Read Online Horus and the Curse of Everlasting Regret by Hannah Voskuil - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Hannah Voskuil
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wore a cook’s uniform with a white hat, collar, and apron front, and darker sleeves. She looked uncomfortably warm compared with Miss Eleanor, neat as ever in a short-sleeved, belted dress with a pretty flower print.
Tunie greeted Miss Eleanor as politely as possible.
“Good evening, ma’am. I thought I’d stop by to see if you had any work for me.”
Miss Eleanor nodded curtly to Tunie. “Yes, I can use you tonight. Come with us.”
Tunie followed the women upstairs. In Miss Eleanor’s small office, Tunie washed her hands with the rose-scented soap while they talked. The cook stood by the desk while Miss Eleanor reviewed a list.
“There are too many folks for me to feed on my own,” the cook said. She had an accent Tunie couldn’t quite pin down. “Mrs. James wants to provide meals for all them’s out looking for her daughter. There’s a crew of twenty-five people going over every inch o’ that fairground. Our cooking staff’s knackered from trying to keep up.”
Mrs. James? Dorothy James’s mother?
Tunie dried her hands slowly, listening.
Miss Eleanor made a sympathetic face. “But they’ve found nothing?”
“Nothing but gum wrappers and ticket stubs,” the cook said, shaking her head sadly. “We all miss that plucky little girl. You’d think she’d be spoiled, daughter of the richest man in town and all, but she isn’t a bit. She’ll come into the kitchen and read her Nancy Drew books to us while we work. Makes the time pass nicely. It’s miserable without her.” The cook exhaled heavily. “Mrs. James cries in her bedroom every evening. Mr. James is taking it hard, too. He’s always leaving the house at strange hours, late at night. Half the time nobody knows where he is. He’s got dark circles under his eyes like a boxer. The family’s simply desperate.”
Tunie swallowed against the threat of tears.
“It’s a terrible shame,” Miss Eleanor said. She scratched out numbers and tallied them, then gave a receipt to the cook. The cook counted out payment and handed it to Miss Eleanor, who accepted, saying, “If you send someone for these at ten tomorrow morning, they’ll be ready.”
“All right, then,” said the cook. “I’ll see myself out.”
She left, and Miss Eleanor passed the list to Tunie.
“I’d like you to write out cards for each of these trays. It shouldn’t take you long, so don’t expect as much pay as last time. Come see me when you’re done.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Tunie said.
After Miss Eleanor left, Tunie began copying out the list on display cards with a new Moore pen:
Egg Salad, Ham and Cheese, Marble Rye Toast.
She wondered where Mr. James was going at night. She pictured Mrs. James, weeping and alone in her bedroom. She didn’t dare imagine where Dorothy was.
Tunie bent to her task.
She and Peter would find Dorothy, she resolved, if it was the last thing they did.
Peter dropped his knapsack through the museum window first and then climbed in after it.
Someone really ought to fix that busted latch,
he thought. It was like no one but Peter even saw that it was broken.
The shadowy museum hallways were even more unsettling at night. Peter ran as softly as he could, past rooms marked PLEISTOCENE and DINOSAURS and MARINE LIFE , taking the stairs down two at a time, until he reached the Ancient Egypt exhibit.
He pushed open the exhibit doors. The smoky smell of the place reminded him of the frankincense and myrrh the priest sometimes burned in church. The room was dark, but Peter could see a rectangle of light where the kitchen door stood open.
“Hello? Horus? Tunie?” he called quietly. His voice echoed back. Goose bumps rose on his arms as Peter peered through the dimness at the images of animal-headed men on the walls and the crumbling stone faces of the silent sarcophagi. He fumbled for the light switch and nearly screamed when he flipped it.
Horus stood directly before him, his linen mouth stretched in a wide smile.
“Peter!” The
Tunie greeted Miss Eleanor as politely as possible.
“Good evening, ma’am. I thought I’d stop by to see if you had any work for me.”
Miss Eleanor nodded curtly to Tunie. “Yes, I can use you tonight. Come with us.”
Tunie followed the women upstairs. In Miss Eleanor’s small office, Tunie washed her hands with the rose-scented soap while they talked. The cook stood by the desk while Miss Eleanor reviewed a list.
“There are too many folks for me to feed on my own,” the cook said. She had an accent Tunie couldn’t quite pin down. “Mrs. James wants to provide meals for all them’s out looking for her daughter. There’s a crew of twenty-five people going over every inch o’ that fairground. Our cooking staff’s knackered from trying to keep up.”
Mrs. James? Dorothy James’s mother?
Tunie dried her hands slowly, listening.
Miss Eleanor made a sympathetic face. “But they’ve found nothing?”
“Nothing but gum wrappers and ticket stubs,” the cook said, shaking her head sadly. “We all miss that plucky little girl. You’d think she’d be spoiled, daughter of the richest man in town and all, but she isn’t a bit. She’ll come into the kitchen and read her Nancy Drew books to us while we work. Makes the time pass nicely. It’s miserable without her.” The cook exhaled heavily. “Mrs. James cries in her bedroom every evening. Mr. James is taking it hard, too. He’s always leaving the house at strange hours, late at night. Half the time nobody knows where he is. He’s got dark circles under his eyes like a boxer. The family’s simply desperate.”
Tunie swallowed against the threat of tears.
“It’s a terrible shame,” Miss Eleanor said. She scratched out numbers and tallied them, then gave a receipt to the cook. The cook counted out payment and handed it to Miss Eleanor, who accepted, saying, “If you send someone for these at ten tomorrow morning, they’ll be ready.”
“All right, then,” said the cook. “I’ll see myself out.”
She left, and Miss Eleanor passed the list to Tunie.
“I’d like you to write out cards for each of these trays. It shouldn’t take you long, so don’t expect as much pay as last time. Come see me when you’re done.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Tunie said.
After Miss Eleanor left, Tunie began copying out the list on display cards with a new Moore pen:
Egg Salad, Ham and Cheese, Marble Rye Toast.
She wondered where Mr. James was going at night. She pictured Mrs. James, weeping and alone in her bedroom. She didn’t dare imagine where Dorothy was.
Tunie bent to her task.
She and Peter would find Dorothy, she resolved, if it was the last thing they did.
Peter dropped his knapsack through the museum window first and then climbed in after it.
Someone really ought to fix that busted latch,
he thought. It was like no one but Peter even saw that it was broken.
The shadowy museum hallways were even more unsettling at night. Peter ran as softly as he could, past rooms marked PLEISTOCENE and DINOSAURS and MARINE LIFE , taking the stairs down two at a time, until he reached the Ancient Egypt exhibit.
He pushed open the exhibit doors. The smoky smell of the place reminded him of the frankincense and myrrh the priest sometimes burned in church. The room was dark, but Peter could see a rectangle of light where the kitchen door stood open.
“Hello? Horus? Tunie?” he called quietly. His voice echoed back. Goose bumps rose on his arms as Peter peered through the dimness at the images of animal-headed men on the walls and the crumbling stone faces of the silent sarcophagi. He fumbled for the light switch and nearly screamed when he flipped it.
Horus stood directly before him, his linen mouth stretched in a wide smile.
“Peter!” The
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