Blood Kills, Nanci Rathbun [best books to read for self improvement TXT] 📗

“That’s no more than any good person would do, Angie, but I will gracefully accept your offer. And thank you.”

With that small task completed, I settled in my chair, tea at my side and book in hand, and tried to concentrate on Educated. Despite the engrossing story, my mind kept returning to those two little vials. Repeated visits to the laptop to check email didn’t help. Come on, I urged Gmail, tell me whether Mick’s innocent or not. Despite my pleading, the inbox held nothing from the DNA expert. I resigned myself to a weekend of waiting.

Chapter 49

Sometimes the smallest things take up the most room in your heart.

A. A. Milne

I spent a typical Saturday—laundry, cleaning, lunch, a trip to Glorioso’s Italian Market and Sciortino’s Bakery. By four o’clock, I was ready for a nice hot steam.

Afterward, I searched my closet for appropriate babysitting clothing. I remembered the days of playing with grandchildren on the floor and chose accordingly. Comfortable underwear—no need for an enticing bra-and-panties set on this occasion—sports socks, black jeans, and a turquoise crewneck sweater. I tossed a spare shirt and jeans into a bag in case of spit-up or leakage from Gabriella or Daniel.

Feeling prepared for an evening of fun, I slipped into flats, grabbed the bag and my purse, and headed out to pick up Aunt Terry. We enjoyed a leisurely meal at the Brewhaus, albeit at the Seinfeld hour, and left at six-fifteen to continue our journey west to the farmhouse and the kids.

This time it was Spider and Joey who greeted us. “Hooway!” Joey shouted. “Miss Angie and Miss Tewwy awe heah, Daddy." But he stood next to Spider without approaching.

Feeling shy, I surmised.

Aunt Terry kissed Spider on the cheek and squatted down to Joey’s eye level. “Hello, Joey,” she said, her voice a soothing purr. “You figured out right away who I was. Very smart of you.”

He nodded but said nothing. I waited for Aunt Terry to work her magic.

“It’s been a while since I babysat. You’re a big boy and probably know what to do around the house, so I hope you’ll help me with your little brother and sister.”

Another nod. “I will, Miss Tewwy.”

“And Angie tells me that you’re a big fan of Batman. So maybe we can find a Batman cartoon to watch after the babies go to sleep.”

“Oh yeah!” He fist-pumped, took Aunt Terry’s hand, and led her inside.

“Terry’s a sweetie,” said Spider.

“She is indeed. Now let me say hello to Magdalena and the little ones.” I entered the living room and the controlled chaos of three children under seven.

After a briefing from Magdalena on feedings, diapers, and bedtimes, laid out on the index card she’d printed in block letters, she and Spider left for a well-deserved evening alone.

Joey played happily at his large Legos table, constructing a scene that he termed “Got-em, Batman’s city.” Aunt Terry and I took a twin each—she with Daniel and me with Gabby—and we occupied them with peekaboo, pop-up picture books, and other paraphernalia that I recalled from my children’s and grandchildren’s childhoods.

When the twins’ bedtime rolled around, Aunt Terry found a Batman cartoon DVD and set it up for Joey. Then she and I dealt with bottle warmers and special nighttime diapers, constructed differently for boys and girls. Allowing Daniel to hold his own bottle, Aunt Terry burped him sitting up, per Magda’s instructions, using strong pats on his back.

Gabriella, on the other hand, took her feed lying in my arms and then nestled against me with her chin on my shoulder. She required soft rubs to produce the same startling eruption of sound that her brother did. As she nuzzled my neck, I laid my cheek against her head and inhaled the sweet baby smell of her, thinking how much I missed these moments. A fierce sense of protectiveness washed over me for these little souls who were temporarily in my care.

Before we could carry the twins upstairs, a loud noise sounded from the kitchen, startling us. Brrrrrp… brrrrrp… brrrrrp. What had activated the alarm at the bottom of the driveway?

Chapter 50

Children are the hands by which we take hold of heaven.

Harriet Ward Beecher

Joey said, “Look, Miss Angie, theah’s a tank,” and pointed to a screen-in-screen inset on the TV.

A black Hummer stopped at the entry to the long drive, and four men emerged, cradling weapons. Aunt Terry gasped, and I damned myself for leaving my Beretta at home—although it would do no good against what looked like assault rifles. I hated to ask, but there was little choice. “Joey, does your daddy have any guns in the house?”

“Uh-huh.” He turned off the TV and took my hand. “Time to play intwoodah hide-and-seek. I’ll lead the way and you bwing the babies.”

Aunt Terry and I, each carrying a twin, followed Joey to the basement stairs. Thinking it might slow down the assault team, I engaged the deadlock and bolt on our side of the door.

Joey moved confidently to a bank of shelves along the back wall and pointed. “You push the bwick in the middle to open the wall,” he told me.

Open the wall? Spider has a hidey-hole, I surmised with a silent thanks. It took several tries before I pressed the right spot and the unit moved outward, revealing a half-height crawlspace.

“C’mon, evwybody,” Joey commanded, activating a light as he entered the dark tunnel. “Daniel and Gabby will follow me,” he said. “Miss Angie and Miss Tewwy, you bwing up the weah, like Daddy.”

From upstairs, I heard the thumping of feet proceeding from room to room.

In a quiet voice, Aunt Terry said, “Deliver us from evil,” as she gently set Daniel and Gabby in the tunnel. They immediately tore off after Joey. “Thank God they know the game,” she murmured as she got down on all fours and began to crawl.

From the top of the stairs, a dull thud hit the basement door.

I scooted into the tunnel and softly called, “How do I