Part 3 (1/2)
”Drats.” Margaret dashed into the living room. Everyone laughed. ”Oh no you don't,” they heard her say. ”What do you have, Rags? Bring that back, you bad boy.”
”Oh dear, I'd better go intervene,” Savannah said, preparing to move her leg off the chair.
Max stood. ”No stay here. I'll go.”
”So what did he take?” Savannah asked when she saw Margaret and Max return with big grins on their faces.
”Nothing,” Margaret said, walking into the pantry in search of ground coffee.
Max sat down, leaned back and stretched his long legs out in front of him. ”Nothing, my eye. You could have poisoned him with that thing. You really shouldn't be leaving something like that down where a cat like Rags can get it. He did save your life once, you know.”
Margaret set the canister of coffee on the counter. She stood silent for a moment, remembering. No, she would never forget Rags's part in saving her and Savannah from that crazy kidnapper. ”Yes, he did,” she said.
She turned to face the others, tugging a little at the hem of her loose-flowing, purple-print blouse. ”No. I would not want to harm one whisker on his little face.” She then tightened her mouth in staunch determination. ”But I don't need him stealing my stuff, either.”
”Then put your stuff out of his reach,” Max scolded good naturedly, his brown eyes twinkling under heavy, dark brows.
Margaret raised her arms. ”And where is that? Where is, 'out of his reach,' pray tell?”
Max looked across the table at Savannah. ”Good question. Do you have an answer?”
She addressed her aunt: ”Sure, inside a closet or one of the rooms where you changed those lever door handles to k.n.o.bs. He could certainly open the lever-handled doors, but not those with k.n.o.bs.”
”We'll have to build a closet just for women's purses,” Michael joked.
Margaret, who had finished making the coffee, took her seat. She looked over at Michael. ”Speaking of your projects, how's the renovation going?”
”Good. I'm really enjoying the work.” He smiled. ”This place is a tinkerer's dream house.”
She leaned forward and looked squarely in his eyes. ”Now tell me, have you found anything...well, unusual while tearing out walls and floors and such?”
He narrowed his eyes. ”Um, no.” And then he chuckled. ”Like what? Pirates' gold or a lost Rembrandt?”
”Noooo, maybe something sinister.”
”Sinister?” the trio repeated.
”In what way?” Michael asked. ”Dead body?”
”Been there, done that,” Margaret quipped with a shudder, remembering the day she found Marvin Byrd's body in an upstairs bedroom of the old Forster home-her former home. ”No, let's don't go there. No more dead bodies. No, Michael, from what I hear tell, it's something a tad more...let's say...eerie.”
”A ghost?” Savannah asked. Her face lit up. ”Auntie did you sell us a haunted house? How cool is that?”
”No, I don't think it's haunted-unless old Jed Forster is still around.” Margaret thought for a moment and then smiled, her brown eyes sparkling under dark-brown bangs. ”But his spirit would be gentle. He would fit in nicely with the two of you.”
”Well, I don't want anyone else living here with us and peering in on our private life,” Michael said emphatically.
”The house isn't haunted, Michael,” Margaret insisted.
”Then what?” he asked.
”To tell you the truth...”
”h.e.l.llloooooo, anyone here? Michael? Savannah?”
”Oh, it's Iris,” Savannah said, rising carefully from her chair and hobbling toward the living room. She saw Iris peering through the open door and called out, ”Come in, girlfriend.”
Iris stepped inside and closed the door. She looked at Savannah, concern on her face. ”I heard about the...trouble and came to see if you two are okay.” She glanced around behind Savannah. ”Where's Michael?”
”He's right in here.” Savannah grabbed Iris's arm and began leading her along. ”Come on in; have some cobbler with us.”
Iris stopped. ”Just a minute, let me find a spot for my purse-somewhere away from that thieving cat of yours.” She laughed.
Savannah shook her head, grinning slightly as Iris reached up and tucked her large purse into a s.p.a.ce on a bookshelf. Just then, Iris felt something against her leg. She looked down, a few curly wisps of red hair bouncing alongside her face. ”Hi there, Lexie. How are you, girl?” She stooped over and ruffled the dog's fawn-colored fur before entering the kitchen.
Michael stood. ”Hi Iris. Have a seat-join us.”
Margaret reached out for Iris's hand and the two former graduates of the Hammond High School cla.s.s of 1973 greeted one another warmly. Iris patted Max on the shoulder. ”Hi there, Max. Good to see you.” After sitting down in the chair Michael had pulled out for her, Iris looked over at Michael and Savannah, scrutinizing them carefully, and then frowned. ”So how are you two? Sounds like you had an awful situation at the clinic this morning.”
”How did you hear about it already?” Savannah asked.
”Craig told me.”
”Oh yes, your honey. We can't keep anything from you anymore since you're dating Detective Craig Sledge.” Michael laughed.
”You were going to keep this from me? Why?” Iris looked hurt.
”Noooo.” Savannah slapped her hand in the air in front of her. ”He's delusional.” She leaned toward Iris and whispered loudly, ”...got a wallop on the head, you know.”
Iris looked over at Michael again and noticed the purple swelling on the side of his face. ”Oh Michael, you look like you took a beating. How are you feeling?”
He grimaced slightly, took a deep breath, and coughed. ”Not too bad-a little sore here and there.”
”I would imagine.” Her eyes darted from Michael to Savannah. ”So what happened?”
The couple repeated the details of the story once again.
”What does the doctor say?” she asked.
”Just to take it easy, use icepacks-general stuff like that,” Michael said. ”Oh honey, you'd better get that pack on your knee.”
”Your knee?” Iris looked over at Savannah.
”Yes, Iris,” Margaret said-her voice accelerated, ”he hit Savannah, too and knocked her down. She has a messed-up knee.”
”My G.o.d!” Iris exclaimed, looking down at Savannah's legs. ”He attacked you, too?”
”He pushed me, that's all.”