Free The Puzzle King by Betsy Carter Page A

anyone on the train. New York City isn’t like Mount Kisco, where you can count on people’s good intentions. And when you’re with Seema, just keep your conversation between her, you, the Whites, and their children. Can you promise us that?”
    Flora had said of course she would. “Besides, what do I have to say to total strangers?”
    “Young lady, I would never worry that you lacked for conversational topics,” Uncle Paul had answered.
    It would be out of the question to ever tell Aunt Hannah or Uncle Paul about the strange man on the train, thought Flora, as she and Seema walked out of the station and onto a street that was wider and filled with more people and buildings than Flora had ever seen in one place.
    Flora had heard about the horse-drawn trolleys that carried people up and down the streets of New York City, and now she and her sister were grabbing on to the metal handlebars and hoisting themselves onto one that would take them to the Whites’ house on East Sixty-first Street. The two horses pulling the trolleyclopped along in a steady rhythm; the wheels squealed on the tracks below. As the sisters rode uptown, Seema kept talking. She told Flora how Mrs. White would get dressed up three and four times a day and go out for social engagements. She talked about the bedroom she had in the back of the Whites’ house and how she had decorated it with magazine pictures of girls in beautiful dresses with lace insets and pearl buttons. And she told her about Lulu, the family dog, who had become her closest friend. Flora tried to listen but could barely pay attention for all there was to see: the red brick train station with its copper cupolas, the cobblestone streets, the conductor in his official-looking uniform who stood at the back door holding a large gold pocket watch in his hand. Had Seema become so familiar with this amazing spectacle that she didn’t even notice it anymore?
    “Here we are,” said Seema, as the trolley came to a bumpy halt at Sixty-first Street and Fifth Avenue. “Come, we go in the back way.” It was a grand house, different from the one in Mount Kisco. This one was made of limestone, and the way the sun hit it just so, it looked as if it were covered with glinting specks of diamonds. Seema pushed open the back iron gates, which were taller than Flora and were topped with ornate curlicues. As soon as Seema stuck her key into the lock, they heard a loud, piercing bark. Flora backed away. “Oh, don’t let that scare you,” said Seema. “It’s Lulu. She’s happy to see us.”
    Her aunt and uncle’s house smelled like fresh air, or like basil and rosemary and whatever else Aunt Hannah was cooking. This house smelled like leather and wood and had the faint odor of yesterday’s fire. It was dark inside, and as Flora’s eyes were adjusting to the lack of light, she felt something cold and wet press against her knee. “Down Lulu,” said Seema. But that was afterLulu had placed both paws on Flora’s breastbone and knocked her to the floor. Lulu drooled on Flora and stuck her nose under her armpit. “Get her off me,” she screamed.
    “Nothing to be scared of,” said Seema, bending down to pet Lulu. “She’s a German shepherd, a landsman. She wouldn’t hurt a flea.”
    “A fly,” said Flora abruptly. “She wouldn’t hurt a fly is how they say it. And I don’t care if she’s from Kaiserslautern, she’s drooling all over me and smells awful.”
    Seema put her arms around Lulu’s black-and-russet neck. “Ach, Lulu darling,” she said. “Don’t worry, everything is okay. You stay with me now. Okay?”
    There was something about the way Seema cooed at Lulu, the way she talked about the Whites and studied the pictures from the magazine that made Flora think Seema had changed. Flora stood up, brushed herself off, and made sure the anger was out of her voice before she spoke again. “C’mon, Seema, show me your room. I’m so sweaty, I’d love to splash some cold water