Miracle Woman by Marita Conlon-Mckenna Read Free Book Online

journalism and track down good stories. With this one there was obviously the interest in the Lucas boy but there was more to it than that.
    Lara checked back in with the office over an hour later, running through the proofs of the famous and would-be famous at the art opening. She confirmed two of the photos to be used in thegallery piece, as there was always hell to pay if names got mixed up, before starting to work up a few lines on her computer about the Lucas boy. The local police department had confirmed the accident with her and had said there would probably be a charge against the driver who had hit the child.
    She read it back, following a spell-check, and knew that somehow she had managed to make the awful minutes that had almost robbed Sue Lucas of her child into something boring. She cursed and decided to hold it over and look at it again in the morning. She pored over her notes again. Funny, the security guard and the mother had both mentioned the woman, the neighbour, the Good Samaritan who had helped with the child. Even Sergeant Kostick had said how lucky the boy was.
    Lara’s instincts told her to sit tight, that in twenty-four hours with a little bit of research back in Easton about the McGill woman she might have more worthwhile copy to show her editor. Grabbing her purse and keys and switching off her computer, she waved goodbye to the night staff as she set off home, thoughts of a truculent feline high in her mind.

Chapter Five
    MARTHA AND EVIE watched as a passer-by stared in the window of Evie’s embroidery store, both of them waiting for the shop bell to jangle and announce the arrival of a customer. Martha was almost glad when the woman decided to move on and not disturb them.
    She had fetched two large cappuccinos to go from the donut store across the street, and licking the frothy top off her own one she lowered herself into one of Evie’s hand-decorated chairs.
    â€˜God, it’s so hard to get back into work after having such a great break! That’s the worst of vacations, you get to almost dread coming home.’
    Martha smiled. Herself and Mike never managed to ever get more than about seven or eight days away as Mike always pleaded having too much work to do and acted as if the other software engineers up at CPI couldn’t be trusted to keep things running smoothly without him.
    Evie rooted about in her bulging leather purseand drew out a wad of freshly developed photos. She passed them over to Martha to peruse, explaining the ins and outs of their holiday in Maine, and the picnics and expeditions they’d enjoyed. Martha admired them but was glad to have her closest friend back home.
    They sat in companionable silence drinking their coffees and gazing around the small store. Martha had to admit that opening an embroidery store off the corner of Centre and Lime Street hadn’t really seemed a good idea when Evie had first mentioned it to her. Evie had been bursting with excitement at the idea of taking over the old hat and glove shop and opening a store dedicated to embroidery, the fiddly craft that she enjoyed so much. Martha had thought she was mad, guessing there were probably only a handful of people in the Easton area with a similar interest to Evie’s. Luckily her friend’s enthusiasm and innate good sense had prevailed and Golden Threads, named after a line in the poem by the famous Irish poet W. B. Yeats that they had all learned in school, had come into being. New England must be full of needlewomen, judging by the amount of custom that Evie had already built up.
    â€˜Martha, look at this amazing sampler I discovered in an old secondhand store.’
    â€˜It’s fine work, Evie. Whoever made it must have spent days and nights working on it, to get that intricate stitching right.’
    â€˜Just look at those colours – all hand-dyed. Iknow they’ve faded but can you imagine it reworked?’
    â€˜Will you sell it?’
    Evie