Artful Dodger (Maggie Kean Mis-Adventures) Read Online Free Page B

with spiked heels. Cassie, a nickname I used just to provoke her, would never venture far enough to actually touch a tree or follow a trail. Imagine the damage to freshly painted nails and silk stockings.
    “Maggie! Stop! I’ve got to talk to you!”
    On any other day, I would have kept walking, but today there were extenuating circumstances. I reluctantly turned around and waited for Cassie to pick her way across the uneven ground. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing as she hopped over, looking very much like a kid skipping on hot asphalt.  But I managed to control myself, knowing Cassie would take it the wrong way, calling me "common" or "uncouth" for laughing on the day of her grandmother's death.
    “How can you even think about leaving when Grandmother just passed away?”
    Typical Cassie.  This was the Cassandra I knew—instantly on the attack; always ready to dig her polished talons into my neck.
    “I’ve talked to the police until I’m blue in the face. I didn’t see any reason to stick around.”
    “Of course there’s a reason. This is a horrible situation that needs to be taken care of as quickly and quietly as possible.”
    I shoved my hands into my pockets and nudged a small rock with the toe of my tennis shoe. “And what exactly does that have to do with me?”
    She gasped and brought her hand up to her chest as though I’d triggered a minor heart attack with my stupidity. “This has everything to do with you. This unfortunate situation occurred at your house, on your land, and we need to discuss how to keep it from turning into a media circus. Those reporters would just love to latch onto a story like this and blow it completely out of proportion.” She took one look at my face and realized she’d gone too far. “Please, don’t misunderstand me. This is completely dreadful and I’ve been an absolute mess ever since that awful policeman showed up at my door with the news. Of course, I will miss Grandmother so. She was such a dear lady,” she whimpered, actually managing to squeeze out a tear, “but I know she would be just horrified to have her picture plastered all over the newspapers during this horrible incident.”
    Where do these people come from? “Do whatever you need to do. I’m going for a walk.”
    “Aren’t you listening? You can’t just ignore this and let things ‘fall as they may.’ It’s imperative that we speak with Preston, have a meeting with just the three of us, and discuss how we should present this to the media before the Boyer name gets dragged through the rumor mill and ugly accusations are made.”
    “I know I’m going to regret asking this, but what are you talking about?”
    She lifted one thin, pale shoulder. “People are always eager to tear down the wealthy, even if they have to make up lies to do so.”
    “Call me dense, but I still don’t understand what you, Preston, and I need to talk about. The facts are there for any journalist to report, or at least the facts we know so far, and I really don’t see what you can do about it.”
    “Ah, Maggie dear, you are so naive.”
    I sighed. I could hear a lecture coming on, detailing the tremendous problems trust fund babies must endure, problems regular people couldn't possibly understand, blah-blah-blah.  It was becoming clearer than ever why Elizabeth visited me so often. It wasn’t to see me. It was to get away from them.
    “Maggie, I know you think I’m exaggerating, but the truth is, people will make up reasons to explain why and how Grandmother died. They’ll say she squandered all the Boyer money and committed suicide, or that she had an affair with a married man and the jilted wife killed her, or even that Preston and I hired someone to get rid of her in order to get our hands on the trust money.”
    Personally, I didn’t think her last statement seemed so farfetched. “Look, Cassie, I’m not going to talk to any reporters for the simple reason that I don’t have anything