Page 16 of Mail Order Bride: A Psychological Thriller

Chapter Ten

Gina

“Fired?” my father snarls. “What do you mean, fired? How could that bastard fireyou? Ofallpeople?”

“It’s fine,” I lie. “Now I get to spend more time around here.”

Mona has just finished tidying up the kitchen, and she doesn’t hide the fact that she’s listening. It’s Thursday, cleaning day, but mostly she helps with Daddy when I have to work. I can see her fidgeting; she is clearly nervous. No doubt she’s worried that my less than fortunate circumstances will mean that she will lose her job, too. I turn away from the rage in his eyes and look at her.

“It’s fine, really,” I say again, trying to sound convincing. “I have a little money saved.”

She looks relieved, and she turns back to the laundry. I watch as she picks up a T-shirt, shakes it out. She hums a tune that rattles like chains in my brain. Her long dark hair, pinned up in a silver clip, dances as her bosom gently sways to the beat of her song. I recognize the silver clip. Mama gave it to her for her birthday, a long time ago. I was a little girl, around seven or so. I remember it like it was yesterday. Mona looks up and smiles as though she can sense my thoughts drifting back to the past. She’s an attractive lady, Mona—or rather she was once, before time had its way with her.

I scan the bills she has left stacked neatly on the kitchen counter. The pile is taller than the last time I sorted it. It’s grown by a lot.

“I shoulda known you’d have a plan, Miss Gina,” Mona says. A late response, a knowing response. There’s a knowing edge to her voice that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. “You never let your father down, do you?”

I’m preoccupied with the pile of late notices, so I answer flippantly.

“Well, I did break the screen door. He’s not very happy about that.”

She laughs, and the unease that filled the room before dissipates a little.

“Speaking of broken things… I guess you didn’t hear about Mr. Leonard’s wife?” she says with a smirk and half of a grin.

My head snaps up. “Martha?”

“What about her?” Daddy asks.

“She’s dead.”

“Dead?”

“Maybe Mr. Leonard’s going to need the extra help after all,” Mona says bluntly, as if it is an everyday occurrence to hear the news of death.

“Dead?”I repeat.

“She wasn’t in the best health, you know,” Daddy says, but I think he’s projecting.

“I just saw her yesterday. She seemed fine. As bitter and lazy as ever, but fine.”

“Well, she ain’t fine now,” Mona says. “I heard it was bad… some sort of accident with the forklift or somethin’.”

“Mrs. Walton couldn’t operate a forklift to save her life,” I quip.

“Yeah.” Mona nods profusely. “I think that was the problem.”