Darker Than Midnight by MAGGIE SHAYNE Page B

Underneath all of it, a big, braided, oval area rug covered the floor.
    Her parents had been busy.
    She moved through the dining room, which still held no furniture, and into the kitchen, where her mother was stacking plates in a cupboard and her father was carefully applying caulk to the windowpane in the back door.
    â€œYou guys are going to spoil me, aren’t you?” Jax asked, leaning in the doorway and folding her arms over her chest.
    Her mother looked up, a kerchief over her hair, and beamed a bright smile at her. “Give the independent streak a rest, Cassie. I couldn’t have you living here without the barest essentials. Honestly, I don’t know how you got by last night—the place was Spartan.”
    â€œI didn’t need to do anything but sleep, Mom.” Jax moved across the room to give her mother a hug, then looked past her into the cupboard, which was stocked with plates, bowls, saucers, coffee cups and glasses. She opened another door to find mixing bowls and measuring cups, and yet another where cookware and bakeware filled the shelves. There was a small kitchen table—metal legs, red Formica top—in the center of the room, with old-fashioned chairs around it—metal frames with padded red vinyl seats and backs. She opened the fridge, found it clean, fresh smelling and stocked with food. The red cooler sat empty on the floor. She wondered briefly if they’d noticed the box of castoffs on her porch as well, but got distracted when she realized the light in the fridge had come on when she’d opened the door.
    â€œPower’s on?” she asked, needlessly.
    â€œPhone lines, too,” her mother said, pointing to the brand-new cordless telephone resting in its base, which was mounted to the wall. They had to have bought it for her.
    â€œWhat happened to the window?” her father asked. “You have trouble out here last night?”
    Jax sent him a bright smile, one designed to hide the lie. “Trouble? Hell, no. Who in their right mind would give me any trouble? I was clumsy. I, uh, was carrying some wood in, from the pile out back, and I slipped. A log flew out of my hand and smashed right through the window.” She shook her head and then moved on to a new subject. “Dad, you didn’t see a dog outside when you arrived, did you?”
    He shook his head slowly, wiping the caulking knife on a rag and dropping it into his tool belt. The windowpane was repaired and perfect. Her father was just as capable with a hammer and nails as he was with a scalpel and clamps. Just as comfortable in a pair of overalls as he had once been in an expensive suit or surgical scrubs.
    â€œNo, I didn’t see any. Did see the box of stuff we sent homewith you…” He smiled. “I see you helped yourself to a few things. It was considerably lighter when I took it to the Goodwill. So are you expecting a dog?”
    She nodded. “That stray we spotted here the first day. It’s been hiding out under the porch sometimes.” Her father frowned, and she rushed on. “He’s all alone, Dad. Doesn’t seem aggressive at all, just wary. I left some food for him and he ate it.”
    Ben nodded. “I saw the empty bowl. You shouldn’t get too close until I’ve had a look at him. Make sure he’s all right.”
    â€œI’ll be careful. Wait till you get a good look at him, Dad. He’s kind of scrawny, a little rough around the edges, but underneath all that, he’s gorgeous.” She found the fugitive’s face, not the dog’s, creeping into her mind. “You can tell he’s something special. Frankie says he’s been making a nuisance of himself for a while, but no one’s been able to corner him.”
    Her dad’s lips pulled into a rare smile, not a full one, kind of sad, like all his smiles were. “You thinking of making a pet out of him?”
    She was startled by the question,