Rattled (8 page)

I choked back a laugh—as if Mrs. Swicker would give a crap.

“He'll take you back with him,” Mom told me, “and you can work until I pick you up.”

“Okay…umm…Mom?” I was hoping her presence might cause that mysterious shift again. “Megan was just asking me to look after Peter while they were away.”

“Oh, that shouldn't be a problem.”

Mrs. Swicker pressed her lips together. “As I told Lydia, if we leave some food out, Peter will be just—”

“Oh, don't be silly, Bernadette, we're right here, it's no trouble.” Mom waved a hand in the air.

Mrs. Swicker looked stung, like someone had just slapped her in the face. My guess, being called silly was a whole new experience for her.

It occurred to me, this was probably the first time Mom and Mrs. Swicker had seen each other since the great barbecue blow-off of '09. There was a kind of bizarre showdown feeling in the air. Which also reminded me, I was still waiting for that apology.

Mom started to root around in her purse. “You know, Bernadette,” she continued, “we really should exchange house keys anyways. It's good for when the kids get locked out and things like that.”

My eyes darted back and forth between the two women. Mrs. Swicker looked like she was praying for death. I suspected Mom sensed all the weirdness, but she pretended everything was normal.

Mom was still going through her purse. “Darn. I thought I had an extra key in here…Oh well…” She looked up. “So you want Lydia to feed Peter just the one night then?”

Mrs. Swicker opened her mouth to protest but then closed it. I knew she had nothing.

“Just tonight and again tomorrow morning,” Megan answered. “Sam has a chance to have a private session with Wolfgang Snitzel, the world famous violinist,” her voice filled with pride. “We'll be back later tomorrow.”

“Hey…why don't you just stay here, you could sleep over,” I said.

Megan turned and looked up at her mother with wide, pleading eyes.

“We'd love to have her,” Mom added.

Mrs. Swicker's face froze in a thin smile. “Thank you, Justine, but I would really like Megan to come. I think she could benefit from the experience. She has a bit of musical talent herself.”

Megan and I both sighed with disappointment. Mom had won the first round. I guess it was too much to hope for that she'd stick it to Mrs. Swicker two times in a row.

Mom put her hand on Megan's shoulder. “Don't worry, sweetie, we'll have you for a sleepover another time.”

Megan smiled up at her.

Mrs. Swicker began to tap her foot impatiently. “Megan, you should get your things packed.”

“Okay,” Megan said. “I'll write everything down, Lydia, and bring it over to you. It'll be real easy.”

Megan arrived on my doorstep a few minutes later with her key and all the instructions for Peter. I told her not to worry, to have a good time and I'd see her when she got back. Putting her note and key in my night-table drawer, I stood in my room trying to remember what I was doing before all this happened. Oh yeah. Jilly's big date, nail polish.

I heard the telephone and glanced at my princess phone, watching it light up with each ring. I wasn't in the mood to answer it. The ringing stopped. I listened. Not for me.

A minute later there was a swish of blonde hair as Jilly leaned sideways across my doorway.

“What do you want?” I grumbled.

“Well…since you seemed so
interested
in my date, thought you'd like to know that it's off.”

My heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”

“For God's sake, Lid, would you quit asking me that question? You're such a pinhead. What do you think I mean?”

“I just wanted to know why it's off.” I tried to make my voice sound sincere, like I was concerned about how she felt. It was totally draining.

She sighed. “His mom won't let him go.”

“Really?”
You don't say.

“Yeah. Apparently he has some kind of violin thing. Can you believe that?”

“A violin thing, huh?”

“Totally lame. Falls into the same category as ‘I have to wash my hair.'” Her eyes widened. “You don't think he just made it up, do you?”

The little devil on my shoulder encouraged me to nurture Jilly's paranoia, but I couldn't do it. “No. He really does have a violin thing. But I think it's probably more that his mom won't let him,” I added.

“It was only a movie.”

“The mom's a major head case. She doesn't let them do
anything
. I wanted Megan to go to the mall the other day and her mom wouldn't let her. I don't think she even bothers to give them a reason.”

“Seriously? Ouch. I'd literally
die
if I couldn't go to the mall.”

And so ended our almost intelligent conversation. “Ummm, maybe you should think about looking for some kind of support group for that.”

“Oh. You're soooo funny, Lid.”

“Stop calling me that, you know I hate it,” I hissed.

“Well it's better than Jarhead. Get it? Lid, Jarhead, a lid's a top for a jar. I just thought that up! I
kill
me.”

“Yeah, you're a comic genius. Now get out.”

She flicked her hair and left my room.

Thank God
.

I smiled to myself as I flapped my arms through the air, trying to get rid of Jilly's strawberry shampoo smell. So…the date was off. I should have known better than to let myself get so worked up about it. Deep down I knew there was no way Mrs. Swicker would have ever let it happen. She wouldn't let them do anything that took them out of her sight.

Look at all the hassle over the trip to the waterfront. Talk about brutal. And then there was the scene in the gift shop. Still hadn't come up with an explanation for that one. There seemed to be no end to this woman's weirdness.

I went to my desk, checking to see where I had scribbled it on my notepad. There it was,
Reenie Barretto
. That was the name the woman had called her. I had written it down as soon as I'd gotten home that day. I don't know why, I just did.

Chapter 11

“P
eter! Here, Peter, Peter, Peter!” I shook the little bell on the key chain just like Megan had told me to. The cat immediately appeared from between the bushes and did a figure eight in and around my ankles. He meowed loudly while I fumbled with the keys.

As I swung open the door, Peter leapt inside ahead of me. I reached for the light switch. Even though it was still daytime, the house was kind of dark. It was cold inside. I hugged my arms around myself. I sniffed. The house smelled…disinfected.

