“Très gentille,” Josée muttered, sarcastically.
“They’re not visitors, Ellen,” Ivor Smith said. “They’re staff. These are the new go-fers Mabel told us about. Meet Len, Iggy and Joey.”
“Oh, you’re the new kids, are you?” she said, turning to look at them. She had a very white face and very black hair, as well as several piercings (nose and eyebrow), which glinted in the light from the coal fire. Spooky, Alan thought. She smiled, not very nicely. “Well, you’d better scoot outside double-quick then, because Sheldon’s looking for you.”
“Uh-oh,” Alan said.
“No kidding, uh-oh,” Ellen said. “He’s covered in white paint, and he didn’t look too happy.”
Alan, Ziggy and Josée exchanged frantic looks.
“We are so dead,” Ziggy said. And they ran.
THREE
That was awesome,” the little girl said, coming to meet them when she saw them hurrying towards the fence. “Too bad you missed it.” It was the girl from before, who had been with her brother, talking to Alan and Ziggy just before they’d found the gun in the manure pile.
“What happened—Lisa, isn’t it?” Alan said. The girl smiled shyly, obviously pleased that he remembered her name. “Yes, well, my brother Ben, he was doing that paint race on the fence, and he tripped over the bucket and then had one of his thingies, and started throwing paint at the other kids, and it turned into a paint fight.” Her eyes were shining. She had a splotch of white on one cheek and a smear on her T-shirt.
“He had one of his thingies?” Josée repeated.
“Uh-huh. Tantra-somethings.”
“Tantrums?”
“That’s it. Ben’s got issues, my mom says.”
There was a mess at the fence. People were arguing. They could see Sheldon in the middle of it, and another staff person had appeared with a bucket of water and was handing out pieces of rag for people to clean themselves up with.
“Anyway,” Lisa said, “when the paint started flying, a man with a camera stepped in and got a sploodge right in his face, and then it was like something in a movie.”
“Okay, you guys,” Alan said. “I guess we better go and face the firing squad.”
“They’re not going to fire us, are they?” Ziggy said. “It’s our first day.”
“We’ll see,” Alan said. “Come on.” And he, Ziggy and Josée marched resolutely up to Sheldon.
“It was these here kids who started it,” the camera man with the loud shirt said, pointing, as soon as he saw them. “They shoulda never let my boy try painting—he’s only six.” His son, the one who had been the first one to try the paint race, was fidgeting as his mother (whose loud print shirt was now smeared with white) was wiping off his face with a wet cloth.
“Well, he did want to, m’sieu,” Josée said sweetly. “Did you get lots of good pictures? You were filming the whole thing, weren’t you?”
“I knew you kids were trouble from the moment you showed up,” Sheldon said. “We could’a got sued over this, you know, if some brat got paint in his eye or something.”
“It was only for fun,” Alan said. “People liked it. It’s not our fault if one kid had a tantrum and started throwing paint.”
It was at this point that Mrs. Tench arrived on the scene.
“What’s going on here?” she said. “It looks like a PETA demonstration. Any minks damaged?”
“Huh?” Ziggy said.
“She means those animal rights people who throw paint at people wearing fur coats,” Josée said. “I saw it on the news once. She was just making a joke, I think.” It certainly didn’t look like Mrs. Tench was very upset. In fact, she looked like she thought it was funny. Sheldon filled her in, taking her aside and talking rapidly and crossly, occasionally stabbing a finger in the direction of Alan and his friends.
After a minute, she stepped over to where a few parents and kids were gathered around the water bucket, cleaning up. “Don’t worry, everybody,” she said. “It’s only whitewash. Water soluble, as no doubt you’re discovering. It’ll come out in the laundry, trust me. And if anybody wants us to pay for dry cleaning, just drop in to the main office on your way out and let me have your contact information. Now, where are my three young employees?”
Alan, Ziggy and Josée stepped forward. “Let me do the talking,” Alan muttered.
“We’re here, Mrs. Tench. We’re really sorry about this. We were painting, and some kids wanted to try it out, and I guess it got sort of out of hand. You can take the dry cleaning out of our paychecks.”
“Hey!” Ziggy started to say, but Josée poked him quiet.
Lisa and Ben’s mother stepped forward, towing Ben along behind her. The boy was pretty painty, still, and looked totally pleased with himself.
“This is my son, Ben,” she said. “He was the one who started the paint fight. If anyone is going to be paying for dry cleaning, it’s him. Okay, Ben. Apologize.” Ben stifled his grin and mumbled an apology, and Mrs. Tench told his mother that there was no problem—it was all worked out. She then produced a sheaf of certificates from the pocket of her old-fashioned apron and started handing them out.
“It’s for a free ice cream cone at the general store,” she said. She gave one to everybody, even Sheldon.
“Bonus,” Alan said, when he got his.
“Well, yes, Alan. But don’t let it go to your head. It was irresponsible of you three to walk away from the job at hand. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
“Still and all, the fence does look nice. And I’ll bet that there are more than two coats of paint on it, hmm?”
“Four, more like,” Alan said, grinning.
“Tell me, have any of you ever read The Adventures of Tom Sawyer?” They shook their heads. “Well, that’s most interesting. I trust you will all do so, and report back to me about what you discover. Let’s say—next week? Now, take those paint buckets and brushes to the pump over there and wash them up, then go over to the Inn, will you? Mrs. Creasor has a job for you.” She turned back to Sheldon, said something more to him that they couldn’t hear, then headed back up the path to the main building.
The paint-covered people had all gone away, and there were only the three of them and Sheldon left. He stood looking at them, shaking his head.
“If I had my way,” he said, “you’d be outta here on your keisters quicker’n spit, but Mrs. Tench rules the roost here, as you can see. You better watch your step from now on, that’s all I can say. You may not get let off quite so easy next time.” He stumped off to his maintenance shed, calling over his shoulder that they could leave the clean bucket and brushes by his door.
“Wow,” Ziggy said, “that was intense.”
“Did Mrs. Tench just give us . . . homework?” Josée said.
“I think so,” said Alan. “The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. I think I’ve heard of it. I hope it’s short. Maybe there’s a movie version.”
“You think she was serious about us giving her—what? A book report?” said Ziggy.
“I have a feeling that when Mrs. Tench says something,