Neighborly Thing

by Wanda E. Brunstetter

  Copyright

  ISBN 1-58660-680-8

  © 2002 by Wanda E. Brunstetter. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of Truly Yours, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., PO Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.

  All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved.

  Scripture quotations marked nlt are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc. Wheaton, Illinois 60189, U.S.A. All rights reserved.

  All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.

  One

  “The perfect home,” Sinda Shull murmured as she stood on the sagging front porch of her new house. “Perfect for my needs, but oh, what a dump!”

  Her friend, Carol Riggins, drew Sinda close for a hug. “Seattle’s loss is Elmwood’s gain, and now the town won’t be the same.” She snickered, then her expression sobered. “I’m really glad you decided to leave the past behind and move to Oregon for a fresh start.”

  Sinda’s thoughts fluttered toward the past, then quickly shut down. That was part of her life better left uninvited. She pulled away from her friend, choosing not to comment on her reasons for moving from Seattle, Washington. “Sure hope I can figure out some way to turn this monstrosity into a real home.”

  “I thought you bought the place to use for your business.”

  “I did, but I have to live here too.”

  Carol nodded. “True, and fixing it up should help get your mind off the past.”

  Pushing back a strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail, Sinda frowned. Carol might think she knew all about Sinda’s past, but the truth was, her friend knew very little about what had transpired in the Shull home over the years. When the Rigginses moved into their north Seattle neighborhood, Sinda and Carol were both twelve. By then Sinda and her father had already been living alone for two years. Dad didn’t like her to have friends over, so Sinda usually played at Carol’s house. It was probably better that way. . .less chance of Carol finding out her secrets.

  Sinda heard footsteps and glanced to the left. A tall man wearing a mail carrier’s uniform was walking up the sidewalk leading to the house next door. The sight of him pulled Sinda’s mind back to the present, and she slapped at the dirt on her blue jeans. “Let’s not spoil our day by talking about the past, okay?”

  Carol pulled her fingers through her short blond curls and nodded. “We’ve managed to get you pretty well moved in with no problems, so I’d better get going before I ruin everything by dredging up old memories.” She patted Sinda’s arm. “I can’t imagine what it must feel like to lose a parent, let alone both of them.”

  The image of her father and his recent death from a heart attack burned deep into Sinda’s soul. In order to force the painful memories into submission, Sinda had to swallow hard and refocus her thoughts. “I–I appreciate all you’ve done today, Carol.”

  “What are friends for?” Carol gave Sinda another hug, then she turned to go. “Give a holler if you need my help with anything else,” she called over her shoulder.

  Sinda grimaced. “With the way this place looks, you can probably count on it.”

  ❧

  Glen Olsen poured himself a tall glass of milk, then another one for his ten-year-old daughter, Tara. It had been a long day, and he was bone tired. He’d encountered two new dogs on his route, been chewed out by an irate woman whose disability check hadn’t arrived on time, and he had a blister the size of a silver dollar on his left foot. All Glen wanted to do was sit down, kick off his boots, and try to unwind before he had to fix supper.

  He handed Tara her glass of milk and placed a jar of ginger cookies they’d baked the day before in the center of the kitchen table. “Have a seat and let’s have a snack.”

  “Dad, have you met our new next-door neighbors yet?” Tara reached into the container and grabbed two cookies, which she promptly stuffed into her mouth.

  Glen followed suit and washed his cookies down with a gulp of milk. “Nope, but when I got home this afternoon, I saw two women standing on the front porch.”

  Tara’s brown eyes brightened. “Really? What were they doing?”

  Glen dropped into the chair across from her and bent over to unlace his boots. “They were talking, Nosey Rosey.”

  “Dad!” Tara wrinkled her freckled nose and looked at him as though he’d lost his mind. “Did you see any kids my age?”

  He gingerly slipped his left foot free and wiggled his toes. “Like I said. . .just the two women. I saw one of them drive off in a red sports car, and the other lady probably went inside.”

  Tara tapped her fingernails along the checkered tablecloth. “That’s doesn’t tell me much. When it comes to detective work, you’re definitely not one of the top ten.”

  Glen chuckled. “What do you mean? I told you all I know. Just because I’m not as good at neighborhood snooping as some people I know. . .”

  “I’m not a snoop! The correct word for my career is ‘detective’!”

  “Detective—snoop—what’s the difference?” Glen wagged his finger. “You need to mind your own business, young lady. People don’t like it when you spy on them.”

  “What makes you think I’ve been spying on the neighbors?”

  “Elementary, my dear daughter. Elementary.” Glen gulped down the rest of his milk and grabbed a napkin out of the wicker basket on the table. “May I remind you that you’ve done it before? I’m surprised you don’t have the full history on our new neighbors by now.”

  Tara’s mahogany eyes, so like her mother’s, seemed to be challenging him, but surprisingly, she took their conversation in another direction. “These cookies are great, Dad. You’re probably the best cook in the entire world!”

  Glen raised his eyebrows. “I might be the best cook in our neighborhood, or maybe even the whole town of Elmwood, but certainly not the entire world. Besides, you usually help me with the cooking.” He reached across the table and gave Tara’s hand a gentle squeeze.

