In Too Deep (6 page)

“Apparently you haven't yet learned your place,” he whispered back. “A good maidservant does her mistress's bidding happily.” He sighed and frowned. “I'm
afraid you're going to have to be sent to the dungeon if this complaining continues.”

The truth was, I'd never had so much fun babysitting. I could hardly believe it when Greg mentioned that it was almost nine-thirty and wondered aloud about the royal bedtime.

“I don't wanna go to bed!” Princess Cassie objected.

“Well, we must consult the royal bedtime bowl then,” Greg said quickly. “The magic bowl will tell us if your majesties are tired or not.”

“I'm
not
tired.” But the word “magic” had her attention.

“Sir Greg requires vinegar and soda for the magic potion,” he told me.

I fetched them, wondering what he was up to. He poured a little vinegar into a bowl and sat it on the middle of the table.

“The magic bowl knows all things,” he told the wide-eyed children. “We must add the magic powder and the bowl will tell us what is to be done. If it bubbles, that means you must have a royal story in bed. If it doesn't, you must go right to sleep.”

They watched breathlessly as he spooned a little baking soda into the bowl. Of course it fizzled and bubbled like crazy.

“Aha! The bowl says you get a story!”

They clapped and followed him into the spare
room, insisting that he lay between them on the double bed. I ran for a storybook, returning with an old favourite from when I was a child.

“Dr. Seuss,
The Sneetches
!” Greg nodded approvingly. “I love this story.”

He'd only finished about half of it before they were fast asleep. Extracting himself from the pair, he brought the book along to the living room and motioned me to sit on the couch.

“You deserve to hear the rest of this, seeing as how you've been a pretty good maidservant after all.” He sat close beside me and continued the story.

“You were great,” I told him when he'd finished.

“Thank you. I've been practising my reading.”

“Not that! I mean with the kids and everything. I don't think too many guys would have done what you did, especially when you'd made plans and all.”

“It was all for the best anyway,” he said, “did you notice that it's raining?”

I hadn't, but he was right. It was raining. “Were we going to be doing something outside?” I asked.

“Maybe.” He smiled teasingly. “But
you
won't know until we can reschedule.”

And then — I'm almost positive he was going to lean over and kiss me. I say “was” because at that moment headlights shone in the window as a car pulled into the driveway.

It was Dad. He was surprised to find us there, and I explained about Mrs. Pernell and everything.

“Well, that's too bad. I'll give you a lift home, so you don't have to walk in the rain, Greg.” Dad offered.

And the next thing I knew Greg was saying good night and getting in the car.

Why, oh why, couldn't Dad have come home ten minutes later? I was starting to think I was jinxed.

By the end of the next week, that feeling was going to be a lot stronger!

By Monday, things were back to normal at our house. Mr. Pernell picked Cassie and Ryan up and took them home on Sunday evening after reporting that his wife had safely delivered a new baby boy. He thanked us profusely for all we'd done and tried to pay me for babysitting the evening before.

I knew Mom wouldn't want me to take money since it had been an emergency, so I told him I'd like it if he'd just buy the new baby something with it instead. He said I was a wonderful girl and promised they were going to call me any time they needed a sitter from then on. I wasn't what you'd call thrilled but I tried to act enthused at the idea. Just the
thought
of having to cart those two around
and
take care of a new royal Pernell was enough to exhaust me. After all, it's not as though Greg would be there to help.

I'll tell you one thing — I'm not having children before I'm at least twenty-five. I've known a few girls who had babies while they were still in school, and I don't think they had any idea what they were getting into. Taking care of kids is hard work, and it's not like you just put in a shift and go home. You're in it full time, twenty-four-seven, with no days off — ever! And babies! I've babysat a few of them, and it's enough to send a person off the deep end when they cry and you can't get them to stop.

Anyway, after all the chaos, I was actually looking forward to going back to school by the time the weekend was over. The first thing that I heard when I got to class was that there had been yet another theft. It seemed it had happened on Friday, but it wasn't discovered until that morning, when a grade twelve student named Jeremy went to his locker and found that the money he'd kept there was gone. It was no small amount either, almost two hundred dollars in all. He'd been collecting for the walk-a-thon we hold every year to sponsor a child for summer camp. Jeremy was the one who'd organized the whole thing this year because it was one of those student initiatives that counts as a credit in the entrepreneur class.

He reported it to the office right away, and if you think the students were upset before, you should have seen them that day. The idea that anyone would take
money that was meant for an underprivileged kid was enough to enrage the whole student body.

The new theft reminded me of my plan to catch Amber, if she was guilty. And it was looking more and more as if she probably was. Someone had noticed that morning that she was wearing a brand new pair of air runners, the kind that cost at least a hundred and fifty bucks. Suspicion toward her was growing by the minute. Of course, no one accused her to her face, but it was in the air like a low, dark fog.

It was the kind of plan that has to wait for an opportunity, and I was watching. On Tuesday, just before classes, I got my chance.

Amber had gone into the girls' washroom, and I followed her in a moment later. Bending down, I saw that there was only one stall occupied, so I knew that we were the only two people in there. I slipped my watch off and laid it by the sink and then stepped quickly into a stall. I closed the door but didn't lock it and stood watching through the crack.

A moment later she came out and went to the sink to wash her hands. I breathed quietly, hoping she'd notice the watch, which was at the sink next to the one where she stood. Sure enough, I saw her glance over and then stop and stare at the watch. Then she was drying her hands, still looking where it sat shining under the lights. The next moment, after a slight pause, she
went back to the sink and picked it up. She glanced to the left and right, as if to make sure no one was watching, and slipped it into her pocket.

