by Linda Johns
But Marcus Dartmouth, director, interrupted her. “The house sitter? The sister, right? What a cushy gig. Excuse me!” He abruptly turned away and started barking out commands to a guy and a girl schlepping around lights and big white umbrellas.
“Whose sister are you?” Lily asked.
“I have absolutely no idea who or what he’s talking about,” Mom said. She didn’t exactly answer Lily, but that’s because Lily knows everyone in our family and was well aware of the fact that Mom was an only child. Just like me.
“Maybe he thinks you look like Monica Heathcliff when she’s dry,” I said.
“I’m sure he thinks that my frizzed-out curly hair and the dark circles under my eyes make me look just like a movie star,” Mom said sarcastically.
“Excuse me, but you need to clear the dock.” It was Celeste, the P.A.
“Right, we were just—” Mom started to say.
“Now, actually. You need to clear it now.”
What’s with these Hollywoodesque folks? They never seem to let Mom finish a sentence. Celeste was full of bravado, but she looked more nervous than before. A short man in a fedora stood about twenty feet down the dock watching her. He flipped open a cell phone and punched in a couple of numbers. Celeste’s phone rang, and she answered immediately.
“Get rid of them,” the man down the dock said into the phone. This must be the notorious Joshua.
Hello! Standing close enough to hear you, mister. I couldn’t help but stare at him.
“Right away,” Celeste said. They flipped their phones shut at the same time.
“Sorry, we’re just leaving,” I said, hoping her boss would be impressed with her for getting us set-crashers out of the way.
“Let’s go,” Mom said. She sounded impatient, with a tone that doesn’t often creep into her voice.
Mom and Lily were already halfway toward the street, but I was purposely lagging behind. Mango wasn’t that excited to leave familiar territory, which turned out to be helpful cover for me as I watched the woman in the black tracksuit—the one whom I had spotted while I was talking to Celeste. She was crouching low on the dock, scooping water by the spot where Monica Heathcliff had fallen into the water. I was pretty sure it wasn’t the same woman I had seen in the black rain gear.
Maybe this was part of the TV crew, too, but she didn’t seem like the Hollywood type. Then again, maybe she had some sort of behind-the-scenes job. From what I could tell so far, there was one actress and about thirty other people working hard to make her look good. Maybe this woman was part of the continuity team and her job was to make sure that every molecule of water looked the same from scene to scene.
Mango barked a short, friendly yip, and the woman turned.
It was Alice.
I knew she saw us, but she didn’t wave. Or even smile. She turned back to the water.
“What’s the scoop?” Lily asked.
“Scoop? Speaking of scooping, look over there,” I said. But by the time I turned to where Alice had been scooping water, she was gone. “Never mind,” I muttered. “Let’s get away from these people.”
“I want you to stay at Lily’s house for the day,” Mom said as Lily climbed into the Shannons’ car. She was climbing into our beat-up Honda to drive to her shift at Wired. “I get off work at around three, and I’ll come pick you up there.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I said, feeling guilty about making Mom go out of her way. “I can just take the number 66 back from Maple Leaf.”
“But you’ll have Mango with you,” she pointed out. “He can ride Metro. He just needs a ticket,” I said. I guess Mom never realized that dogs could ride the bus. Working dogs—like guide dogs and service dogs—can ride for free, which makes total sense. Lapdogs can also ride for free. Big dogs, like Mango, pay full fare, which means he ends up paying more than I do for a “youth” ticket.
“That’s good to know,” Mom said. “But I’ll still plan to come get you. Mango might not be as comfortable on public transportation as you are.”
Dan drove the nearly four miles through city neighborhoods and the University of Washington area up to Maple Leaf, the neighborhood where Mom and I used to live before she was laid off from MegaComp. Those seemed like the good old days: We lived in a two-bedroom house with a nice yard and an alley that was perfect for skateboarding. Our house was just three blocks away from where Lily, my best friend since second grade at Olympic View Elementary, lives.
