The Princess of Las Pulgas Read Online Free PDF Page A

to get out of here? What if
I promise to change? Really. I’ll make a late New Year’s Resolution
to start being nicer to my family, show Mom I love her, talk to my
brother like he’s a human being, feed Quicken before she begs.
    “When can we get down?” Kip
whispers.
    “Soon,” I whisper
back. But how? Any ideas, Carlie? “Not yet,” I sigh.
    “What?” Kip grips my
sweater.
    “Nothing.” I put my free
arm around him and hold him against me. He doesn’t resist like he
usually does, or complain that he’s not baby.
    “Are you okay?” Kip
whispers from the shadows next to me.
    I nod, but that’s not true.
I’m scared, working on not being terrified.
    “Carlie,” Kip tugs at my
sweater. “What time is it?”
    “After twelve.”
    “I hafta pee.”
    “It won’t be
long.”
    As he sinks back against me
a dull sound comes from below the crawl space.
    Kip grabs my arm and
squeezes.
    The intruder’s in Jessie’s
room.
    A murmur of people talking
over each other comes from below. Easing Jessie off my lap and
putting one ear on the floor, I hear two male voices. Then Mrs.
Franklin cries out. What’s happening to
her?
    If only I could see into
Jessie’s room. Mrs. Franklin’s sobs have become noisy enough to
cover the sound of the magnetic latch, so I press and release the
door, opening it a crack.
    Mr. and Mrs. Franklin stand
next to Jessie’s bed, facing my direction, Mr. Franklin’s arms are
wrapped around her shoulders and she’s sobbing. Across from them,
his back to me, stands someone in a sweater and jeans. I stifle a
gasp. He has to be the one who broke into the house. Does he have a gun leveled at them?
    Kip taps my arm. He’s
sidled next to me, also peering through the crack. I signal him to
get back.
    “When did you come in?”
That’s Mr. Franklin.
    “It must have been around
nine,” the guy in the sweater answers.
    It was nine you . . . you creep. I’d love to
drop kick you to the North Pole. Let you get chummy with some
cold.
    Kip tugs on my sweater. I
swat him away, but he tugs again, harder.
    “Huh?”
    “He’s my cousin,” Kip
says.
    “Your cousin?” I’ve let my
voice rise above a whisper and before I can register what Kip has
said, the trap door is wrenched from my hand.
    Mr. Franklin stares up at
me. “What—?”
    Mrs. Franklin, who is still
shaky but no longer crying, joins him. “Carlie!”
    I reach for Jessie and hand
her down. Then Kip lowers himself into his father’s arms. “Carlie
made us stay up there for hours. I’ve got icicles on my feet,” he
whines.
    If there were another exit
I’d sneak out that way, but there isn’t, so down I go.
    “What’s this about?” Mr.
Franklin’s eyebrows form two upside-down V’s. He looks a touch
angry, yet relieved and really puzzled.
    “I heard him break the
window on the back door.” I point a shaky accusing finger
at— Sean Wright, the French tutor? Where
did he come from?
    “I didn’t break any
window.” Sean looks at me like I’m nuts. “Oh, right.” He turns to
Mrs. Franklin. “Sorry, Aunt Corky, I accidentally knocked over a
vase on the kitchen counter.”
    “A vase?” Anger rises like
a tide from my chest to my head.
    Sean faces me. “Hey, sorry.
I didn’t mean to scare anybody.”
    He’s staring at me with
those deep-set blue eyes that have Channing females crowding French
classes, and I feel embarrassment flare in my face. My throat clogs
when I try to say something, and out comes a hacking sound like I’m
clearing a hair-ball.
    “You were creeping around!
Why didn’t you knock, walk in the door like a . . . a real
nephew?”
    “I didn’t see many lights,
so I thought my aunt and uncle were gone with the kids. They hide
the key on the back deck, so I decided to hang out until they came
home.”
    I need to let these people
know I’m not an idiot. “I tried to call 911 when I saw him sneaking
to the back door, but the phone was dead.”
    “It was all right earlier.
I’ll check.” Mr.