Dead for the Money by Peg Herring Page A

spying on her elders.
    The new woman was not much fun to watch. She looked at every page for what seemed like forever. Sometimes she stopped and rested her eyes, and when she did, the book would tilt forward on her lap, giving a tantalizing glimpse of more castles. It was apparently all about them, and Brodie wondered if someone had told this Scarlet person that such books were her favorites. She had several, but this one was new to her, with pages of bright greens and stark grays against blues that seemed to draw her to them.
    Finally, the Scarlet person rose, set the book down on the chair, and disappeared into the house. Brodie decided with some satisfaction that she had out-waited Gramps’ most recent hireling. She crept out from her leafy lair, looking around to be sure the woman wasn’t lurking somewhere near the French doors.
    Satisfied that she was alone, Brodie took up the book and sat down on the chair. The cover depicted Blarney Castle, one of her favorites. Like her, it was not fancy or prettied up. It was what it was. Carefully, she opened the book’s pages, and within a few minutes was transported across the ocean, visiting Edinburgh Castle, Floors Castle, Conwy Castle, and others she had never heard of. She wondered what it must be like to see those places for real, not as pictures in books or on TV.
    “I’ve been to Blarney, and some of the others as well,” said a voice behind her. Brodie knew in an instant that she had been had. The Scarlet person had left the book on purpose. Someone had blabbed, probably Arnold the Mouth. She tried to be angry, but she was fascinated that this woman had been where she wanted so much to go. In fact, she heard a lilt in Scarlet’s voice that revealed more.
    “Are you Irish?” Brodie used her voice so little that she had to clear her throat before asking.
    Scarlet made a little curtsey. “Have you heard of the Ring of Kerry?”
    “No.”
    She came a step closer, and Brodie caught the scent of apples. “May I see the book? I can show you Ballycarbery, the castle nearest my home town.”
    What must it be like to live near a castle, to see it as you passed by every day? Brodie handed the book over, and while the woman paged through to find the picture, she made a decision. She had loved Gramps. She liked Shelley and Briggs. For reasons she did not yet understand fully, Brodie decided Scarlet might be a fourth person on the earth she could like.
    Scarlet became her guide, helping her see that behaving herself was not so bad. There were no lectures about expectations, no fake “Let’s be friends” talks. Scarlet was firm but not demanding, authoritative but willing to listen to Brodie’s side of things and compromise.
    In the last year Brodie’s reading skills, which were good but had been limited to what she chose to read, widened and deepened. Scarlet let her dress as she chose, never criticizing her odd clothing choices the way Arlis did. Scarlet served as a gentle example of what was proper and gave advice, if asked. She also showed Brodie ways to manage her wild mop of hair, having her own unruly auburn curls to conquer.
    With Scarlet’s encouragement, Brodie began to mix with the people who came to the house. Scarlet suggested she might spend a few polite minutes with Gramps’ dinner guests before returning to her own pursuits. Once she found that none of them pointed at her or went into hysterics, Brodie agreed to remain through dinner from time to time. She and Scarlet practiced together which fork to choose and how to eat and answer questions at the same time. Scarlet made it a sort of game, and Brodie had done okay. She decided she didn’t mind people too much, at least for short periods of time.
    The first time she stayed for dinner, Gramps embarrassed her by asking all sorts of questions about what she’d been reading. She’d been uncomfortable, balancing questions about Great Expectations with concerns about ending up with a lapful of succotash.