The House On Sugar Plum Lane. Judy Duarte

      “Mommy!” Sara shrieked. “He’s saying it again! And this time he’s calling me a dumb girl.”

      What was she going to do with that boy?

      Maria lifted the towel-bundled toddler and carried him out of the bathroom, down the hall, and to Danny’s room, where the eleven-year-old lay stretched out on his bed, his hands resting under his head, his gaze on the ceiling.

      “What’s going on?” she asked, shuffling Wally in her arms.

      “Nothing.”

      Maria supposed she shouldn’t be overly concerned about Danny calling Sara a dumb girl. After all, there were a lot worse things he could have called her. But something niggled at her, suggesting there was more going on in her son’s life than she realized, something she ought to be aware of.

      The fact that his father was in prison could cause him some concern, but he seemed to have gotten over it fairly well, once they’d moved out of town and away from the whispers in the community about a crime of passion that had gone awry.

      “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked her son.

      “Nope.” He didn’t even turn his head.

      She’d expected the teen years to be rough, but wasn’t that surly attitude striking a little too soon?

      “Did your sister do something to annoy you?”

      “Yeah.” He finally turned his head, albeit briefly. “She won’t leave me alone. And I don’t want to play with her and her stupid dolls.”

      Maria tried to tell herself that the squabble was typical of siblings, that Danny was growing up and wanted some privacy, that her uneasiness was for naught.

      But she couldn’t help stressing anyway. Shouldn’t a good mother try to “fix” whatever was bothering her child?

      The telephone rang, drawing her from what was fast becoming an unpleasant nightly routine. If it was another telemarketer, she was going to scream.

      She set Wally on the floor and told him to go find his Pull-Ups and the jammies she’d laid out for him. Then she hurried to her bedroom to answer before the caller hung up.

      “Hello?”

      “Maria, this is Barbara Davila.”

      “Oh, hi.” Maria took a seat on the edge of the bed.

      “How’s Mother doing?”

      Ellie had more bad days than good ones, and today hadn’t been easy. But Maria didn’t want to complain. Not to Barbara, the woman whose relationship with her mother had always been strained. “She’s all right.”

      “Good. I just wanted to let you know that we think we found a tenant for the house today.”

      So soon?

      “Do you know anything about them?”

      “Not really. Just that the woman is a single mother with one child—a little girl. I’m not sure when she’ll move in, but she’s supposed to sign the lease and take possession tomorrow.”

      “But the house isn’t empty….” Maria paused, hoping she hadn’t overstepped her boundaries.

      “The woman volunteered to pack up my mother’s belongings for us, and under the circumstances, I jumped at the offer.”

      “I would have done that for you,” Maria said.

      “I’m sure you would have, but you have your hands full, don’t you think?”

      That was for sure.

      “Well, I’d better go,” Barbara said. “I just wanted to keep you in the loop.”

      “How’s Joe today?” Maria asked. Barbara’s son had suffered a heart attack a couple of weeks ago, and there’d been complications.

      “He’s frustrated by his slow recovery, but the doctors think he’ll pull through. It’ll just take time.”

      Time.

      Maria glanced at the small alarm clock on the bureau. It was after nine. The boarders had already turned in, but the kids should have been in bed an hour ago. Would this night ever end?

      Why had she offered to pack Ellie’s things? Where would she have found the time to do it?

      And why did she feel bad that she couldn’t? It really wasn’t her place.

      “Well, I’ll let you go,” Barbara said. “But if you don’t mind, I’d really appreciate it if you would keep an eye on the place and let me know if anything seems…well, if things are out of sorts.”

      Ellie Rucker’s home had fallen into more disrepair than Maria’s had, and to be honest, Maria was surprised they’d managed to rent it so quickly.

      “Sure, I can do that. Maybe I’ll take some cookies or a coffee cake next door when I see that she’s moving in, and then I can introduce myself.”

      “Good. That will be one less thing for me to worry about.”

      And one more thing for Maria to heap on her plate. But Ellie Rucker had been a good friend, and she’d gone out of her way to welcome any newcomers to the neighborhood.

      It was, Maria decided, one way to pay it forward.

      But, Lord, how she could use a few extra hours in her day.

      Eddie Gonzales was stretched out in the recliner, watching the evening news, when the phone rang.

      Who could be calling at this hour?

      He glanced at the time displayed on the cable box—it was almost ten o’clock—and reached for the portable receiver that rested on the lamp table. “Hello?”

      Ramon, his brother, responded. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

      “No. What’s up?”

      “I just got a call from the property manager at Fairbrook Realty. He’s got a job for us on Sugar Plum Lane. I’m up to my neck with the Sanderson project, so would you mind going over there and giving them a bid?”

      “Sure, I can do that.”

      “Ron said the yard had once been a showcase, but it’s been neglected for years. He thought it would take a week or more to get it back into shape, especially since we’re shorthanded right now. He thinks we’ll have to repair the sprinkler system, too. But I’ll let you make that call.”

      Eddie appreciated his brother’s trust, but they’d both grown up on the Rensfield estate, where their father had been the gardener. And they’d learned the landscape trade early on, although Ramon was the one who actually owned the company.

      “I’m tied up until about noon,” Eddie said, thinking about the yards he mowed on Tuesdays. “But I’ll take a look at it when I’m finished.”

      “Thanks.”

      Ramon didn’t have to thank Eddie for anything. Not after Ramon had gone to bat for him with the parole board. His brother’s connections with law enforcement, along with a job offer and family support, had been instrumental in getting him an early release.

      “Hold on a minute.” Eddie brought the recliner to an upright position and stood, careful not to step on Roscoe, the bushy-haired dog sprawled out on the floor. “I’ve got to find a pen.”

      He headed for the kitchen counter, where he kept his keys, cell phone, and daily log. Moments later, after he’d written down the address, as well as the name of the owner, he ended the call and returned to the living room.

      Roscoe looked up, stretched out his big, lanky body, and yawned.

      “You ready to go out before we turn in for the night?” Eddie reached for the leash he kept near the entrance.

      The