Murrook Farm (Sam & Jody Series Book 2)

by Lois Kay

  “Alright, Pete. Have a lovely evening. And thanks for the ham.”

  “No worries,” Peter said. “And tell that smart kid of yours I could use her help this weekend. If she’s interested.”

  Joan laughed. “Oh, she will be. Fiona is saving up for a new camera. She’ll be here.”

  “Great! Now, go. I thought you had a dinner to attend. Don’t keep your girls waiting.”

  “I already called Jody to tell her I’ll be a little late. Bye, Peter.” Joan McDonnell laughed, leaving the kitchen to walk back to the reception area, and grab her purse from the desk. “I’ll see you in the morning, Brian,” she waved at the assistant manager, who was walking down the hall. Brian waved back and sent her a grin. “Bye, Joan. Tell the boss-ladies ‘hi’ for me.”

  Outside, Joan McDonnell squinted her eyes against the glaring sun and searched for an already familiar face. She hid a satisfied smile when a slender form emerged from the shadow of a tree. Slowly, the girl walked up to her. She reminded Joan of a feral cat; scared and cautious, but also curious and hungry. The lean body radiated tension and Joan knew that the girl could turn and run in the blink of an eye.

  When they were closer, Joan’s gaze locked with a pair of nervous blue eyes. She smiled and handed over the bag with goodies. For a moment, they looked at each other and again, the shadow of a smile crept over the girl’s face. Joan tried to hide her excitement, but inside she was bubbling with joy. It was the first emotion the girl had ever displayed, and in Joan’s eyes, it was a step in the right direction.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, trying to keep the emotion out of her voice. She wished she could reach out and brush away a strand of blond hair that had been blown into the girl’s eyes like she had done thousands of times with her daughters. But Joan held back, instinctively knowing the girl would probably turn around and run.

  The girl didn’t say a word, even though, deep inside she could feel the stirring of emotion she thought had been long dead: hope. The fact that the woman cared enough about a total stranger, a homeless runaway, to bring her food every day after work, filled her with gratitude and curiosity. To the girl, it was evident that the woman cared. Her attitude was so different from the looks of disgust, pity, and anger she often received. It was confusing.

  When Joan turned around to walk to the parking garage, her ears picked up an unfamiliar sound.

  “Thank you.” The voice was husky.

  For a moment, Joan’s steps faltered. “You’re very welcome,” she said, casting a glance over her shoulder and sending the girl a smile.

  The girl stared at the retreating woman who was so incredibly kind to her. She had surprised and startled herself, by thanking her. When the words had left her mouth, she had instinctively stepped back, expecting the woman to turn around and start talking to her. Like so many people had done in the past. Asking her what a young girl like her was doing on the streets. Asking her where she spent her nights. As if the gift of a couple of dollars, or a little food, gave them the right to pry into her life. But this woman was so different, she gave and did not expect anything in return. She was generous and kind. And to the girl’s amazement, she felt herself smile. She stepped back into the shadow of the tree and quickly opened the bag. Her eyes widened when she saw the huge, thick slice of ham and immediately her mouth started watering. She raised her head to shoot a grateful look in the direction of the kind woman, who was descending the steps into the parking garage. The girl unwrapped the slice of meat, and as she impatiently tore off a big chunk to pop it into her mouth, her eyes fell on two figures standing outside the parking garage.

  Two teenagers, a boy, and a girl, who looked to be a little older than she was. They were glancing around as if scanning their surroundings. When the girl saw them nodding at each other and disappear into the parking garage, she knew they were nothing but trouble. Usually, she would not have cared much. She had seen her share of crime and violence on the streets, and often, she made sure to stay away from that as far as possible. But this time it was different. It was obvious the pair was following the kind woman. For a moment, she hesitated, but then she grabbed her precious bag and jumped up to run across the square toward the entrance of the underground parking garage. She had no idea what to do once she was there, but a little voice told her she, at least, owed the woman concern for her wellbeing.

