by Linda Johns
Hannah J. West
Pet Sitter, Dog Walker, Plant Waterer, Babysitter, and all around Errand Girl
235-6628
I added “babysitter” to my card just last week, now that I had official experience and a few references.
“We’re going to go for a walk soon, before another rain shower hits,” Mom said. “I’m sure Hannah would love to take Izzie with us on our walk.”
At the first mention of “walk,” Izzie sat down and looked at Mom patiently, showing what a good girl she would be. The second time Mom said “walk,” Izzie barked. Dogs are amazing that way. I’ve never met a dog who couldn’t pick that word out of an ordinary conversation. Even on TV. The dogs I know will be lounging around, maybe even seeming sound asleep, while the weather forecaster talks about Doppler radar, wind chill, El Niño, record highs and lows, overcast skies, sun breaks, and chance of rain showers (we have crazy weather here in Seattle, so you might actually hear all that in one forecast). Then the weather person throws in, “Take an umbrella on your walk” or “Good time to walk your dog.” In a split second, the lounging dog will be up off its pillow and heading to the front door. Some dogs I know, including a labradoodle named Mango, even grab their leashes off hooks, generously assisting you while also getting out the door faster.
“I need to put my fish away, but then could I come get Izzie for our w-a-l-k?” I asked, spelling out the word. Izzie still barked. (And they say dogs can’t spell.) Dogs are amazing, I tell you. “I’ll see you soon,” I said, giving her a good scratch behind her right ear.
We told Calvin we’d come by and pick Izzie up in about twenty minutes. Mom and I needed some time to explore our house. Who am I kidding? We needed time to explore our mansion. After all, we’re living on Millionaire’s Row.
CHAPTER 2
I RAN INSIDE to put my things down and to put Vincent and Pollock into their bowl. It was going to be a challenge finding a place that the cats couldn’t reach. I dragged a kitchen bar stool over to the refrigerator, climbed up, and carefully placed the fishbowl on top. I gave an admiring glance to the refrigerator. It was one of those ones they call side by side, with the refrigerator on the right and the freezer on the left. Lily’s family had one just like it. You could get crushed ice, cubed ice, slivered ice, and cold filtered water without opening the freezer door. Being able to get crushed ice with the push of a button never gets old to me. The rest of the kitchen was pretty amazing, too. Gleaming black granite countertops contrasted with bright white cabinets. Everything was sleek and polished. The kitchen looked like a showroom, mostly because there wasn’t anything on the counters. Not even a toaster. There were so many cabinets and pantries that all the appliances were hidden.
“It’s not forever, guys,” I said to my fish. “I’ll figure out a better place tonight.” Simon, a part Siamese cat, was staring at me, twitching his tail. The top of the fridge didn’t seem so safe anymore. I grabbed two vases and began setting up a makeshift wall around the bowl to protect it. The vases were superheavy. Even if one of the cats did get up there, it wouldn’t be able to get to the bowl.
“It looks like you’re building a fortress for Vincent and Pollock,” Lily said, handing me another vase.
“I am. It’s temporary, but necessary. Izzie’s home, and we’re going to take her on a walk so we can check out the neighborhood before it rains.” I hopped down from the stool. “Want to look around the house before we go?”
“Mom’s picking me up any second,” Lily said. “But I do want to see some of this monster house before she gets here. I know she’s dying to see it, too, but we have to go get The Brother from a birthday party, so she’ll have to wait.” Lily was on a kick of calling her little brother, Zach, who is actually pretty cute and not completely annoying, The Brother or, sometimes, Oh Brother. I think Zach secretly liked it.
I was excited to act as a tour guide and show off this huge house to Lily. We started in the sunroom, which is kind of like a porch but it’s all glassed in. It overlooked the street and also, Mom had told me, would catch the morning sun. The owners, Happy and Frank Parker, told us they liked to sit out there in the morning and drink coffee, read the newspaper, do crossword puzzles, and watch the world go by on the street below. A loveseat with deep, red cushions, two chairs, and a coffee table made it seem like the kind of place you could stretch out and really relax. I’d already scoped it out as one—just one—of the many great sketching and reading spots in the house.