It’s pretty fun to get to live in different parts of Seattle, especially when we get to live in rich people’s neighborhoods, like a couple months ago when we lived downtown at the Belltown Towers. I doubted there were many soon-to-be-seventh graders in Seattle who lived on houseboats, too. Still, I’d give anything to be back in our old neighborhood with my friends nearby.
CHAPTER 6
THE WHITE CARGO vans were pulling out just as we returned to Portage Bay that afternoon. Mom pulled our Honda easily into a prime space close to the dock.
Mom, Mango, and I got out of our car and started walking slowly toward the dock.
A silver two-door hatchback with red tape over a taillight and music blaring out of the open windows came to a screeching halt on the street. The driver put the car into reverse and zipped into another prime parking space right in front of ours. The car’s right rear wheel bumped up on the curb and onto the grass. The car pulled forward and thudded into the spot, then shuddered to a stop. It seemed so quiet as soon as the car stereo turned off.
I might be a few years away from my driver’s license, but even I could tell that there was no reason to have to go over the curb.
The door creaked open and a woman with jet black hair in a high ponytail climbed out of the driver’s seat. She was wearing yoga pants, a short tank top, and flip-flops. She saw us and gave a half smile, and then headed up the sidewalk to our dock.
“Do you live here?” Mom asked, all hyper-friendly, probably to make up for the judgmental thoughts she was trying to crowd out of her head. The ponytailed woman scowled at her.
“I don’t mean to pry or anything,” Mom said, talking superfast now. “It’s just that we’re house-sitting for one of the residents on this dock, and we haven’t met the neighbors yet.”
The woman kept walking toward the dock. “I’m just a house sitter, too,” she said, not even looking at us.
I noticed the way she said “just” before “house sitter.” Should I just resent her for making it sound as if Mom and I were low-lifes for living for free in someone else’s home?
“Oh, what luck to catch you all at the same time!” Alice Campbell met us as we walked up the dock. “Maggie and Hannah, this is Estie Bartlett. She’s taking care of Luci Mack’s house and two cats for a couple of weeks.”
Estie gave us another half smile. Wow. Add it to the earlier one she gave us, and you’d have a whole smile. A forced smile, but a whole one.
“It’s a rare occasion when we have two house sitters on our dock,” Alice said. “That calls for a party. Or at least an informal gathering so you can meet all your neighbors.”
“That sounds lovely,” Mom said.
“I know you must be anxious to get back to your homes. I’m so sorry that the blasted film crew displaces us all during the day,” Alice continued. She was a fast talker, but in a happy enthusiastic way.
“Didn’t they allow anyone to stay at all?” I asked Alice. I tried to say it casually, but I wanted her to know I’d seen her on the film set.
“They insisted that everyone leave. That production assistant, Celeste, had me out of my own house first thing this morning. I spent most of the day at the downtown library. It was my day to volunteer as a tour guide. If you haven’t toured the library, you simply must,” Alice went on.
I noticed she hadn’t directly answered my question. Yes, the crew of Dockside Blues had insisted that everyone leave. She also spent “most of the day” away. Was she just talking, or was she purposefully avoiding saying that she had been
at the edge of the dock where the dead fish were?
“How did Dockside Blues end up on this particular dock?” Mom asked.
“Oh, the director has a connection. He grew up in Seattle, you know,” Alice said. “Anyway, I hope you have some time to come over and join us on my deck this evening. The neighbors who are here are all anxious to meet you. Let’s say six o’clock?”
“Great,” Mom said. “What can we bring?”
“Oh, please. Just bring yourselves. We want to welcome you to the community,” Alice said.
“I’ll see if I’m feeling well enough to make it,” the other house sitter said. She walked toward the first cottage on the left, unlocked the door, and quickly entered and closed the door behind her.
“I’ll see you at six, then,” Alice said. “Hannah, this could be a good opportunity for you to hand out your business cards to the other residents in the Floating Home Association. I’m sure some of your neighbors could use your help with errands or could recommend you as a dog walker for their friends. In any event, I’ll see you in a few hours.”
