s out to get you.”
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