Licorice Kisses Read online

  Copyright

  ISBN 1-58660-627-1

  © 2002 by DiAnn Mills. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of Truly Yours, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., PO Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.

  All scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version ®. niv ®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved.

  All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover illustration by Kay Salem.

  One

  The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me,

  because the Lord has anointed me to preach good news

  to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,

  to proclaim freedom for the captives and release

  from darkness for the prisoners.

  Isaiah 61:1

  Anita Todd glanced at her watch and realized she had less than an hour before her appointment with the fire marshal. Swirling around in her chair from an open file cabinet, she viewed the mound of paperwork on her laminated desk and knocked over a bottle of water. It sloshed across her mouse pad, soaked her notes, and dripped onto the blue-green carpet.

  “Wonderful,” she muttered as she snatched up a handful of tissues to soak it up, but they merely stuck to her fingers—obviously meant for noses not oceans of water. She reached for another, except the box teetered and fell into the small puddle.

  “Oh, Mom, you made a mess,” six-year-old Tyler said, nodding in a grown-up fashion. “I’ll get the paper towels.” His words echoed down the hallway as he raced to the kitchen of the newly constructed preschool and kindergarten building.

  “Thanks,” she called. At least the water had missed her computer keyboard and jeans.

  Tyler quickly returned. “Here ya go. Do you want me to do it for you?” His chocolate-brown eyes revealed his concern.

  “Hey, I’m fine.” She offered a smile. “A little water never hurt anyone.” She tore into the plastic wrapper of the paper towels and immediately sponged up the water.

  “You nervous about the ’spection?” He studied her through nearly an inch of eyelashes just as his father used to do.

  “I must be.” She tossed the wet towels into the trash and shook her head. “Leave it to your mom to come down with a case of the ‘clumsies’ at the wrong time.”

  “When will the fire guy be here?” Tyler sat at a small table designed for children to construct interlocking building projects.

  Anita smiled at her son and his miniature city complete with tiny people and vehicles. “He’s not a fire guy, Sweetie, but a fire marshal for the city of Sweetwell. His job is to make sure the school is safe for the children, and he’ll be here in about an hour.” She took a long look at Tyler’s work. “Say, you have a fine looking town here.”

  He beamed and added a tiny tire to a little truck. “Will his ’spection be a piece of cake?” With his front two teeth missing, “piece” sounded more like “peeth.”

  “I’m sure everything will be fine.” She ruffled his thick hair. “Then I need to touch up some painting in the two-year-old room before we call it a day. One of the teachers accidentally scraped a wall when she was moving her desk.”

  “Do you need my help?”

  “Oh, not this time, but thanks for asking.” Heaven forbid if he took a paintbrush to one of these walls.

  “Can we get a movie for tonight?” Tyler asked. The afternoon sunlight picked up a splattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose, reminding her of gold dust.

  “I suppose, but let’s find some from the church library. In fact, the library is open all afternoon. Why don’t you and I head that way and see if you can select your movies while the fire marshal is visiting?”

  Tyler agreed and immediately went to work picking up scattered building pieces and placing them in a container beside the small table.

  She headed toward the kitchen to put away the paper towels and take one last look at each schoolroom. A mixture of fresh wood and paint teased her nostrils. What preschool director wouldn’t want a brand new facility?

  Kindergarten and preschool classes were scheduled to begin the following Wednesday for Good Hope Christian Day School. So far, the deadlines and requirements had all been met. The representative from Oklahoma’s Department of Human Services would be there on Monday for the state’s final inspection, but she needed the fire marshal’s signed approval today for all of the licensing requirements.

  The files, she thought nervously. I need to go through the files one more time to make sure everything is in order.

  The phone rang, and Anita rushed back to her desk. She grabbed the portable phone and realized the paper towels were still in her hand. I’m losing it, she thought. “Good Hope Christian Day School.” Her voice rang with rehearsed pleasantness.

  “Hi, Honey. Are you running crazy?”

  “I think so, Mom.” She smiled into the receiver, picturing her round, gray-haired mother sitting at the kitchen counter in between watching her “stories.” Her mother kept saying she knew one day a TV network would come up with a Christian soap opera. Until then, she occasionally viewed the regular ones despite Anita’s urging for her to read or take up a hobby during those viewing hours.

  “Has the fire marshal been there yet?”

  “No, but I’m about ready,” Anita replied with a sigh.

  “Why am I not convinced? I’m sure everything is in perfect shape.”

  Anita forced a laugh. “I’ve checked the files and reports a dozen times, but I’m still rattled.”

  “You’ll do fine; just relax. I didn’t call to keep you. I just wondered if you and Tyler would like dinner tonight.”

  “Oh, Mom, I’m beat. Thanks anyway, but I’d rather go home and crash.”

  “All right, and I certainly understand. Give my favorite grandson a hug for me, and if anything changes, give me a call.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” Anita hung up the phone and considered how much she appreciated her mother. Her favorite grandson. Tyler’s her only grandson.

