His Perfect Family. Patti Standard

assured herself. Even Blanche said so. Thirteen was too early to worry about her weight, she had lots of growing to do yet, but still...

      She watched her daughter attack the sandwich with gusto. They really couldn’t afford to do any remodeling right now, with the bills still piling up after Harvey’s death, but if it would help Lisa’s self-esteem to have her own little private space... She just hoped the girl really meant it when she said she wanted the new bathroom. It was hard to tell what Lisa wanted, she tried so hard to please everyone, intent on being so—good.

      “Well, I have to be going now,” Blanche told them, pressing air kisses all around. “Another meeting of the library board.” She caught her wavering reflection in the door of the microwave and gave a slight tug on the jacket of her pale pink suit. Then she bent down until she could see her face in the square, patting at her carefully frosted blond hair and fluffing her bangs.

      “Thanks for picking Lisa up from dance class,” Adrianne told her. “This working late on Fridays is getting to be a bad habit.”

      “I enjoyed watching her. She dances like an angel, a cloud, so much talent... That color looks good on you, dear,” Blanche interrupted herself as she eyed Adrianne’s apricot skirt and matching blouse, “but you have a run in your stocking. You don’t want to let yourself get sloppy now that you’re a widow. Harvey would have loved you in that, wouldn’t he? He always liked you to look so feminine.”

      Adrianne stiffened at the mention of her late husband, felt the knot inside her stomach pull another notch. “I don’t think Harvey paid much attention to my clothes, Mother.”

      “Nonsense. He thought you were gorgeous, the dear, dear man.” She picked at a stray thread on the jacket of Adrianne’s suit, which lay hooked over the back of a chair at the table. Her voice softened dramatically. “High-school sweethearts. Just like your father and me. So romantic.”

      She sighed, then straightened her shoulders and took a deep breath. “Well, I’m off. I’ll stop by tomorrow evening and we’ll visit.”

      Blanche swept from the room—exit stage right. Adrianne always added mental stage directions to her mother’s exaggerated movements.

      Mother and daughter looked at each other as the front door slammed. Lisa made a face and said, “Trust me, Mom, if I danced like a cloud, it was a rain cloud.”

      Adrianne laughed. “Now, you know that’s just the way your grandmother is. She likes to see everything a little larger than life.” She fished a potato from the dusty plastic sack and began to peel it into the sink.

      “Compared to the other girls in my class, I’m definitely larger than life,” Lisa said dryly.

      Adrianne winced. “How are dance classes going?” she asked cautiously. Lisa had been in ballet for two years now. She insisted she liked the classes, but...

      “Fine.”

      She shot her daughter a look over her shoulder, but Lisa didn’t meet her eyes. The girl stood and shoved in her chair. “Really, Mom, everything’s fine. I’ve got to start my homework now. Call me when supper’s ready.”

      Adrianne listened to her daughter’s heavy tread start up the stairs. Everything’s fine. Adrianne gave the potato a vicious jab. That’s right Everything was always just fine.

      

      Cutter glanced at the address again on the fussy contract Jonathon Round had prepared for him, signed in triplicate, yellow copy to accounting, goldenrod to client and mint to file. He threw the paper on the dash and squinted into the morning sun as he drove slowly down the cul-de-sac of a middle-class suburb on the edge of Little Rock. Except for the trim, the houses were identical. The owners had managed to wrestle some individuality from the landscaping, and took obvious pride in their new spring flower beds and carefully, edged grass. greening up nicely from the April rains.

      He pulled his truck into the driveway of a house with steel blue trim, recently pruned rosebushes and a split-rail fence, and cut the engine. He glanced up and down the street. The American dream—and a burglar’s paradise. Everyone off to work, garage doors pulled down tight, curtains drawn, but always a window somewhere left open—just a crack. But it gets so warm in the afternoon, they’d tearfully tell the officer when they came home to find a dusty square instead of their TV.

      He got out of his truck and shut the door quietly behind him so it latched with barely a click. An old habit, hard to break. He made his way up the walk and punched the doorbell. When he heard no footsteps, he reached up and ran his hand along the trim over the door. His fingers quickly encountered the key, just where Mrs. Adrianne Rhodes said she’d leave it for him, and where even the stupidest burglar was sure to look. He sighed, unlocked the door and walked into the silent house, easing the key into the pocket of his jeans. He’d make a copy when he went to lunch. Another old habit.

      The living room was to his left, kitchen to his right, stairs to the second story straight ahead. The carpet was gray, the walls white, the furniture tasteful with gray-and-turquoise pinstripes in the blue upholstery. The coffee and end tables were oak veneer, he noted, not the real thing.

      He turned into the kitchen and made a quick tour, easily locating the walk-in pantry he’d been hired to make over. The door stood open, and its floor-to-ceiling shelves were empty. A pedestal sink stood beside the pristine white john in the middle of the floor, a roll of vinyl leaned against its tank. He surveyed the boxes in a neat stack—medicine cabinet, faucets, towel bars, toilet-paper holder—even a fresh one-gallon can of paint An efficient little thing, our Mrs. Rhodes, he thought. Always good to know how your mark thought.

      He made several trips back and forth to his truck, unloading tools and unrolling extension cords, then he strapped on his tool belt. He let it settle low on his hips, liking the weight and the familiar way his hammer banged against his thigh as he walked. Time to get to work. Finishing the bath would take two full weeks and didn’t leave much time to snoop.

      His first stop was the pile of bills and scribbled notes tucked behind the phone on the counter next to the refrigerator. Carefully and methodically, he went through each scrap of paper. Mrs. Rhodes carried a balance on both of her gold cards, he noted. The latest charges were to a local pharmacy and to the Tire Exchange for a complete set of new radials. She was pushing the due date on several of her bills but seemed to be keeping her head above water. If she had twenty-five thousand tucked away somewhere, she wasn’t sending any of it to Arkansas Power and Gas.

      Upstairs wasn’t exactly a wealth of information, either. There was a girl’s bedroom, early teens, he guessed from the amount of black clothing in the closet. A computer held the place of honor on her desk, and he clicked on the monitor and CPU to take a cursory look at the directory. He whistled softly. A hack. A talented one. That was interesting.

      There was a standard bathroom, with the standard woman’s stuff—hot rollers, makeup and intricately designed brushes and combs. He opened the cupboard under the sink and pulled out a large pink box with a delicate flower embossed on its front. He ran his hand to the bottom and flexed some of the absorbent pads. No stiff hundred-dollar bills crinkled. It was worth a try. He’d seen stranger hiding places.

      The spare bedroom was used for an office-sewing-stackthe-Christmas-decorations room. He’d need to spend some time there, going through boxes. The last room along the hallway was hers. Definitely hers. Anything that spoke of Mr. Harvey Rhodes had been effectively disposed of during the six months since he’d missed that turn. There were no suits in the closet, no ties on the rack, no lingering whiff of spicy aftershave. Any sign of the man had disappeared as thoroughly as the money.

      Interesting.

      If she had the cash somewhere on the premises, her room was the most likely place to hide it, he decided, since it offered the most privacy. He crossed to the dresser and rummaged through the drawers with a skilled thoroughness that left no edge unexplored yet didn’t ruffle so much as a fold of cloth.

      He paused when he reached the drawer overflowing with silky scraps. His hands sank into the piles, rough calluses snagging the delicate