Mom and I continued on to our new home. Finally! Mango was practically jumping up and down, he was so excited to get back inside. Mom fumbled with the keys until she unlocked the shiny purple door. She held the door open for me. Mango took off, immediately going inside to reclaim his territory and chase his cat. I was still hyperaware of the motion of being on the water. It felt weird—being in the safety of a house while it moves. Still, I was pretty sure I could get used to this walking-on-water business.
CHAPTER 7
“HANNAH? HANNAH? Wake up, dear,” a voice from far, far away seemed to be calling to me.
I tried to push it out of my dreams, but it came back. “Hannah?”
I woke up with a start. Not only was I in a strange bed sleeping with a huge beast, but a total stranger was nudging me awake.
“I’m awake!” I said as convincingly as I could.
I pushed myself up on one elbow and looked around to get my bearings. Okay. I was in the bedroom/office in Jake Heard’s houseboat. The beast next to me was a drooling labradoodle named Mango. I glanced at my disco clock radio that I’d set next to the bed and saw that it was 6:30 at night. And Alice Campbell was waking me from a pretty darn good dream that I’m pretty sure included tin roof sundaes on a gently rocking boat.
“I didn’t mean to startle you, but I wanted to make sure you and Mango make it to the dockside party,” she said.
“Right,” I said slowly.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” Alice said. That got my attention. I sat up immediately. Mango got up, too, and went into that downward dog yoga pose that is possibly one of the most aptly named maneuvers in the world.
“I wanted to tell you my whole name,” Alice continued. “It’s Alice Kawamoto Campbell.”
She must have seen the “ah-ha” moment in my eyes. “You were wondering, weren’t you?” she asked.
I nodded. “I thought maybe you were Japanese, but I wasn’t sure, and then I was kind of embarrassed that I even wondered.”
“You should never be embarrassed to ask what you want to know. I would have understood if you’d asked me if I were Japanese. Or whatever. Just like I’d like to ask you if you’re Chinese.”
“Yep. Born in China. Adopted by Maggie and moved to Seattle. Was Kawamoto your maiden name?” I asked.
“It was, and it is. It is still my family name. Now I use it as my middle name. I keep it safe between my first and last names.”
I liked that. I was liking Alice Kawamoto Campbell.
Then I remembered that she was sneaking around the set of Dockside Blues and at the island nation of Tui Tui. She was up to something, and I wanted to know what. Would it be rude to ask? Or worse, would I be asking something I really didn’t want to know the answer to? I wasn’t so sure I wanted to know if this nice woman was involved in something shady.
“Hannah, please remember that if you want to know something, you need only to ask. I’ll tell you what I can,” she said.
Did she really mean it? I wasn’t so sure. “Did you say party?” I asked, standing.
Alice smiled at me. “We’re just firing up the barbecue. Follow me.”
The Portage Bay dock party would have been a total bore if it wasn’t on the water. Maybe rich people in general are total bores, but we don’t always notice right away because the packaging and surroundings are interesting. Nah. I had to swallow that ugly, jealous thought. I have a tendency to resent people with money for the simple fact that they have money. And we don’t.
There might even be interesting people right there, but all the adults were talking about the Floating Home Association and committees and something-or-other about action with so-and-so on the city council. I tuned it all out and sat in a comfy high-back wood deck chair with a lemonade slushy and my camera. I had a fresh roll of 36-exposure black-and-white film, and I’d promised Lily I’d get photos of any celebrities who might stop by. Just in case.
“Estie! I’m delighted you could join us!” Alice said. She handed a glass of iced tea to the other house sitter. With my well-developed and always subtle eavesdropping skills, I learned that Estie had been living there for about a week. She was taking care of two cats and she was a yoga teacher at one of those sweaty yoga places, where they keep the room superwarm.
“Who invited him?” Frank, the owner of the red cottage, asked, scowling at the sunglasses-clad man striding toward the dock.
“Oh, I did, Frank! We need more excitement around here,” said Louisa, the woman from the blue cottage.
“Of course we do,” Alice murmured.
Estie smoothed her tight pink T-shirt and tucked it in. She used her free hand to fluff her hair.
