Angel Falling Softly - By Eugene Woodbury Page 0,5

a practice—”

“Not going there, Milly,” Kammy replied in the singsong voice she used whenever her sister started waxing maternal. “Bye. Gotta go.”

Milada knew she shouldn’t be surprised. For the last two decades, a significant portion of the charitable donations made by the Daranyi Foundation had ended up buying internships and fellowships for Kammy. Or maybe Kammy being so content playing the eternal student was what annoyed her. She, on the other hand, did everything she could to come across older than she appeared.

Why couldn’t her sisters settle down and work for a living? She could only dream of Zoë disciplining herself sufficiently to even attend school.

The intercom buzzed. Karen’s voice announced, “LaDawn Gunderson from Valley Real Estate.”

Milada thanked her and picked up the phone. “This is Milada Daranyi. I’m an associate of Mr. Christensen’s. I’m going to be in Salt Lake City on and off for the next six months or so. I was thinking of renting a house in the area.”

There was a block of upscale apartments a hundred yards north of Eagle Gate Plaza. But the thought of sharing walls and floors and ceilings with strangers—not to mention the halls and lobby—made her skin crawl. At least in a hotel the people next door had no pretensions of being her neighbors.

“Mr. Christensen’s a wonderful man, isn’t he!” The voice of an older woman, bubbly and overly enthusiastic. “What part of Salt Lake?”

Sandy would be nice, Karen had said. “Sandy,” Milada casually suggested. “A small ranch or rambler with a finished basement. A covered porch facing north.”

The line fell silent. It was a clear connection. Milada could hear a pencil scratching against paper. LaDawn said, “I’ll see what I can find. I’ll phone Karen, okay?”

“That would be fine.”

LaDawn called back half an hour later. “Miss Daranyi, I have just the thing for you! Came on the market two weeks ago, a split-level rambler, three rooms up, bedroom and full bath in the basement. It’s in Cottonwood Estates. A really nice neighborhood. Right on Dimple Dell Park in Sandy. Would you like to see it?”

Milada tried to remember what time the sun set. “Would eight o’clock be acceptable?”

“Eight o’clock? Um, tonight?” The woman’s hesitation was obvious.

“Would seven be better?”

LaDawn collected herself. “Oh, sure!” she burst out, revealing a Midwestern accent tinged with Scandinavian roots. “The address is 1204 Larkspur Lane. Do you need directions?”

“I’m sure my driver can find it.”

“That’s just great. I’ll see you tonight, Miss Daranyi.”

“Seven o’clock,” Milada confirmed. After hanging up the phone, she opened the folder and thumbed through the SEC filings. LaDawn, she repeated to herself. In her long life, she’d never met a woman named LaDawn before.

It briefly occurred to her that she had no good idea about what she was getting herself into. She kept too many secrets not to know what she was getting herself into every minute of her life.

Chapter 7

Don’t judge a book by its cover

In purely utilitarian terms, being the mother of a dying daughter was not that difficult.

Every morning Rachel had someplace to go and something to do. It was almost like having a job again. She hustled the husband and the daughter out of the house, showered and dressed. And then hung around children for several hours in a teaching institution staffed by busy, competent professionals. Yes, many of the children were dying, but other than that . . . And it was only part-time employment. She was done every day by noon, one o’clock at the latest.

And so the days came and went.

In Sandy she stopped at Smith’s to get a few things, a few things that quickly filled her shopping cart. How many people had they invited to family home evening, again? Charlene was bringing a tossed salad. She’d talk to Doris at church on Sunday and get everything else on Monday.

She moved to the checkout queues. “Rachel!” A woman hurried up to her, a woman in her late forties stuffed into a Liz Claiborne pantsuit that would look much better if the person inside it lost twenty pounds and didn’t use quite so much makeup.

“Guess what!”

Rachel didn’t guess. A tree falling in a forest wouldn’t make a sound until LaDawn Gunderson told somebody about it.

“I’ve rented out the Lindstrom place!”

“The Lindstrom place? Oh, yes, the Lindstroms.”

“You’re going to have quite an interesting neighbor.” LaDawn spoke with an almost rapturous intensity. “Though I don’t think she’s a member. Didn’t seem at all like the kind of person you’d expect at Relief Society, if you know