Winston took a deep breath and held Daisy out in front of himself so that he could take one last look at her. He kissed Daisy gently on the forehead, then handed her to the girl with the curly brown hair and walked to the door.

  Winston hadn't planned to look back, but he couldn't help himself. He turned and gave Daisy one last, watery smile. She grinned back, delighted.

  "Goo-boo," Winston said to her. Then he walked out the door, leaving Daisy in the hands of the baby-sitter.

  As he left, it occurred to Winston that the girl had never told him her name.

  Chapter 12

  Winston saw a strange car in the driveway as he stopped the Volkswagen in front of his house. His eyes widened. A plump, dark-haired woman was standing on his front doorstep, ringing the bell. It was Betsy Zvonchenko, Daisy's mother.

  Winston jumped out of the Volkswagen and sprinted to the front door.

  "Oh, Winston!" Mrs. Zvonchenko began. "I'm so glad you're home. I apologize for having been away for a whole week. Your poor mother must have been frantic, with the baby to take care of all that time, and not knowing where I was. I suppose she must be out now. Is Daisy with her?"

  Winston opened his mouth to reply, but the woman went right on talking.

  "I'm so sorry, Winston. You know how those little Central American countries are. I brought Ian's birth certificate all the way down there, but then we still couldn't get through customs because of some mix-up with the paperwork. Communication with the outside world was down, because of the coup, so I couldn't even call to let you know we'd been delayed."

  "Mrs. Zvon—" Winston interrupted desperately.

  "I don't know what you must think of me," the woman continued. "Well, they finally let Ian go—that's him in the car, you know. And here we are—"

  "And Daisy's not!" Winston broke in. "We've got to go get her before the baby-sitter turns her over to Social Services."

  Mrs. Zvonchenko's eyes widened, and for once she was speechless. Winston grabbed her arm, dragged her to her dark-blue Oldsmobile, and jumped into the backseat himself. "I'll explain on the way and give you directions," he said, ignoring Ian Zvonchenko's startled stare. "Drive fast!" he ordered.

  The Oldsmobile careened out of the driveway, throwing Winston against the seat back, and he realized that they might actually make it to the day-care center before the curly-haired employee took Daisy to Social Services. Fortunately, Mrs. Zvonchenko could drive as fast as she could talk.

  "This is is the place!" he yelped as the car pulled in front of Little Darlings. Winston was out of the car and running toward the front door before the Oldsmobile had stopped.

  He threw open the door, ran past a roomful of surprised four-year-olds, and skidded to a stop at the door of the room where he'd left Daisy with the curly-haired girl.

  From inside the room, Winston could hear a baby's desperate screams, but he couldn't be sure that it was Daisy. After all, this was a daycare center. The place was crawling with kids. The baby's cries were quickly muffled at the same instant as he grabbed the doorknob and tried to turn it. The door was locked.

  "It's Winston Egbert!" he called frantically, pounding his fists against the wooden door. "Is Daisy still here? Her parents came back!"

  The Zvonchenkos hurried in and stood behind Winston, both of them wringing their hands.

  A minute later, the door opened and the curly-haired girl emerged from the room, looking more flustered than Winston had ever seen her.

  "Is Daisy still here?" he asked again.

  Something that looked like anger flashed icily in her blue eyes, but it was gone in an instant. "She's here," the girl said in a monotone. She opened the door wider and Winston rushed in to find Daisy lying on her back on a table, next to a large pillow. Daisy's face was pink and she was whimpering, but she smiled broadly when Winston picked her up.

  "Ba-wooo!" she said, her pearl-like tooth showing.

  "Baba-looo!" Winston replied, hugging her. When he handed Daisy to her mother, the little girl seemed reluctant to let go of him.

  "Goo-boo, rug rat," he said to Daisy as she reached for him over her mother's shoulder. Winston hoped that nobody could see the tears in his eyes.

  "Goo-boo," Daisy repeated obediently. "Ba-woooo!"

  Winston followed the Zvonchenkos out of the room, happily swinging the hippopotamus bag by his side. All's well that ends well, he thought. Daisy would go home with her parents, Winston would be a carefree kid again, and the authorities would never have to know a thing about the past week—if the day-care girl agreed not to say anything.

  Winston turned to speak to her, but the room was empty. The baby-sitter was gone.

  Margo sat cross-legged on her bed, thumbing through the pages of a phone book she had stolen from her landlady.

  "Rats!" she said loudly, for the fifth time since she'd been home that day. Twice today, she'd almost been caught—first by Elizabeth and then by Winston. Not to mention that close brush with Josh Smith at the party last night.

  "If I'm not more careful, I could still blow this whole thing!" she said. Then her voice lapsed into a low, raspy sound. "Beware overconfidence." The voice in Margo's head used to come only silently, echoing in her mind. Lately, it had begun speaking through her mouth as well. She was becoming one with the voice. She was the voice.

  She stared at a page of the phone book, but her cold, blue eyes were turned inward. In her mind's eye, Margo saw flames of orange fire leaping into the night sky. She heard the frightened calls of her little foster sister, trapped in the burning house. Margo smiled, pushing her fear behind her. She had carried out that plan. She would succeed with this one, even if she had lost her chance with Daisy.

