Free Fudge-Laced Felonies by Cynthia Hickey

past a rather heavy-set woman, muttering apologies.
    Two rows up, I spotted the back of Terri Lee’s head. From that point on, worship was a struggle. She probably sang like an angel. I craned my neck to see whether the mystery man had made an appearance but couldn’t spot him. I remained preoccupied during the announcements, not paying attention until the pastor spoke about trust. From Psalm 25, verses 2 and 3.
    “In you I trust, O my God. Do not let me be put to shame, nor let my enemies triumph over me.”
    I sat higher in my seat. The pastor’s words confirmed the raven-haired temptress wouldn’t win Ethan. The day grew brighter.
    “No one whose hope is in you will ever be put to shame, but they will be put to shame who are treacherous without excuse.”
    I wasn’t treacherous, was I? I felt like the pastor singled me out. Was everyone staring at me? I squirmed in my seat and tried to refocus. My hope was in the Lord. Always had been, always would be. Somehow, I knew my crush on Ethan wasn’t what the verse spoke of. I squirmed again.
    Something hit me in the back of the head, and I looked to where my aunt sat. She wore a scowl on her face and shook her head as she pointed toward the front of the chair. The wadded paper wrapper from a straw lay on the empty seat next to me. How old did she think I was? She hadn’t chastised me that way since childhood.
    My face flamed. I’d been acting like a child. Not sitting still and paying attention to those around me instead of the pastor. I’m sorry, Lord. I promise to do better. And I did, keeping my eyes glued to the pulpit.
    After church, an empty afternoon beckoned. Torn between digging up my yard, searching for whatever my night visitor had been looking for, or learning how to be a private investigator, the yard won. What if there were more diamonds buried beneath my roses? overalls with fuchsia-colored flowers, let the dog out, and then hurried to my garden. Perched on my pink kneepad, I dug beneath one bush after another.
    Two hours later, I brushed a dirty forearm across a sweaty brow and stood to ease the kinks out of my back. I’d found nothing besides worms and roly-poly bugs. Not to mention the hassle Truly proved to be as she nosed around the holes and got in my way.
    “Summer, what are you doing?” Ethan leaned against the house, ankles crossed and hands shoved into the pockets of a pair of blue jeans. He looked divine.
    Why did I continue to find myself in embarrassing situations? I glanced at my dirt-encrusted overalls. “Uh, pruning?” Sorry, Lord. Another untruth. Remorse rose in my chest.
    “What are you looking for?”
    I never could get anything past him. I sighed. “Diamonds. I didn’t find anything. I’m trying to figure out what my nighttime prowler is looking for.”
    “Maybe it isn’t in the rosebushes.”
    “It isn’t.” I glanced around at the holes beneath what I’d hoped would be my blue ribbon winners. “I wasted an entire afternoon.”
    “Something learned is never wasted.” Ethan took up the shovel I’d discarded. “If you’ll get us something to drink, I’ll fill these holes for you. Oh, and you have dirt across your face. It’s kind of cute.”
    Dirt? Horror. I sprinted for the house and into the bathroom. Sure enough, a wide swath of dirt cut across my face. I pulled off my gardening gloves and tossed them in the corner. Then I grabbed a washcloth from the side of the tub and dabbed at the dirt, trying in vain not to wipe away my makeup. I couldn’t face Ethan without my bravery mask. And I definitely couldn’t change my clothes. He’d think I was trying to impress him.
    I tossed the rag into the sink with disgust and took my dirt-covered, smeared face back to the kitchen. Upon opening the refrigerator, I discovered a pitcher of lemonade. I set the pitcher on the counter and grabbed two glasses from the cabinet next to the sink. My gaze fell upon Uncle Roy’s toolshed.
    That’s it! The misplaced shovel.