Scare the Light Away by Vicki Delany Read Free Book Online Page A

funeral tomorrow?”
    “Two.”
    “Fried eggs okay?”
    “Yup.”
    “Do you know Jennifer Taylor’s family?”
    “Who?”
    “The girl who’s gone missing. The one I read about in the Gazette .” Reduced-fat granola and non-fat yogurt were laid out on the counter for my own breakfast. The sausages smelled great, all bubbling and hissing away in the frying pan. One or two wouldn’t hurt, and when was the last time I had indulged in a fried egg? Before yesterday, that is? I returned the unopened container of yogurt to the fridge and tossed three more sausages onto the pan.
    “Her father owns the hardware store. Fawcett’s. Old John Fawcett died long ago. His son didn’t want the store, sold it to the Taylors. They never changed the name.”
    “Do you know the girl, Jennifer?”
    “Seen her in the store once or twice. Don’t go there as much as I used to any more. Just for a light bulb or a bunch of nails now and again. Getting too old to be doing chores around this place. Janet worried that I would fall and break something.” He smiled at the memory. “Said she didn’t care if I broke my fool neck, ’cepting that then she would have to look after me.”
    I turned back to the stove and cracked eggs into the hot fat. The smell of sizzling sausages, fresh coffee, and browning bread filled the kitchen.
    “But Jimmy knows them well. He gets lots of work over the summers these days, building cottages, fixing up the old houses. More work than he can handle. He hires on the Taylor twins, Jennifer’s older brothers, when school’s out. Jimmy told me she tags along some times. Said she wants to learn a trade. Funny world this. People woulda laughed themselves silly in my day, girl thinking she could be a builder.”
    I put the sizzling plates on the table. “She spent a lot of time with Jimmy?”
    Dad shrugged and turned his attention to his plate. “Funny bread this. What’s these little things?” He poked at the toast with his fork.
    “Seeds.”
    “Seeds. Imagine that. Your mother never served up toast with seeds.” He took a cautious nibble. “Good though.”
    Eventually Dad finished his breakfast and, leaving the dishes to me, walked up the road to get the papers: the local Gazette and the Sun , a Toronto tabloid. When he got back he tossed them on the counter as I folded the dishtowel over the oven rail to dry. I glanced at the front page of the tabloid.
    Parents plead for Jennifer’s return . Must be a slow news day in the Big Smoke.A middle-aged couple, faces sagging with a worry verging on despair, filled the front page. A pair of teenage boys flanked them, looking equally grim. Dad had told me they were twins, but otherwise I never would have guessed. The boys were the same height and they had the same narrow eyes. But one was lean and wiry while the other had either never lost his puppy fat or had already grown more. Jimmy’s helpers. Two black labs sat at the fat boy’s feet. Even the dogs looked lost and confused. The grief-stricken family stared back at me. The man was identified as Dennis Taylor, Jennifer’s father. I thought I remembered him from school. And not at all fondly. I folded the paper and placed it on the counter, face down.
    I spent the morning tidying the house before indulging in the luxury of making myself a cup of tea. A real cup of tea, leaves steeped in the brown betty and poured through a silver strainer. I drank my tea out on the deck, standing up because the chairs hadn’t been put out yet, watching Sampson dash about the lawn and under the trees as she followed one fascinating scent to another. The sun caressed my face with the soft, polite warmth it only shows in spring. Sampson dashed around the side of the house, probably heading for the woods.
    Since Ray’s death, I had tried to learn to whistle. Two fingers at the edge of my mouth, the way he did when calling the dog home. What came out usually managed to be no better than a feeble squeak, but this time I