Finding Miranda

CHAPTER 11: THE WARNING

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

It has been a busy morning for Miranda: already she has saved Shep's life, shot her first reptile, received her first passionate kiss, and received some significant news about Shep (news that she's still trying to process in her spinning brain).  And she hasn't even gone to work yet!

In this chapter, she'll meet probably the scariest person in the story!  Enjoy Chapter 11 of FINDING MIRANDA.  ;)

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Miranda was still in a mild state of shock when she arrived for work at the library two and a half hours later. She locked her purse in her cubicle's bottom file drawer, straightened her calf-length skirt, and smoothed the sides of her hair, which hung in a plain, thick braid down her back. With one finger she shoved her eyeglasses up her nose, then she snagged the nearest cart of books and trundled out to lose herself in the stacks for most of the morning.

Annabelle did enough talking for three women, making Miranda's daylong silence a non-issue. Only once did Miranda rouse herself to conversation, when there were no patrons near enough to hear.

"Annabelle, are you absolutely sure Shepard Krausse is a homosexual?" she whispered.

Annabelle could have been heard for blocks as she laughed out loud then responded, "Honey chile, not to brag or anything, but I can make a dead dude stand up and whistle Dixie, y'know what I mean? But that guy! Never even gave me a second look. I'm not sure he ever gave me a first look, actually. Sweetie, he is definitely playing for the other team. Take my word for it!"

"But," Miranda shuffled her thoughts and tried again, "I didn't realize... Did you know Mr. Krausse is blind? I mean, really and truly blind!"

Annabelle was unfazed. "Then he's a blind homo. And really, nothin' would surprise me. Queer in one way, queer in a lotta ways. Know what I mean?"

"Mmm," murmured Miranda and returned to her books.

....

That evening after work, Miranda had just taken a frozen dinner out of the microwave when the ancient screen door on her front porch rattled thunderously. When she emerged from the kitchen to approach the front door, she saw a tall, elegantly dressed lady waiting imperiously beyond the screen.

The lady commented, "There appears to be nobody home."

"I'm right here," Miranda responded from the opposite side of the screen door. Their faces were separated by mere inches, but Miranda had to look up to meet the blue eyes glaring from above a patrician nose and disapproving lips.

"Can I help you?" asked Miranda without opening the screen door.

"You can invite me inside, young woman. I do not conduct family business on the front porch for the amusement of the neighborhood gossips," the lady answered, in cultured, confident tones.

"Family business?"

The woman simply stared, refusing to say another word until her conditions were met. Miranda opened the screen door and gestured toward her (late) Aunt Phyllis' sagging couch. "Please, won't you come in and sit down? I'm Miranda Ogilvy. I don't believe we've met."

"We have not. Nor would we be likely to if we did not have a mutual—not 'connection,' no—a mutual acquaintance." The woman looked at the couch as if it must surely harbor fleas. "I'll stand, thank you. I am Hermione Montgomery-Krausse. My son, Shepard, lives in the property adjoining this one, to the rear."