Free Falling into Place by Stephanie Greene

anything.”
    â€œWe’re related to Gran, that’s why.”
    â€œMr. Whiting doesn’t know that,” said Margaret. “We’ll tell him a grouchy old lady we never saw before made us deliver it.”
    â€œAnd then we’ll run?”
    But they didn’t have time to do anything. Before they even got to the door, it was flung open wide and a shrill voice shouted, “Get lost!”

Chapter 7
    â€œNow, now, Rolly, mind your manners.” Mr. Whiting reached up and smoothed the feathers of the large gray bird on his shoulder. “That’s no way to greet our visitors.”
    He wasn’t at all what Margaret had expected. He was wearing a pale gray cardigan, a bow tie, and slippers. His thin white hair was slicked back from his face, and his curly eyebrows stuck out over his gentle eyes like wings. This was the mean, horrible Mr. Whiting?
    â€œWe’re not visiting,” she said. She held out Gran’s letter. “We came to bring you this.”
    â€œIs that a parrot?” said Roy. He looked as if he had dropped any idea of fleeing, and was gazing up at Mr. Whiting’s bird admiringly. “I’ve always wanted a parrot.”
    â€œRolly is a cockatiel,” said Mr. Whiting. He held Gran’s letter in the air and squinted. “How nice. A letter from Mrs. Mack. At long last.”
    â€œHow do you know who it’s from?” said Margaret.
    â€œI have to confess, I saw you coming,” he said. He held up the binoculars that were hanging around his neck on a cord.
    Margaret’s eyes widened in shock. “You were spying on us!” she said indignantly.
    â€œActually, I was watching a flock of warblers,” said Mr. Whiting. “But I did catch you in my sight,
›
yes.
    â€œSpying’s sneaky,” she said.
    â€œIn this case, it was strictly by accident, I assure you. I didn’t mean to be sneaky. Just as I’m sure you didn’t mean to litter when you threw your half-eaten Popsicle over your shoulder onto my lawn.”
    When Margaret’s face fell, Mr. Whiting laughed gleefully. His laugh was almost as shocking as his spying. Mr. Whiting wasn’t mean, he was sweet.
    â€œYour sister’s very fierce, isn’t she?” he said to Roy.
    â€œHe’s not my brother, he’s my cousin,” said Margaret. “And you’re being mean to our grandmother.”
    â€œMean to your grandmother?” said Mr. Whiting. “Why, we haven’t even met. I knocked on her door two or three times, but she wasn’t in, and she never attends our monthly Steering Committee meetings. How on earth have I been mean to her?”
    â€œYou sent her mean letters about your dumb old rules.”
    â€œBut my dear young lady,” he said. “Those were
form
letters. We send them to all the new residents when they seem to be doing something in violation of our rules. Surely, your grandmother doesn’t think they’re
my
rules.
    â€œTell them, Rolly,” he said, turning to the bird and scratching its chest with his finger. “Tell them what a nice man I am.”
    â€œCome in! Come in!” Rolly shrieked. He stretched up to his full length and ruffled his feathers, as if preparing for liftoff.
    â€œDoes he bite?” said Roy.
    â€œAbsolutely not,” said Mr. Whiting. “And neither do I. Rolly’s right—come in. We need to clear this thing up.”
    â€œNo, thank you,” said Margaret. “We have to go.”
    â€œNonsense. Roy wants to see my goldfish pond and my Siamese fighting fish.” He looked at Roy and winked. “Don’t you, Roy?”
    â€œOh, yes, please,” said Roy. He slipped eagerly into Mr. Whiting’s hall before Margaret could stop him. “Siamese fighting fish are beautiful.”
    â€œRoy,”
she said meaningfully, but it was no use. He was already trotting down the hall behind Mr. Whiting like an