  She smiled in response, revealing a pair of perfectly matched dimples. “Say, I’ve got a terrific idea!”

  “Oh, no!” Glen slapped one hand against the side of his head. “Should I call out the Coast Guard, or does that come later?”

  “Quit teasing, Dad.”

  “Okay, okay. What’s your terrific idea, Kiddo?”

  Tara’s eyes lit up like a sunbeam as a slow smile swept across her face. “I think we should take some of these yummy cookies over there.” Tara marched over to the cupboard and brought a heavy paper plate to the table, then piled it high with cookies.

  Glen reached down to rub his sore foot and asked absently, “Over where?”

  She smacked her hand against the table, and a couple cookies flew off the plate. “Over to our new neighbor’s house. You’re always lecturing me about being kind to our neighbors, so I thought it would be the neighborly thing to do.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Glen said, reaching for one of the cookies that had fallen to the table. “You want to take some of our delicious, best-in-the-whole-neighborhood cookies, and go over to meet our new neighbors. Is that right?”

  Tara jumped to her feet. “Exactly! That way we can find out if they have any kids my age.” She tipped her head to one side. “Of cours
e, if you’re too scared—”

  “Me? Scared? Now what would I have to be scared of?”

  “That big old house is pretty creepy looking.”

  “For you, maybe,” Glen said with a hearty laugh. “As for me—I’m not only a great cook, but I’m also a fearless warrior.”

  “Can we go now, Dad?”

  Glen studied his daughter intently. It was obvious from the determined tilt of her chin that she was completely serious about this. Whenever Tara came up with one of her bright ideas, he knew she wasn’t about to let it drop until he either agreed or laid down the law. In this case he thought her plan had merit. “I suppose your idea does beat spying over the garden fence,” he said, sucking in his bottom lip in order to hold back the laughter that threatened to bubble over.

  “I don’t spy,” she retorted as her hands went to her hips.

  “I’ve heard through the grapevine that you’re always spying on someone with those binoculars I made the mistake of buying you last Christmas. If you had your way, you’d probably be going over every square inch of our new neighbor’s house with a fine-tooth comb.” Glen waved his hand for emphasis.

  “I would not!” Tara went back to the cupboard, took out some plastic wrap, and covered the plate of cookies. “Ready?”

  Glen stood up. “I’m game if you are.” He grabbed a light jacket from the coat tree near the back door, stepped into his slippers, and threw Tara her sweater. “Come on. I’ll show you how brave I can be.”

  Glen glanced over his shoulder and saw that Tara was following his lead out the back door. As they stepped off the porch, he felt her jab him in the ribs. “Just in case you do get scared, remember that I’ll be with you, Dad.”

  A catchy comeback flitted through Glen’s mind, but he decided against saying anything more.

  They moved across the grass, and Glen opened the high gate that separated their backyard from the neighbor’s. The dilapidated, three-story home was in sharp contrast to the rest of the houses in their neighborhood. Dark, ragged-looking curtains hung at the windows, peeling green paint made the siding resemble alligator skin, and a sagging back porch indicated the whole house was desperately in need of an overhaul. The yard was equally run-down; the flowerbeds were filled with choking weeds, and the grass was so tall it looked like it hadn’t been mowed for at least a year.

  “This place gives me the creeps,” Tara whispered as she knocked on the wooden edge of the rickety screen door. “I don’t know why anyone would buy such a dump.”

  Glen shrugged. “It’s not so bad, really. Nothing a few coats of paint and a little elbow grease wouldn’t cure.”

  “Yeah, right,” Tara muttered.

  When the back door opened, a woman who appeared to be in her thirties stood before them holding a small vinyl doll in one hand. She was dressed in a pair of faded blue jeans and a bright orange sweatshirt smudged with dirt. Her long auburn hair was in a ponytail, and iridescent green eyes, peeking out of long eyelashes, revealed her obvious surprise. “May I help you?” she asked, quickly placing the doll on one end of the kitchen counter.

  With a casualness he didn’t feel, Glen leaned against the porch railing and offered the woman what he hoped was a pleasant smile. He cleared his throat a few times, wondering why it suddenly felt so dry. “My name’s Glen Olsen, and this is my daughter, Tara. We’re your next-door neighbors. We dropped by to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

  Tara held out the paper plate. “And to give you these.”

  The woman smiled slightly and took the offered cookies. “I’d invite you in, but the place is a mess right now.” She fidgeted, and her gaze kept darting back and forth between Glen and Tara, making him wonder if she felt as nervous about meeting them as he did her.

  “That’s all right, Mrs.—”

  “My name’s Sinda Shull, and I’m not married,” she said with a definite edge to her voice.

  “I guess that means you don’t have any kids,” Tara interjected.

  Glen gave his daughter a warning nudge, but before she could say anything more, the woman answered, “I have no children.”

  “But what about the—”

  “We’d better get going,” Glen said, cutting Tara off in mid-sentence. “Miss Shull is probably trying to get unpacked and settled in.” His fingers twitched as he struggled with an unexplained urge to reach out and brush a wayward strand of tawny hair away from Sinda’s face. Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he quickly rubbed his sweaty palm against his jacket pocket and extended his hand. “It was nice meeting you.”

