Trouble in Paradise (13 page)

“It’s unfortunate that you couldn’t stay with your parents,” my mother said.

“I
wanted
to stay,” Louise said, “but they said it was too dangerous.”

“The bombing is devastating London,” our father said. “Hundreds are being killed and—” He stopped as he realized what he was saying. “I’m sure your parents are fine.”

She nodded politely, a sad, faint smile on her face.

“I know that if my family were in London, I’d want them to get away from the bombing. I’d want them to be someplace safe … like here,” my father said.

“That’s what my father said, too. He just wanted me to be safe.”

“Sometimes parents make decisions based on what they know is best for their children, even if those decisions involve sacrifice,” our mother said. “I’m sure it’s hard on your parents, as well.”

“I know it is,” Louise said. “My mother sends me letters and she tries to be brave, but I can read between the lines.”

I stifled a chuckle and Jack shot me a dirty look. I wasn’t chuckling about her or what she’d said, it was just that I was
sure
she couldn’t read between the lines as well as our mother could.

“It would have been good if your parents could have come with you,” Jack said.

“They couldn’t,” Louise said. “My parents have to be in London … for work.”

“What do your parents do for a living?” our father asked.

“They … they work for the … for the government,” she replied. She looked nervous and her eyes fell to her plate. Why would that make her so nervous? And why did her being nervous make me nervous … no, not nervous … suspicious.

“Both of them? Well, I guess we all work for the government these days,” our mother said.

“Yes, I guess so,” she mumbled. She looked very uncomfortable. But why? She was acting like she was lying, but there was no reason to lie about what your parents did for a living … unless …

“What do they do for the government?” I asked.

“I’m not really sure, actually.”

“You don’t know
what
your parents do?”

“Well … not exactly … specifically.”

“How about in general? What line of work are they—?”

“My son is naturally inquisitive,” Mom said, cutting me off with a sharp glare.

“I have a few other words to describe him,” Jack said.

“Enough,” my father said sharply. “There’s no reason why
both
our sons have to be rude. George, you need to apologize right now.”

“It’s all right,” Louise said. “Honestly! George was just interested, making conversation. I’ll ask them in my next letter and let you know once they reply.”

“That’s really not necessary,” my mother said.

“It is!” she exclaimed. “Now that George has brought it to my attention, I think I really ought to know, don’t you? Thank you so much, George.”

“Um … you’re welcome.”

“And when you do write your mother, please let her know that she has done an excellent job of raising a fine young woman,” my mother said.

“That is so kind of you,” Louise said. She smiled broadly—which was very nice, but could also be very deceptive. A bright smile could hide a lot.

“Do you have any other questions, George?” she asked. “I’d be happy to answer them.”

The only questions I wanted to ask, I couldn’t—not that she would give me honest answers if she were, as I was beginning to suspect, some sort of spy.

“No, I’m good,” I said.

“In that case,” my mother said, “you and Jack can clear the table.”

I quickly got up. Any excuse to leave was a good one. I piled up some of the dishes, scraping the scraps of food onto the top plate. Jack was gathering up the serving bowls. Slowly, carefully, I walked out of the dining room and pushed through the door to the kitchen. I put the dishes in the sink. I had to bring them in, but I didn’t expect I’d have to wash them.

I heard the door open and Jack came in. He put the serving bowls on the counter as I scraped the food from the plates into the garbage and—

“Owwww!” I yelled as he punched me in the arm.

“What were you doing—?”

“What’s happening in there?” my father called through the closed door.

Jack and I exchanged a look. “I just … dropped a fork on my toe.”

There was no answer from the other room. Either they believed me or they didn’t want to call me on a lie.

“Quit being a jerk,” Jack muttered.

“Hey,
you
punched
me
!”

“Believe me, you leave her alone or that was just a little taste of what you’ll get,” he threatened.

“Go ahead, try it,” I said. “I can yell louder than that, and Dad is on the other side of that door.”