  "Time's running out," she said resolutely. "It's sooner than I'd planned, but it's too risky to wait. It's time to move this plan into its final phase."

  Her finger scanned the listings for lawyers. "Ned Wakefield, attorney at law," she read aloud. "All I need is Dear Old Dad's business address, and then I'll be ready for the grand finale."

  Margo knew she would learn to love Ned Wakefield. He was the perfect father. Okay, maybe he was a little square, but he was good-looking and well-respected, he wasn't a drunk, and he would never hurt anyone. She occasionally felt a twinge of jealousy toward him, but she was sure she would overcome it in time. It was easy to be jealous of someone that Alice Wakefield was in love with. But Margo knew she couldn't have her mother all to herself. At least not yet.

  For now, it was enough to be part of a perfect family. If others started getting too possessive of her mother, well, she might have to come up with a plan to deal with the problem.

  Margo scurried to her typewriter. She cheerfully typed Mr. Wakefield's business address, hunting and pecking her way through the keys. Elizabeth could type, so Margo knew she had better learn, too. It was taking longer than she expected, but that was all right. There would be plenty of time to perfect her technique later, while working on articles for the school newspaper.

  As she typed, Margo read occasional snatches of her work aloud. "Have followed your career with enthusiasm . . . impressed by your integrity during the recent mayoral race . . . consulting contract that could prove quite interesting . . . Fairmont Hotel..."

  When she was finished with the letter, Margo slowly licked the envelope, savoring it as if it were a stick of candy. She would personally drop it by Ned Wakefield's law office the next morning; the mail would take too long.

  Margo gazed intently at the name on the outside of the envelope. "Have a lovely trip," she said darkly. "When you get home, you'll have a new daughter."

  Jessica looked across the dining-room table at her sister on Monday night, her expression forlorn. Elizabeth wouldn't even glance at her.

  At the party Saturday, when her twin came running to her aid after Sherlock Holmes had tried to attack her, Jessica had felt a spark of hope for their relationship. Elizabeth had been genuinely concerned. Jessica heard it in her voice; she had seen the fear and love in her sister's eyes. But Elizabeth had backed away as soon as she'd seen that Jessica was unhurt.

  Jessica sighed. Maybe her mother was right. Maybe Elizabeth's coldness would eventually thaw. Maybe in time, she'd be able to admit that she still cared about Jessica.

  "Hey, clones!" Steven said, breezing into the room.

  "Are you still here?" Elizabeth asked.

  "Don't fall all over each other, telling me how glad you are to have me home," he teased.

  Elizabeth smiled warmly, and Jessica felt a twinge of envy. "Sorry, Steve," Elizabeth said. "I didn't mean it like that. I thought you had gone back to school."

  "I decided I could use one more home-cooked meal before I went back to dorm food," Steve explained. He raised his voice to call into the kitchen. "Need any help, Mom?"

  "No," Alice Wakefield responded, walking into the dining room with a basket of bread in her hands. "Jessica did most of the cooking tonight. I'm just serving it."

  Steven looked at Jessica and raised his eyebrows in a gesture that conveyed both mock surprise and real concern. She supposed she looked as miserable as she felt. But she ignored Steven. If she felt like helping with dinner now and then, why should everyone make a federal case out of it? They were the ones who were always complaining that she didn't do enough work around the house.

  Alice laid the basket of bread on the table. Then she untied the apron that covered her stylish red suit and stood with her hands on her hips. "I don't know where your father is," she said. "He called half an hour ago and said he was on his way home, with exciting news."

  "And here he is," came Ned Wakefield's voice. He strode into the room, depositing his briefcase on a chair near the door. "Dinner looks great," he said, sitting down.

  "Don't get your hopes up," Steven warned. "Jessica made it." He looked toward her, obviously expecting a retort. Jessica silently passed him the bread.

  "I received an interesting letter today," their father began, not noticing the awkward moment, "from a woman named Michelle de Voice. She's in the legal department of an environmental engineering firm in San Francisco. Her company followed the events here in Sweet Valley a few months back, during the election for mayor. She says she was impressed by my part in restoring Peter Santelli's candidacy and stopping the developer from destroying the coastline to turn Sweet Valley into a commercial venture."

  He reached for the salad and served himself, eyeing his family to see if they were in suspense.

  "The crux of it is that she wants to talk with me about a consulting contract with her firm. The letter doesn't have a lot of details, but it could be interesting." He paused dramatically. "It also could mean a lot of money."

  "It sounds wonderful, honey," Alice said, passing the quiche to Elizabeth. "What's the next step?"

  "She wants to meet with me next Monday. She's reserved a room—at the Fairmont Hotel—and has invited the two of us to drive up for an interview and dinner. She's even been kind enough to get us the room for two nights, so that we don't have to rush through it all. Can you arrange to play hooky from work?"

  "I'm sure I can manage it," Alice said. "Will you two girls be all right alone here for two nights?"

  "Of course, Mom," Elizabeth replied, smiling, trying to hide the sudden uneasiness she felt. "We'll be perfectly safe."

  "Perfectly safe," Jessica echoed, but as she did, she looked across the table into her sister's blue eyes and saw the apprehension mirrored there. A shiver ran down her spine.

 

 

  Francine Pascal, Beware The Babysitter (Sweet Valley High Book 99)

 

 

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