Page 7 of Colorado Christmas Carol
“I have not seen your daughter, and this is not a public space. Out!” she raged, pointing to the door behind him.
He didn’t move.
“Out!” she repeated, “or I will have Jeff Ralston come right over and remove you forcibly! He’s our sheriff,” she added in a soft, deadly tone, “and he likes me.”
“I’ d need convincing, and I know who he is,” the man huffed. “Where is she?”
“I told you, I don’t know! I cook, I don’t babysit!”
He glared at her. “If you’re hiding her, I’ll have your head on a stick.”
“Good luck trying!”
He made another rough sound and left.
“Who was that?” Mabel asked, shocked.
“A man who has a sweet little girl, God help her. Imagine having a barracuda like that for a dad!” Essa grumbled.
“He sure is handsome.”
“So are sharks!”
Mabel hid a smile. Essa went back to work, too busy to brood about Mellie’s ill-mannered dad.
* * *
After the breakfast rush, Essa was leaving the kitchen when she spotted Mellie apparently being hotly lectured by her father. He pointed a finger at her and then walked out of the dining room.
Mellie sat there, depressed and near tears, picking at what was left of her bacon and eggs.
“Dear, dear,” Essa said softly as she paused by the table. “At it again, is he?”
Mellie looked up and her face brightened. “Oh! Hi!”
“Hi.”
Mellie made a face. “Daddy was looking for me and he couldn’t find me, so he got real mad. I was outside talking to this nice guy who was looking at rocks. He said he was hoping to find a fossil or something.”
“A fossil. Is he a paleontologist?” Essa wondered, interested.
“He says he’s in law enforcement,” came the reply. “He’s here for a forensic workshop. You know, blood spatter and reconstruction and trace element collection stuff. I wish I could go but Daddy won’t let me near it. He says I’m too young,” she huffed.
Essa chuckled. “That’s too bad. I’d love to go, too, but I have to work.”
“The nice man looking for fossils says he knows a place out of town where there are Native American ruins,” Mellie said excitedly.
“That I’d love to see.” Essa sighed. “I did a couple of courses in archaeology during summer semester at our community college.”
“He says he has a degree in ant . . . anthr . . .” She struggled for the word.
“Anthropology,” Essa said helpfully. “Archaeology is a sub-specialization of it. He must be very smart,” she added.
“He seems to be.” Mellie made a face. “Daddy has a degree in anthro . . . whatever it is, too. But he isn’t interested in going on digs. I am. I wish I could go look for artifacts. That man was nice. But Daddy always warns me about men.”
“My dad always warned me about them, too,” Essa replied. “He was a deputy sheriff, so I guess he knew a whole lot more than I did about life.”
“A deputy sheriff,” Mellie said, sighing. “Daddy used to be an FBI agent, but he said Mommy didn’t like him traveling all the time, and us having to move to new cities when he was transferred. She said it was like being in the army.”
