In Search of Eden (28 page)

Eden came over and set her backpack on the table. “Hey,” she said, ducking her head.

Maybe she was embarrassed. Well, she wasn't alone. Miranda had her own reasons to feel foolish.

“I guess we both got in trouble last night, didn't we?” Miranda asked with a rueful smile.

Eden looked up, met her gaze, and nodded. “I didn't get on restriction, though,” she said, amazement in her voice.

“Really?” Miranda asked. “I have to say that surprises me. Your uncle looked pretty mad.”

“I know. But Grandma talked to me this morning and said when I ran away it made them afraid and sad, but they were going to give me grace this time.”

Miranda felt a little startled. They were going to give her grace. “That's nice,” she said quietly.

Eden nodded, but there was something in her expression that was still troubled. A jut of the chin and darkening of the eyes that was something between anger and hurt. Neither one of them seemed to have anything else to say, so Eden went to work on her homework. Miranda returned to her want ads and lists. After fifteen minutes or so, Eden switched subjects, did her social studies, then pulled out a red notebook and began scribbling furiously. Miranda smiled. Whatever she was writing had her full concentration.

Eden Williams, girl reporter, tapped away at the keyboard! There were only twenty minutes left until deadline, and she wasn't going to let the murder of her editor stop the paper from coming out with the story! She had found out who had shot Malcolm Hendricks as he sat alone in his office late last week working on the final version of the
Daily Mirror!
It was Edwin LaCross, the rude society
editor, but first she had needed to eliminate Duke Smith, the sportswriter who was angry at Malcolm for demoting him, and Malcolm's long-lost son who hated his dad for not leaving him a gob of money!

She, Eden Williams, girl reporter, had followed each suspect until she had overheard Edwin talking on his cell phone and booking his ticket to
. . . (find out later)

Eden stopped writing for a minute and looked across the library. She remembered when she had written this part of her story. Mom had kept bugging her.
“Eden, open the door! I know you're in there!”
She had just torn up a Kleenex and stuffed it in her ears. She had pretended that she really was Eden Williams, girl reporter, and she had five minutes until deadline.

Anyway, she, Eden Williams, had gone through his garbage and found the gloves with the gunpowder on them!! She, Eden Williams, had notified handsome police detective Cal Dakota, who right this minute was decoding the message she had e-mailed him and would arrive to rescue her!! And she, Eden Williams, would publish the story that would bring justice to poor dead Malcolm!!

“Eden Elizabeth Williams!”
Mom had hollered.
“Open the door this instant. You know you're supposed to be off the computer by nine-thirty.”

“Just a
minute!” she hollered back.
“It's almost finished.”

“What's almost finished?”
Mom sounded all wigged out, as usual.
“You'd better not be watching those grisly detective shows.”

She wrote as fast as she could. She was almost done.

She, Eden Williams, girl reporter, heard footsteps behind her. She quickly ran the spell-check on her article and pasted it into the front page. Then, as her finger aimed at the Enter key, she heard a sound!!!

“Hold it right there!” The silky voice of Edwin La-Cross gave a shiver up her spine!!!

“All right, young lady!”
Mom had hollered.
“You leave me no choice.”
Then she'd heard the sound of a nail file being scratched around the doorknob. It had taken Mom about three more minutes to get in, giving her time to finish her story.

Eden, the reporter, punched down the Enter key, and just as Edwin LaCross made a dive for her computer, Cal Dakota tackled him!! The gun flew across the room!!!

“You rescued me!!!” Eden cried while running toward Cal.

Eden hugged Cal, and they kissed.

The paper ran the story the next day, and the owner liked it so much he made Eden the new editor!!! She and Cal got married!!!

The End

“What are you writing there?”
Mom had wanted to know.

“Nothing,”
she said.

As usual, Mom had been mad.
“Get to bed, Eden. I'm too tired for your games tonight.”

She had gone to bed thinking that Mom was always too tired for her games.

Eden shook her head now and went back to her story. She didn't want to think about Mom today. The problem was, she was temporarily stumped for a new adventure of Eden Williams, girl reporter. But that never really stopped her for long. The secret was, you just started writing, and sooner or later something was bound to happen. She read the beginning of the story again and decided to start part two with Cal Dakota getting kidnapped by terrorists, who would firebomb the newspaper building, and Eden Williams, the girl reporter, would have to rescue him.

She felt a little guilty, but she had to admit she was kind of
glad Mom wasn't here. At least not right here right now. If Mom read that she was making up a story about terrorists and firebombs, she would get all worried and probably make her go talk to Mrs. Jones again, or whoever the Mrs. Jones was here. In Fairfax the school counselor was Mrs. Jones, and Eden had already had to go and talk to her once. It was after she tried to see if alcohol would catch on fire. It did, but it didn't burn very well. It was too watery. She had tried lighting it by pouring it in the bathroom sink and throwing in a few matches. Mom had freaked out and called 9-1-1. Then after they'd left she'd gotten all worried and asked her if something was bothering her. Eden had tried to tell her that Eden Williams, girl reporter, was going to have to make a bomb out of what was in the medicine cabinet of her house, so she, Eden Williams, the writer, had to see if alcohol would burn, but when she said
bomb
Mom had gone berserk and searched her room and read all her stories and made her go and talk to Mrs. Jones, since Dad was going to be out of town for a week.

Miranda sighed. Eden looked up. Miranda turned the page of the newspaper. She didn't look very happy.

“What are you looking for?” Eden asked.

“A place to stay,” Miranda said. “And a job.” She looked pretty discouraged.

“Where are you staying now?” Eden asked.

“Super 8, but I can't afford that forever. I need a job, and I need to buy some insurance, too. I don't think your uncle is going to be understanding if I get another ticket.”

