Read Online Rattled by Lisa Harrington - Free Book Online Page B

messier. I think that was because I considered her to be the most normal of the bunch. Sam was the unattainable beautiful boy, and Mrs. Swicker…well…I wasn’t quite sure what she was.
    I took another quick tour of the main floor. There wasn’t even any mail piled on the hall table. If they had to, they could easily be packed up and gone in about five minutes.
    Peter found me. He stood at my feet and purred, but I could see the accusation in his eyes.
    â€œYou’re right, I should be feeding you. Let’s do this,” I said.
    I thought about Mrs. Swicker as I crushed up Peter’s pill and stirred it into his Meow Mix. Thought about how she’d react if she could see me nosing around her house. I pictured her head slowly blowing up like a balloon until it exploded and sent bits of brain matter flying and splat, dripping down the walls.
    There was a jug by the sink. I filled it and carried it over to top up Peter’s water bowl. My mouth suddenly went dry. What if Mrs. Swicker had some kind of camera thing set up in here? It would totally be like something she’d do. My eyes raced around the room, along the edges of the ceiling. Nothing. I gave myself a mental slap in the head.
    Unfortunately, during my little panic attack, I forgot to stop pouring the water into Peter’s bowl.
    Crap ! I ran to the counter looking for something to soak up the mess. I returned to the scene of the accident dragging about fifty sheets of Bounty behind me.
    Double crap ! It was worse than I’d thought. The spilled water had basically disappeared. This was not a good thing. The water had leaked down between the boards of the hardwood floor.
    Last summer, I overwatered Mom’s palm tree in our dining room. The water leaked through the hardwood floor and stained the ceiling tiles downstairs in our family room. Apparently those tiles had been discontinued a thousand years ago. Dad was all for replacing the damaged ones with ones that were close enough, but Mom almost went into cardiac arrest over that idea. They fought for almost a week. I began to wonder who was going to get stuck with Jilly in the divorce. In the end some kind of compromise was reached. Mom got her new ceiling. I can’t remember what Dad got, but I think it involved golf.
    There was barely enough water to mop up. Sitting back on my heels, I contemplated my next move. I knew I had to go downstairs and check out whether or not I’d done any damage. I took the sheets of paper towel with me.
    Downstairs, I figured it had to be the furnace room or garage that was directly under Peter’s water bowl. And if they were like ours, there would be no real ceiling to stain.
    I held my breath, opened the door, and flicked on the light. It was the furnace room. I looked up—just the wooden floorboards. I almost fainted with relief. The room was pretty much empty except for the furnace and a tower of boxes in the far corner. And then I heard it. The ping, ping of dripping water. Of course the water was leaking onto the boxes, where else? Just my luck.
    Sighing, I made my way over to the pile. Lifting down the top box, I could tell by the dark colour of the cardboard that it was soaked. I carefully peeled back the packing tape, hoping to maintain some stickiness so I could re-tape the box and no one would be able to tell. I opened the soggy flaps, praying that I hadn’t ruined anything important.
    â€œPhew, just blankets.”
    I grabbed a stool from the hall and stood on top to wipe up the drips clinging to the ceiling. I tried to absorb the extra moisture by pressing some paper towels against the wood.
    Kneeling down beside the box, I waved the flaps back and forth, in an attempt to dry them out. I touched the blankets. There were two, rolled up like cylinders, and they felt pretty damp.
    I thought maybe I’d just shake them a bit, air-dry them. As I lifted the first one out, I could feel something hard in the middle. I