  A quick look around showed her there were only a few people in the area and she dashed down the stairs. A few seconds later she stood in the cool, dimly lit parking garage. As soon as her eyes had adjusted to the semi-darkness, she made out two figures standing over a person who was lying on the floor. The girl was roughly pushing the woman’s face down, while the boy was trying to yank away the purse that was slung across her shoulder.

  “Hey! Leave her alone,” the girl shouted. Inside she could feel the anger rise. She ran toward them, and without slowing down, she threw herself against the much taller boy. Startled by her action, he toppled over and with a big thud hit his head on the side of a car. He rubbed the area of his head that had collided with the car, and it was evident the impact had rattled him.

  “Bitch,” he spat.

  The girl knew she had no time to wait until he was back on his feet again. With an angry yell, she turned toward his friend and punched her square in the face. Blood squirted from the girl’s nose, and she stumbled back, grabbing the hurt appendage while shouting profanities at her young attacker.

  “Get the hell out of here and leave her alone.”

  In the meantime, the boy had scrambled back to his feet, and he was just about to lunge at her when he was interrupted by the sound of running footsteps coming down the stairs. Without thinking twice, he ran across the parking garage toward the back entrance, closely followed by his friend.

  The girl saw them disappear and crouched down to check on the woman, who seemed to be a bit groggy. Even in the dim light, she could see a big lump forming on the side of her head, and she knew she must have taken a hard blow. She put a hand on her shoulder and carefully shook her. To her relief, she saw her eyes slowly open, and a soft groan indicated her discomfort. The girl was just about to get back to her feet when a hand grabbed the back of her shirt and roughly pulled her away.

  “You little shit.” It was the angry voice of a man. “What have you done? They should rid the streets of your kind.”

  The girl struggled to get away but found herself in an iron grip. The man pulled her even closer, and suddenly she panicked. Darkness flooded her, and she felt like she was drowning. Her breathing became irregular and shallow, and her heart was pounding. A buzzing noise filled her ears, drowning out all other sounds. Her eyes registered the woman slowly turning over and getting into a sitting position. She saw her lips move but heard no sound. The only thing she was aware of, was the vice-like grip on her body and the man’s breathing in her ear. A voice in the back of her head kept repeating the same words over and over, like a mantra “Never again. Never again.” Her panic intensified and she was able to wrestle herself free. She could feel the man reach for her again, but she dove to the ground and disappeared under a parked SUV, where she rolled up into a ball, slowly rocking back and forth.

  *

  Joan McDonnell had not heard the approaching footsteps until it was too late. Before she had been able to turn around, she had felt a painful blow to the side of her head and immediately her knees had given out. Not able to break her fall, she had hit the oil-stained, concrete floor, fighting not to lose consciousness. She had felt someone trying to pull her purse from her shoulder and instinctively she had clutched it close to her body. She had only been vaguely aware of a girl screaming. When the hands that were pushing her face down had disappeared, she had been flooded with relief.

  A gentle hand had touched her shoulder, and when she had finally been able to lift her head and turn around, she had been witness to the sheer panic on the face of the girl from the park. Confused and still groggy from the blow to her head, Joan ha
d watched the girl escape the grip of a stranger and dive underneath the car that was parked next to Joan’s. With fear in her eyes she had looked up to the tall, burly man who was kneeling next to her and she was about to crawl away from him when his gentle spoken words finally sunk in.

  “The police and ambulance are on their way, Miss,” he said. “You’re safe now. That little criminal is hiding underneath the car, but don’t worry, the police will take of her.”

  Joan shook her head, trying to rid herself from the fog that still prevented her from thinking clearly, but the only result was a sharp stab of pain at the side of her head. “Ouch,” she groaned, bringing her hand to her head and feeling the big lump. Her eyes fell on a paper bag on the dark, concrete floor. It was ripped open, and her eyes saw the slice of ham that Peter Sutton had carefully wrapped not so long ago. Gradually, the groggy feeling subsided, and her confusion was replaced with worry.

  “Where did you say the girl is?” she asked. Her voice was still shaking.

  “She’s underneath that car,” the stranger pointed out. “She’s scared out of her wits. But you don’t need to worry, I’m sure the police will lock her up where she belongs. Damn street kid.”

