Page 25 of Property of Quake

“I told you,” she says. “She even lets me dress her up for tea parties.” Her face falls. “Or… she used to.”

“I’ll tell ya what,” Quake begins and snaps a picture of the flyer with his cell. “I’ll ask around, see if I can find her.”

Just like they did when I told her the same thing, Melissa’s eyes light up. Unfortunately, I haven’t been successful in my efforts, and she knows it.

“But you don’t even know Stella.”

“Nope.”

“Then how are you going to find her? Sister Emiliani and Sister Mary Jane couldn’t even do it, and they have God on their side.”

He chuckles. “I know a lot of people.”

“As much as God?” she asks, awe in her tone.

I nearly laugh, and Quake chuckles. “Ya know what? I think God and I know different people so maybe that’ll work to my advantage.”

Melissa seems impressed by this and nods. “Okay.”

Looking entirely too pleased with himself, he stands. “Well, now that we have that all sorted, we should probably work on our fundraising stuff.”

“We should,” I agree. “Melissa, are you sure you don’t want to go see if Sister Mary Jane needs help with cookies?”

“I am kinda hungry,” she admits. “Are you sure you don’t need me?”

“I think we’ll manage,” Quake replies before I have a chance to.

With his assurance, she practically runs out of the office, and silence surrounds us. Quake returns his phone to his pocket, and I look everywhere but at him. Finally, he clears his throat.

“I hope I didn’t overstep,” he says.

“Overstep?”

“Yeah, ya know, saying I’ll try to find the dog.” He levels his gaze on mine. “I meant it. I’ll ask around.”

“Thank you.”

“It probably won’t amount to shit, but it’s worth a shot, right?”

Ah, no more acting like he’s civilized.

“Yes, it’s worth a shot.”

I’m the first to break eye contact, and I move to the desk where I left the folder we started last time he was here.

“Now, since you drove all the way here, let’s get down to business, shall we?”

Quake’s lips twitch. “There she is.”

I glance around the room. “Who?”

“The bossy nun.”

“I am not bossy,” I retort.

“Yeah, Sister, you are.”

My stomach clenches at his words, and despite my best effort not to, I find myself analyzing why I don’t like it when he calls me ‘Sister’.