Page 126 of Worst Nanny Ever
We head back to Travis’s place, make some popcorn, andfall right intoTeenage Mutant Ninja Turtlesfor a few episodes before we head over to Sophie’s place to help her test the craft for her next pop-up event.
Making cereal box houses.
Apparently, we were her inspiration.
We’re back at Travis’s place eating pizza when my phone buzzes in my pocket.
“My phone,” I say through a mouthful of pizza, pulling it out of my pocket.
“You’re definitely getting addicted to that thing,” he says in a sad voice, like he’ll miss me when I’m in phone rehab. “Shouldn’t we have a no-electronic-devices-at-dinner rule?”
“Probably,” I agree, swallowing. Then I look at the screen and gasp, because it’s a message from Eugene.
Mercuryhas to bein retrograde.
I’m with my son, and we’ve found something interesting.
To be clear: this is my evening off. I’m not shirking my duty at Big Catch.
I’d NEVER accuse you of that.
Will you come over to Cormac’s house so we can show you?
YES. Send me the address, and we’ll be right there.
I’m with Ollie. I’m guessing it’s okay if he comes?
There’s a pause, three dots appear, disappear, reappear, and finally a message comes through.
Yes, if you must.
Love that ornery streak of yours. But I’ve got some news for you too…
Please. I don’t like suspense. Did you give Moira the hedgehog?
Yes, and to make a long, super interesting story short, she’s coming on Friday. We’ll see you soon.
Bless you
Cormac’s houseis a little old bungalow in West Asheville with a surprisingly large fenced-in yard.
“Do you think he has any toys?” Ollie asks.
“Probably not the kind he wants kids playing with. But I’ll let you use my phone.”
We unlatch the fence and approach the front door, and before I even knock, a dog starts in with a deep, resonant bark.
“It’s okay,” a voice says from the other side. “She likes kids.”
She doesn’t sound like she enjoys much of anyone.
I smile tightly at Ollie. “Get behind me, Ollie. Just in case.”
He listens, his little fists gripping the back of my shirt, and the door swings open to reveal a small but muscular corgi, who stops barking and bounds across the threshold to sniff my feet.
I put out my hand, but the dog ignores it, her body going rigid, and then bursts off after a squirrel, barking again.
A tall guy with curly brown hair, gray eyes, and glasses stands in the doorway next to Eugene. “Sorry,” he says. “Cookie’s failed obedience school twice. My neighbors love me. Let me just set up the ball thrower to keep her busy.”
