Free Kiki and Jacques by Susan Ross Page A

stood at the cash register counting bills.
    â€œI’m sorry. I, um, forgot to eat lunch.”
    â€œHmmm . . .” Grandmère Jeannette lowered her glasses. “I was wondering if Betty Labelle’s pretty niece was the reason you were so shy about coming here today?”
    Jacques shrugged.
    â€œYou haven’t made that girl any promises you can’t keep, have you?”
    â€œGrandmère!” Jacques exclaimed. “Lucy is just a friend!”
    â€œAha, I see. . . .” Grandmère Jeannette’s lips curled slightly as she closed the register.
    Three or four ladies came in to browse, but there were no more sales. Still, Grandmère Jeannette smiled and hummed as she dusted the counters and fitted plastic covers over the gowns. At exactly four o’clock, she disappeared into the ladies room. When she returned, she was wearing a different blouse and dangling earrings.
    â€œI’m going to the bank now. All you need to do is lock the doors at five, and you can go on home.” GrandmèreJeannette picked up her purse. “Make sure your father eats somethin’ for dinner, okay?”
    Jacques nodded. Then his pulse began to race. “Grandmère . . .”
    â€œYes?” She paused by the door.
    Jacques gulped. “Be careful at the speedway, that’s all. Lots of creeps hang out there.”
    Grandmère Jeannette smiled and blew him a kiss. Her cheeks were rosy, and her lips looked especially pink.
    The door closed, and the shop went quiet. Jacques glanced through the windows up and down Main Street, but there was nothing to see. He sighed and wondered whether he could close up early. With a yawn, Jacques turned and squatted next to the pile of half-made boxes on the couch.
    The front door jingled, and Monique walked in.
    â€œOh—it’s you.” Blushing, Jacques sprang to his feet.
    Monique’s hair was pulled back to one side in rows of tiny braids. Her nails were black and shiny. “I figured I’d come find something I like.” She touched the small silver cross around her neck.
    â€œYeah, sure.” Jacques motioned toward the rack of wedding gowns.
    â€œMaybe more like this one.” Monique pointed to a mannequin wearing a short red cocktail dress. The mannequin’s golden hair was twisted in elaborate curls, and her skin was the color of chalk.
    â€œCan I ask you something?” Jacques glanced at Monique.
    â€œI seem kind of young to be getting married, is that it?” Monique didn’t look up as she ran her nails over the silky fabric.
    â€œNo, of course not! It’s just that you’re really—I mean, you’re pretty and you’re smart and everything. . . .”
    Monique didn’t answer, but her eyes opened wide when Jacques said the word
smart
.
    The phone started ringing in the upstairs office.
    â€œI’ll be right back.” Jacques bounded up the stairs wondering if Grandmère Jeannette was calling to remind him about something important. He also wondered whether Monique thought he was the stupidest kid in middle school.
    There was crackling on the line, and then a strange nasal tone. “This is Maine Premier Bank calling. I must inform you of a serious delinquency on your mortgage.”
    Jacques covered the phone with his hand, which was starting to tremble. Before he could think what to say, he heard a sharp rap from the back of the shop.
    Monique’s voice cut the air: “Duane! What are you doing here?”

16
    Jacques dropped the phone and raced down the steps, but it was too late. Monique had already opened the alley door.
    Duane stood inside the doorway grinning, a wild look in his eyes. His hair was slick with sweat, and his arms were wrapped around a camouflage backpack.
    Garth stood behind him panting and cradling one fist. Jacques could see that his knuckles were bruised red and purple.
    â€œAnyone else in here?”