I thought I'd take my time today. Last night when I'd fed Peter, I was in a rush. Mom had offered to take me to a movie at the last minute so I was in and out pretty quickly. Peter was probably lonely and wanting some company. I felt nervous being alone in the house and I wasn't sure why. It sort of felt like I'd just broken in or something. I knew I should just feed the cat and leave, but I couldn't do it. The opportunity to do a little light snooping was way too good to pass up.

Standing in the middle of the family room, I turned slowly, taking in the details, looking for something…but what? There was not one thing out of place, no sofa cushion un-fluffed, not one speck of dust on the furniture.

I moved into the kitchen. It was spotless just like I knew it would be. The house looked as though no one lived in it. I shivered and rubbed my arms again.

My destination was Mrs. Swicker's room. I used to babysit for the Henleys, so I knew the layout of the house. I tiptoed down the hall to the master bedroom. I felt it was necessary to tiptoe for some reason. The room was pretty much how I remembered, which was disappointing. I think I was expecting to see a coffin or something instead of a bed, though I suppose she
could
have slept hanging upside down in the closet. There were no personal items anywhere, not even a photo. Come to think of it, there didn't seem to be anything like that anywhere in the house. Maybe that's why it felt so cold and…creepy. I had an overwhelming urge to go through her dresser drawers, but I stopped myself and backed out of the room without touching a thing.

I peeked in Sam's room. It was neat as a pin. I sat on his bed, looked around to soak things up a bit, see if I could actually learn anything about him. The books he'd bought at the gift shop were on his nightstand. The paperback covers were curled upwards, so he must have been reading them. I stood up, smoothed the bedspread, and went over to scope out his desk. There was a huge stack of sheet music. I flicked through the papers hoping maybe I'd find “Sam + Lydia” doodled in the margins. No such luck. The music and the books were the only things that really told me this room was Sam's. I did a final check to make sure everything was the way I had found it.

It was the same in Megan's room, the neatness. I smiled at the giant lobster on her bed. For some reason I'd thought her room would be messier. I think that was because I considered her to be the most normal of the bunch. Sam was the unattainable beautiful boy, and Mrs. Swicker…well…I wasn't quite sure
what
she was.

I took another quick tour of the main floor. There wasn't even any mail piled on the hall table. If they had to, they could easily be packed up and gone in about five minutes.

Peter found me. He stood at my feet and purred, but I could see the accusation in his eyes.

“You're right, I should be feeding you. Let's do this,” I said.

I thought about Mrs. Swicker as I crushed up Peter's pill and stirred it into his Meow Mix. Thought about how she'd react if she could see me nosing around her house. I pictured her head slowly blowing up like a balloon until it exploded and sent bits of brain matter flying and splat, dripping down the walls.

There was a jug by the sink. I filled it and carried it over to top up Peter's water bowl. My mouth suddenly went dry. What if Mrs. Swicker had some kind of camera thing set up in here? It would totally be like something she'd do. My eyes raced around the room, along the edges of the ceiling. Nothing. I gave myself a mental slap in the head.

Unfortunately, during my little panic attack, I forgot to stop pouring the water into Peter's bowl.

Crap
! I ran to the counter looking for something to soak up the mess. I returned to the scene of the accident dragging about fifty sheets of Bounty behind me.

Double crap
! It was worse than I'd thought. The spilled water had basically disappeared. This was not a good thing. The water had leaked down between the boards of the hardwood floor.

Last summer, I overwatered Mom's palm tree in our dining room. The water leaked through the hardwood floor and stained the ceiling tiles downstairs in our family room. Apparently those tiles had been discontinued a thousand years ago. Dad was all for replacing the damaged ones with ones that were close enough, but Mom almost went into cardiac arrest over
that
idea. They fought for almost a week. I began to wonder who was going to get stuck with Jilly in the divorce. In the end some kind of compromise was reached. Mom got her new ceiling. I can't remember what Dad got, but I think it involved golf.

There was barely enough water to mop up. Sitting back on my heels, I contemplated my next move. I knew I had to go downstairs and check out whether or not I'd done any damage. I took the sheets of paper towel with me.

Downstairs, I figured it had to be the furnace room or garage that was directly under Peter's water bowl. And if they were like ours, there would be no real ceiling to stain.

I held my breath, opened the door, and flicked on the light. It was the furnace room. I looked up—just the wooden floorboards. I almost fainted with relief. The room was pretty much empty except for the furnace and a tower of boxes in the far corner. And then I heard it. The ping, ping of dripping water. Of course the water was leaking onto the boxes, where else? Just my luck.

Sighing, I made my way over to the pile. Lifting down the top box, I could tell by the dark colour of the cardboard that it was soaked. I carefully peeled back the packing tape, hoping to maintain some stickiness so I could re-tape the box and no one would be able to tell. I opened the soggy flaps, praying that I hadn't ruined anything important.

“Phew, just blankets.”

I grabbed a stool from the hall and stood on top to wipe up the drips clinging to the ceiling. I tried to absorb the extra moisture by pressing some paper towels against the wood.

Kneeling down beside the box, I waved the flaps back and forth, in an attempt to dry them out. I touched the blankets. There were two, rolled up like cylinders, and they felt pretty damp.

I thought maybe I'd just shake them a bit, air-dry them. As I lifted the first one out, I could feel something hard in the middle. I unrolled the blanket, which was a solid blue on the outside with tiny blue bunnies on the other side. What I found inside was a silver rattle, one of those ones that look like a miniature dumbbell. I took out the other blanket. Pink on the outside, same pink bunnies on the inside, same silver rattle.