I hope she wasn’t too much trouble,” Clara said as she stepped into the Coffman’s home.
“No,” Beverly assured her, “she was wonderful. The girls are up in Angel’s room playing with one of her dolls. Why don’t you come into the living room and warm up a bit? It’s cold out tonight.”
“It sure is,” she agreed, following her host across the foyer. “I didn’t know the temperature was going to drop like it did. Chicago is just a lot colder than I’m used to.”
Beverly pointed to a large, green chair, and after Clara sat down, Beverly eased onto the corner of the couch. As she did, she reached down to the coffee table and picked up the dog toys. Her guest’s eyes followed her movement, but they registered no signs of recognition upon lighting on the toys.
“Have you ever owned a Packard?” Beverly asked.
“Heavens, no.” Clara laughed, emphasizing her answer with a big wave of her hand. “I’ve never even ridden in one.”
“Have you ever owned toys like this?” Beverly asked, opening her fist to reveal the black and white dogs.
“No,” Clara answered. “I’ve seen them but never owned any. Why do you ask?”
Pulling her fist shut, Beverly explained, “Because you daughter found them in our car. She told us she put them there, and they were hers.”
Suddenly the heavyset woman bolted from the chair as if she had been given a jolt of electricity. Even before she was completely upright she hollered, “Jenny, it’s almost ten. We have to get home.” She then slipped her gloves on and looked toward her host. “Thank you again for taking care of my girl.”
“Clara,” Beverly softly but firmly replied, “you didn’t answer my question. How did your daughter know these dogs were in our Packard?”
“Where is that girl?” Clara said nervously.
“I’m here,” came the answer. A second later Jenny appeared. She’d already slipped her coat on and was buttoning it up.
“We need to go,” Clara said, grabbing the little girl’s arm and pulling her toward the door.
“I have to get my toys,” Jenny argued, pointing toward the dogs that Beverly was holding in her open palm.
“Those aren’t yours,” the woman snapped.
“Yes, they are,” Jenny answered, digging her heels into the carpet. “And I want them.”
Still holding the girl with her left hand, Clara pulled back her right and brought it sharply across Jenny’s face. If it stunned the girl, she didn’t show it, nor did she cry.
A shocked Beverly didn’t know what to do. She wasn’t prepared for what had just transpired.
“You shouldn’t have done that!” Angel said.
“Listen, you little brat,” Clara barked, “Jenny lied, and she needed to be taught a lesson. Maybe you do, too.”
Frightened, Angel rushed past the woman and behind her mother. A second later, the door slammed shut.