“Welcome, Marcus!” Louisa did that Hollywood kiss-kiss thing with Marcus Dartmouth, director, Dockside Blues.
“Aunt Alice! Always a pleasure to see you,” Marcus said, giving Alice a stiff hug and pat on the back.
Did he say aunt? I stared at Alice.
“Marcus, I think you know most of my neighbors here,” Alice said, “But let me introduce you to Estie Bartlett. She’s house-sitting for Luci Mack.”
“Yes, we met earlier today,” Marcus said, extending his hand toward Mom. Estie looked crestfallen.
“I’m actually Maggie West. My daughter and I are house-sitting for Jake Heard at the end of the dock,” Mom said. I could tell she was amused.
“Maggie, this is my nephew, Marc. Excuse me, Marcus. And Marcus, this is Maggie, and this is Estie,” Alice said.
Marcus recovered his goof quickly, but he looked rather confused. Estie was practically glowing as she enthusiastically pumped Marcus’s hand.
“I’m such a fan of your work, Mr. Dartmouth,” she said. She said it like Dartmouth, not Dart-muth, which is the way Marcus Dartmouth, director, Dockside Blues, says it.
“Please, call me”—I waited for him to say something like “Call me Marcus,” but instead he finished—“Mr. Dart-muth.” He pronounced it for her. He handed her his card and—I swear I saw this—winked at her. Estie, who was already showing a deep blush of embarrassment under her golden tan, turned even redder.
“Aunt Alice, have you seen Mum and Timothy lately?” Marcus asked. I swear I heard it just like that—he actually said “mum.”
“No, dear, but I imagine you could probably catch them at the Emerald City Yacht Club on an evening like this,” she said. “If they’re not on the water, they’re probably working on the Clean Sweep.”
“Yes, I suppose I could drive down there and see,” he said. “Although they might put me to work cleaning the bottom of that boat.”
“Drive? It’s just four blocks away! You’ve spent too much time in L.A. if you think you can’t walk down the street,” Frank’s voice boomed. “Heck, you could jump in right here and swim down there. Might do you some good. Help you cool off and all that.”
“I don’t think I’d want to swim in that water right now,�
� Louisa said.
“Frank! Please don’t encourage anyone to go swimming in this water!” Alice said sternly.
“Were there really dead fish in the water today?” I asked.
Marcus took off his sunglasses and looked at me. His expression seemed to say, Who are you and why are you talking to me?
“I heard that actress, Monica, say she touched dead fish,” I added.
“Monica has a tendency to overact sometimes. She is, after all, an actress,” Marcus said.
“Yes, she is quite the actress,” Estie said. “Always has been.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the water. The water is perfectly safe.” Marcus stated it as if he was at a press conference on the TV news.
“She sounded pretty convincing,” I said. “I mean, she really screams well.”
Marcus tried to laugh. Only thing was, I wasn’t trying to be funny.
CHAPTER 8
“LILY! ANSWER IF you’re there.” I waited for a few seconds. “Okay. Listen. The TV crew is going to be here again tomorrow at nine. See if you can get a ride down here before they start setting up. I have a plan.”
I closed my cell phone and plugged it into the charger. Mom was on the deck, reading and watching the boats go by. I picked up my camera and headed out to join her. I had taken only a couple of photos at the dockside barbecue, and they were pretty uninspired. I was itching to experiment with the fading evening light and the long shadows that reached out into the lake water.
“Isn’t this incredible?” Mom asked, putting her book down on the table. “If I block out the traffic noise from the bridge, I feel as if we’re on a raft in the middle of the water. And all the boaters are so friendly.” Mom waved to a motorboat and five shirtless teenage boys waved back.
“Did you have to wave to them?” I asked, mortified.
“I believe the friendly wave is part of the boating culture,” she said. “I think they wave so they have an excuse for staring at the people on their decks and houseboats.”
I fiddled with the camera’s telephoto lens and looked through the viewfinder. I took a quick glance at the boys in the boat, but then kept the lens moving so Mom wouldn’t think I was checking out boys.