Page 83 of Kiss and Tell
I followed him. “I thought you’d enjoy it.”
The door closed behind us and we heard a lock click loudly. The hostess’s key comment made sense now. We looked at each other and beamed. I clapped my hands once with a determined nod.
“Let’s do this,” I said.
We picked up every object, looked under every piece of furniture, read every scrap of paper. Connor came up with a few interesting theories, mainly concerning riddles and secret hollow books but none of them panned out. I was almost useless when it came to figuring out the puzzles, but I enjoyed watching Connor run around the room exploring with a boyish grin.
“I’m not very much help, sorry,” I said.
“Did you never read detective stories when you were a kid?” he asked.
“DoesThe Babysitter’s Clubmystery series count?” I asked.
“Maybe?” he said doubtfully. “I’ve never read them.”
“They were my favorite,” I said. “I think I read every single book.”
“Weren’t there more than a hundred of them?” he asked.
“I stand by my statement.”
Connor laughed.
“Did you ever babysit in real life?” he asked.
“Why?” I asked. “I thought your wet dream fantasy thing was librarians, not babysitters.”
“A boy can have more than one fantasy.”
“Should I add that to our list of role play scenarios?” I asked.
“There’s a list, is there?” he asked. “Care to tell me what’s on it?”
“It’s better as a surprise.”
I wasn’t going to tell him that seeing him in those rock star leather pants was one of mine.
“I babysat the neighborhood kids sometimes,” I said, answering his question. “I didn’t enjoy it, so I didn’t do it much. It wasn’t like I needed the extra money since my mom gave me a generous allowance.”
“Agenerousallowance?” Connor whistled, pretending to be impressed. “Am I dating some spoiled rich girl and didn’t even know it?”
“My mom made good money,” I said. “I think she felt guilty for not being as available as the other moms. She would pick me up from school and feed me dinner, but then she would still be stuck doing work in her office every night. I guess she was trying to make up for it in other ways.”
“Well, you’ve certainly got a good work ethic for someone who was spoiled as a kid.”
“It’s because of her,” I said. “I saw how hard she worked. She was so strong and powerful. People listened to her when she spoke. Her opinions mattered.” I picked up a fountain pen laying on a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf and examined it. “It used to drive me insane as a kid when adults wouldn’t listen to what I was saying, when they would brush me off. My mom never did. She always treated me like an adult, like I mattered.” I played with the pointy pen nib, using the tip of my finger. “So I decided I was going to be just like her when I grew up. I was going to work hard and prove myself until people were forced to take me seriously.”
“What’s her name?” he asked.
“Margaret.”
“Margaret Browning,” he repeated. “Did she ever go by Peggy?”
“No,” I smiled. “Just Margaret.”
“I’d like to meet her someday,” Connor said. “She sounds like an amazing woman.”
I stopped playing with the pen and looked up at him. We hadn’t talked about meeting the parents yet.
