Leah set him back in his bed, after maneuvering around a stack of plastic building blocks and several wooden puzzles. Pieces were scattered all about the area.
"I'm very proud of you for not sucking your thumb," she whispered.
Scotty beamed with the praise. She kissed his forehead and tiptoed out of the room.
Pam had the tea brewed by the time Leah returned. "Where's Diane?" she asked about her friend's oldest child.
"Doug had to run an errand and she wanted to go with him. As you can see I haven't gotten around to the dinner dishes. Sit down and tell me what's upset you so much."
Leah didn't know where to start, or if she should. It wasn't easy to admit her failings. "Andrew and I had a spat, is all. We both needed some time to think matters through so I left."
"It's nothing serious, is it?"
Leah shook her head, discounting her concern. "I . . . I don't think so. We'll be fine."
Pam brought the china teapot to the table. "You're sure?"
"We rarely squabble and it upsets me when we do."
A series of short horn blasts interrupted their conversation. Although the sound was irritating there seemed to be a certain rhythm to it. Leah closed her eyes and listened carefully. If she hadn't known better she'd swear it sounded like someone was tapping out "Hit the Road, Jack."
Pam sent a curious look Leah's way. "Doug must need my help," she said, "he's certainly being clever about getting it."
"It sounds like . . ."
" 'Hit the Road, Jack,' " Pam finished for her, snapping her fingers as she walked toward the door. She stopped abruptly and turned around, looking puzzled.
"Is it Doug?" Leah asked.
Pam shook her head. "It's coming from your car."
This had to be some kind of joke. She set aside her tea and followed Pam. "Are you telling me my car's making that weird sound?"
"It's your horn," Pam insisted. "Just listen."
"My horn!" She joined her friend at the doorway.
"This is the weirdest thing I've ever seen in my life."
"You?" Leah laughed. "I better find out what's going on here." She grabbed her car keys and hurried across the yard.
"Mercy, stop that right this minute."
Mercy whirled around to find Shirley hovering over the trunk of Leah's car, her hands braced against her hips. Knowing she'd overstepped her authority, Mercy reluctantly complied. No doubt she'd done it this time and the archangel had dispatched Shirley to send her home.
"Did Gabriel send you?" Mercy demanded defiantly. If she was going to crash, she was going down in flames.
"No, I'm here to stop you before you get yourself into even bigger trouble."
"I had to do something fast," Mercy cried. "Andrew's worried because he can't find Leah."
"What?"
Mercy should have known she'd need to explain. "Leah and Andrew argued this morning and now he feels terrible. He wants to talk to Leah but he doesn't know where she is."
"We're not to get involved in any human's life," Shirley chastised. "By the way, what's with that ridiculous song?"
"It was popular several years back, one Leah would recognize. I'm trying to tell her to hightail it home."
Shirley folded her arms over her chest and impatiently tapped her foot. "You're courting trouble with this one. By heaven, Gabriel's going to be furious. Secular music, no less. You couldn't have come up with something more . . . spiritual?"
" 'Swing Low Sweet Chariot' just didn't hack it. I was desperate. It worked, didn't it? Look, Leah's leaving now and two to one she's headed home."
"You're placing bets now too?" Shirley said behind a smile. It wasn't unheard-of for a prayer ambassador on earth assignment to return home with a few minor bad habits. Some angels were known to have found gambling appealing.
"Are you with the God Squad Police Patrol or something?" Mercy blurted out impatiently. Shirley had the luxury of having everything falling neatly into place with her prayer assignment. The last she'd heard, Timmy's mother had agreed to date a fine, upstanding young man who'd make Timmy a great father.
She and Goodness should have it so easy. As for herself, Mercy was batting zero when it came to helping Leah, and from what she heard, Goodness wasn't in much better shape. If anything, matters had gotten progressively worse. In the last report from Goodness, Mercy had learned that Monica Fischer had stretched the truth in an effort to seek out Chet Costello. For a woman who prided herself on rigid honesty this was not an encouraging sign.
"I don't mean to