Trace Their Shadows Read Online Free Page B

the hall.
    “Fleas migrate. And the way that animal sheds! It’s a wonder she isn’t bald. Don’t think I don’t know you sneak that dog in at night.”
    Before Brandy could reply, her mother tacked in another direction. She had a more important warning flag to hoist. “Summer school began today.” She gave Brandy the look that turned her students’ knees to jelly. “You ought to be going with me to talk to the principal. I could probably still arrange for an internship at school next fall.” Twenty years of teaching had lent her voice authority.
    “Let’s not hash that over again,” Brandy said. “I’m a reporter, not an English teacher.”
    Her mother slapped her pencil down. “What kind of job security do you have? Reporters shuffle from paper to paper. What kind of pension can you count on?” She thumped the heavy textbook closed. “An honor graduate! You could so easily have a steady, reliable position teaching English and journalism.”
    Brandy started for her bedroom. “I got certified in English as a back–up, but you know I’ve always wanted to be a reporter. I’m onto a really good feature. A mystery about a girl who drowned years ago at the old Able mansion.”
    Distracted, Mrs. O’Bannon nodded. “I remember my dad talking about it. A lot of folks thought she didn’t really drown.” Brandy looked up quickly, but her mother was back on track. “You’ll never be able to make your car payments.”
    Brandy rolled her eyes upward. The pathetic thing was, unless Brandy got the promotion next week, her mother was probably right. From the dining room came her mother’s parting shot. “Marry Mack Lynch and you won’t have to worry. He’ll inherit his father’s business.”
    Brandy spun through door after Meg and called back. “I’m not ready yet.” Mack was, however, in spite of his playboy reputation. He’d asked her, but she had stalled, said she wanted to focus on journalism first. She poked her head back around the door jamb. “But you’ll be pleased to know I’m having supper with him tonight.”
    In the bedroom Brandy could hear claws scrabbling on the floor under her bed——Meg seeking safety. “Some watch–dog,” Brandy murmured. “Before you’d bark at a prowler, he’d have to find you.” The red–gold head with its curious, cream–colored mask peeped out, then scrambled across the rug, nosed under a pile of Brandy’s cast–off jeans for a favorite chew–rag, and disappeared again among the dust balls.
    Brandy admitted that her mother had a point about the way she kept her room. Because she saw it as a way station between college and her own apartment, she had unpacked only her well–marked Folger Shakespeare paperbacks, a current mystery novel, a tape player and a stack of classical tapes she seldom had time to hear.
    But she was now a professional. Soon she must hang all the clothes, straighten the shoe rack, re–order the clutter on her desk and vanity. But tonight there wasn’t time. Maybe if her dad had been better organized… For a quiet moment she looked at his silver framed photograph beside her jewelry case. He had been her model, and his study had been littered with books and papers.
    Ever since Brandy’s dad died of a heart attack three years ago, Mrs. O’Bannon had been hung up on the question of her daughter’s livelihood, probably because of her own financial struggle. She had met Brandy’s dad after his tour in Viet Nam, while they were both taking education courses. Both landed jobs at the high school in her mother’s home town, where her dad became its most popular social studies teacher. Seniors dedicated the yearbook to him twice.
    Unlike her mother, Brandy’s dad didn’t urge her to follow his example. She’d been the English department’s Pride Award winner, but she’d also been the editor of the school newspaper. Her dad always said, “You’re a good writer, Bran. You’ve got curiosity and you’ve got heart. Do your own