When she smiled, her brown eyes twinkled brightly. Bright red lipstick had run into the wrinkles around her mouth and disappeared from the middle. The woman’s black hair was sprinkled with white. “God almighty, I hate them things, and that damned cat keeps bringing them up to the porch like she’s haulin’ gold into the house.” “Dammit!” The lady wiped her hand on the side of her jeans. She sidestepped the thing and the cat jumped up, snagged it with a paw, quickly flipped it into its mouth, and ran off the porch. The woman who slung open the screen door caught the animal midair, realized what she had in her hand, and threw it back toward Emily. She kicked her foot just as the door opened and the mouse flew up like a baseball. Live ones topped out the list above dead ones, but only slightly. There were two things that Emily hated and mice were both of them. She looked down just as a big yellow cat laid a dead mouse on her boots. She heard footsteps on hardwood floors, and then something brushed against her leg. He’d said that it wouldn’t until the box was put in Clarice’s hands. Then her grandfather’s spirit would rest in peace. Hand the box of letters over to Clarice Barton and she’d be back in her truck and on her way. Her heavy coat was in the pickup, but this job wouldn’t take long. The cold February wind swept across the wide porch of the ranch house and cut right through her lightweight denim jacket. Emily took a deep breath and rang the doorbell.
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