Free How to Curse in Hieroglyphics by Lesley Livingston Page A

Club three-day Caribbean Singles cruise. She’s got a whole herd of cats—”
    â€œHerd?” Tweed interrupted.
    Cheryl nodded. “Fifteen of ‘em.”
    â€œEep!” Tweed exclaimed, startled from her usual goth cool.
    Cheryl nodded again. “And she’ll pay double our rate to keep an eye on ‘em while she’s gone.”
    Double? Tweed’s eyes went a bit wide. Fifteen cats at double their rate for three whole days? Was this the beginning of the upswing in the sitter biz they’d been waiting for? Were … cats the key?
    â€œMiss Parks, the school librarian?” Pilot asked, confused.
    â€œWhen does she leave?” Tweed asked, regaining her composure.
    â€œShe’s catching a red-eye flight out,” Cheryl said. And her mouth disappeared in a tight line. “Tonight.”
    â€œGah!” Tweed exclaimed, her goth cool hitting the road for the second time in mere seconds. “WAH! Tonight?! But … but …” She waved her arms in the vague directions of the carnival and the drive-in screens. Really, to be fair, the night was already pretty heavily booked for the dynamic duo.
    â€œStay cool, partner.” Cheryl gripped her cousin by the shoulder. “We can do this. We can multi-task.
    While-O-Wait.”

    Tweed mumbled something that sounded unconvinced.
    â€œC’mon!” Cheryl urged. “Say it with me! While-O-Wait!”
    â€œWhile … O … Wait …” Tweed repeated, slowly getting hold of herself again. “While. O. Wait.”
    Pilot stuck one finger up in the air to ask a question.
    â€œBut—”
    â€œWhile-O-Wait!” The girls turned on him in tandem, their eyes glittering with fierce determination.
    â€œRight.” He lowered his questioning digit and shrugged. “Sure ‘nuff. Okay, little ladies, what’s first on the W-O-W agenda?”
    Cheryl cast a squinting eye at the sky and pointed heavenward. “Sun’s going down,” she said. “We all know what that means.”
    Pilot frowned. “Uh …”
    â€œShowtime.” She pointed at the drive-in screen.
    â€œRight.”
    â€œThe minute twilight falls, boatloads—er, carloads—of eager monster-lovin’ movie-goers will pour through the drive-in gates.” She pointed at the road leading into the Starlight’s lot. “And, roundabout the same time, Miz Marjorie Parks’s minivan, stacked with fifteen kitty kennel-cages stuffed full of shaggy little shnookumses, is gonna pull up in front of the barn!” She pointed at the barn.
    â€œAnd then there’s nefarious carnival doings that needour investigating. And there’s a Shrimpcake on the lam that needs … well … heck. He probably just needs us.”
    When the maroon minivan rumbled to a stop in front of the barn less than twenty minutes later, the trio was ready. Tweed, Cheryl and Pilot formed a sort of volunteer-fire-brigade-bucket-line to off-load the kitty-carriers, each one conveniently labelled with sparkly puffy-painted letters identifying its occupant. Into the barn went Boober and Flapjack, Pigwidgeon, Bubble and Squeak, Calico Pete, Montgomery J. Butterball, Mr. Sniffers, Kittums Fat Fat, Lady Sneezy-Buttons, Didgeridoo, Sir Chubbypuddles, Wrinkly, Binkly and Frank.
    The trio stacked the cages neatly and carefully in the barn, as Miss Parks flapped about excitedly, bidding the precious furballs goodbye, clearly anxious to be on her way. The girls assured her that they’d give her kitty-cats the best care while they shooed her back toward the driver’s seat of the van. Pilot smiled and gave her a reassuring Flyboy wave as she climbed back behind the wheel, and as the minivan rumbled down the road, the three of them breathed a brief sigh of relief.
    By the time they were finished, the sun had dropped down to the horizon. It hovered for a moment—as if balancing on a tightrope—and