Free The Boy in the Burning House by Tim Wynne-Jones Page B

strike her as relevant. Obviously she had something else on her mind.
    â€œWhat did he want to talk about?” she asked.
    Jim delved into a bag and found a box of Saltines. He opened it, helped himself to a couple.
    â€œHe just wanted to see how I was doing,” he said. “You know, see if I was ready to come back.”
    His mother nodded. She looked as if she was going to say something but changed her mind. So Jim went on.
    â€œFather said he was picking up this mystery they had reserved for him, but they didn’t. I asked. They didn’t even have the book at all.”
    Iris peered at Jim under lowered eyebrows. “What made you ask?
    â€œPardon?”
    â€œWere you checking up on him?”
    Jim shrugged. “It was kind of…peculiar.” He was going to say suspicious but didn’t want to get into that. With relief, he watched her turn on the radio. It didn’t work so well with just a coat hanger for an aerial. She gave up after a minute and turned it off. The static had only deepened her frown.
    â€œWhy was it kind of peculiar?” she asked. There were little needles in her voice. Not anger, really, but something. Worry?
    Jim kept his eyes on the earth mover, listened to its back-up beeping noise. “Well, it was sort of a white lie,” he said. “I mean, why didn’t he just say he’d been talking to you? Why did he make up anything at all?” Jim tried to keep his voice light.
    His mother dismissed him with a little snort. “He’s a busy man, Jim,” she said. “I imagine his mind was on other things. He has parishioners to visit in hospital, folks who need his prayers.”
    â€œYeah, I guess.”
    Outside, a girl in a hard hat and fluorescent yellow jacket swirled her sign from STOP to SLOW.
    â€œYou know about his Kosovo Relief Fund?” Iris asked, as she put the truck in gear and edged ahead. “I know that’s taking up a huge part of his time right now.”
    â€œYes, ma’am,” said Jim. He had seen notices his mother had brought home from church.
    â€œDo you know what he’s done? He’s gotten all the churches in Ladybank to work together on this. When did you ever hear of such a thing? All working together. Not only that, he’s spoken to all the service clubs in town and even a couple of the factories.” Her voice had risen a notch, as if this was a point she needed to make. “What started out as a gesture of compassion from our little congregation has now brought in something like thirty-seven thousand dollars! All because of the effort of one man. Do you have any idea how amazing that is?” She paused. “And the thing is, Jim, he does this kind of thing all the time. He is a very committed man.”
    Jim couldn’t believe his tattle-tale had provoked such a lecture. It was clear to him that Father Fisher’s character was not up for debate.
    â€œYou’re right,” he said as enthusiastically as he could. “It is pretty amazing, about the Kosovo fund. And the other stuff. I know it.”
    His mother nodded. They were finally able to pull back onto the highway. Two of the cars following them immediately pulled out to pass. The truck didn’t accelerate all that fast.
    â€œIt’s a miracle, Jimbo,” said Iris Hawkins with a tremulousness in her voice that surprised him. He looked at her and she returned his glance with eyes full of fuss and worry, then quickly turned her attention back to the road. But Jim knew, suddenly, that Father Fisher had got to her. He must have told her about Jim’s run-in with Ruth Rose, how sick the girl was with her demented campaign against her stepfather. That’s why his mother was getting all hot under the collar.
    He didn’t want that. Didn’t want her worrying about him.
    Ruth Rose phoned him again that night. It was just after his mother had set off for work, as if she had been waiting. As if