Chapter 13

WE have parking ... under the house, behind the dungeon. So ... when we ascended from the garage, Charles, wanted to know, “Where have you been?”

“Out.” Twins.

“What have you been doing?”

Before we could get our twinship organized to say ... what teens everywhere answer to that question, the house phone rang.

Charles glared at it, a second ring. He picked up and frowned. “Your VW bus?” Charles said.

“Yes,” Jackie grinned.

Not looking at me, “Miss Jacquelyn? Have you been ‘reorganizing’ your unmentionables drawer?”

She looked at me ... dematerialized, ‘whooshed,’ materialized at the top of the stair and ‘whooshed’ to her room. Drawers opened and slammed shut.

“YES!” and demonic laughter. She bubbled all the way down the stairs. She waved a passbook under Charles’ nose and clutched it to her breast ... the book not his nose. “I would have never looked ... thank you Charles.” That was the most gloating thanks I’ve ever heard.

“Ah, yes.” A huge sigh. In an almost tearful voice Charles ... our stoic, unflappable butler, said, “Daddy warned me there would be days like this. Any house with teenagers...” He faltered, slid to a vocal stop, it was a struggle but Charles was Charles, the butler again. The house phone rang again.

“Charles.”

““““

“I’ll ask.”

He turned to me and said, “Carol wants to use the VW, may she?”

“Carol?”

“Oh ... my mistake. I beg your pardon.” He spoke into the phone.

Like rats leaving a sinking ship ... the staff materialized from wherever and lined up in the Grand Foyer. There were ten of them. Eight were new to me. I knew Charles and George. George was my valet and driver. The others were the silent ones slipping past in the night or early morning.

“My wife,” Charles introduced me to a real stunner, “Housekeeper, cook and organizer.”

“Mrs. Charles.” I grinned at Charles. He blushed.

“Carol, upstairs maid and Miss Jacqueline’s dresser.” Carol was the VW begger.

“Carol.”

“Mae, downstairs maid.” French maids uniform. Ooo.

“Mae.”

“Alice, cooks helper.” About 16 and cute.

“Alice ... are you in school?”

A nod. Shy.

“Thomas, gardener, mechanic.” Sturdy ... good man in a brawl type.

“Thomas.”

“Tom, sir. Thomas is me dad.”

“Tom.”

“Alfred, general maintenance.”

“Alfie, sir.”

“Whats it all about, Alfie?” I sang. He grinned. Charles frowned.

“Sigmund. Sigmund is our general spy.”

“Sig, run the security do you?”

“Jawohl, mein herr!” His heels cracked together. No salute. Story there ... I wonder.

“The staff.” Charles orchestrated a group bow, or curtsy.

“Carol?”

“Sir?”

“Why do you want to use the bus?”

“Alice has been accosted on the city bus.”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Take her to school.” I tossed her the second set of keys. “Pick her up in the afternoon. Every day.

“Alice?”

“Sir.”

“Don’t leave the school building until you see the bus.”

“Yes, sir ... thank you.” She meant it ... I could see the relief in her eyes.

Charles shooed. The staff scattered.

“Charles?”

“Sir?”

“I am making a guess here, tell me if I’m wrong.”

“Sir.”

“Sigmund washed ashore one day and Mae or Carol found...”

“Alice.”

“Ah ... Alice is older than she looks.”

“We all are.”

“I see.” And I did ... mom is 23.