Greenglass House Read Online Free PDF Page A

mom and dad if I took one on another floor?”
    â€œNot at all. In fact, I don’t think there’s anybody on five. Two flights up? Five W has a really cool window with painted glass, if you like that kind of thing.”
    â€œPerfect.”
    Down the hall, Mrs. Hereward peered out the door of 3N, next to Mr. Vinge’s room. “Young man, could I have the rest of my things brought up?”
    â€œSure, ma’am.” Milo turned back to Clem, but she had already disappeared up the staircase.

 
    two
Meddy
    By the time Milo had squared away Mrs. Hereward’s luggage, had checked in with Clem on the fifth floor, and had gotten himself a mug of hot chocolate from the saucepan on the stove and a few marshmallows to top it off, he was starting to feel out of control again.
    It was late, and from throughout the inn came the sounds of strangers. The house’s noises were different. Even the air smelled different. It should’ve smelled like winter and snow and fireplace and hot chocolate. Those aromas were still there, but they were buried now under the scents of Mrs. Hereward’s wet wool coat, Georgie Moselle’s broken bottle of perfume, and a faint whiff of tobacco from the pipe Dr. Gowervine had smoked out on the screened porch.
    Milo slid onto one of the benches at the dining room table, where just a few hours ago he’d eaten a perfectly normal dinner before all the guests had started pouring in out of the snow. His mother muttered a goodbye into the phone she’d been glued to for the last twenty minutes, hung it up, and dropped onto the bench next to him. “How you doing, kiddo?”
    He growled into his cup.
    â€œWell, don’t panic. That was Mrs. Caraway. She and Lizzie are coming back to help out. We’re going to do our best to make sure you get your vacation.”
    â€œThey are?” Mrs. Caraway was the inn’s chef, and her daughter Lizzie, who owned a bakeshop, had come to help out once or twice before during especially busy times.
    â€œWhen?”
    â€œTonight, if the roads are clear enough. But late. They’re going to have to drive really slowly.” She put an arm around his shoulder. “You want to stay up with me? I seem to recall owing you a brownie sundae.”
    Normally, Milo loved to sit up late with his folks in front of the fire. Sometimes they would read; sometimes they would play Scrabble or cards. Tonight, though . . . Milo peered over his mug into the living room. Mr. Vinge had gone back upstairs, Dr. Gowervine had done the same after his pipe, and Mrs. Hereward hadn’t come down again at all, but Georgie Moselle and Clem Candler were both sitting there with hot drinks in green mugs. Blue-haired Georgie was curled up on the couch, her drink on the end table beside her elbow and a cigar box in her lap. She had a roll of black tape in one hand, and she was wrapping it carefully around the edges of the box. Redheaded Clem sat on the rag rug, just barely within view from where Milo was: She had a roll of white tape, and she was wrapping up her ankles. Evidently, her climb up to the inn hadn’t been quite as painless as it had looked.
    Still, they were being quiet, and this might just be his last evening of peace. He could always go upstairs to the family’s private space, but his parents would be down here taking care of the guests, and too much quiet and loneliness wouldn’t make him feel any better. “I’ll go get something to read. Be right back.”
    He was halfway up the first flight of stairs when he remembered that he hadn’t returned Georgie’s book, the one he’d taken accidentally from her room earlier that evening. He stopped, foot poised over the next step, and patted down his pockets. “Oh, no. What did I . . .”
    There was really only one place he could have left it. He’d had it when he’d run out to answer the railcar bell. He didn’t recall