Read Artful Dodger (Maggie Kean Mis-Adventures) for Free Online

car. The red-faced driver laid heavily on the horn, threw finger messages, and startled me back to reality, which was actually a good thing because I’m not the best of drivers even under perfect conditions. My brother nicknamed me “Space Queen” when I was first learning to drive because of my tendency to drift off into daydreams in the middle of heavy traffic, scaring the pants off of him. Things hadn’t changed too much.
    I headed toward the mountains. Colorado was heaven on earth after a summer rain. The smell of sodden earth permeated the air and I breathed deeply through the open window. Water droplets hung like rainbow prisms from the ends of pine needles. Lush green foliage blanketed the mountains and salmon-colored rock formations jutted toward the sky. The road threaded its way up the mountain, winding slowly through the pass, dropping down into shallow valleys where grassy plains freckled with purple, orange, and yellow blossoms shivered in the light breeze. The sun reached through the clouds, drawing varying patterns of light and shadow. Peace filtered the air.
    Gravel spewed beneath the tires as I parked on the shoulder of the road.  I shuffled through the dewy grass until I found a boulder to sit on. Ignoring the dampness that seeped through my skirt, I gazed across the land that always soothed me like a lover’s caress. But now, confusion clouded the landscape. Elizabeth Boyer, a woman who had snuck in and haphazardly broke through my defenses and filled emptiness within me, had been killed. She had surreptitiously slipped in and become my caretaker, watching over me and refusing to let my stiff pride scare her off. In a very real sense, she had become a mother to me. When my biological mother died, I grew very independent, a lone wolf, in a sense, insisting that I did not need anyone. It was the only way I knew to protect myself, to keep from ever hurting that way again.  But my propped-up defenses crumbled the day I met my deceivingly petite and fragile neighbor. Long before I realized it, I came to depend on her.  I needed her in my life.
    And now, I needed her worse than ever. Instead, I was saddled with her two spoiled grandkids.  I’d always avoided those two in the past, but now our lives were intertwined in a Gordian knot I didn’t have a clue how to untie. There was no doubt that Elizabeth came to my house to get away from those two. After spending just a few minutes with them, I was amazed that she didn’t knock on my door every day at the crack of dawn.
    Maybe it shouldn’t have surprised me that Elizabeth put me in the will in some small way, but it had never crossed my mind.  I knew she was very wealthy; it wasn’t something you could ignore. Not that she flaunted her wealth. She never had to. It was in the way she carried herself, the way she stood tall, straight and very proud.  She wore understated, but very elegant, very expensive clothes. She and I were a study in contrasts. While I wore black leggings and a long sweatshirt with the Denver Broncos logo emblazoned across the front, she wore neutral-colored cashmere slacks and an array of silk blouses topped with a solid gold necklace. I used to panic when she walked into my studio, worried she would sit on a ball of clay or rub her sleeve against a charcoal sketch and ruin her clothes. But whenever I suggested she wear something more casual, she looked at me like I was crazy. Clothes were to be worn, she said, not hidden under plastic bags hanging uselessly in the closet. I finally gave up worrying once I realized that even stains would look exactly right on her.
    The only visible concession she made to her artistic side was the scarves. Villari was right about the bohemian look. Certainly my neighbor was never mistaken for a gypsy, but she did tie vividly colored ribbons and bows in her hair or around her neck to spice up an otherwise sedate outfit. She glided into my studio wearing brilliant stripes, polka dots, and paisley