The main floor of the house had a living room, dining room, kitchen, office, and, of course, the piano room. That might not sound that extraordinary (except how many houses have piano rooms?), but each room was truly spectacular, mostly because of the size, the twelve-foot-high ceilings, the wood trim, and the immense windows. We headed upstairs, a trip that was impressive on its own. The wood staircase and gleaming wood banister are the kind you see in movies when the beautiful girl in an evening gown descends the stairs to the admiring glances of the roomful of dignitaries and royalty below. Halfway up the stairs was another choice reading spot: a long—at least eight feet long—cushioned window seat that was an ideal lookout to the neighborhood.
I took Lily up another flight of stairs to the third floor.
“This floor is off limits to us,” I said to Lily, trying to sound ominous and mysterious. But I couldn’t sustain the act, so I just opened the door to a weight room and workout area. “If you go through that door, you get to Frank’s home office. He’s an import/export guy, whatever that is.”
“Don’t they trust you up here?” Lily asked, eyeing the treadmill, rowing machine, and rows of weights.
“I was just kidding. They said we could use the equipment. I think this used to be where the servants lived, a hundred years ago. Because”—I paused while I opened what looked to be a closet door—“this is a secret staircase. It goes back down to the second floor, and then to the kitchen. This way the servants could get up at the crack of dawn and scurry down to the kitchen to make breakfast.” Lily followed me down a flight of stairs, where we opened two other doors until we got out to the second floor hallway.
There were five bedrooms on the second floor. Mom said I could have first dibs this time, since there were a couple of house-sitting jobs where I ended up sleeping on the couch. This Capitol Hill house had so many bedrooms that we could each take two, and still be able to keep the master bedroom untouched until Happy and Frank returned. You might expect me to take one of the smaller rooms and leave the most deluxe for my mom. But if you expect that, you’d be wrong.
“Here’s my new pad!” I said, swinging the door open to a guest suite. That’s right. Not just a guest bedroom—but a bona fide suite, complete with a bathroom, walk-in closet (makes you wonder how long they expected guests to stay in the old days), and a “conversation area” with a love seat and two chairs. The bathroom itself was bigger than most apartments. Not only were there two sinks, but there was a whirlpool bathtub with steps leading up to it, a separate six-foot by six-foot walk-in shower (the measurement was Mom’s guess when we toured earlier), and even the toilet had its own room. My bed was king-sized, with a thick mattress and so many fluffy quilts and pillows that there was a step leading up to it.
“Can you believe it?” I asked Lily.
“It’s like you have your own apartment, minus the refrigerator,” Lily said.
“No fridge, but there is an electric tea kettle and a Japanese tea set,” I said. “Besides, Mom would never ever let me eat in a bedroom.”
I showed Lily the three other bedrooms, and then gave her a quick peek into the master suite, which was, if you can believe it, bigger and better than my guest suite.
“Now this is the best part,” I said, opening the last door in the hallway.
“There’s more?” Lily asked. “I can’t believe it.”
I really had saved the best for last. At least it was the best in my opinion. In addition to five bedrooms, the second floor had an art studio. It wasn’
t huge, but it was absolutely perfect.
“Voilà!” I said, in my best attempt at sounding like a French artist. “And guess what? Happy said I can work in here!” This was my idea of heaven. An entire room devoted to sketching, painting, and creating whatever you wanted. The room was directly above the piano room on the first floor, which meant it had the same curved glass window overlooking the street. Did I mention the fireplace? It didn’t look like they used it much. My first clue was that instead of a grate and firewood, the opening was filled with a statue of an elephant. A big cushy chair and ottoman sat next to the fireplace, with floor-to-ceiling bookcases on either side. Happy had her own art library, along with a couple of shelves of travel books. Yet another place for me to hang out, read, and sketch.
“Is that a painting one of the owners did?” Lily asked.
