Read Online Who Is Frances Rain? by Margaret Buffie - Free Book Online Page A

who the heck did I bump into on Rain Island?”

Chapter Fourteen
    IT’S amazing how a night’s sleep, daylight and bacon and eggs can change a person’s ideas on ghostly cabins and phantom hands. By the time I’d crunched my way through a fourth piece of bacon, I’d convinced myself that I’d fallen asleep on the island and dreamed everything. Like Alice.
    I’d also decided that I would hang around home, even if it meant putting up with Mother and Tim and Evan. Gran and I were sitting at the table, mopping up the last bit of egg yolk and slapping marmalade on our toast crusts, when two of the three walked in. The Happy Twosome.
    Mother, in her silk housecoat and satin mules, muttered, “Good morning” and went straight to the coffee pot. Tim, vertical, but otherwise still asleep, slumped into a chair and mumbled on a cold piece of toast.
    I’d already lost track of the number of heated conversations these two had waded through in the past few days. “Conversations” is their word, not mine. They’d fought for hours the night before. It seemed that Mother was
going home
, but according to Tim no one was going anywhere until certain things were straightened out. It was all very tense and getting worse when I decided to go to bed. I’d been hoping to see Alex that evening, but had finally given up in disgust. The whole day had been too much to handle.
    Evan had stayed up trying to referee the “conversation” — or coach it, depending on whose side you were on. He was on Mother’s, of course.
    You know what was really strange? I actually found myself rooting for Toothy. Funny how his bungling up the rescue operation that day in the storm had given me a kind of protective feeling for the big dope. And I figured if he won, then maybe, like Gran said, Mother would win, too.
    Now, watching them with a wary eye, I couldn’t help wondering if they’d come to some sort of a decision. I was about to make myself another toast with marmalade, when Gran gave me a raised-eyebrow message to clear out.
    I walked slowly from the room, keeping an ear cocked in case the row started again. I wanted to know who’d win round two. I was about to creep back and listen at the kitchen door, when I heard a loud scream down by the shore.
    â€œEaah! Bram! Let go! Leggo!” shrieked Erica.
    I ran outside and found her, still wearing her pyjamas, chasing Bram in and out of the shoreline bushes, howling something about a daisy. She kept tripping over the legs of her oversized pyjamas into the sandy dirt. Tears ran in dirty trails down her cheeks.
    â€œWhat’s up?” I called. “Stop it, Erica! Bram! Hey, what’s happening?” I caught hold of her.
    â€œBram ate Daisy! She’s been eaten up!” Tears gushed.
    I let her go and chased the dog down, cornering him inside Gran’s woodshed. He lay on his belly, tail wagging madly, tongue slopping over his killer teeth.
    â€œOkay, kid. You are in big trouble,” I growled. “Out with it. Did you kill Daisy? Come on, cough him up. Grrr.”
    â€œCough what up?”
    I was down on my knees growling at a fat cocker spaniel, so it seemed only right to look up and see Alex frowning down at me. I grinned sheepishly, then scowled when I saw his wicked grin. Erica ran around the corner and threw herself on me, sobbing hysterically. We collapsed in the dust.
    â€œBram ate Daisy!” she cried. “Oooh! Poor Daisy.”
    â€œWho or what is a daisy?” asked Alex, mystified.
    â€œPet chipmunk,” I said, struggling to my feet. “He gets sunflower seeds from Erica every morning. Or Gran. He and Bram have this game they play every year. You know, Bram threatens and Daisy teases. This time I think Bram called the game.”
    â€œDaisy’s not a he! She’s a she ... and she’s been murdered! I hate you, Bram!” She came closer. “Look in his mouth.