  She pulled the file containing all her inspections from the cabinet behind the desk and laid it near the phone. A twinge of anticipation raced through her body. She’d worked long and hard all summer to make sure the church’s first state-licensed preschool and kindergarten would be ready for students next week.

  New teachers, capable aides, curriculum, learning centers, supplies, books, music, and furniture were obtained according to specific standards and, of course, the church’s budget. Earlier in the month, the staff attended a weeklong in-service program designed to not only prepare them for the children but also to equip them in new teaching methods, First Aid, and CPR training.

  Although the fire marshal didn’t need access to the staff and children’s files, Anita opened the huge four-drawer file cabinet anyway. She knew those folders contained all the health and safety forms mandated by the state for the children plus complete files on the teachers regarding their education, previous teaching records, health, criminal background checks, letters of recommendation, church history, and statements of faith.

  Last of all, she leafed through her own file as director. Copies of her credentials, recommendation letters, and her master’s degree in elementary education with a minor in religion sat crisply in her file. She cringed at the piece of paper noting her minor. A lot of good biblical knowledge did for her life; nothing in those studies prepared her for widowhood or a son with recurring nightmares. Closing the file abruptly, Anita nudged the resentment from her mind to concentrate on what she needed to do now.

  “I’m ready,” Tyler said, pushing the small chair under the table. As if expecting her next comment, he tucked his T-shirt inside his navy shorts.

  “Hmm, you look nice and neat,” she said with an admiring glance.

  A few moments later, the two walked across the church grounds to the library, which housed books, DVDs, videos, and music for children and adults.

  Anita peered up at the huge, gray brick structure of Good Hope Church. She had attended there from childhood until, as a college senior, she had met Vince Todd, a recent law graduate. Within a year they were married and moved to Tulsa. The first few years were perfect, then it all fell apart.

  She shook her head in an effort to dispel the painful memories. Despite her years of church attendance and Bible study, she failed to understand God’s reason for taking Vince from her and Tyler.

  When Good Hope needed a director for a new preschool and kindergarten program, Anita had applied for the position. Elation had consumed her when the preschool board accepted her application. She suspected her mother had a lot to do with it, but it didn’t matter. The prospect of returning to her hometown and living close to her mother seemed like a dream come true.

  Tyler opened the glass library doors for her, and the two stepped inside to greet the librarian, an attractive brunette.

  “Hi, Denise. Do you mind if Tyler looks at books and picks out a movie or two? I’m expecting the fire marshal.”

  The librarian waved her hand as though swatting a pesky fly. “No problem. Take your time. Tyler and I will have a good visit.”

  “Thank you so much. Yo
u’re a lifesaver.” Anita hurried back to the school for one last look before the fire marshal’s appointment.

  A tall, sandy-haired man in a white shirt and blue khaki pants stood waiting at the front door.

  “Good afternoon.” Anita waved.

  The man turned, and her gaze flitted to a fire marshal insignia on his left shirt pocket. She read the name Regan Moore across a pin just below it. He’d arrived early and appeared clearly annoyed.

  “I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” Anita said cheerfully, inwardly scolding herself for wasting time at the library.

  “I’ve already written you a note canceling our appointment.” His grim mannerisms punctuated her nervousness.

  “I believe our appointment is at two o’clock.” Anita felt perspiration mount and slip down the side of her face. It’s only one-thirty!

  “Didn’t my office tell you I would be a few minutes early?” he asked, and she noticed the coldness in his steely eyes.

  “Yes, Sir, but I assumed about fifteen minutes early.”

  “Haven’t you ever been told not to assume anything?” He reminded her of Tyler’s snapping turtle.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Moore. I’m Mrs. Todd.” She extended her hand, and he loosely grasped it. The scowl appeared permanently glued to his harsh features.

  He handed her a white business card with black-and-red lettering—obviously his introduction. She examined it carefully, wondering if she should ask for identification, but thought better of it in view of his scrappy temperament.

  “Since you’re here, I’d like to see the school,” Mr. Moore stated, his tone as crisp as his starched pants.

  While Anita fumbled with the keys, she silently chided herself for not being in her office when he arrived. No doubt, her tardiness had placed him in a foul mood.

  “Would you like me to show you through the school?” She attempted politeness while wondering how this man had earned his position as fire marshal. He certainly hadn’t received the Mr. Congeniality award.

  “I’d rather take my own tour,” he replied, not once offering her eye contact. “I have a diagram of the building, so I’ll inspect the rooms, make notes, and go over my findings with you when I’m finished.”

  All during the inspection, Anita sat at her desk fuming about the man’s rudeness and worrying about what he might find, but she knew everything was in order. She couldn’t attend to anything, and the longer she waited, the more apprehensive she became. After forty-five minutes, he called to her from the hallway.

  “Mrs. Todd, can I see you a moment, please?”

  Anita trembled, and she willed her body to stop. The tone of the fire marshal’s voice sounded less than friendly.

