Free Caught Redhanded by Gayle Roper Page A

just has a thing for black.” There was no rancor or mockery in his voice.
    “Dad,” Bailey muttered, embarrassed, but she half smiled. Clearly this topic was a family joke.
    “I certainly hope you never touch that beautiful blond hair with black dye,” I said fervently. “I’ve rarely seen such a wonderful color. Or colors.” I peeked behind Bailey to see how far down her back the yellow, gold and silver strands fell. It cascaded over her black backpack and I couldn’t help but grin at the incongruous sight of a couple of knitting needles sticking out of the backpack and through her hair. Lovely, fuzzy, pale yellow yarn pushed against the heel of one. How fascinating that the semigoth was working with such a delicate shade, one that would be absolutely wonderful with that gorgeous hair, especially if she eased up a bit on the black eyes.
    Bailey flushed at my compliment, with pleasure, not embarrassment, I thought. Her parents looked at her with love and worry.
    “Can you sit on it?” I asked, remembering that not too long ago my hair had been long like that, though not that stunning shade. Cutting it had been part of my decision to remake my life, as had been my move to Amhearst.
    She shook her head, pushing one side of the glorious sweep behind an ear. “I keep it cut at my waist. It’s hard enough to get it dry now. I don’t need any more.”
    “It’s absolutely gorgeous. You’re very lucky. And guys do seem drawn to blondes, you know.” I grinned at her.
    She dropped her eyes and shook her head, her pallor returning.
    Touchy topic. I wondered how hard it was for her with her excess weight, how much the kids teased her at school, how much she disliked herself. Being her age could be so hard!
    “I’ve been telling Merry how Good Hands got started,” Tug announced in the small silence that followed Bailey’s apparent embarrassment.
    Candy followed his lead and pointed a finger at him. “Did you tell her how I started wondering if all you were ever going to do was plan this organization and its purposes and never get around to actually fixing up houses?”
    Tug took her out-thrust hand. “I’m sure you’ll tell that part better than me.”
    Candy smiled at him as he continued to hold her hand. She turned to me. “Tug’s got two friends who are in the business world, and they met with him for breakfasts, lunches, dinners, evening snacks—you name it. They planned Good Hands meticulously, applied for and got not-for-profit status, wrote mission statements, vision statements, anything you can imagine. Not that all that wasn’t good. It got Good Hands off to a wonderfully sound start, but I thought they’d never get beyond planning.”
    “That’s because we didn’t know how to get local needy home owners to want our services. We just couldn’t walk up to someone and say, ‘Your house needs fixing. Let us do it for you.’ Also, there’s no way to know by looking whether the house was owned by the people living there or rented. We aren’t in business to do what landlords should be doing.”
    I saw Bailey sort of flinch. She grabbed Candy’s arm. “Come on, Mom. I need to get home.”
    Candy nodded. “Tell Merry about Simon,” she ordered as she leaned forward to kiss Tug goodbye.
    “Wait a minute,” he said though he leaned in for the kiss. “Before you go, show Merry your storeroom.”
    “Storerooms, plural,” Candy corrected. “Come on, Merry.” She turned and walked down the hall. I followed her while Bailey stayed with Tug. Candy opened one room stuffed with used furniture.
    “All donated,” she said proudly. “We’ll refinish it or reupholster it as needed.”
    She opened a second door and I saw a room lined with shelves, all but one stacked with fabric in various bright prints. Three sewing machines sat in the middle of the room.
    “Sheets, blankets and quilts, mostly,” Candy said, waving at the shelves. “We go to Appalachia two or three times a year and buy