Diane Dakers - Bad Business

Copyright 2015 Diane Dakers

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Dakers, Diane, author

Bad business / Diane Dakers.

(Orca currents)

Issued in print and electronic formats.

ISBN 978-1-4598-0969-7 (pbk.).ISBN 978-1-4598-0971-0 (pdf).
ISBN 978-1-4598-0972-7 (epub)

I. Title. II. Series: Orca currents

PS8607.A43B33 2015 jC813'.6 C2015-901706-8

C2015-901707-6

First published in the United States, 2015

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015935518

Summary: Lindy takes advantage of an elderly woman she works for.

Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

Cover photography by Shutterstock.com

Author photo by Christine Tripp

ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS

www.orcabook.com

18 17 16 15 4 3 2 1

To Mom and Auntie J,
who inspired this story

Contents

The kitchen is choked with smoke. The fire alarm is blaring. And the old lady is just standing there, clutching her oven mitts to her chest. Mrs. Naulty, I scream at her. What are you doing?

She stares at the toaster oven, the source of the billowing smoke. I snatch the oven mitts from her and fling open the glass door. My eyes water from the stench of burning plastic. I can almost feel brain cells dying with every toxic breath I take.

I yank a smoldering frozen dinner out of the toaster oven and throw it in the sink. Its still in its plastic wrapper and cardboard box, frozen and charred at the same time.

I turn on the tap to douse the burning box. Mrs. Naulty starts whimpering. I dont understand. I dont understand. Whats not to understand? You have to take the food out of the package before you cook it. Its pretty simple.

I unplug the toaster oven and fan the smoke to clear the air. Mrs. Naulty covers her ears to block the screaming fire alarm. She closes her eyes tight and scrunches up her nose. But she cant escape the sight, sound and smell of her mistake.

Suddenly, I feel sad for her. Ive known Mrs. Naulty for fifteen years my whole life. Shes the neighborhood grandma. She invites us in for cookies after school and gives out supersized chocolate bars at Halloween. Shes the little old lady who sits on the porch and waves to everyone who passes by.

At this moment, though, shes just a confused senior citizen. Id never really noticed how old and wrinkly shes gotten. She must be about eighty-five. Her grandson Roger is practically old enough to be my father.

Right now, she reminds me of a scared puppy, like she knows shes in trouble for something, but she doesnt quite know what shes done wrong. She is so upset and confused that I cant be mad at her. Even though she almost burned down her house.

I take a breath and lead her into the living room. Would you like a cup of tea, Mrs. Naulty? I ask loudly. Maybe a sandwich too?

She nods. That would be lovely, Lindy. I sit her down and return to the kitchen. I open a window to clear the air, willing the fire alarm to shut up.

Every Saturday, I help Mrs. Naulty around her house. Shes one of my clients, as I call the old people who pay me to do odd jobs. Mrs. Naulty is the only one I see every week. The others call when they have specific projects for me.

Its a sweet business. On a good day, I can make seventy dollars. And mostly its fun. Some days I get to paint fences or put up Christmas decorations or trim hedges. Other days theyre more boring jobs, like dusting, washing dishes or sweeping out a garage. I charge ten dollars an hour. Except for Mrs. Naulty. Every Saturday, no matter how much work I do for her, she gives me two five-dollar bills in a flowery pink envelope. Ive been helping her out since I was littleback when two five-dollar bills were a big deal. Now it bugs me that she doesnt pay me enough for all the grief I put up with at her house. Like todays fire drill. Sometimes I think I should ditch her and find another regular client who will pay my full rate.

Finally, the fire alarm stops screeching. I throw the soggy frozen-dinner box into the garbage before I deliver a cheese-and-tomato sandwich and a cup of tea to the living room.

Thank you, dear, says Mrs. Naulty. Have you finished your chores for today? I baked cookies yesterday. Theyre in the tin on the counter. Why dont you help yourself and then come sit with me for a few minutes before you go home.

Sure. Because having a tea party with a little old lady is how I like to spend my Saturday afternoons. Maybe instead of cookies, you should give me atip for everything I do for you, I want to scream at her.

But I guess cookies are better than nothing. And Mrs. Naultys chocolate-chip-cranberry-orange ones are awesome. So okay, Ill sit down and have a cookie. Or two.

The first thing I do when I get home every Saturday is count my money. I usually go straight to my room and double-check my take for the day. Then I update my Excel spreadsheet. Thats where I keep track of how much money I have and how much I still need to earn for my Arctic trip.

Today, Mom has other plans for me. Im barely through the door when she calls to me. Lindy, is that you? Perfect timing! Could you come help me, please?

Seriously? I havent even taken my boots off yet. Ive been working for crazy old people all day. I wouldnt mind a minute to breathe.

I stare at the ceiling for a couple of seconds. All I want to do is go to my room and update my spreadsheet.

Lindy, are you there?

Of course Im here. I didnt vanish. Coming, I yell as I untie my boots. I suppose it wouldnt kill me to see what shes doing.

I find her in her office on a ladder, a pencil in one hand, a framed picture in the other. Hi, Lin. I bought this painting today. I love it, but I cant decide where to hang it. What do you think? Does it look good here?

This is the big emergency? Looks fine, I mumble.

Or should it go farther to the right? I dont know. Help me move the ladder over, so I can show you what it looks like over there. We move the ladder. She shows me.

I know you do this kind of thing for your clients all the time, she says. Its good to have an expert in the family.

An expert. That makes me laugh. Mom is so dorky sometimes. But she actually seems to care what I think, so I decide that my spreadsheet can wait five minutes. You know, Mom, I think the picture would look better on the wall beside the window. That way, youll be able to see it as soon as you come into the room.

I show her what I mean.

Huh, she says. Youre right. Good eye, girl! She looks like shes about to high-five me, so I grab the pencil from her instead. She holds the painting while I mark an X on the wall where the nail will go.

How was Mrs. Naulty today? Mom asks as I hammer the nail in place.

Shes getting weirder every time I see her. I hand Mom the hammer. Pass me the picture.

What do you mean?

I tell Mom about the fire alarm while I hang the picture and level it. Lindy, that looks fantastic! she interrupts. I had no idea you were such a handywoman! Im so impressed!