Calico Horses and the Patchwork Trail by Lorraine Turner

Calico Horses and the Patchwork Trail by Lorraine Turner

Author:Lorraine Turner
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: epub, ebook, QuarkXPress
ISBN: 978-1-4804-7793-3
Publisher: IDW Publishing


Chapter 44

The steam from the shower fogged the mirror and when Milla wiped it with a towel a smudgy miserable version of herself stared back. It was dawn and she had crept in to claim the bathroom after hearing Mr. Adams’ car pull out of the driveway. She checked the bathroom lock for the tenth time. She had spent another restless night in what Mrs. Adams called the “makeshift parlor bedroom.” It was more like a museum with a cot in it. The room was filled with glass figurines of poodles and parrots. Mrs. Adams apparently had a thing for them. She had even framed and glued puzzles of poodle puppies and hung them between sconces of what looked to Milla like angry parrots ready to peck your eyes out if you broke the look-but-don’t-touch rule. The furniture was old and fragile and Milla thought she would surely break something if she sneezed.

She dressed quickly and carried her towel to the laundry room. Mrs. Adams had told her germ-free laundry was more important than conserving water so she washed everyone’s used towels daily. Milla had been taught the importance of recycling and cringed as she threw the wet towel into the basket. She tiptoed back to her cot hoping to have more alone time before the rest of the family woke. As she turned the corner she heard someone run down the hall and a door being shut. She stood in place frozen, not wanting to move. Each day she would try to avoid Mrs. Adams’ darling son, Ulysses, better known to her as Foot. Here in his home he somehow avoided punishment, whereas in school it was a different story. It seemed to Milla he spent more time in detention than any other kid. She walked back to the parlor and looked around at the room. Everything seemed in order and the angry parrot sconces were still standing guard with beaks and wings open wide. Everything except her backpack, that is. It had been moved from under her cot and lay crumpled under the spindly-legged couch. She raced over to it trying to remember everything she had packed. Luckily her journal was safe at home. She pulled out her clothes and her face grew hot as she thought of Foot looking at her underwear. They were still hidden inside her other clothes—whew, what a relief. But her sketchpad looked as if it had been messed with. Slowly she opened the page and that’s when she saw it. Someone had placed a newspaper clipping with the words “Horse Killer” written in red over the article.



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