Grab & Go (Mayfield Cozy Mystery Book 2) by Jerusha Jones Page A

against me like a papoose, an ungainly extension of my own body.
    Clarice and CeCe were sitting at the kitchen table coloring in a Disney princess coloring book when I burst through the door. The shock, fear, worry and irritation that flitted across Clarice’s face in that moment was almost worth the price of admission.
    “I’ll explain later,” I wheezed, gently setting the little girl down in an empty chair.
    CeCe, wasting no time, popped out of her chair to stand by the newcomer. “What’s your name?” she asked in that bright, uninhibited tone children have.
    I laid a hand on the little girl’s head. “She’s tired, and so am I. How about we have dinner first?”
    I pitched my eyebrows at Clarice who was scowling mightily, a purple crayon poised in her large-knuckled hand. But she pushed to standing without a word and started banging pots and pans around in a rather effective manner.
     
    oOo
     
    It was a night for early bedtimes all around. I rustled up my biggest t-shirt for the little girl to wear as a nightie. I sat on the edge of the newly made-up bed in the room that was quickly becoming our girls’ dormitory and brushed her hair after her bath. CeCe was still splashing during her turn in the tub down the hall, so I had a few minutes alone with the child.
    I placed my hands on her arms and held her loosely as she stood in front of me. “I understand you don’t want to talk, and that’s okay.”
    Her eyes tracked with me, face expressionless.
    “But we need to call you something, so you’ll know we’re talking to you. Would it be all right if I gave you a name, and later you can pick which one you like best — the name you have now or the one I give you?”
    She nodded slightly, but I thought I saw the tiniest flicker of eagerness — or maybe curiosity — in her eyes.
    “How about Emmie?” I asked. “Emmie Grace?” I’d traded an emerald for her in a moment of grace. Why not. She’d learn what it meant when she was ready.
    She traced the scar on my upper lip with a fingertip and nodded gravely. Then she climbed onto the bed and slid under the covers.
    “Good night, Emmie,” I whispered.
    Fifteen minutes later, Clarice and I sat across the kitchen table from each other. I felt as though I had to swim through a huge void, to merge her understanding with mine — what little there was — before I could let myself relax. She took it well.
    “So you traded Skip’s ring for Skip’s child,” she finally grunted. “Seems appropriate. Frankly, he never struck me as the type to fool around.” Her face puckered in distaste.
    “She looks like—”
    “Only the eye color.” Clarice cut me off. “Nothing else.”
    “She’s too little to know for sure,” I said.
    “You’ll never know for sure, unless you do a DNA test.” Clarice glared me, squinting through the cat’s eye glasses. “But you’re not going to do that, are you?”
    I sighed. “It wouldn’t change what Emmie needs.”
    “What about this Juliet woman, a courier? What’s that mean?” Clarice asked.
    “It means research. Because I haven’t a clue. The diagram from Josh. What we copied at the freight terminal. It’s here — somewhere in all these details.”
    I slept hard — dreamless and all the way through the night — for the first time in a very long time. I shouldn’t have, but I did.
     
    oOo
     
    First thing in the morning, while the girls slurped Cheerios and milk from their bowls and Clarice cracked her eyes open with a gallon of coffee, I scanned the kitchen with the bug detector doohickey Josh had given me. I’d blown it last night — probably from exhaustion — by discussing the wild events of my day with Clarice out loud, in the open, for any listening device to pick up.
    At first I worried that the little gadget didn’t work since nothing happened — no lights flashed, no buzzing or vibration. CeCe was chattering away, obviously excited about having a new playmate, and more than making up for