Pish Posh Read Online Free PDF

call the police. Not because she was too bold, but because she was too prideful. Annabelle had seen right through Clara, just as Clara saw through the customers at Pish Posh, and the realization was unpleasant to say the least.
    She climbed into bed and pulled the covers over herself. For a long time she lay there, eyes open, while she nibbled at the ends of her hair, a thing she always did whenever she was deep in thought.
    She thought about how that lousy, thieving Annabelle had sat in the tree with her, chatting to her like an old friend. And the worst of it, Clara had to admit, was that she had actually liked Annabelle. She couldn’t even remember the last time she had liked someone.
    She must have been laughing at me the whole time, Clara thought bitterly. She’s probably lying in her own bed right now, thinking about what a sucker I am as she toys with my pearls. I can’t stand the thought of it!
    Clara hopped out of bed, opened up her closet, and pulled out a box that was on the top shelf. It contained stacks of old book reports and homework, school play programs, and yearbooks from the past two years. Sitting on the floor, she slowly and methodically went through everything, searching for Annabelle’s last name. But there was nothing. It appeared that the girl had never gone to school long enough to have her name put on anything.
    Never mind. I’ll find her, Clara decided.
    After that she fell asleep quite soundly, because she knew that when she was determined to do a certain thing, that thing was as good as done.
    Â 
    The following morning, after putting on Simple Black Dress #96 and adjusting her sunglasses so that they perched exactly a quarter inch down on the bridge of her nose, Clara buzzed the cook on the kitchen’s intercom and informed her that she would be skipping breakfast. But as she passed the dining room and saw the customary pile of newspapers neatly stacked on the table, she changed her mind. She would not shirk her daily duty, not for some petty thief. She rang for the cook again and told her she would have breakfast after all, and in a few minutes’ time the cook appeared at Clara’s dining room table with a single poached egg, sourdough toast cut into triangles, and a glass of tomato juice.
    Clara picked up the newspaper on top of the pile. It was the latest copy of Hither & Thither, a daily paper that tracked the comings and goings of all the important people in New York.
    Recently they had added an amusing column called “Ask Ms. Mandy,” where people wrote in with a famous person’s name and Ms. Mandy would find out who their ancestors were. Today, someone had asked about a famous countess who lived on Park Avenue and bred Pekingese dogs.
    â€œWell, folks, we have one naughty, naughty countess on our hands!” Miss Mandy replied to the letter. “Having researched her ancestors, it turns out our countess is not a real countess at all! Her family comes from New Jersey and her parents work in a hair dye factory. Perhaps she should ‘fess up about her ‘roots’!”
    Clara snorted with disdain and not a little satisfaction. A good start to the day, since the fake countess was a customer at Pish Posh.
    Not for long, Clara mused happily as she bit into her toast.
    She went through all the papers very carefully, as she did every morning, watching for any other mention of Pish Posh customers. It was tedious work, true, but how else could she keep on top of things? And in the end, she was glad she had not skipped her morning ritual, because she found yet another article about a Pish Posh customer in the Daily New Yorker. It seemed that the well-known news anchorman John Sickle had been covering an earthquake in Japan. The accompanying film clip showed an injured woman lying on the ground with a rescue worker bending over her. Unfortunately, the rescue worker’s pants drooped and a portion of his behind was visible, so when John