Jewel of the East Read Free Page A

the dumbwaiters and give the kids a stern warning that if they even place one toe in here, we’ll have to discuss terminating the agreement with the family about those living quarters upstairs.”
    “Now wait a minute,” their mother said, worry washing over her face. “It’s my understanding that my aunt allows you to use this place in exchange for one dollar a year as long as she—”
    “Exactly,” the man said. “As long as
she
lives in the servants’ quarters. Last I heard,
she
wasn’t living there.”
    The Blond Woman smiled, victorious.
    “Now,” the man said, “if you don’t mind, I’m going to go home. My wife is waiting for me. I want to go home and get to bed.” He turned a hard gaze on Maisie and Felix. “And I suggest you do the same.”
    They stood up from the gold, brocade chair they’d been squeezed onto.
    “See?” the Blond Woman said, pointing her chubby finger. “They got dirt on the fainting couch.”
    Everyone except the policemen leaned forward to inspect it.
    “No, no,” the man from the preservation society said finally. “I believe that’s an old stain. A Pickworth stain.”
    Relieved, Maisie and Felix started toward the door with their mother. But the man stopped them.
    “Mrs.…,” he began.
    “Ms.,” their mother clarified. “Robbins.”
    “I trust you won’t leave the children unsupervised again?” he said.
    She swallowed hard. “Of course not,” she said softly.
    With that, she placed a hand on each of their shoulders and steered them past the man from the local preservation society, the Blond Woman, the two policemen, and the team of security guards, then out of Ariane Pickworth’s bedroom, into the hall, and down the Grand Staircase, not letting go of them for even a second.

    Thanksgiving Day was gray and drizzly, the dreariest Thanksgiving Maisie and Felix could remember. Instead of waking to the smell of aturkey roasting in the oven and finding their father peeling sweet potatoes and their mother trimming green beans, they woke up to silence and the aroma of coffee that had been made several hours earlier. Maisie padded down the hall to the kitchen, where a note lay on the table: P ICKING UP CHAMPAGNE, CHESTNUTS, AND N IÇOISE OLIVES FOR G REAT -A UNT M AISIE. B E READY TO LEAVE AT 11:30. AND DON’T BUDGE!!!!!!!!!
    Maisie sighed. She wasn’t even sure what Niçoise olives were. She just knew that Great-Aunt Maisie demanded the most unusual things, all the time. Even on Thanksgiving day. Maisie sat at the table, miserable. When Felix appeared fifteen minutes later, she pushed the note toward him.
    “Happy Thanksgiving,” he said hopefully.
    “
Un
happy is more like it,” Maisie said.
    Just then the phone rang, and Felix answered it, glad to have someone—anyone—to talk to other than his sister.
    As clear as if he were in the next room, their father’s voice boomed, “Happy Thanksgiving, Felix!”
    “Dad!” Felix shrieked.
    “Is the turkey in the oven? Your mother always underestimates how long it takes to roast a turkey,” their father said wistfully.
    “Uh… actually…,” Felix said.
    Their father chuckled. “She doesn’t have it in yet, does she?”
    “Well, no,” Felix said. “We’re having lunch with Aunt Maisie. At the Island Retirement Center.”
    “That sounds depressing,” their father said. “Can the old bird even eat?”
    “Oh, she’s doing much better, Dad,” Felix said. “She walks with a walker now and bosses everyone around.”
    There was silence, then their father said, “That’s impossible.”
    “Maybe it’s a miracle?” Felix said. “A medical miracle.” He had a pit in his stomach as he said it, afraid that he knew exactly what was bringing Great-Aunt Maisie back to health.
    “Maybe,” their father said.
    By now, Maisie was practically jumping on the table to get Felix to hand her the phone.
    “Maisie wants to say hi,” Felix started to say, but his sister managed to grab the phone from him before