If you want to stir things up in a book and see how your characters react, throw in kids or animals. Or both.
In THE MITCHELL MONEY, Rachel’s little dog begs at Gary’s side when he’s eating dinner, so Gary slips him little bites when he thinks no one is looking. But Rachel notices and wonders if the man is more compassionate than the surly guy who ran into her car and bashed in her fender, then blamed her for backing out in front of him. Who is the real Gary Martinson?
The little poodle obviously sees something in Gary that Rachel doesn’t, because as soon as Gary settles in his recliner after dinner, Bouncer jumps on his lap and licks his face. She knows the dog doesn’t act like that around everyone. Bouncer curls up on Gary’s lap and promptly goes to sleep, trusting him completely. Why can’t Rachel trust Gary as well?
Kids can take on a bigger role, as in the following excerpt from THE MITCHELL MONEY. A police officer had just brought a scruffy, skinny boy to Rachel’s door, a kid who looks just like her dead husband.
Excerpt from THE MITCHELL MONEY:
It took Johnny days to hitchhike to Maystown, days of standing beside the road in the pouring rain, praying someone would pick him up before the cops came along. He rode in the back of an old pickup one day, and another day he rode with a sleazeball trucker who kept touching him and talking about getting them a motel room. When the trucker stopped at a fast food restaurant, Johnny gobbled his hamburger, then excused himself to go to the restroom and ran out the back door. It took him hours to find another ride.
When he arrived in Maystown, some woman gave him a strange look, like she knew he didn’t belong here. He should be used to those looks by now, but it still made him feel bad. Did she think he liked being dirty and hungry? He’d gladly work for food and a place to sleep and shower, but nobody would hire a dirty street kid.
Standing on the street, Johnny looked around for a pay phone. A phone book might give Rachel Woods’ address, and phone books usually had maps in them. He’d find her. But what if she wouldn’t help him? He couldn’t make it much longer on his own. His head spun and his stomach hurt from hunger, and he felt cold all the time. And scared. If he didn’t find help soon, he wouldn’t need money. He’d be dead like Mom and Mitch.
The woman pointed at him and a cop walked over. Johnny froze, afraid this cop would lock him up before he found Rachel Woods.
“Looking for someone?” the cop asked.
“Uh, yeah. I’m looking for my Aunt Rachel. She lives around here somewhere.”
“What’s her last name?”
“Woods.”
“Rachel Woods? She lives out in the hills,” said the cop. “Need a ride?”
“If you’re going that way, sure. Thanks.”
The woman who’d pointed at him had a smug, superior look on her face. She obviously didn’t want a skuzzy street kid in her town. Nobody wanted him around these days. Not that he could blame them. He hadn’t had a shower in weeks, and his clothes were filthy.
Johnny didn’t especially want a cop around when he met Rachel Woods, but it looked like he didn’t have a choice. He doubted this guy would drop him off and leave.
The cop drove up into the hills and pulled up in front of a house that looked like it was still under construction. Johnny followed him back to a little motor home out back, beyond the construction site. A dark-haired woman opened the door, a woman he assumed was Rachel Woods. Johnny could barely breathe. What if this was a dead end? What if she told this cop to take him away? He could end up in a group home or foster home, and Mitch said kids got beaten and raped in those places.
“Mrs. Woods, do you know this boy?” the officer asked.
The woman stared at Johnny and seemed unable to speak. He begged with his eyes. Please don’t send me away. Johnny swallowed hard and tried to bluff his way through. “Hey, this is my Aunt Rachel. She hasn’t seen me in a while, but I recognize her.”
“Is that right, Mrs. Woods?” asked the cop.
She took a deep breath and, still staring at Johnny, said, “Close enough, officer. I’ll take him. Thanks for bringing him out.”
As the officer walked away, Johnny stood frozen to the spot, unsure what to expect from this obviously surprised woman. She didn’t know about him or she wouldn’t look so shocked. He knew how she felt. He’d been shocked when he read his father’s obituary.
She scanned his skinny body and dirty clothes and the shock on her face turned to pity. “Come on inside. Are you hungry?”
Thank you, God. “I could eat.” He sure could eat. He hadn’t had anything since the hamburger that sleazeball trucker bought him two days ago.
“I don’t have much food here, but you’re welcome to what I have.” She dug in the refrigerator and put eggs on the counter. “Is French toast all right?”
“Sounds great.”
The boy dropped his backpack on the sofa and sank into a chair at the table. Poor kid looked like he was starving. A million questions swirled in Rachel’s head as she cooked, but feeding him had to come first. He looked like he could barely stand up.
Rachel poured him a glass of milk. “When did you last eat?”
“Couple days ago.” He drained his glass. She poured him another glass, emptying the carton, and put a plate piled high with French toast in front of him. The boy hadn’t had a bath in a good long while. His clothes were tattered and filthy, and he smelled bad. Did he run away from home? This kid’s mother must be worried sick about him.
As soon as the boy finished eating, she asked, “What’s your name?”
“John Woodrow Mitchell, Jr., but most people call me Johnny. I’m sorry about the Aunt Rachel business. It was all I could think of.”
“That’s all right, Johnny.”
He pulled a newspaper clipping from his backpack and handed it to her. He pointed to the picture above the obituary. “That’s my father, John Woodrow Mitchell.”
Rachel took a deep breath and let it out slowly. So Mitch not only had a son, he had another name. Why did he hide his name from her? Why didn’t he tell her about Johnny?
“That’s a picture of my husband, Mitchell Woods. He died a few weeks ago. Apparently he was hiding things from both of us.” Mitch knew he had a heart problem, but he’d never shared that information with her. Like with the missing money and the scruffy kid, she didn’t know until after Mitch died.
Johnny dropped his head and she realized he’d been hoping it was a mistake, that his father was still alive. “I didn’t know about you, Johnny,” she said gently.
“Yeah, I didn’t know about you either.” His voice sounded soft and uncertain.
“Where do you live?”
“Nowhere now. My mother died last year and Mitch was sending me money to live on, but—”
The reality of this kid’s situation slammed into her like a bus speeding down the highway. This kid wasn’t a runaway. Mitch left him alone, abandoned like a stray dog.
Still in shock, Rachel gently asked, “How old are you, Johnny?”
“Fourteen. I was getting by until Mitch stopped sending me money.”
Was this why Mitch hid the money? So she wouldn’t know about his son?
The kid looked beaten down, exhausted and starving, and Rachel’s chest filled with rage. From the look of the clothes hanging on this boy, he’d gone hungry for a long time, and Mitch hadn’t been dead that long. However much money Mitch sent this kid, it wasn’t enough to support him.
How could anyone leave a kid alone at this age, especially one who’d just lost his mother? Johnny needed more than food and a bed to sleep in. He needed someone to love him.
I hope you rot in hell for this, Mitch.
Sue Fineman is a grumpy old lady who lives with an even grumpier old man in a small town in Washington State. She writes women’s fiction, light paranormal romance, and romantic suspense novels. Most of her books have a little humor sprinkled in.
The Mitchell Money is available in both print and ebook formats at Amazon and BN, or check at The Wild Rose Press website to find this book and others you’ll enjoy reading.
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