“That strange woman who looks like a refugee from Haight-Ashbury running around ordering people to move their tents and waving herbs at people.”
“That would be my cousin, Rose Noire,” I said. “And if you’re not fond of the herbs, you might want to avoid drinking any tea she tries to serve you.”
“And that creepy little Goth girl trailing after those destructive little brats like the wicked witch chasing Hansel and Gretel!”
“That’s our babysitter,” I said. “And if the brats are trying to destroy anything and she doesn’t intervene, let Michael or me know and we’ll deal with it.” Sherry seemed unembarrassed at having called my children brats.
“We’re here on an important mission!” she exclaimed. “But how can you expect people to take us seriously when so many of us are complete flakes!” She threw up her hands in dismay.
“Now, now,” Caroline began. But Sherry clearly wasn’t in the mood to be now-nowed. She took a deep breath, smoothed down the sheets of paper on her clipboard, which might have been knocked ever so slightly askew when she threw up her hands, and strode off.
“They also serve who only stand and keep accurate records,” I murmured.
- from The Good, The Bad, And The Emus by Donna Andrews