“Yep. This is Happy’s studio. Most of the paintings in the house are hers,” I said. “Mom is completely ecstatic to be living here. She loves Happy’s work.”
Lily examined the signature on the painting. “But that name looks like it starts with a ‘J.’ ”
“Her real name is Josephine, but she’s been called Happy since she was little. At least that’s what she told me. She also said that I’m welcome to work up here and use her supplies. She showed me where everything was and how to take care of things here,” I said. “Ouch! Why did you do that?”
Lily had pinched my right arm.
“I wanted you to be sure it wasn’t a dream,” she said. “Oops, there’s my mom down in front. I know she wants to see all of this, so I guess I’ll just have to come back to your mansion tomorrow,” Lily said. “Ta-ta. That’s what you rich folk say, right?”
“I think we prefer ‘cheerio,’ ” I said, walking her down to the front door.
“What, ho!” Lily tried to get in the last word.
“I’d settle for ‘later,’ ” I called after her.
It was time for Mom and me to go for our traditional Get-to-Know-the-Neighborhood Inaugural Walk. Luckily, it still wasn’t raining. I ran downstairs to check on Vincent and Pollock again. I didn’t think any of the cats could get through to them now.
A fluffy white cat sat demurely by the entrance to the sunroom. “We’re all going to learn to get along, aren’t we, Jasmine?” I said, petting her between her eyes.
Reba, Dolly, Simon, Sport, and Jasmine were all inside now. I glanced up at my goldfish again, even though I was pretty sure they were safe.
“They’d better be here when I get back,” I called to the five cats, as Mom and I headed next door to pick up Izzie.
CHAPTER 3
WITH IZZIE WALKING between us, Mom and I headed north on Fourteenth Avenue East toward Volunteer Park. Every house we walked by seemed to be more magnificent than the last, getting taller and bigger as we got closer to the park.
I’d been to Volunteer Park lots of times, but usually to go to the Seattle Asian Art Museum or on school field trips to the Conservatory. I hadn’t really walked around before.
“Let’s go to the top!” I said when we first entered the park and came to the old water tower. When I was little, I was convinced that Rapunzel had once lived at the top of this round red-brick tower. I still thought that when I was six and Mom held my hand as we walked up the 108 steps (she counted) that spiraled to an observation area at the top where you can see all of Seattle, from Lake Washington to Elliott Bay.
I love running up the stairs to the top, even if I do feel a little sick when I look down. “Oh, wait. We probably shouldn’t go up with the dog.”
Mom agreed and promised we’d have plenty of time to check it out some other time. We got to the art museum, where two camel statues flank the entrance to the museum. They’re the kind of statues you just can’t resist: they need to be touched, patted, and, most of all, climbed on. I handed the dog leash to Mom and ran up the steps and hopped on the back of one of the camels. Two little kids ran up after me, and then screeched to a halt as their mom said, “Wait your turn.” I remembered how much fun I’d had on the camels when I was younger. (Who am I kidding? I still have fun on the camels. I imagine I always will.) I cheerily gave up my seat between the humps.
We walked around the reservoir, then back up the hill to the Volunteer Park Conservatory, a Victorian glass house where they grow cacti, orchids, banana plants, giant bird-of-paradise, and all kinds of other exotic and tropical plants that simply wouldn’t grow in Seattle without TLC and a greenhouse.
“Sometimes I sneak up here in February when I’m tired of the winter rain and the gray sky,” Mom said. “It feels so good to go from damp cold into the tropical air inside, or into the cactus room, where it’s eighty degrees.”
“You should bring me with you more often,” I said.
“I will, especially now that we’re so close. I promise lots of trips to the art museum, the water tower, and the greenhouses,” Mom said.
“Cool!” I cried out. But I wasn’t responding to her offer.
I could see tombstones on the outer edge of the park.
“I didn’t know there was a cemetery here!”
“You’ve been there lots of times,” Mom pointed out. “That’s the cemetery where Bruce Lee is buried.” She was right. I had visited his grave before, but I didn’t realize that it was so close to where we were house-sitting.
