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She’d never been one to keep things bottled up. Rory would mull it over, dissect it, then talk to me about it. She’d always been that way, even at seven years old when she’d come to live with me. And I was grateful. It made my life easier, although Rory wasn’t easy at all.I caught myself smiling. I called her my little panther. She had a feline quality touched with a hint of danger. Her eyes were rare; very dark with tarnished flecks of pure 24 karat gold, intense and penetrating. Glossy dark hair added to the impression of a panther. But it was her teeth that really completed the image. Rory’s canines were slightly longer than her other teeth, so when she smiled in a particular way and her eyes flashed, I felt like raw meat being contemplated for dinner.I quite liked it - my feral cat. The way she moved only strengthened the image.The sound of the screen door sliding back distracted me. Glancing over my shoulder, I watched Rory step out. Barefoot, wearing a thin cotton pajama top. “Surely,” she spat, “If you insist. It’s 1754.20 a month paid out twice a month.”“Eight hundred seventy seven dollars and ten cents every two weeks?”“Quick with your figures, I see.”She was getting madder by the second. She spun, I ducked. She laughed. “Nervous?” she asked.“God deliver me from righteous females,” I muttered. “I plan on adding it to her interest bearing Trust account every month.”“Oh ... surely you jest. You’ll be like all the other freeloaders ... beer and smokes and loose women.”I don’t know how she managed but she didn’t strike me. I could see it in her eyes.Almost immediately after we arrived home, the New South Wales Child Protection Council representative came calling.“As our right we must inspect your arrangements for the care of Orphan Girl. Please step away from the door.”I did.“And where would the child be at this moment?”“I assume she is with her nanny.”“You assume? You mean you don’t know?”“Excuse me a moment,” I said.I tried the land line but ... lo and.
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