“Maybe he'll give you grace, too.”

Miranda gave her a funny look, then said, “Yeah. Maybe.”

Eden got an idea! She turned to the front of her notebook, temporarily leaving Cal Dakota and Eden Williams, girl reporter. She leafed through the pages. Well, duh! She knew how to solve every one of Miranda's problems. “Come with me,” she said.

“Why? Where are we going?”

“Do you know how to be a waitress?” Eden asked her.

“In my sleep.”

“Come on, then,” Eden said.

Miranda set down the paper, picked up her notebook and pen, and followed her.

chapter
28

S
o you can work the day shift starting tomorrow?” the man named Wally asked Miranda. He was tall and thin with a worried face. His apron was spotlessly clean and his canvas shoes freshly washed, an unusual thing for a fry cook.

“Absolutely,” she said. She looked around. The restaurant was cozy and clean. Booths were red leather, tabletops were silver-starred Formica, the floor old polished wood. It was real and vintage. Again she was reminded of Mayberry.

“I can pay you minimum plus a dollar and, of course, there's tips.”

“Sounds fine,” she said, putting out of her mind that she would never be able to afford rent and groceries and insurance on that. “Do you need references?”

He shook his head. “It's just short-term.” The worried look deepened. “You understand that, right?”

“I understand.” She gave him a reassuring smile. Hopefully her business here would be finished before the lately departed Elna returned from her back surgery.

“And if Eden will vouch for you, that's good enough for me,” Wally added.

Just don't ask Eden's uncle,
Miranda thought. “Thank you,” she said.

Eden looked as pleased as the proverbial cat with feathers sticking out of the corners of its mouth. “Okay,” she said. “Now for a place to stay.”

By now Miranda had gained a healthy respect for Eden's prowess as a Life Coach. She followed on foot, and Eden rode her bike slowly along the tree-shaded streets until they were near the police department. Not an auspicious location. Eden pulled up in front of a redbrick building that looked like a cross between a church without a steeple and a miniature town hall.
Stone's Mortuary,
the sign said. Miranda hesitated.

“Come on,” Eden urged. “Trust me. You'll like it.”

Miranda trusted her. She followed her inside after Eden carefully chained her bike to the porch railing. It was dim and cool in here. The floors were polished hardwood, the interior plaster walls had curved archways and mahogany trim. It was a beautiful old building, and from what she could see it was decorated with antique furniture—probably original to the building—and huge potted palms. She glimpsed into one side room separated from the hallway by French doors. She could see a casket and the velvet ropes that would guide the viewers past. She was too busy gawking to notice when a man appeared, moving soundlessly through the hallway.

“Hey, Mr. Cornwell,” Eden said.

His face broke into a warm smile, immediately shattering Miranda's stereotype of the typical mortician.

“Hey there, gal. I haven't seen you around in a few days.”

“I've been busy,” she said. “But I'm here today on business.” Not a trace of a smile.

Mr. Cornwell immediately sobered himself. “Please, come into my office,” he said, so they followed him down the hall into a small modern suite of rooms, obviously added later as an addition to the back of the building. They went in and took the chairs he offered.

Miranda was wondering where this was all going to lead. Perhaps the man had a house he rented.

“You still looking for a custodian?” Eden asked.

“Why yes, I am,” he said.

“Well, then, here's your woman,” Eden said, leaning back in her chair with a look of pleased modesty, as if she were extremely proud of her performance.

Mr. Cornwell turned interested eyes toward Miranda. “Have you done any custodial work before?”

She remembered her job at the dog clippers. She had been responsible for the cleanup. And she'd also worked as a hotel maid in Minneapolis. “Sort of,” she said and told him of her experience.

“I can't pay you anything,” he said. “I offer free lodging in return for the work. That usually puts off applicants.”

“It doesn't discourage me,” she said. “How much custodial work is involved?”

“Vacuuming all the viewing rooms and the hallway, and cleaning bathrooms every day there's a viewing or funeral. Cleaning the kitchen and dusting the offices once a week. I think there's about six to eight hours of work a week. If you're interested, I'll show you the apartment.”

“I'm interested,” she said.

They went up a staircase, and Mr. Cornwell unlocked the door to a small apartment directly over the office suite. There was a kitchen and a living area, a small bedroom and a bath. It was sunny and clean and furnished with spare basics. “It's perfect,” she said. “But I have to be honest with you. I don't know how long I'll be here.”

Mr. Cornwell shrugged. “This job has been open for some time. As long as you leave things as good or better than you found them, no harm done.”

They agreed. She filled out another application, and they left.

She looked at Eden with something like awe. “How do you know all this stuff?”

Eden gave her a wise look. “Always keep your eyes and ears open. You never know when something you find out might come in handy. Last week I heard Mr. Cornwell tell Wally that the student who'd been caretaker graduated last year and he couldn't find anybody to replace him, that kids nowadays were spoiled and all. I wrote it down in my notebook. Except for the spoiled part. Now, for your transportation.” She hopped on her bike again, and Miranda followed her on foot.

They meandered through town, finally stopping on a shaded back street not far from the library. Eden pulled her bike up to a huge, charming Victorian house on a tree-shaded lot. The house was two stories, maybe two and a half with the gabled top floor. It had hexagonal turrets on one side and long, graceful casement windows with lace curtains that were gently blowing in the breeze. There was a wraparound porch with window boxes beneath the ground-floor windows spilling over with trailing ivy and pops of red geraniums. The walkway and front flower beds were a mass of delphiniums, nasturtiums, peonies, and bachelor's buttons, and the latticed archway in the picket fence was covered with sweet peas and clematis and climbing roses on the other side. A sign by the front gate said
Travelers' Rest Bed and Breakfast.