Read Crooked for Free Online Page B

squirrels, one holding up the address and the other holding up “Harper.” Clara had always guessed that Mrs. Harper, a widow, was lonely. She tended to watch through her curtains for the newspaper, and when Clara came around to collect the money, she always had ready a white envelope with PAPER written in ballpoint pen on the outside. When it was cold and Clara stepped inside to write a receipt, Mrs. Harper’s house smelled first like vanilla candles and then like the three yellow cats that sat staring at her from different chairs in the front room.
    Now Mrs. Harper said, “I might need you to do a job for me, but I’d like to talk to your mother first. Is she there?”
    â€œI think so,” Clara said. “Just a minute and I’ll bring her to the phone.”
    The bathroom was empty, though, and so was her mother’s room. “Mom?” Clara yelled, hoping that Mrs. Harper couldn’t hear. The need to explain her scheme fast enough to get permission made Clara feel slightly ill and excited, like when she’d auditioned for
The Smiling Gumshoe
.
    â€œMom?” she tried again from the kitchen, and then she could see her mother through the pantry window, a blue-coated figure stepping carefully across the snow that had fallen all night. Clara knocked on the window, and her mother turned around. She frowned when Clara motioned her back to the house, holding up the black kitchen phone and pointing at it.
    Her mother stamped her feet on the mat, smelling of perfume and cold air. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, but her earrings made it clear that she was dressed for work beneath her parka. She was holding an old photo album. “Morning, sweetie. Is that Dad on the phone?”
    â€œNo,” Clara said, “it’s Sylvia Harper. Our neighbor.”
    â€œI know who she is. But why is she on the phone?”
    Clara explained. “She wants to know if I’m responsible. Say I am, okay?”
    â€œYou want me to lie?” her mother asked, raising one eyebrow in mock alarm.
    â€œHurry, Mom, okay? She’s been waiting on the phone forever.”
    Clara’s mother unwound her scarf and picked up the phone. “Hello, Sylvia? Yes, this is Angie.”
    Mrs. Harper began to talk at length. Clara petted Ham, who’d found a tennis ball somewhere and was now panting at her and begging her to throw it.
    â€œWell,” her mother said at last, “Clara’s had her paper route for some time now with no complaints. I don’t know how much time she’s going to have when she starts rehearsals for the school play, but she’s very responsible and dependable.”
    Mrs. Harper’s voice started droning again, and Clara’s mother had an amused look on her face, as though she and Clara had decided to make some prank calls together and were enjoying an especially good one. Her mother began to study her fingernails, which were peach this week, and then she nodded. “That sounds fine, Sylvia. I’m happy you can use Clara’s help. I’ll put her on.”
    As it turned out, Mrs. Harper needed Clara to do two things. She needed Clara to shovel snow and then to buy her some things at the market. She wanted Clara to come over at nine o’clock, and it was a little after eight when Clara hung up. The old brown photo album that her mother had carried in was now sitting on the kitchen table. “What’s that album?” Clara asked her mother, who was adjusting the gas flame under a pan she’d greased with olive oil.
    â€œWant a cooked tomato and some toast?” her mother asked. When Clara nodded, she said, “Your dad stored his old things out in the shed when we first moved in. They should be moved to the attic, where they’ll stay dry.”
    To Clara, this had the feel of a half-truth instead of a whole truth, and she made a mental note to check out the album some time when no one was around. “Could we