Read Online The Inside Job by Jackson Pearce - Free Book Online Page B

oil baron. By the time Clatterbuck finished cleaning up the waffles he’d made everyone for breakfast, Walter and I had pinned and tweaked the suits so they looked passable.
    â€œNot a chance,” Otter said when we came downstairs.
    â€œWhat? Why not?” Walter said, turning in a circle.
    â€œYou look acceptable, Quaddlebaum,” Otter told Walter. “But, Jordan, that suit doesn’t and never has fit you.”
    â€œObviously, but—”
    â€œA rich person is going to know the difference between a tailored suit and something off-the-rack. And the people at the Geneva Country Club are rich. You need a different outfit,” Otter said. I wanted to scowl at him, but then I got a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Otter was right. Walter’s suit looked off-the-rack. I, however, looked like someone had melted a suit onto me. The sleeves were too long, the neck was too small, and the pants went around my waist all right but then bunched up under my butt. I thought about the seamstress at SRS, Ms. Elma. Mean as she was, I wished she were here. She’d have the thing fitting perfectly in less than a quarter hour.
    And then I scowled at
myself
, because there I was again, wishing for SRS.
    â€œLet me think,” Otter said. Behind him, Clatterbuck hopped up and down on his toes. He looked like he might burst. Otter turned to look at him. “Don’t tell me—you’ve got suits in your suitcase of disguises? Or wait, no—tuxedos. Ball gowns?” Otter sounded oddly hopeful.
    â€œNo—well, yes, but they’ll fit only me. But I do know where I can find something for Hale and Walter. Hang on,” Clatterbuck said eagerly, and took off through the house. Curiosity got to me, Walter, and Otter; we followedClatterbuck, who stopped in the center of the hallway and yanked on a cord, revealing attic stairs. We climbed up after him into a surprisingly tidy attic. There were boxes everywhere, but they were neatly labeled, and plastic sheets protected what little furniture was there. Clatterbuck threw open the lid of a nearby trunk, the old-fashioned kind with an arched top.
    â€œI checked the whole place for bugs the first day, and I saw these,” he explained as he rooted around in the trunk, his body blocking our view.
    â€œReally?” Otter asked, impressed. I’ll admit it—I think we all sometimes forgot that, strange as he was, Clatterbuck had been a League agent once. I felt smug on Clatterbuck’s behalf, and I grinned at Otter’s surprised expression.
    â€œHere, here,” Clatterbuck said, finally rising from the trunk. He was holding . . . some folded khaki pants.
    â€œHuh?” Walter asked.
    â€œThe style hasn’t changed in . . . well. In forever, basically. So they won’t even look out of date!” Clatterbuck said excitedly.
    â€œKhaki pants?” I asked.
    Clatterbuck laughed. “No!” He let one pair of pants unfold and then held them up for us to see. “It’s a riding habit. This farm only does breeding now, but before the owners retired, they were a show stable. This is what you wear to ride a horse in a fancy show.”
    I grinned. “Or what we’d wear if we’d just finished riding horses at a fancy country club?”
    â€œExactly!” Clatterbuck says, pleased. “And maybe I can find some hats! And a riding crop! And maybe we can even borrow one of the horses—”
    I patted Clatterbuck’s shoulder. “I think the clothes will be plenty.”
    It took a few changes before Walter and I found habits that fit. Well, “fit” is a word I’m using very, very loosely.
    Walter, given the fact that every day the guy practically grew another inch, looked like an honest-to-goodness Olympian. I mean, seriously—he could have walked right out and jumped on a horse and won the gold medal for the Republic of Muscle Tone. I, on the other hand, looked