Bruce Lee was a Chinese American from Seattle who is possibly one of the most famous martial artists of all time. He created jeet kune do, which is kind of like kung fu.
“This is so incredibly cool! Did you even notice what T-shirt I’m wearing today?” I lifted my Chavez Ultimate hoodie (my sweatshirt from my ultimate Frisbee team at Cesar Chavez Middle School) to show Mom my T-shirt underneath. Chinese characters surrounded a red symbol on a white background. The loose translation is something like “using no way as way” or “having no limitation as limitation.” It was the symbol that was used in jeet kune do.
I love Bruce Lee. He starred in a bunch of martial arts movies like Fists of Fury and The Chinese Connection. I’ve seen all his movies. I’m not a huge martial arts fan, but I like that Bruce Lee was one of the first famous Chinese people in America. I would like him even if I weren’t Chinese American, but I think I especially like him because he and I are both from China.
“Another place we’ll come back to when we don’t have a dog with us,” Mom said. “We’ll bring flowers, too.” Bruce Lee’s grave always had lots of flowers. You could easily spot his burial site all the way across the cemetery because there were usually at least a couple of people there to honor him.
We took a walk past the cafés and shops on Fifteenth Avenue East and looped back to Millionaire’s Row. We truly had it all living here: big house, beautiful park nearby, coffee shops just a block away, not to mention being within walking distance to Bruce Lee’s grave.
Calvin’s black Mini Cooper passed us, and Izzie started pulling on her leash, as if she was going to run after it. The car pulled over in front of their house. Calvin got out with a bag of groceries.
“Good girl, Izzie!” Calvin said, taking the leash from us. “Thanks for walking her.” He shifted the grocery bag to his left arm and started fumbling to get his wallet out, as if he was going to pay me.
“It wasn’t official dog-walking business,” I said hurriedly.
“Izzie was our excuse for getting out and walking around the neighborhood,” Mom added. “We like to get to know the area where we’re house-sitting as soon as we can after we move in.”
“We’ll make sure you know the neighbors, too,” Calvin said. “There’s our Block Watch captain now.”
A woman in a brown velour jogging suit headed toward us, her forehead wrinkled up as if she were mad. Or confused.
“Grace? Is everything all right?” Calvin asked her.
“I just got back from my walk and … and I think someone has broken into my house.”
CHAPTER 4
“ARE YOU OKAY?”
“What was taken?
”
“Have you called the police yet?”
Calvin, Mom, and I were all talking at once. I pulled out my cell phone just as Mom said, “Hannah, call the police.”
“No!” the woman said.
Silence.
“No, please don’t call the police! At least not yet. It’s, it’s …” Her voice trailed off.
“Grace, what is it? Do you think someone is still in the house?” Calvin asked.
“Has someone threatened you?” I added.
“No …” her voice trailed off again. “I don’t think anyone is there. And nothing seems to be missing.”
“How did the burglar get in? Is there any sign of forced entry? Broken glass, maybe a jimmied lock?” I asked. As usual, my mom turned and gave me that “Keep quiet!” glare.
“No. I can tell that no one forced his way into my house,” Grace said.
“Or her,” I said. And I got that glare from my mom again. “His or her. The burglar could be a female.”
The woman smiled for the first time. “I think he—or she—wasn’t really a burglar. I shouldn’t have even said that someone broke in. That’s too strong of a statement. More like someone … visited.”
“You had a visitor? And nothing is gone?” I hoped my voice conveyed that what I really meant was: What the heck is the problem then? Mom gave me another glare.
This interrogation was driving me crazy. Why didn’t this woman just come out and tell us what was wrong and why she thought someone had been in her house. This time I slowed myself down, with no intervention from Mom. This wasn’t an interrogation. We hadn’t even officially met this woman yet.
“I know it sounds insane, but I’m sure that someone was in the house because things look different,” Grace said, talking to Calvin.
“Did someone leave something inside your house? Something icky?” I interjected. (You can’t keep a good detective down when questions need answering.)