Wyoming True - Diana Palmer Page 0,90
were voices muffled behind the door. One was deep and loud, one was high-pitched and loud. Abruptly they ceased, and the door opened.
Mr. Chandler looked at his watch. “Well, Ms. Dupont, at least you’re punctual.”
“So she can read a watch,” the Goth Girl said sarcastically. “But can she catalog books and answer the phone?”
“I have many talents, one of which is alligator wrestling,” she said with a straight face and looked directly at Mr. Chandler’s niece. He muffled a sound that could have been laughter. The girl glared at both of them and stomped off into her room.
CHAPTER TWO
CHANDLER LED THE way down the hall and showed Gaby to a room.
“It’s next to Jackie’s, but she doesn’t usually make too much noise,” he muttered as the occupant next door suddenly turned her stereo with a rap song up high enough that the walls shook.
“Turn that damned thing down!” he shouted.
There was an immediate response. Gaby hid a grin.
“She’ll try you,” he said.
She shrugged. “I got through four years of college. I’ll cope. Besides,” she murmured, “I brought a whole library of my favorite tunes.”
“Which are...?”
“Drum and bagpipe solos,” she said with a straight face.
He started to speak, thought better of it and laughed instead. “Put your stuff down and I’ll show you what I want done today. I don’t have long, if I’m going to make it to the office on time.”
“You’re the boss, though,” she pointed out as she followed his long strides down the carpeted hallway to his study.
“I have to set an example. If I show up whenever I please, the staff might follow suit.” He glanced at her with twinkling eyes. “Chaos would ensue.”
“I guess it would. Okay. What would you like done?”
He outlined several tasks that he wanted completed by the end of the day.
“And we employ a daily woman who also cooks for us,” he added. “She comes in at nine. You’ll like her. Tell her what you want for lunch and she’ll fix it.”
“Oh, I’ll eat anything. I’m not picky.”
“Don’t tell Jackie that, or she’ll have the cook make you fish stew. Trust me, you never want to eat it.” He made a face. “I told Jackie she couldn’t go out late dancing with her boyfriend one Saturday. Dinner that evening was forgettable. Really.”
She laughed. It was nice to know that the Goth Girl had ways of getting even, so that Gaby could forestall her. She knew her way around the kitchen, too. She’d just get to the daily woman first. She had an idea that there would be no truce even from her first day on the job.
* * *
SHE WAS RIGHT, in fact. She went into the kitchen at eleven, just after the Goth Girl had gone out with an airy description of her destination and a secret smile.
“Can I ask what Jackie ordered for lunch?” she asked the older woman.
The matronly cook and housekeeper, Tilly by name, just grinned. “Fish stew...?”
“Do you like quiche?” Gaby asked.
“Oh, I love it, but I can’t make it.”
“I can. I need a few things,” she added with a conspiratorial smile. The cook laughed and went to get them.
Gaby made an impressive quiche lorraine, complete with delicate crust. The cook, invited to share a slice, was enthralled with the result.
“You cook beautifully,” Tilly said.
“Thanks. My grandmother had me sent to a senior chef and taught to cook. She never learned, so I had to.” She didn’t add that the reason her grandmother never learned to cook was that she was filthy rich and employed a chef—in fact, the same chef who taught Gaby how to cook.
“Well, this is delicious. Should we save some for Jackie?”
“Oh, yes, we must,” Gaby said with impressive faked concern. “If she didn’t get anything to eat while she was out, she’ll be hungry.”
“I agree. I’ll make sure it’s put up properly.”
“Thanks.”
* * *
IT WAS AFTER dark when Jackie came home. She went right to Gaby’s room and opened the door without knocking. Gaby was sprawled across her bed in sweatpants and a T-shirt, with her long hair loose around her face, reading a book on her iPhone. She looked up, surprised.
“Well, I guess you’ve settled in,” the girl said haughtily. “Did you have a nice lunch?” she added wickedly.
“Very nice.” She got up and took Jackie by the arm. She pulled her to the door. “This—” she pointed to it “—is called a door. When you go to someone’s personal room, you knock.” She took Jackie outside and demonstrated. “Then