  Regan Moore stood writing on a form fastened securely to a clipboard. “I see you’re licensed for one hundred and fifty children and the rooms have been assigned with the number of children permitted in each room along with the number of teachers and aides required to insure proper student-teacher ratios,” he said stiffly, his nose glued to the form before him. “The emergency evacuation plans are clearly posted, and the kitchen is in order. Now, I need your electrical, gas, heating and air-conditioning, and health department inspections.”

  “Of course. They are on my desk, “ Anita replied. He has absolutely no tact.

  “You must enjoy children to consider this undertaking.” He glanced into a preschool room.

  At least he has one soft spot.

  “Yes, they are very special little people.”

  He walked over to examine a home-living center, complete with child-size furniture and accessories. Mr. Moore touched a rocking chair and watched it sway back and forth.

  “Do you have children?” she asked, hoping a mutual topic might smooth his crusty exterior.

  His gaze flew to hers, and she saw something akin to pain.

  “No,” he said, rapidly moving toward the door. “I need to see those inspection reports.”

  She followed him to the front desk and watched him methodically examine the reports. Silence seemed to echo from the corners of the building.

  “Everything appears to be fine,” he finally said.

  Anita breathed a sigh of relief. Now, if he would simply sign the inspection report and leave.

  “However, there’s one problem. Paint cans in the two-year-old room are not permitted. In fact, I can show you the page number and paragraph in your Department of—”

  “I know about the regulations, Sir,” Anita said, feeling her skin grow devoid of color. “And those cans won’t be there after this afternoon. I have some touch-up painting to do before classes begin next Wednesday. One of the teachers accidentally scraped the walls when she rearranged furniture.”

  “Mrs. Todd, I’m sorry, really I am, but I cannot bend the rules to accommodate your plans. I make these inspections as if the children are in attendance. You have violated a very important law regarding fire safety. If you will give me your copy of the state’s standards, I’ll show you.”

  “I believe you.” Anita felt defeated and miserable. As soon as the words escaped her mouth, she realized he heard her frustration.

  “Paint is flammable and poisonous,” he said a little more softly. “I know you wouldn’t want a child hurt.”

  “I know the chemicals are dangerous, but the school hasn’t opened yet,” she replied as misery slowly consumed her.

  Mr. Moore cleared his throat. “As I stated before, your plans cannot affect my findings. I’m sorry if this causes a problem with your opening day, but the children are my main concern. I will have to come back in order to give you a valid inspection.”

  Oh, no. This can’t be happening. “But the Department of Human Services will be here Monday.” Anita’s hands hung limp at her side. “Please, the school needs the inspection to obtain our license.”

  He hesitated. “What time is your social worker scheduled to arrive?”

  “Monday afternoon, one o’clock,” Anita replied, ordering her heart to cease the furious pounding against her chest.

  “All right, I’ll be here at twelve.” He snapped his pen back under the clipboard.

  Regan Moore reminded her of one of her mother’s familiar quotes: “If he didn’t have such an ugly personality, he might be tolerable.”

  “What if I remove the paint cans from the building while you’re here?” Anita asked, feeling the weight of everything going wrong.

  “What good would that do?” Mr. Moore placed the clipboard under his arm as though he held some military report affecting world security. “You’ve already told me you need to finish painting. I couldn’t sign the inspection knowing you might endanger the lives of innocent children. As long as the paint cans are on the premises, this building is a fire hazard. No, Mrs. Todd, I cannot do as you ask.”

  She realized it made little sense to argue with the city’s fire marshal. He apparently never deviated from his rule book. She concluded Mr. Regan Moore had the state fire code memorized.

  “Thank you for coming.” She lifted her chin. “I’ll have the painting completed and the cans removed by Monday morning.”

  She watched him leave in a fire engine red Jeep, complete with a roaring motor. His bumper sticker scraped her nerves: Fire Safety Isn’t Just a Good Idea—It’s the Law.

  ❧

  Fire Safety Isn’t Just a Good Idea—It’s the Law. Regan had noted the slogan on his bumper sticker as he’d rounded his Jeep. But I don’t have to act inhuman about it.

  He stopped at the end of the private driveway of Good Hope School to turn onto the main road and palmed his fist on the steering wheel. He’d been a real jerk back there. A good man would turn around and apologize to Mrs. Todd. He couldn’t change his report status, but he could show a bit of kindness.

  Taking a deep breath, Regan decided to wait until Monday. With the mood he was in right now, he’d blow an apology.

  ❧

  For several minutes, Anita paced the hallway, reliving every word and gesture of her encounter with the fire marshal. The intensity of her anger left her shouting at the walls and slamming a few doors. Anita knew she must calm down before walking over to get Tyler from the library.

  Regan Moore had zilch in the way of people skills. Not only did he lack communication abilities, but he also had no concept of the hard work involved in preparing a school for opening day. How could anyone ever paint or remodel a building under his jurisdiction?