nineteen-year-old daughter named Rachel,” Russ exclaimed.
“This girl looks younger,” I contradicted.
“I know, but she’s nineteen. And Rachel looks the way you’ve described her: large eyes, snappish mouth, too thin, and no common sense.” Ah, it did sound as if we were talking about the same girl. “She’s supposed to be with her mother, my former wife, in Arizona, going to college there. Let me call my ex and find out what’s going on, and I’ll get right back to you.”
I mounted the steps to assure myself that Rachel was indeed eavesdropping. I smiled at her disagreeably. “Mr. Preesinger is calling his ex-wife to see if his daughter is there.”
“I told you—” She started to shout, but then my cell phone sounded, “It’s My Life,” and I lifted its cover to respond.
“She ran away from her mother, the brat,” Russ Preesinger shouted into my ear. “Kendra, I know it’s a huge imposition, but please let her stay for now. I’ll try my damnedest to get home tomorrow and talk to her. Just keep an eye on her for me.”
“I’m a pet-sitter, not a people-sitter, Russ,” I reminded him, aghast at the very thought of becoming responsible for a runaway teenaged adult.
“I know. And it’s not fair of me to ask. Tell you what. Put her on the phone.”
I did so gladly, thrusting my phone at the pouting teen. Rachel wasn’t so glad. I could tell from the gripes I overheard.
I felt my eyes bulge and my anger build as she blurted to him how she’d happened to get into the house. She’d gotten a ride here from a friend early this morning and slipped in when I stepped out to walk Beggar.
I did need to secure Jeff’s further advice on security, damn it!
Rachel soon sullenly handed the phone back to me. She continued to glare as I spoke once more to Russ.
“I told her I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he informed me hastily, as if assuming I’d want to hang up on him. The thought had crossed my mind . . . “I also told her that if she doesn’t stay there and behave, she’ll have to start earning her own living immediately. Her mom and I have both had enough.”
Something I could certainly understand . . . especially since, when I hung up from speaking with Russ, Rachel immediately exploded into a tirade against both parents.
“Good night,” I shouted before she could get very far. “Since he’s in my care, I’ll be back to see to Beggar in the morning. Early.” And after a hasty hug to the setter in question, I hurried back to the haven of my apartment.
THE NEXT DAY was Saturday, and I greeted it rather grumpily.
Thank heavens Lexie was the only one with me. After last night’s disastrous confrontations with Rachel Preesinger plus Jeff and his ex, I had no interest in seeing anyone remotely connected with the human race, at least not too soon.
I brought Lexie along on pet-sitting rounds, then drove us both to the Yurick offices. I wanted to check on Gigi, even though she wasn’t one of my pet-sitting charges. I also intended to be present for Elaine’s ten o’clock appointment with parrot expert Polly Bright to hear any bright suggestions about how to care for the traumatized bird.
Plus, I intended to produce a strategy memo to pass along to Brian O’Barlen and his T.O. clan, to suggest how best to salvage the Vancino situation.
I was surprised to find the firm parking lot as car-filled as on weekdays. When Lexie and I entered, no receptionist greeted us, but as I approached my office, I found that most firm attorneys and paralegals were present that day. So much for eschewing company. At least, when Elaine saw me, she confirmed that I could sit in on her session with Polly Bright.
Leaving Lexie inside my digs, I ran into senior citizen attorneys William Fortier and Geraldine Glass in the kitchen getting coffee as they pretended to ignore the big bird occupying the cage in the middle of the floor.
Gigi’s schtick today was to moan mournfully. Had she picked
“This girl looks younger,” I contradicted.
“I know, but she’s nineteen. And Rachel looks the way you’ve described her: large eyes, snappish mouth, too thin, and no common sense.” Ah, it did sound as if we were talking about the same girl. “She’s supposed to be with her mother, my former wife, in Arizona, going to college there. Let me call my ex and find out what’s going on, and I’ll get right back to you.”
I mounted the steps to assure myself that Rachel was indeed eavesdropping. I smiled at her disagreeably. “Mr. Preesinger is calling his ex-wife to see if his daughter is there.”
“I told you—” She started to shout, but then my cell phone sounded, “It’s My Life,” and I lifted its cover to respond.
“She ran away from her mother, the brat,” Russ Preesinger shouted into my ear. “Kendra, I know it’s a huge imposition, but please let her stay for now. I’ll try my damnedest to get home tomorrow and talk to her. Just keep an eye on her for me.”
“I’m a pet-sitter, not a people-sitter, Russ,” I reminded him, aghast at the very thought of becoming responsible for a runaway teenaged adult.
“I know. And it’s not fair of me to ask. Tell you what. Put her on the phone.”
I did so gladly, thrusting my phone at the pouting teen. Rachel wasn’t so glad. I could tell from the gripes I overheard.
I felt my eyes bulge and my anger build as she blurted to him how she’d happened to get into the house. She’d gotten a ride here from a friend early this morning and slipped in when I stepped out to walk Beggar.
I did need to secure Jeff’s further advice on security, damn it!
Rachel soon sullenly handed the phone back to me. She continued to glare as I spoke once more to Russ.
“I told her I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he informed me hastily, as if assuming I’d want to hang up on him. The thought had crossed my mind . . . “I also told her that if she doesn’t stay there and behave, she’ll have to start earning her own living immediately. Her mom and I have both had enough.”
Something I could certainly understand . . . especially since, when I hung up from speaking with Russ, Rachel immediately exploded into a tirade against both parents.
“Good night,” I shouted before she could get very far. “Since he’s in my care, I’ll be back to see to Beggar in the morning. Early.” And after a hasty hug to the setter in question, I hurried back to the haven of my apartment.
THE NEXT DAY was Saturday, and I greeted it rather grumpily.
Thank heavens Lexie was the only one with me. After last night’s disastrous confrontations with Rachel Preesinger plus Jeff and his ex, I had no interest in seeing anyone remotely connected with the human race, at least not too soon.
I brought Lexie along on pet-sitting rounds, then drove us both to the Yurick offices. I wanted to check on Gigi, even though she wasn’t one of my pet-sitting charges. I also intended to be present for Elaine’s ten o’clock appointment with parrot expert Polly Bright to hear any bright suggestions about how to care for the traumatized bird.
Plus, I intended to produce a strategy memo to pass along to Brian O’Barlen and his T.O. clan, to suggest how best to salvage the Vancino situation.
I was surprised to find the firm parking lot as car-filled as on weekdays. When Lexie and I entered, no receptionist greeted us, but as I approached my office, I found that most firm attorneys and paralegals were present that day. So much for eschewing company. At least, when Elaine saw me, she confirmed that I could sit in on her session with Polly Bright.
Leaving Lexie inside my digs, I ran into senior citizen attorneys William Fortier and Geraldine Glass in the kitchen getting coffee as they pretended to ignore the big bird occupying the cage in the middle of the floor.
Gigi’s schtick today was to moan mournfully. Had she picked
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