“He won’t always be on the other side of that door. Are you planning on walking to school with me tomorrow?”

“Not if I can help it.” Not that I had much choice. Maybe it would be better to try to explain before he got any angrier.

“Look, I was just asking questions because—”

“She is
not
a spy,” he said, cutting me off. “Stop thinking that everybody is a spy!”

“I don’t think everybody is a spy,” I said. “Mainly just girls who date you.”

His eyes flashed with anger. Maybe I could leave early tomorrow and walk to school by myself.

“Didn’t you notice how she was acting?” I asked. “She seemed nervous and she wouldn’t answer my question.”

“Maybe she couldn’t answer your question,” Jack snapped.

“What does that mean?”

“If somebody asked you what Mom did, what would you say?” Jack asked.

“I’d say she works at the hotel.”

“And if they asked what she
specifically
does, would you tell them?”

“Of course not.”

“Maybe Louise can’t say anything, either,” Jack said.

“Are you saying her parents are like spies or something?”

“Maybe.”

“Now who’s the person thinking everybody is a spy?”

“I’m not saying they’re spies, but we know that not just anybody sends their children to a fancy place like Bermuda, so who knows what they do?”

He did have a point. Not that I was going to admit it.

“So just shut up and stop asking her questions. Okay?”

“I guess so.”

“Besides, you shouldn’t be asking questions like that in front of Mom and Dad,” Jack said. “That is, if you want to keep working at the hotel.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Think about it. They were nervous about us getting into any more spy stuff and we agreed that we’d just be regular kids—or at least pretend to be—and now you’re practically conducting an interrogation out there.”

I hadn’t thought of that. Another good point.

“Well?” Jack asked.

“I won’t ask her any more questions,” I promised.

“Good.”

Jack turned and went back into the dining room. I wouldn’t ask any more questions—at least out loud— but I’d still keep my eyes open. After all, like Little Bill said, it was in my nature!

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I PUSHED THE CART
along the hall. The carpeting cushioned the wheels and I moved silently. I liked to practise moving without making any noise. I left the cart at the open door and went into the room. There were three women at a desk, magnifying glasses in hand. They barely noticed me. I picked up the almost-full garbage can, brought it back to my cart and dumped its contents into the big bin. I tapped the bottom of the can to make sure the last bit of garbage fell out. Another mission accomplished. Another garbage can emptied for democracy, another blow against the Nazis, another … who was I fooling?

I brought the garbage can back in and placed it on the floor. One of the women
almost
looked up. I went back to my cart and pushed it to the next door. I tried to open it but it was locked. That was strange. It was usually unlocked, sometimes even open. I knocked on the
door, gently at first and then a bit louder, but there was no answer.

“You want in there?”

I turned around, startled. It was Ray. He had come up so quietly that I hadn’t heard him. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who could move silently.

Since I’d started working here three weeks ago, I’d run into Ray a dozen times. He was always friendly and really, really interesting. If he wasn’t pulling a dove out of his pocket, he had card tricks he wanted to show, or he was dressed like a sailor or a waiter. I liked him. I didn’t think my mother liked him much, because he was “a criminal.” She hadn’t actually said anything, but I could tell.

“You trying to get in there?” Ray asked again.

“I have to collect the garbage.”

“So do you want to get in?”

“It’s locked.”

Ray got a confused look. “That’s not what I was asking. Let me ask it again. Do …
you
… want …
in
… there?”

“It … is …
locked
,” I replied, using that same exaggerated pace and tone of voice. I rattled the doorknob to emphasize the point.

“Why don’t you just use a key?” Ray asked.

“I don’t have a key.” Did he think I was stupid?

“Sure you do. It’s right in here.”

Ray reached around me into the big garbage bin and rummaged around in the papers. Did he really think I had a key and had thrown it away? Maybe he really did think I was stupid.

“Here it is,” he said. He held aloft a paper clip.

“That’s a paper clip.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, me boy. It
is
a key.” He took the paper clip, straightened it and then twisted it differently. “Doesn’t it look like a key now?” he asked.

