Free The Sitter by R.L. Stine Page A

send him to Marsha?”
    “Yes, I sent him and his furballs to Marsha. Don’t change the subject. What’s the family like? They’re famous Hamptons people? Have I heard of them?”
    “No, they’re a young couple, Mom. He’s some kind of financial guy. And she . . . I’m not sure what she does. She has the summer off. She has two kids to take care of.”
    “I don’t mean to pick on you, Ellie, but—”
    The famous
but
.
    “—but why take another dead-end job? I’m just asking. I can ask a question, right?”
    “Mom—I just woke up. I don’t need this now.”
    “Well, I’m calling with good news. You don’t have to take an attitude.”
    “Good news?”
    “Knock knock.”
    I groaned. “Mom, I don’t have time for jokes.”
    “Knock knock, Ellie. It’s not a joke. It’s opportunity knocking.”
    “Groan. Groan. Do you hear me groaning? I’ve got to go, Mom.”
    “Listen to me. Your sister, Wendy, is expanding her real estate office. Madison is growing like wildfire. She’s taking on two new people. There’s a place for you, Ellie. A very good salary and a fifteen percent commission.”
    “Mom, you want me back in Madison? You practically tossed me out of the house, remember? You were so thrilled when I moved to New York.”
    “Thrilled? Don’t say that, Ellie. That’s not true. It was hard for me to send my daughter away. I went along with it. I wasn’t thrilled. You needed a fresh start in new surroundings. But you made a flop of that, too. Pardon my French.”
    “Huh? Mom, that’s really harsh.”
    “Harsh? Harsh is for laundry detergents.”
    “Listen to me, Mom. I’m keeping this job, and I’m going to make something of it. You may think it’s beneath me or something, but I don’t. I have some things to prove to myself before I can start thinking about a real career. And I’m starting right here. And I don’t need any suggestions from you or Wendy.”
    “I was only trying to help,” she replied in a mousy little voice, totally phony.
    “Bye, Mom.” I clicked off the phone and tossed it to my bed.
    I turned. Brandon was standing in the doorway. He wore a sleeveless striped T-shirt over a baggy black swimsuit that came down over his knees. He had his skinny arms crossed in front of him. And he stared at me coldly.
    How long had he been standing there?
    “Brandon. Hi.”
    Why was he staring at me like that, his lips pressed together so tightly?
    “Were you outside last night?” I asked. “Did I see you in the backyard late last night?”
    He continued to stare. Then he slowly shook his head.
    “Come on, Brandon,” I insisted. “Wasn’t that you?”
    He shook his head again. He twirled his finger around his ear, signaling that I was crazy.
    No point in continuing.
    “Listen, I’m going to go exploring this morning,” I said. “Would you like to come with me?”
    He turned and darted away.

    Abby took the kids into town to buy shoes. I had a nutritious bowl of Cocoa Puffs—the kids’ favorite—and a cup of lukewarm coffee.
    Then I pulled on my new flip-flops and stepped outside to do some exploring. I figured it was time to get familiar with the terrain.
    Whoa. The morning sun was already high in the sky, and I could feel its heat on my bare shoulders. I hurried back inside to get my sunglasses.
    Last night, I was so freaked out that I didn’t see where I was. This morning, I had time to take it all in.
    A beautiful, wide redwood deck stretched along the back of the house. A round umbrella table and white metal chairs stood at one end, and several chaises longues and matching chairs were arranged nearby. A large barbecue grill stood at the other end.
    Steps led down to the small, sandy backyard, and a low, unpainted picket fence tilted this way and that on the left. A hedge of tall rhododendrons stretched along the bottom of the deck. The spring blossoms, all white, were starting to shrivel and turn brown.
    I picked up a beach ball and tossed it back toward the