Little Lamb Lost Read Online Free PDF

have meant renovating
her nearly one-hundred-year-old house to meet the building and fire codes, not
to mention all the inspections to keep her license. It would have been too
expensive. Since most of my clients couldn’t afford commercial day care
centers, without sitters like Dazzle — who got her toys donated and charged
just above what was necessary to feed the children — they certainly wouldn’t be
able to get jobs and do all the things DHS asked. So we turned a blind eye. I
was more than a little worried that if whatever killed Michael had come from
her home, they were going to shut her down.
    Dazzle was a slightly stooped woman in
her mid-sixties. Her skin was a smooth, dark black and she had the most
perfect, polished white teeth I’d ever seen. When she smiled, those teeth were
framed by deep dimples and it was easy to see how she’d gotten her nickname as
a teenager.
    Today, however, there was no smile, just
Dazzle standing at the door, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a paper
napkin. “Come in,” she said. “I just got done sittin’ down with the chil’ren,
tellin’ ’em about Michael. I tol’ them that he died and wen’ to heaven, and now
he’s an angel. We prayed for him. Do you think I did right?”
    “Exactly right.”
    “Some o’ their mammas was asking about
the funeral. Asking if they should take ’em. What do you think?”
    I followed her into the family room. “I
wouldn’t. Kids that age don’t understand the service, and the burial, if there
is one, would just terrify them. I’d have a separate ceremony for them and
their parents. Maybe at the park. I’ve heard of one ritual where the kids
release balloons with good-bye messages tied to them. That I think they’d
understand.”
    “That’s a good idea.”
    Three children entertained themselves in
the colorful family room, which looked as though someone had dumped a giant toy
box into the middle of it. Clustered on the walls were a half century of
photographs of Dazzle’s family, including her deceased husband, her three kids,
and seven grandkids. One of her grandchildren sat on the couch, mesmerized by
Big Bird on the television. Another girl about the same age was deeply
engrossed in the play kitchen set. A younger, Hispanic-looking toddler made
quite a racket with a singing keyboard. “Let’s go in the kitchen,” Dazzle said.
    An enormous wooden table dominated the
kitchen that served as both dining area and craft headquarters. A naked Barbie
lay face down on the paint-stained surface. Dazzle positioned herself where she
could see the kids through the door.
    “Did the police say anything yesterday?”
    “Nothin’, just took a lot of pictures
and asked me what he done yesterday. And what he ate.”
    “What did he eat?”
    “Bless his heart, he was goin’ through a
peanut butter phase. Wanted it on everythin’. So for lunch he had peanut butter
crackers an’ an apple, and for dinner a peanut butter sandwich with jelly and
some string cheese.”
    “I was thinking he might have had an
allergy. How was he after he ate? Any complaints about not feeling well or
anything?”
    “No, not at all. He was jus’ normal.”
    “Was he more tired than usual?”
    “No. He went down on the couch about
nine, and his mamma picked him up a little after ten, like always.”
    “He didn’t hit his head yesterday, that
you know of?”
    “No, he never said nothin’ about that. I
watch ’em close, and I didn’t see no accident or fall or nothin’. ”
    This wasn’t allaying my fears. Michael’s
death seemed less and less like an accident. The small girl who had been play
cooking wandered over and patted me on the leg. She couldn’t have been older
than four. She was a beautiful girl of mixed race, with soft, curly black hair
and caramel-colored skin.
    “Michael died. He’s in heaven.”
    “I know.”
    “He’s an angel. He has wings. I want my
Barbie.” I handed her the doll, and she skipped away.
    I said good-bye