A Killing Frost. Margaret Haffner
up to the corner and ran smack into him. ‘Oh! Um … Hi, Jason,’ she stammered.
‘Hello. Going back to school?’ he asked nervously, jamming his hands in his pockets.
Wrapped in her own nervousness, she was oblivious to Jason’s discomfort.
‘Yes. Don’t want to be late,’ Morgan babbled with false brightness. She started hurrying and Jason fell into step. They each stayed at their extreme edge of the sidewalk, pushed apart by an invisible pole.
‘Wasn’t French class … ?’ Jason started to say.
‘Didn’t Mr Tybec … ?’ Morgan began to speak at the same time. They both stopped, then giggled. Jason moved over so that he was actually walking on the road.
Morgan felt the perspiration forming on her forehead. She knew her cheeks were flushed and she wisely kept her trembling hands out of sight in the folds of her skirt. She darted shy glances at her companion who walked with his blond head bent and his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his jeans. He extricated his right hand to run his finger around inside the neck of his T-shirt. Glancing towards Morgan he caught her eye. They both smiled and examined their shoes but Jason moved back on to the sidewalk.
The school was in sight and still Morgan hadn’t asked. She slowed her steps to gain time. It was now or never. She stopped. After taking another couple of steps, Jason halted uncertainly while his brown eyes flickered over Morgan’s face.
‘Would you come to the dance with me?’ Morgan blurted out. Wrapping her arms around her body, she drew invisible circles with the toe of her shoe. She couldn’t look right at him, but she peeped out of the corner of her eye.
Jason stood absolutely still. An eager smile started at the corner of his mouth but before Morgan was even sure it was there it evaporated into a hunted wariness. He gulped, his skin flushed under his tan. ‘I … I can’t.’ He bolted towards the school, banged the door open and disappeared inside.
Outside, Morgan’s cheeks drained of colour. She’d been holding her breath but now it rushed out in a low moan. Why had she asked him? By the expression of horror on his face, he must know all about her. The knots in her stomach drew ever tighter while nausea and panic washed over her. She grabbed the post of a No Parking sign as she stumbled.
‘Something wrong, Morgan?’ Mr Enright appeared beside her and gripped her elbow.
She focused on his face. ‘Just a bit dizzy, sir,’ she replied unsteadily. With an effort she straightened and brushed her hair out of her eyes. ‘I’m OK now.’ Morgan cleared her throat. ‘I’m fine.’ Her voice was stronger. One thing she had learned in recent months was how to hide her feelings, her fear. She managed a bright smile. ‘It’s just the sunshine. I should have worn my sunglasses.’
Mr Enright walked beside her to the school. As he opened the door, he again studied her pale features. ‘Want to lie down in the nurse’s office for a bit?’
But Morgan just wanted to get away, to blend into the anonymity of the classroom. She shook her head and hurried down the hall.
Catherine was in her study wrestling with a data analysis program on her computer when the doorbell rang. Her eyes narrowed – she wasn’t expecting anyone. She strode over to the window and strained to see the front door, but it was hidden by the juniper bushes. Should she just ignore it? It was likely just a salesman, or a canvasser for some charity. Still, she could use a break. She descended the stairs as the bell sounded again. She crept into the living-room and parted the curtains just enough to peek out. She didn’t recognize the stocky, balding man, but he looked harmless. His heavy boots and ragged T-shirt gave him the air of a workman.
She opened the door a crack. ‘Yes?’
‘So you are home,’ the man exclaimed. ‘I was about to give up.’
Catherine didn’t release the chain. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I’m Dias. I’m here about your window.’
‘Window? What window?’
‘Ernie Grant said you had a broken basement window you wanted fixed,’ he explained with a touch of impatience.
Her brow cleared and she smiled. ‘Of course. Come on in.’ She released the chain and stepped back to let him enter. ‘I don’t usually do small jobs,’ he said, ‘I’m a contractor not a carpenter. But Grant asked me special. Said you was in a hurry.’
‘Sort of,’ she admitted with an apologetic smile. ‘The way the window is now, anyone could get in.’
‘Well, I’d best have a look at it.’ He scratched his belly as he headed for the basement door. ‘Shouldn’t be a big job.’
He seemed to be familiar with the house and Catherine let him lead the way into the dank cellar. ‘It’s the one on the east side,’ she said, as she followed him down the stairs, but he was already heading towards it. By the time she stood beside him under the window, Dias had it open. ‘The hinges is busted,’ he said.
‘I know.’
He dug into the window frame with his dirty thumbnail. ‘Frame’s rotten too.’ He sucked on his teeth, eyeing the opening.
Catherine waited for the verdict. ‘Well?’ she prompted.
‘Needs a whole new window. Frame, seating …’ He eased the window shut. ‘Can’t do it today.’
Dismay and disappointment struggled for supremacy on her face. ‘But it’s already been over a week …’
Dias scratched his ample belly yet again. ‘I can send Manuel around to do the measuring later today, I suppose …’
‘Manuel?’
‘My nephew. He works odd jobs for me after school. Guess I could let him do the work tomorrow.’
Catherine smiled. ‘That would be wonderful.’
She couldn’t conceal her relief and the contractor grinned, revealing a glint of gold in his eyetooth. ‘It won’t be a great job, mind you. Manuel can put in a window, but it won’t be pretty.’ He led the way back upstairs. ‘I wouldn’t let the boy do it if it wasn’t in the basement.’ He laughed and shook his head. ‘My sister seems to think he’s the Michelangelo of carpentry.’
‘Just as long as it’s secure,’ Catherine assured him, ‘I don’t care what it looks like.’
Dias stepped out on to the porch. ‘Then he’ll be along to measure in an hour or so.’ He sketched a wave and ran down the steps. ‘I’ll set a fire under his ass.’
The fire must have been a hot one, because the youth was ringing the bell in much less than an hour. If she hadn’t been apprised of his coming, Catherine wouldn’t have answered the door to the skinny youth with the lank, black hair and the piggy eyes.
He surprised her, however, with his polite, articulate address. ‘This is my assistant, Jimmy Grant, ma’am,’ he said, indicating a beefy, ruddy-faced teenager beside him. ‘We’ll try not to make too much mess.’ He wiped his feet carefully on the mat. ‘Tomorrow, after I get the old window out, I’ll lower my equipment through the hole.’
‘Don’t worry about a mess,’ Catherine replied, resisting the impulse to brush his hair out of his eyes and running her fingers through her own instead. ‘Just be sure it’s strong.’
Manuel raced lightly down the stairs into the gloom while the Grant boy lumbered after him. She hesitated in the doorway at the top. ‘Don’t bother coming down,’ the young man called. ‘We’ll only be a minute.’ Catherine hovered at the top of the staircase watching them.
‘We’ll be here around three-thirty