Summer of the Gypsy Moths Read Online Free PDF Page A

looked as guilty as I was feeling.
    George didn’t seem to notice, though. “We might as well go over things from the beginning,” he said. He pointed to a long iron key hanging from a hook on the inside of the door. It looked like the master keys, except for a waxy paper disk, hand-lettered with TERN , tied to it. “They show up, you open the cottage with your master, you hand ’em this key—their key. You remind ’em of what’s inthe agreement: They lose that key, it’s fifty dollars, period. Only one locksmith on Cape Cod I even know of who’ll make a key like that anymore. It hasn’t happened in at least twenty years—hard to lose a key that big, I guess, but still, that’s the rule, okay?”
    Angel and I nodded. Then George walked around, snapping up the shades and shoving open the windows. Dust motes whirled up through bars of sunlight against dark wood paneling. I looked around the brightening cottage. Three doors stood open on the back wall: two tiny bedrooms and a bathroom. The room we were standing in had a living area over to the left and kitchen stuff on the right. The kitchen was painted white. It had just room for a table with four chairs, and barely enough counter space to make a sandwich. You’d have to be efficient in a place like this; you could only have the essentials, and you’d have to keep things tidy. I liked that.
    â€œNow, checkout time.” George tapped a yellowed notice on the wall. “It’s ten o’clock, no exception, because the next tenants come in at three. That doesn’t give you much time for the changeovers.”
    He paused and then nodded at Angel and me as if we’d just said something and he was agreeing with it. “I’m glad she’s got you two this year. Tell the truth, I’ve been a little worried about her, what with her heart.”
    Angel and I exchanged a quick glance at that.
    â€œHer heart?” I asked. “What’s the matter with her heart?”
    â€œNever mind. I shouldn’t have said anything. But you two do the heavy cleaning, all right?” George said. “Course, that means you keep the tips—don’t go splitting ’em with her if all she’s doing is running the laundry through, you doing all the rest.”
    â€œTips?” It was the first time since we’d left the house that Angel had said a word. There was a look in her eyes I couldn’t figure out—like she was just now waking up. “They leave tips?”
    George nodded with a little chuckle. “Usually. Depends on what hoodlums their kids were. Cleaning fee’s built into the rental charge—they already paid it. Louise says they tip outta guilt: Their kids track sand everywhere, fill the teacups with hermit crabs, leave Popsicles melted on the furniture, that kinda thing. Fifteen, twenty dollars—you should ask her, though. I’d better get the linens.”
    â€œEach cottage?” Angel asked, and I could practically see her ears perk up. “Each cottage leaves fifteen or twenty dollars? Each week?”
    â€œThat’s about right. I’ll get those linens now.” And before we could think of anything to stop him, George left.
    Angel and I sprang to the window. I could tell by herface she was as scared to death as I was. But he didn’t go toward our house, only to his truck. “Maybe we should tell him,” I said, my heart still hammering in my chest and my legs going cottony again, as if a puff of wind could knock me off my feet. “Angel, I’m scared.”
    Angel stared at me, looking like she was caught between snarling and fainting. Before she could do either, George was back, talking over a stack of sheets and towels as if he’d never left. “There are two twins and a double in each cottage. Three sets of sheets, three blankets. Towels for four.”
    He went into the bedroom on the right and we followed.