Lost Among the Angels (A Mercy Allcutt Book) Read Online Free Page A

eight o’clock, and she looked as if she’d rather sleep a few more hours than sit behind a desk.
          “Good morning,” I said, making sure I sounded peppy.
          “Hi,” she said, giving me the impression that she didn’t appreciate pep at that hour of the day.
          Well, I wasn’t responsible for her poor sleeping habits. I stuck out my hand, smiled brightly, and said, “I’m Mercy Allcutt. We spoke yesterday. I’m going to be working with Mr. Templeton.”
          Her sleepy eyes opened wide. Perhaps my announcement had awakened her. “You’re working for Ernie? ”
          “Yes. As of today.” I felt kind of silly with my hand hovering there in the air, but she took it at last and shook it limply. Because she didn’t seem inclined to tell me on her own, I asked, “What’s your name?”
          “Lulu,” she said. “Lulu LaBelle.”
          “My goodness. Is that French?”
          “What? Lulu? Naw, it’s because my first name is really Louise.”
          “Really? My middle name is Louise.”
          “Yeah?” She narrowed her eyes. “Say, wasn’t there some lady who wrote books named Louise Allcutt?”
          “Louisa May Alcott was her name. She was one of the Transcendentalists of the mid-nineteenth century. We’re supposed to be distantly related, but I’m not sure about that.”
          Her eyes seemed to be glazing over. “Oh.”
          I thought about reviving the French issue, and decided against it. Lulu didn’t seem awfully perky or communicative this morning. She leaned over the desk, though, as if she were interested in something. “Say, you really going to be working for Ernie?”
          “Mr. Templeton? Yes.” I doubted that he’d be Ernie to me any time soon, even though he’d told me to call him that. Calling one’s employer by his first name seemed so disrespectful.
          “He’s a looker,” said Lulu, giving me a sly glance. “But brash. Real brash.”
          Brash, was he? Yes, I suppose he was. “Good word for it,” I murmured. Then, because I didn’t really want to know Lulu’s opinion of Mr. Templeton, believing it to be my obligation to suppress gossip about my employer among staff and others, I said, “Lulu, is there a building caretaker? Or a building supervisor? A janitor? Somebody who’s supposed to keep the place clean and repair things?”
          “Ha!” She tossed her white head. I was wildly curious to know how her hair had gone so white while she was still so young. Perhaps she was suffering from some dread disease that had turned her hair white and rendered her exhausted of a morning. My heart instantly melted toward her, and I resolved always to be kind, even if she persisted in being too casual for my comfort. “There’s supposed to be. Guy named Ned. He’s generally in the basement reading Fu Manchu .”
          “The basement?”
          “Yeah. He’s got a room down there. If you want him to do something, you’d better go find him and ask him, ’cause he hides out once he gets to work, and he don’t do nothing unless he’s told.”
          “Good. I’ll do that. Thank you, Lulu. Do you mind if I leave this stuff here while I go downstairs to talk to Ned? Er … does he have a last name?” I’m sure it was my ever-so-proper upbringing, but I didn’t feel comfortable calling a perfect stranger—or even an imperfect one, which I assumed this Ned person to be—by his first name.
          Lulu shrugged. “Don’t know his last name. Sure, you can leave that stuff here.” She reached under her desk, withdrew a handbag, and began to root around in it, coming up with an emery board. As I headed for the stairs, she began filing away at her nails. I wondered if they’d ever be good enough for her.
          It took a while, but I found Ned. I would have found him sooner, but the door to his closet was