Page 33 of The Treasure House

“Stop with that! Climbing a tree isn’t molesting anyone! Haven’t you ever seen Romeo and Juliet at the theater? It’s romantic.”

“No, but I’ve read it, and there’s plenty of molesting going on. That’s what all the lark and the nightingale guff is about—he’s in her bedroom when the sun comes up.”

Freddie de Marche didn’t appreciate her literary knowledge, she could tell. “That wasn’t molestation. It was love.”

“I won’t say anything if you let me spend one little day at your resort.” Marly pretended to examine her fingernails. “Seems like a solid deal to me.”

Freddie de Marche closed his eyes and sighed. “I must be insane. But sure. One day, in exchange for you never telling anyone about this.”

“Don’t you want Priscilla to know about your romantic plan to molest her?”

“Enough already. And no. I don’t want her to know that I got blackmailed by a grade schooler.”

Marly scowled. “I’m in high school.” She couldn’t understand what Cilla saw in this guy. Other than his looks. “And I want to come to the dance too, so let’s make my day at the resort this Saturday.”

“Absolutely not. Kids don’t attend dances.”

“This one will. Don’t worry, I can look older. I’ll smack some lipstick on and pass for eighteen.”

“I doubt that.” He rubbed his face tiredly. “And how are you going to explain this to Priscilla? The fact that you’re crashing our date at the dance? And why on earth would I choose to hang out with a little kid all day, anyway?”

“I’m not explaining this to Priscilla. You are. I’m sure you’ll think of something.” Marly gave him a jaunty grin. “Now excuse me while I lock my windows. You never know what kind of person might be lurking outside.” She gave him a sarcastic wave. “See you Saturday, Freddie de Marche.”

It didn’t occur to Marly that meeting Freddie de Marche might be a defining moment in her life. It just seemed like a bizarre little incident in an otherwise boring summer. But what do you know about destiny when you’re not even fifteen?

Nine

“Mom, there’s another cat!”

My stomach fell at Flo’s cry from upstairs, but fortunately she just meant another ornament. It was the last week of August and our first official day at the Tinker Street house. Although we weren’t moving in just yet, because Suni had taken one look at the place and categorically forbidden us from sleeping there. Instead, she’d booked cabins at the campground and given us a week to get it habitable enough to live in.

“The priorities are bathroom, kitchen, and sleeping areas,” Suni ordered. “By the time Wayne and I leave, I want to know you’ll be able to live here hygienically.”

Alison had joined us for the weekend, and she was pretty pessimistic about her mom’s plan. “It’ll take more than a week, surely,” she’d said glumly, regarding the chaos of the kitchen. She was in sweats, her long dark hair pulled up into a messy bun, and she surveyed our house with a flat expression.

I understood her pessimism. Even though I’d known what to expect, it had still been a shock to return to find the railings like broken teeth, the cracked windows and wild gardens, and all the stuff…

It was hard to know where to start. We couldn’t empty the porch or the kitchen junk out to the lawn, because there was no lawn, just the wild green tangle, threaded with brambles and thorns. And there was no space in the hall or the front. Where on earth could we put everything?

“I think we’re going to have to tackle the garden first,” Wayne finally said, as we tried to navigate the overstuffed house. He stared down the hallway, with its plastic bags and milk crates and boxes full of God knows what. “We’ll clear a space outside and start emptying things out to sort.”

“But what if it rains? I need to try and sell some of this stuff—I can’t have it ruined by rain…” I was feeling overwhelmed before we’d even started.

Wayne took his Pirates cap off and scratched his head. “Well, I just don’t know what else you’re going to do, honey.”

“Maybe we can get some tarps?” Suni suggested. “Or can we use the outbuildings?”

“They’re full of culch too.” I groaned and sat on the stairs. “What have I got myself into?”

“Culch?” said Suni, raising an eyebrow. But I didn’t have time to answer, because Ali was leaning over the banister looking frustrated.

“Zoe, Flo keeps disappearing,” she complained. She’d been put on Flo duty but was wary of following her into the clutter. Ali resented having to come help, but her parents weren’t leaving her alone in Bradford Woods, given that the restraining order she had against her ex didn’t seem worth the paper it was written on.

“The person who lived here must have loved cats,” Flo shouted down from one of the back rooms. She emerged and joined Alison at the banister with a porcelain cat in each hand. “That’s two more up here. I found three in the kitchen, and another one in the laundry. How many do you think there are?”

“Flo-bug, I don’t think porcelain cats are our first priority,” Suni said.

“Ah, let the kid amuse herself.” Wayne grinned up at Flo. “Honey, why don’t you start a cat collection in your mom’s new bedroom, where it’s clean and safe?”