  Carefully Joan rubbed her sore head, trying to organize her thoughts. “Oh….I… but you don’t understand. She—.”

  The arrival of a police car, followed by an ambulance interrupted her and visibly relieved the man stood up to face the police officers that had jumped out of the car. One of them was a tall woman, with short, curly brown hair. Her green-blue eyes took in the sight in front of her, and when she saw the victim on the ground, her tanned face visibly paled.

  “Joan!” She knelt next to her and put a hand on her shoulder. “Oh, my God, are you alright?”

  “Hey, Trish,” Joan said. She tried to smile, but it was like the muscles in her face were still numb. “I’m not sure. Somebody knocked me over the head.”

  “She’s hiding underneath that car,” the stranger pointed out. “Young girl, pretty skinny, but she fights like a wildcat.”

  Immediately Trishia’s partner, Peter Jones, sank on his knees next to the SUV and roughly pulled the girl away from her hiding place. She was still rolled up into a ball. Tears were escaping from underneath her tightly closed eyelids. When he noticed the condition she was in, he quickly pulled his hands away and created some distance. “Trish?”

  Trishia Waters stood up to make room for a paramedic and walked over to her partner. She frowned when her eyes caught sight of the young girl. To her experienced eyes, the girl in front of her did not fit any of the usual profiles of juvenile delinquents. She looked at Peter, who shrugged, indicating he didn’t really know what to do either.

  Joan finally felt her head had cleared and she gently pushed away the hand of the paramedic, who was examining the lump on her head.

  “Just a minute, please,” she requested. “Can you help me up?”

  “Are you sure that is what you want to do? You might have —.”

  “Please?” Joan repeated, extending her hand to the young paramedic.

  He nodded and grabbed her hand, while his other hand slid around her shoulders to carefully help her to her feet. Joan sent him a grateful smile and, still a little unsteady, she walked toward Trishia and Peter, flanked by the paramedic, who obviously had no faith in her current physical condition. Joan put her hand on Trishia’s back and looked down at the girl on the ground. Her heart went out to the teenager, who looked so incredibly young and vulnerable. Suddenly she felt tears stinging her eyes.

  “It wasn’t her, Trish,” she said softly. Her gaze never left the girl, who still slowly rocked back and forth.

  “Did you see who attacked you?” Trishia asked.

  “No, I didn’t,” Joan answered truthfully. “I know there were two of them, but this girl is innocent.”

  “With all due respect, Mrs. McDonnell, she’s the only one here,” Peter Jones spoke up. He looked at Trishia with a silent request for support in his eyes.

  “But there were two of them,” Joan explained. “I’m sure about that. One hit me in the head, while the other pushed my face down to the ground. They tried to get my purse. And I… I sort of know this girl. After work, I always …stop by to give her some food.” Joan pointed at the ripped paper bag on the ground. A silent witness of what had happened in the parking garage. “I don’t believe she would hurt me,” she finished, her voice filled with confidence.

  “But you don’t really know her, Mrs. McDonnell,” Peter reasoned. “Sometimes those kids just hang around, waiting for an opportunity.”

  Trishia bit her lip and turned toward the tall man who had called for their help. “What exactly did you see, sir?” she asked.

  “Well, I was walking by when I saw this girl running into the parking garage. A few moments later I heard shouting and screaming, so I ran in and saw this girl sitting next to this lady.”

  “What was she doing?”

  “Um…just sitting, I guess. The girl had her hand on this lady’s shoulder and was sort of shaking her. Um….I—.”

  “Shaking or hitting?” Peter asked in a no-nonsense voice.

  “Well, she wasn’t hitting her,” the man said. “When I came running in, I thought that’s what she was doing, hitting her, but now I come to think of it, I’m not sure.”

  “You said you heard shouting and screaming,” Trishia repeated. “Can you tell me if you could make out different voices?”

  The man rubbed his face. “Now you mention it, I did,” he said. “I heard a male voice. He was shouting ‘Bitch.’ And I heard a girl’s voice screaming to ‘leave her alone.’”