  As they shook, Glen noticed how small her hand was compared to his. And it was ice cold. She really must be nervous. He moistened his lips, then smiled. “If you need anything, please let me know.”

  She let go and took a step backward. “Thanks, but I’m sure I won’t need anything.”

  Glen felt a tug on his jacket sleeve. “Come on, Dad. Let’s go home.”

  “Sure. Okay.” He nodded at Sinda Shull. “Good night, then.”

  ❧

  Sinda didn’t usually allow self-pity to take control of her thoughts, but tonight she couldn’t seem to help herself. She’d only been living in Elmwood, Oregon, one day, and already she missed home—and yes, even Dad. In spite of her father’s possessive, controlling, and sometimes harsh ways, until his death he’d been her whole world. He’d taken her to church, supplied food for the table, and put clothes on their backs. He had taught Sinda respect, obedience, and. . .

  Sinda moved away from the kitchen table, placing her supper dishes in the sink. She was doing it again. . .thinking about the past. Dad was dead now, and for the first time in her life she was on her own. For the last year she’d learned to become independent, so what difference did her past make now? She blinked back tears and clenched her teeth. “I won’t dwell on the things I can’t change.”

  As she turned toward the cupboard, Sinda spotted the plate of cookies lying next to the doll she’d put there earlier. “Why was I so rude to the neighbors?” she moaned. “I don’t think I even thanked them for the goodies.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut as a mental picture of her father flashed onto the screen of her mind. How would Dad have reacted if he’d witnessed me being rude? She took a deep breath, holding her sides for several seconds and willing the pain to go away. There was no point wasting time on these reflections, and there was no time for neighborly things. She had a house that would take a lot of work to make it livable, much less serve as a place of business. So what if she’d been rude to Glen Olsen and his little girl? They’d be living their lives, and she’d be living hers. If they never spoke again, what would it matter?

  Sinda ran warm water into the sink and added some liquid detergent, staring at the tiny bubbles as they floated toward the plaster ceiling. “I came here to get away from the past, and I’ve got a job to do. So that’s that!”

  ❧

  “Our new neighbor seems kind of weird, doesn’t she, Dad?” Tara asked as the two of them were finishing their supper of macaroni and cheese.

  Glen had other thoughts on his mind, and even though he’d heard her question, he chose not to answer.

  “Dad!”

  He looked up from his half-eaten plate of food. “Yes, Tara?”

  “Don’t you think Sinda Shull is weird? Did you see the way she was dressed?”

  Glen lifted his fork but didn’t take a bite. “What’s wrong with the way she was dressed? She just moved in, and those were obviously her working clothes.”

  Tara gazed at the ceiling. “She looked like a pumpkin in that goofy orange sweatshirt, and—”

  “Do I need to remind you what the Bible says about loving our neighbors and judging others?” he interrupted. “The woman seemed nice enough to me, and it’s not our place to pass judgment, even if she should turn out to be not so nice.”

  Tara groaned. “You would say that. You always try to look for the good in others.”

  “That’s exactly what God
wants us to do.” Glen shoveled some macaroni into his mouth, then washed it down with a gulp of water.

  She frowned at him. “What if the person you think is good turns out to be rotten to the core?”

  “I hardly think Sinda Shull is rotten to the core.” Glen shook his head. “Besides, only God knows what’s in someone’s heart.”

  Tara wrinkled her nose. “You can believe whatever you like, but I’ve got a bad feeling about that woman. I’m trusting my instincts on this one.”

  “I say your instincts are way off!” He scowled. “And don’t go getting any ridiculous notions about spying on Miss Shull. It’s not the—”

  “I know, I know,” she interrupted. “It’s not the neighborly thing to do.”

  He nodded.

  Tara tapped a fingernail against her chin. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Why would a woman who isn’t married and has no kids be holding a doll when she answered the door?”

  Glen shrugged. “Maybe she has relatives or friends with children.”

  Tara remained silent for several seconds, as though she were in deep thought. “She acted kind of nervous, didn’t you think? And did you see those green eyes of hers?”

  Glen smiled. Oh, he’d seen them all right. Even for the few minutes they’d been standing on Sinda’s back porch, it had been hard to keep from staring into those pools of liquid emerald. Get a grip, he scolded himself. You can’t let some new neighbor woman make you start acting like a high school kid—especially not in front of your impressionable young daughter.

  “Sinda’s eyes remind me of Jake,” Tara said, jolting Glen out of his musings.

  “Jake? What are you talking about, Tara?”

  “She’s got cat’s eyes. She could probably hypnotize someone with those weird eyes.”

  Glen leaned on the table, casting a frown at his daughter. “I think you, Little Miss Detective, have an overactive imagination. You watch way too much TV, and I plan to speak to Mrs. Mayer about it. While I’m at work, she needs to watch you a bit more closely.”

  Tara’s lower lip protruded. “I don’t watch too much TV. I just have a sixth sense about people. Right now my senses are telling me that Sinda Shull is one weird lady, and she needs to be watched!”