Chance Encounters - Ch.14

From the rough draft of Chance Encounters by Pat Otterness.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

?My other cats needed feeding, so I set out dishes on the porch for all the cats that dared to approach when Demon was in a mood. He had made it loose from the towel and was licking himself clean when I went out. Sneak and Bounce ran between my feet and into the house before the door slammed shut. I’d been trying to encourage them to stay outdoors more … a failed attempt at keeping my house cat-hair free. Jordan was so allergic to my kitties. I had mixed allegiances. I loved having my kittens indoors, but I loved Jordan more.

I gathered up the bags of clothing Skeeter and I had purchased that morning and began removing the tags and pins. If Skeeter was anything like my own sons, that would never happen unless I did it myself. I am amazed at how long someone of the male persuasion can wear the same outfit to avoid performing this simple task.

I stacked the clothing neatly, ready to be carried to his new home, should that move take place. No sooner had I had that thought than there was a knock on my door. I peeked out the window. Uh-oh! I had been expecting this. Two ladies in suits. It looked like Social Services had caught up with me.

Ramona Taylor and Margo Finch introduced themselves, and I made a stab at playing hostess. “I’m Charity Chance,” I said, “Chat to my friends. Come on in.” I led them into the mostly cat-hair free living room and we seated ourselves on my new leather chairs.

“We’ve heard you have a young boy staying with you,” said Mrs. Finch. “Could you explain his circumstances? We need to evaluate his placement.”

“It will take some time to explain,” I said. “We found the boy living on his own, waiting for his father to return.”

“So, he was abandoned,” stated the older woman. “I guess we’ll be taking him, then.”

“It’s not that simple. It seems that his father may have been killed.” I didn’t like her attitude.

“Not by the boy, surely?” said Mrs. Finch, frowning.

“Of course not,” I told her, gritting my teeth. “The sheriff thinks his dad was caught in a trap and may have bled to death.”

“Oh, my!” she exclaimed. “Then the boy will surely need therapy. That will be expensive. Jot that down, Ramona.”

“Would you care for some refreshment?” I asked, stalling for time. I had no idea if I had anything suitable to serve, but it was worth a shot.

“No thank you,” countered Margo Finch. She was eying the pile of neatly stacked clothing on the couch. “Does that belong to the young man?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. “I took him shopping for school clothes this morning.

“You bought quite a lot,” she said. “We can’t reimburse you for all of this. We have a limited amount to spend on each child in our care.”

“He isn’t in your care,” I said coldly, “and I don’t expect to be reimbursed for any of it.”

“You can’t just take charge of this child,” said Finch. Her temper rising to match my own.

“We don’t even know for sure yet if his dad is dead. Give us some time, for goodness' sake.” My hackles were rising, and Ramona noticed.

“Margo,” she said,” maybe we should wait a few days before we take this boy into care. His needs are clearly being met here.”

I gave her a tiny smile. “We have a foster parent already hoping to take Skeeter long term,” I said. “In fact, Skeeter is with him now. The next house down the road. The person you should speak to is Hiram Jones. I think you will find him well-qualified to foster a young boy.”

“Skeeter?” said Margo. “What kind of name is Skeeter?” Disdain was written clearly on her face.

“A nickname for Peter,” I said. “Peter Donkins.”

“Then you should call him Peter,” said Margot, frowning with disapproval.

“I will call him whatever he asks to be called, Mrs. Finch,” I said through clenched teeth.

“I think we should interview Mr. Jones,” Ramona said to her friend. We can meet the boy and assess his needs.”

Margot shot me a malevolent look and gathered up her purse. I got no goodbyes from her, but Ramona shook my hand and gave me a supportive look. “I’ll get back to you,” she said softly. She was herding her co-worker out before we could come to blows.

I shut the door firmly behind them. That went well, I thought.

I went straight to the phone to warn Harm and Chance about the incoming invaders. My sister Hope answered the phone. “You?” she said. “What do you want?”

“Wait!” I said before she could hang up the phone, I quickly explained that the enemy was approaching. “It’s like the Inquisition,” I said. “There are two of them. One seems rational, but the other one, not so much. You’re going to have to watch yourselves.”

In the background I could hear a knock on Chance’s door. Uh-oh! Hope hung up the phone. Now all I could do was wait. I had a feeling I’d be hearing about this interview as soon as it was over.

I was dying to know more about that bone they’d found in the lake. Who on earth could it be? Maybe they were wrong. Maybe it was a cow bone, or a deer bone. I thought cow bones were heavier than human ones. A deer made more sense. I could hardly wait to see Jordan, but he was having a busy day. I should keep my distance a while longer … but maybe I ought to call him to let him know about the Social Services ladies. Maybe he could get them to back off.

All I got for my trouble was an answering machine. Instead of leaving a voice message, I texted him with my news of the insufferable Social Services representative. “Don’t let her take Skeeter!” I told him. “Please!”

It was fully dark outside before I heard back from Jordan. He sounded exhausted.

“Any sign of Skeeter’s dad?” I asked.

“Not yet,” he replied. “We’re getting divers out tomorrow to look for more bones, and to see if Skeeter’s dad is down there.

“Is the bone you found really human?” I asked.

“Absolutely. Forensics had a look and confirmed it. Whoever it is was dumped in that lake, but not recently.”

“Can you figure out who it was? DNA tests or something?” I hoped so. It was yet another mystery to be solved.

“Not sure,” said Jordan. “The lab will let us know if they get DNA, but we’ll still need something to test it against.”

“Did you check on Skeeter?” I asked at last. “You didn’t let that old biddy haul him away, did you?”

“She was a harridan, alright. Mean. She has no business in Social Services. But the other woman, Miss Taylor, was easier to deal with.”

“Ramona,” I said. “Ramona Taylor. Yes, I thought she was more charitable. What did they decide?”

“She and Hiram seemed to get along quite well,” said Jordan. “She is going to profile him with a real possibility that he might be able to foster Skeeter. The bigger issue is Chance, and how good an influence he would be on the boy.”

“I thought he liked Skeeter,” I said. “They seemed to be getting along great.”

“Not a question of getting along, it seems. The question is what kind of influence he would be. Chance isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. He certainly wasn’t Mrs. Finch’s choice. He really got her back up with some of his remarks.”

I grinned. I could only imagine what Chance would have made of Mrs. Finch. “I’ll keep my fingers crossed, I said.

“Hope is working on Chance,” said Jordan. “Trying to make him keep his mouth shut.”

“That never worked with me,” I said, laughing. “But then I was never besotted with her.” I chuckled to myself. Chance didn’t have a prayer.

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