  Trishia smiled at him. “Do you have time to come to the station with us, sir, so we can take your statement?”

  “Yes, of course,” the man answered. He scratched the back of his neck. “I’m feeling a bit of an idiot for jumping to conclusions.”

  “What do we do with the girl, Trish?” Peter asked.

  Trishia looked at one of the paramedics who had carefully been checking the young girl for any visible injuries. “What do you think, Gary?”

  The paramedic put his hand on the girl’s shoulder. Immediately her body stiffened, and her eyes shot open. When her blue eyes focused on the stranger, everybody saw the panic rise.

  The paramedic was no rookie and years of riding the ambulance had given him a lot of insight into peoples’ behavior. He responded by slowly but immediately removing his hand and adding a bit more distance between himself and the girl. It was clear to him the girl was frightened by the physical contact, and he grimly thought of a few possible causes. “I won’t hurt you,” he said in a friendly, soothing tone. “My name is Gary. I’m a paramedic, and I just want to make sure you’re alright. Is that okay?”

  The girl didn’t answer, but the panic in her eyes slowly made way for caution. Her gaze traveled to Joan McDonnell, who looked at her with a worried expression on her face.

  “I’m fine,” the girl answered. “I think she…the lady, she needs your help more. They hit her on the head.”

  Gary smiled. He noticed the quick recovery, and although the girl was still very pale, he decided that she was okay, at least for now. Getting back to his feet, he looked from Trishia to Joan and raised an eyebrow.

  “Take Joan to the hospital, Gary,” Trishia said. “That lump needs to be checked out.” Seeing that Joan was about to protest, Trishia raised her hand to silence the older woman. “Joan, please. I know you want to go home. I know you have plans for this evening, but please, humor me, okay? Have it checked out? Besides, you know Lucy will kill me if I let you go like this.”

  Joan realized that Trishia’s request was a reasonable one, but still, she was reluctant to go to the hospital, convinced that her injury was not that bad. “What about my car?” she tried, which elicited a smile from Trishia.

  “My shift will end in a couple of hours. I’ll ask Lucy to come and get me, so we can pick up your car and park it in your driveway. W
e’ll give you a ride home from Jody’s tonight. I’ll call Jody and ask her to come to the hospital to pick you up.”

  Joan could not find any reason to object Trishia’s proposal, and she nodded in agreement, although reluctantly. “Alright,” she said. “But I don’t like to be fussed over. What will happen to…. what is your name, love?” she directed the question to the young girl.

  The girl looked up through hooded eyes, but could not detect anything but kindness in Joan’s face. Hesitantly her gaze traveled to Trishia and Peter, who were police officers, which automatically made them her enemy.

  “I can’t keep calling the one who saved me ‘girl,’ now can I?” Joan gently teased.

  “Alice,” the girl whispered.

  “I like that name.” Joan smiled. “My mother’s name was Alice, and she was a great lady. I don’t know how to thank you, Alice. I know those police officers will ask you a million questions, but don’t mind them. It’s their job. They’re friendly people.”

  “Wow, thanks, Joan,” Trishia mumbled, suppressing a laugh.

  Joan McDonnell stepped closer to the girl, knowing not to touch her. But she needed to look her in the eyes. “I mean it when I say I’m grateful, Alice. God knows what would have happened if you hadn’t shown up. If there is anything I can do for you, just let me know, okay?” A small smile came to her face. “You know where I work.”

  Alice cast down her gaze and looked uncomfortable. It was clear she didn’t know how to respond to the kind words. “Thanks for the tucker,” she finally whispered. “I mean…the food.”

  “You’re more than welcome, honey,” Joan responded. She fought the urge to hug the girl and chase all her demons away. “Thank you.” She motioned to the waiting Trishia and Peter. “These two are friends of mine. You don’t have to be scared. Okay?”

  Joan turned around and slowly walked towards the waiting ambulance. When she passed Trishia, she put her hand on the taller woman’s arm and looked up. “I know better than to tell you how to do your job,” she said. “I know you deal with runaways all the time, but believe me, Trish, there’s something about this child. Please be gentle. And if there’ anything I can do—.”