Dead for the Money by Peg Herring Page B

Scarlet explained later that he was proud of her and wanted his guests to know she read things other kids her age had never heard of. “He wants everyone to see how intelligent you are.”
    Brodie never thought of herself as smart. She had learned a lot of stuff from the array of companions Gramps had hired over the years, but it wasn’t hard. Stuff stuck in her head, but that didn’t make a person smart. Brodie had learned early on what she was.
    “Watch this,” Jeannie said to the current boyfriend. “Hey, Brodie! Hey, little girl. What’s Brodie?” She held up a cookie, just out of the child’s reach, and repeated, “What’s Brodie?”
    “Tupid.”
    Jeannie chuckled, elbowing the guy, who smiled disinterestedly. “What’s Brodie?”
    “Tupid.”
    “—and what else?”
    “Ug-wy.”
    “Ug-leee,” Jeannie corrected.” Ugly. And what else?”
    The child hesitated, trying to recall the word that would get her something to eat. “Weed.”
    Jeannie shook her head. “Not weed. Weirrrrd.”
    “Weerrd.”
    “Right.” She gave the child the cookie and watched her bite into it. “Stupid. Ugly. Weird. That’s Brodie.”
    Even if she knew some stuff, Brodie was still ugly. Maybe better now with Scarlet’s help, but nothing anyone would want to look at for long. And surly. Arlis reminded her of that often enough. And crazy. Not normal, not like normal people. Weird.
    She knew her oddness had bothered Gramps. He had not said it out loud, and it was not something Brodie talked about, even to Scarlet. She could tell Scarlet lots of stuff, but not what went on inside her head. She couldn’t tell anyone, although she always thought that if she ever had to, Gramps would have understood.
    But Gramps was gone. And she was afraid to tell anyone else how weird she felt, how unlike everybody else.
     

Chapter Five
    S EAMUS CONSIDERED the case and his responsibilities to both Dunbar and Gabe. He had doubts. Mildred was intuitive and intelligent, but he had already noted her strong will and her tendency to speak first and think later. Her charming apologies might smooth the way in face-to-face conversations, but a cross-back could not apologize and explain to her host that she was sorry to have spoken out of turn.
    “Keep in mind what I said,” he warned as he went over the specifics of the trip. “We aren’t there to change anything.”
    “And you are the boss. I get it.” Mildred’s tone was politely impatient. “I won’t do anything you don’t explicitly tell me to do.”
    “Good. Then you won’t get into trouble.” Seamus took a step toward her. Realizing that the moment had come, Mildred stepped back. “I can’t go like this!” she protested. “I have to change.”
    At first he didn’t comprehend. When he did, his brow furrowed in disapproval. “They won’t—”
    She put a hand on his arm. “Five minutes,” she pleaded. “I will run—literally run—to the Ship Store and get something suitable. I promise. I won’t be long. I can’t go feeling unprepared.”
    Seamus didn’t agree or disagree. She was gone before he had a chance to.
    As she hurried off, he looked around blankly. Finding an empty lounge chair, he threw himself into it, already regretting his decision to take Mildred along. His gut told him she was trouble, but when she was standing right in front of him, he found it hard to say that to her. “It’s those blue eyes,” he muttered aloud. “The worst reason ever for agreeing to anything.”
     
     
    M ILDRED WENT FIRST to the Store, where a pleasant woman with a French accent helped her choose an outfit for the trip, complete with earrings, shoes, and a scarf for her hair. She marveled, as she had the first few times she’d visited, at the endless array of choices. Anything a person could ask for seemed to be a touch away, and the woman behind the counter took the right tone, helpful but not pushy. Mildred went to her stateroom and changed, turning before the mirror to be