I'd done it! I'd caught the thief! My heart was pounding hard and I realized that I'd been holding my breath. The sudden expulsion of air from my lungs, followed by a huge gasp, seemed loud enough to be heard right out into the corridor, and I was sure she must have heard me. I expected her to turn and find me there, but she just kept walking and a second later was out the door.

I raced out of the bathroom and caught up with Amber just before she turned the corner.

“I saw you. I caught you red-handed,” I told her angrily. “Now I'm going to the principal, and you might as well come with me.”

She stood very still, her face strangely expressionless. Then she shrugged indifferently, nodded, and walked with me to the office.

A moment later Mr. Lower ushered us into his inner office and motioned us to seat ourselves in the chairs across from his desk.

“What's this all about then?”

I blurted out my story, uncomfortably aware that Amber was sitting straight up in her chair and looking at me the entire time I spoke. When I'd finished, Mr. Lower turned to her.

“Well, Amber? What do you have to say about this?”

“I wasn't
stealing
the watch,” she told him calmly. “I saw it lying by the sink and I thought someone left it there by mistake. I was going to turn it in.” She reached into her pocket, drew out the watch, and plunked it on his desk.

Of course, what else could she say? She was hardly going to admit that she was a thief.

“You heard what Amber said, Shelby.”

I could hardly believe my ears! Here I was, presenting him with the cause of all the recent trouble in the school, and he was acting as if I should just take her word for it.

“I heard her all right,” I acknowledged. “I just don't believe her.”

“I see. Well, Amber, I'd like to talk to Shelby in private. You can return to your class now.”

She got up and walked deliberately past me, and as she did a flicker of a smile crossed her lips. The smug look on her face made me so furious I could hardly think straight.

When she'd gone, Mr. Lower cleared his throat and spoke to me again.

“Let me ask you something, Shelby. What would you do if you went into the girls' room and saw a watch sitting by the sink?”

“What do you mean?” I stammered.

“Just what I said. What would you have done if you'd found the watch?”

“I'd have brought it to the office.” I felt my face getting warm as I answered.

“That's exactly what Amber stated she was going to do.”

“But how do you know she's telling the truth?”

“How do
you
know she's not?”

“But we've had all these thefts!” I pointed out.

“Yes, we have. And that means we must be extra careful. A person's reputation is at stake here. It would be unfair to make accusations unless we're very, very sure. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I said, pushing down my anger. There was obviously no point in trying to talk to him. “I understand.”

I understood all right. I understood that she was getting away with it … this time.

It made me seethe every time I so much as laid eyes on Amber the rest of the week. She moved through the school with her usual air of studied indifference, continuing to act as though none of the gossip affected her in the least. It was impossible that she didn't hear the things being said about her, although I refrained from adding my own bit of information to the rumours that were already flying.

It was tempting to tell Betts and Greg what had happened in the washroom, but I didn't. I'd considered sharing the details of my trap with them but decided against it because it would have been embarrassing to have to recount the scene in Mr. Lower's office. I thought it would be better to wait until I had her solid. If only I'd said something I might have avoided what happened later.

There were a few more minor items that disappeared through the week, but everyone was being a lot more cautious about leaving anything of value in their lockers. There were a couple of comical things that happened too, which were surely brought on by the growing paranoia in the school.

The first was when Christine Falconer thought someone had taken her eyeglasses. She set up quite a stir, yelling that she was going to kill whoever had done it and sobbing that her mother was going to be furious about having to buy another pair, since those ones were new and had been expensive.

“What good would your glasses be to anyone else?” someone nearby asked. I thought it was a pretty sensible question, but it only sent Christine into further fits of railing against the supposed culprit.

Anyway, it turned out that she'd left her glasses on the desk in her last class. This discovery ended her death threats and sobs and replaced them with a dark red blush that wasn't helped by the hoots of laughter from the students who'd witnessed the whole thing.

The other incident was the same day, and it involved Tony Carter, the kid whose mother had trapped me with her longwinded chatter when I'd taken a recipe there. He positively freaked when he went to his locker and couldn't find the deck of cards he kept there. Tony does card tricks in the lunchroom sometimes,
and they're pretty good too. He'd get you to pick a card out of the deck and then he'd tell you what it was before it was turned over. I don't know how he did it, but he was right every time. When he first started out, he'd get dollar bets on the trick, but since he always won it wasn't long before no one would bet with him anymore.

So there he was, just ranting and raving that his lucky deck was missing. As if anyone would want an old deck of cards! Betts told me about it, since she'd been nearby when it happened.

“You should have seen him!” she giggled. “His face was practically purple, he was so upset. He tore his whole locker apart trying to find those stupid cards, throwing everything out on the floor and going on like a madman.”

I bit into my sandwich as she continued, all the while keeping an eye out for Greg. He was late coming to lunch that day, and since he hadn't yet mentioned anything about getting together this weekend I was really anxious to see him. It was already Thursday, so if he intended to ask me to do something with him it would have to be soon.

“I swear,” Betts went on with her story, “he was about to cry. Why on earth anyone would get into such a panic over a deck of cards is beyond me, but he was in an awful state. And then they slid out from the middle
of a notebook while he was kicking his stuff in a rage and he just fell to his knees and grabbed them and — I'm not making this up — he actually kissed them!”

I laughed at the thought of that and Betts looked satisfied, the way she does when she's told a particularly juicy story. But at the same time I couldn't help thinking it was pretty sad that the thefts at school had caused such a horrible reaction among the students. We never used to have to worry about our things being stolen, and it was creating a tension that affected everyone.