Free Sammy Keyes and the Cold Hard Cash by Wendelin Van Draanen Page B

underwear.”
    Mom’s jaw dropped. “She must be
enormous.
”
    “Shhhh!” Grams whispered. “She’ll hear you!”
    I eyed her. “Like her being enormous is a secret or something?” But she was right—the rest of Mrs. Wedgewood might be a disaster, but her hearing is strangely bionic.
    So while Grams and my mother lowered their voices and gossiped about the Wedge, I fluffed and folded and sorted and stacked. And when I was all done, I said, “I’ll be back,” and went next door to deliver the laundry.
    The first thing Mrs. Wedgewood said was not Thank you so much! or Nice of you to spend your day doing my laundry, or anything you might expect someone to say after you’ve washed and dried and folded her clothes. No, she said, “Took your sweet ol’ time, didn’t you?”
    “My friend had an emergency,” I said, pushing past her.
    “Well, I’m sure my dress is going to need ironing now.”
    And that’s when it hit me—I hadn’t folded her dress.
    I hadn’t seen it since I’d moved it into the dryer.
    Inside, I’m going, Oh no! But on the outside, I’m trying to stay cool. “No problem,” I tell her as I move toward her bedroom. “You want me to put these away?”
    “Why, yes, sugar. That would be most appreciated.”
    So I put away Mrs. Wedgewood’s clothes, and sure enough, there’s no dress. “Wow,” I tell her as I take a different muumuu out of her closet. “I’ll bet this looks great on you!”
    She shakes her curly-haired head. “It washes me out. Makes me pale and sickly lookin’. That’s the problem with mail order. You just can’t tell from a catalog, and it’s too much bother to return.”
    “How about this one?” I ask, taking another dress out. “Ooooh. Now
this
has Rex Randolf written all over it. Subtle, classy…”
    “Sugar, that is
ugly.
”
    I wanted to scream, So why’s it in your closet? but I’m busted anyway. Her eyes zoom down on me as she hobbles forward with her walker. “What happened to my dress? Did you ruin it in the wash? Did you
bleach
it?”
    “Uh…your dress?” I say, looking around like it’s gotta be there somewhere.
    “Yes,” she snaps, “my dress! What happened to it?” Then she gasps and her eyes pop wide open. “The Nightie-Napper! The Napper got it, didn’t he!” She clanks forward. “This is your fault! This is all your fault! You should never have left my things alone in that basement!”
    “Look, Mrs. Wedgewood,” I say, scooting for the door. “I probably just accidentally left it in the dryer. I’ll be right back.”
    But it wasn’t in the dryer. It wasn’t anywhere. And after I tried to negotiate with her about it, Mrs. Wedgewood finally dropped the sweet talk and went straight for blackmail. “Buy me a new one—or else!” She looked at her wristwatch, which was like a mini boa constrictor choking off her wrist. “Monte Carlo night starts in one hour. Go to Large and Lovely in the mall, and don’t you
dare
just buy me the cheapest thing you can find! Nothing in peaches or beiges…. I want something festive! Blues, greens…. The one I had was perfect! I can’t believe you let the Nightie-Napper steal it!” She clanked toward me with her walker. “What are you waitin’ for, girl? GO!”
    “But I don’t have any money!” I tried, looking as pathetic as possible.
    “Then
find
some!” she snapped, and pushed me out the door.
    Now, I guess I could have asked my mother for money. But my mother would have made a horrible fuss, and knowing her, she would have found some way of ruining everything. I mean, I could just see Mrs. Wedgewood ratting on me because my mom was on her high horse. And moving to Hollywood to live with her instead of Grams was the last thing I wanted. Aside from leaving all my friends behind, I’d be living with a person who played a formerly amnesiac, currently comatose aristocrat on a gag-me soap. Not my idea of fun, especially since my mother “adopts” her character, practically