Cindy Jones Read Free Page B

flattened himself along the window ledge. His mad eyes were fixed on Miss Hopkins as though she had two heads and a tail.
    â€œHe’s quite insane,” Cindy apologized.
    â€œA fine example of a blue point Siamese,” Miss Hopkins said.
    Her hand shot out and grasped Horace by the scruff of the neck. She lifted his chin, felt the breadth of his shoulders, and stroked his long straight back. Horace submitted in a cowed manner. When he was released, he fawned at Miss Hopkins’s square lace-up shoes, purring loudly.
    â€œHe usually hates strangers,” Cindy said, shocked.
    â€œSiamese are all right if you understand them.” Miss Hopkins moved Pearl from the armchair and sat down. “Are you having trouble with that assignment, Cindy?”
    â€œIt just slipped my mind,” Cindy confessed. “Can I get you a cup of tea and some chocolate fudge?”
    Miss Hopkins took off her glasses and pushed her hair back. Behind the glasses were expressive eyebrows that quirked up and warm, laughing dark eyes. “I would love a cup of tea and some chocolate fudge.”
    The cluttered dining room seemed pleasantly cozy again. The conversation went from Siamese cats to guinea pigs, and the problem of the turtles that wouldn’t live in the swimming pool.
    â€œThey kept returning to the bathroom,” Cindy explained. “It got easier to leave them there than keep putting them back in the pool.”
    Hooper scratched at the side door to be let in. He sprawled on the floor panting. There was the sound of a car stopping. Miss Hopkins stood up.
    â€œThat sounds like your father’s home, Cindy.” She put her glasses back on. She was once again a blank-faced, gray-haired teacher. “How is your cooking going?”
    â€œMy cooking?” Cindy was puzzled. They had been talking about likes and dislikes in books.
    â€œYou want to get some recipes off Gretta Carson,” Miss Hopkins said abruptly.
    The front door opened. There was the murmur of voices. Cindy’s stomach tightened. Her father had brought Mrs. Barry back with him.
    â€œGood evening, Professor Jones, Guinevere,” Miss Hopkins said, as Cindy’s father entered the room with Mrs. Barry beside him.
    â€œGood evening, Miss Hopkins,” the professor said with a smile.
    â€œEvening.” The triumphant sparkle dimmed from Mrs. Barry’s eyes. She looked almost nervous.
    â€œWhat’s all this about you pushing Prunella into the pool, Cindy?”
    The sisters had told on her! Her father must be really upset to tackle her in front of Miss Hopkins.
    â€œSorry, Dad. I lost my temper.”
    â€œPoor Prunella came home in a dreadful state,” Mrs. Barry said. “We had to put her to bed with a sedative.”
    â€œWhat did you fight over?” Miss Hopkins asked in her dry manner.
    Cindy tried to remember. What had Prunella said that had made her so mad? Prunella and Constance were the sort of people who upset her by just being around.
    â€œShe said her mother was allowed to chop down our trees and sort through our belongings.”
    â€œNatural for Cindy to resent change,” Miss Hopkins remarked. “Good night. I’ll let myself out.”
    She walked towards the front door. Horace followed her. As he passed Mrs. Barry, he lashed out with his claws. She let out a muffled curse and kicked at him.
    â€œHorace!” Miss Hopkins warned.
    Horace slunk after her. The front door closed. She and Horace were gone.
    â€œThat dangerous animal,” Mrs. Barry stormed. “He should be put down!”
    â€œQuite.” The professor looked at Cindy. “Mrs. Barry is only trying to make us more comfortable, Cindy.”
    â€œWe are comfortable.”
    Mrs. Barry arched her eyebrows. Her gaze spotlighted the couch littered with musical instruments, the tumbled piles of books all over the floor, and the jars of tadpoles on the dining table.
    â€œBut a bit untidy,”