Free Mrs. Miracle by Debbie Macomber Page B

front cover. “It’s mine. I brought it with me.”
    “It’s Pamela’s,” he countered sharply. The woman had been in his den and had searched through his desk drawers. He didn’t care how good a cook she was, he wouldn’t have her sneaking around in his office.
    “Mr. Webster, let me assure you—”
    “I’ll prove it,” he said, his voice rough with shock and anger. Without another word he marched back into his office and sat down at the desk he’d recently vacated. The children raced into the room after him, and Mrs. Merkle followed, looking flustered and red in the face.
    “I put it here myself just recently,” he said, jerking open the bottom drawer. He’d held that very book in his hands. Seen for himself how the corners had frayed and worn down so that the filler showed through, just the way the one she had did. The gold lettering had faded on the title, the same as with the book Mrs. Merkle held.
    “See,” he said, leveling his gaze toward the drawer.
    The book was there. Seth’s mouth dropped, and he glanced up at the housekeeper, dumbfounded. Slowly, almost as if he were afraid Pam’s volume would vanish if he touched it, he lifted it from its resting place.
    His round, shock-filled eyes returned to Mrs. Merkle.
    “Did she take Mommy’s book?” Judd asked.
    Seth shook his head. “I’m afraid I owe you an apology,” he said, nearly choking on the words. Not because he wasn’t sorry, for he was. But he’d been so sure. Not only had the woman chosen to read the one book his wife had loved, but she’d read from a copy that was identical to Pam’s in every way.
    How was that possible? Had he walked into an episode of The Twilight Zone? If he looked at himself in the mirror, would he see Rod Serling’s reflection? Seth was almost afraid to find out.
    “Come on, you two,” Mrs. Merkle said, ushering the kids back into the room. “Let’s find out what happens to the children next.”
    “They shouldn’t go in the wardrobe, should they?” Judd asked.
    “That, my fine young man, is a matter of opinion.” His housekeeper looked over her shoulder at Seth. “Everyone needs to take a risk now and again, don’t you agree, Mr. Webster?”
    ----
    Red Sauce
    3 tablespoons olive oil
    2 cloves crushed garlic
    1 onion, chopped
    1 28-ounce can ready crushed tomatoes
    1 28-ounce can of tomato puree
    1 can tomato paste, plus 1 can water
    2 teaspoons basil
    2 teaspoons oregano
    2 tablespoons Parmesan cheese
    Simmer all ingredients together for 1 ½ hours. Add meatballs.

    Italian Meatballs
    1 pound lean ground beef
    ½ pound Italian sausage
    ½ cup fresh parsley, chopped
    2/3 cup Italian-flavored bread crumbs
    2 eggs
    1 or 2 cloves fresh garlic
    A little milk to moisten mixture
    Mix all ingredients well, roll into golf-size balls, and add to simmering spaghetti sauce. Cook 10 to 15 minutes on low heat.
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Chapter 10
    A closed mouth gathers no foot.
    —Mrs. Miracle

    S haron Palmer quietly put dinner on the table. Her husband sat reading the newspaper in front of the television, doing his best to ignore her. She knew what he was up to. He’d barely said a civil word to her all week, but then she hadn’t behaved any better.
    “Dinner’s ready,” she told him without enthusiasm, sitting down at the round oak table in the alcove off the kitchen. She didn’t wait for Jerry to join her before unfolding and placing the napkin on her lap.
    Leaving the television on, Jerry claimed his seat at the table and kept his eyes on the screen. For years it had been customary to turn the set off completely. Dinnertime was sacred, a time setaside to share the happenings of their day. No longer. Her husband didn’t so much as look at the meal she’d spent the better part of the afternoon preparing. His gaze left the sportscaster only long enough to reach for the serving spoon.
    Not until he’d finished heaping his plate did he bother to ask, “What is it?” A frown dominated his still-handsome face.
    “A