“When was the last time you dusted that top shelf?” I listened as my employee apologized for being too short to reach the upper level with the feather duster. “That’s no excuse,” the woman said. “Get a ladder. Chop chop. You’ve got young legs, so get up there and make yourself useful.” There was a clatter—the ladder being pulled out and put into action. I tried to focus on my accounting work and ignore the noise. It wasn’t just any local know-it-all badgering my employee. It was my father’s girlfriend, Pam, and I would be next on her list. Maybe if I kept quiet and hid under my desk, she would leave. “Stormy!” she called out. “Stormy, I know you’re back there. I saw your car parked outside! Don’t you think that car is awfully flashy for Misty Falls? People will talk.” I clicked the button to shut down the accounting program on the computer.
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