“It looks
less
like a paper clip,” I admitted, “but not more like a key.”

“Here, take it.”

I held out my hand and he dropped a candy in it. Where was the paper clip?

“No, that’s not it. Here, take this,” he said.

This time he put a coin in my hand. Then a pen, and a handkerchief and an egg … where did he get the egg from?

Ray chuckled. “Okay, seriously, just watch.”

He held up the paper clip, waving it in the air like a conductor leading an orchestra. Then he dropped to one knee in front of the door. He inserted the paper clip into the keyhole and wiggled it around. There was a loud click, and he pushed open the door!

“How did you do that?” I exclaimed.

He held up the paper clip again. “Remember, I had a key. You can get the garbage now.”

“Okay, thanks.” I went to open the door and bumped into it. It was locked again.

“It’s locked,” I said.

“I know. I locked it again, but you can get in. Here.”

He went to hand me the paper clip but I drew back my hand.

“I can’t open a door with that.”

“You don’t know until you try. Here … I’ll show you.”

He pulled me down on my knees beside him, in front of the door.

“If you think about it, a key is just a piece of metal that turns the little tumblers in the lock, moving them from one position to another. That’s what this is. Here.”

He handed me the paper clip again and this time I took it.

“Now the first part … the important part,” he said, “is that you have to place it in the keyhole.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” I did that.

“Now you have to feel the clip against the metal of the lock and listen for the sound. Put your ear close to the lock.”

I bent nearer.

“And close your eyes,” he said. “It will help you hear better.”

That didn’t make any sense but I did what I was told. I still didn’t hear anything … well, maybe something.

I could hear the tiny tap, tap of the clip against the metal. Ray put his hand on top of mine.

“Just jiggle it a little and—”

This time there was a loud click. Ray turned the knob and the door opened.

“Not bad,” he said.

“It wasn’t like I did anything.”

“You were almost there. Just keep practising.” He handed me the paper clip and walked away, humming to himself noisily.

I stood up and went to drop the paper clip into the big garbage bin and then stopped myself. I looked at the clip and put it in my pocket instead.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING
?” Jack demanded.

I jumped to my feet in surprise. I’d been kneeling at the front door of our house, so intent on trying to pick the lock that I hadn’t heard him coming.

“Were you searching for a lost penny, or saying a prayer?”

“You know exactly what I was doing,” I said.

“If you think you can pick that lock, you really should be saying your prayers, because the only way you’re getting that door to open is with divine intervention.”

“What does that mean?” I questioned.

“God is going to have to open the door for you, like he parted the Red Sea for Moses, because you’re not going to do it by yourself.”

“O ye of little faith.”

“Faith I have. Brains I also have. And you’re not going to open it.”

“I might be able to do it,” I said. I’d only been working at it for about fifteen minutes. That wasn’t
that
long.

“Then you just keep trying, but I’m going through the back, which I know isn’t locked. If you like, I’ll even show you how to turn the knob and open the back door, which is, like I said,
unlocked.”

“Any fool can go through a door that’s not locked,” I said.

“Sounds to me like the real fool is the person trying to pick a door that’s locked instead of going in through the one that’s unlocked.”

“I’m practising.”

“Give it up. You’re not Ray,” Jack snapped.

“I never thought I was, but at least I’m trying to learn instead of wasting my time with some dizzy dame.”

“Time spent with Louise is never a waste,” he said. “Spending time with you would fall into that category, and I’m not going to waste any more.” He started to walk away and then stopped. “What are you using to pick the lock?”

I showed him my “pick.” Ray had given it to me. It was a thin piece of metal, sort of like a very thin pencil—actually it was painted to look like a pencil. Ray had told me that it was illegal to carry “burglary tools” so it was best to make them look like something else.

“If you jam the lock with that, Dad isn’t going to be happy.”

“Neither will I,” I admitted. “Weren’t you leaving?”