Free Her Moons Denouement (Fallen Angels Book 2) by Max Hardy Page A

length black dress.  The black dress billowed as she ran, exposing her bare feet.  She reached Bentley and thrust her podgy arms straight around his neck and pulled him tightly into her ample chest. 
    ‘You are Late!  Did you get them, did you get them!’ she admonished and questioned in one breath with a mixture of frustration and anticipation.
    Bentley hugged her back with the same intensity, a look of concerned resignation on his features as he answered.  ‘Sorry Dessie, should have let you know but had a case to work on.  Something I need to talk to you and Father about.  But yes, I’ve got them.’
    ‘Brilliant, that’s just so brilliant.  Supper is ready, I’ve kept it warm for us.  It’s just normal beef stew, still waiting on the next delivery of the posh stuff.  Take that grubby coat off though or Father won’t be pleased.’  Bentley’s sister instructed, breaking their embrace and helping her brother off with his coat.               
    ‘Jackson, in your bed son.’  Bentley instructed, the Labrador doing as instructed and slinking into a small, well kept kennel by the back door.      
    Unlike the outside of the house, the inside was pristinely clean.  The décor in the hallway was pure 1970’s, with slightly faded orange starburst wallpaper on the walls and brown swirled linoleum on the floor of the hallway.  There was a G-Plan lacquered teak side board on the right wall and Bentley threw his car keys into a moulded Lucite bowl which sat on top of it. 
    They entered the kitchen, Bentley’s expression still troubled and his sister still effusive as she darted in front of him.
    ‘Father, he has the papers!’ she exclaimed as she danced around the dining booth on one side of the high gloss aubergine kitchen and sat down next to her father, shaking in excitement.
    ‘Calm down Desiderata.  Your brother needs to explain why he is so late for supper and couldn’t bring himself to telephone and let us know.’ said Pastor Edward Bentley.  He wore a black shirt, the brilliant white clerical collar the only brightness in his dark garb and even darker expression.
    Bentley eased his ebullient stomach into the narrow cushioned bench on the dining booth and addressed his father apologetically.
    ‘Sorry father.  I have no excuse.  I apologise for my tardiness and will endeavour to be a better person.  Dessie, thank you for keeping supper warm for us, I am sorry.’
    ‘They are just words Fenny.  Words I have heard too many times before.  It is not good enough, do you hear me.  Your sister has spent hours preparing our supper.’  Pastor Edward said with a raised voice full of simmering anger. ‘We have been waiting over two hours for you to come home.  Now, say grace, so we can eat and then you better have a really good explanation or it will be the cupboard for you tonight.’
    Bentley sat in diffidence, his gaze turned down to the steaming stew pot on the table top in front of him, not able to hold the ferocity of his father’s glare.  He reached his hands out over the table, clenching those of his father and sister who were doing the same and said grace with an obvious tremor of trepidation in his tone.
    ‘O Lord, we thank you for the gifts of your bounty which we enjoy at this table. As you have provided for us in the past, so may you sustain us throughout our lives. While we enjoy your gifts, may we never forget the needy and those in want.’  
    Bentley looked back up, his eyes moving between the scolding expression of his father and the eager excitement of his sister.  He let go their hands, but father and sister maintained hand holding with each other.
    ‘Children.’ said Pastor Bentley.  ‘Please, eat.  Fenny.  Tell us why you are late.’
    ‘Yes, you said you needed to talk to us!’ exclaimed Desiderata as, still clasping her father with one hand, she started to ladle the stew out into bowls with the other.
    ‘I don’t know if you have seen