"Isn’t this one a beauty?" Mr. Carrington asked as he tapped a cellophane packet containing a dark blue stamp. "I’ve had my eye on it for years. I couldn’t resist buying it when I learned it was for sale."

Lewis Palmer didn’t understand his employer’s fascination with rare stamps, but had decided long ago it was none of his business. The old man was worth six million, and could easily afford an expensive hobby.

Mr. Carrington sighed. "Delia will be here with Jeffrey in a few minutes."

Lewis shuddered. The last people he wanted to see were Mr. Carrington’s obnoxious daughter and her whiny five-year-old son. Delia Trenton irritated him beyond words.

"I thought Delia visited on Mondays and Thursdays."

"She does," Mr. Carrington said, "but my last heart attack convinced her we need to spend more time together, so she’ll be stopping by on Wednesdays, too. She still believes I need a nurse to move in here with us and I can’t convince her we’re fine."

Lewis double-checked the brake on Mr. Carrington’s wheel chair and adjusted the umbrella sheltering the patio table, wishing he was anywhere but on the Carrington patio waiting for Delia Trenton.

"I imagine our discussion will be heated," Mr. Carrington continued. "I hope Delia curbs her temper in front of Jeffrey. He always becomes so upset when his mother yells."

Lewis resisted the urge to mention Jeffrey must be upset most of the time, as the old man’s gaze swept the manicured lawn, settling on the hedge at the edge of the patio.

"I asked the gardener to trim the hedge when he mowed the lawn yesterday, but it rained before he had a chance. It’s not raining now, so you can trim it now, while I visit with Delia."

Although Lewis’s job description as personal assistant didn’t include yard work, he knew Delia Trenton had fired previous assistants for less than refusing to trim the hedge and he couldn’t afford to take the chance.

Delia arrived minutes later. Jeffrey shuffled behind her, sniffling and whining about cookies.

Lewis took one look at the pair and bolted for the hedge. He cursed the overgrown branches as gnats hovered around his face, sweat trickled between his shoulder blades and a blister formed on his left palm, but preferred the discomfort to joining Mr. Carrington’s family.

A small hand tugged his pant leg. "Mr. Palmer, Mom told me to come over here with you."

They expect me to baby sit, do yard work and play nursemaid? If I didn’t need the money so desperately I’d tell them to take this job and...

"Mommy’s yelling at Grandpa right now because she wants him to get a nurse," Jeffrey continued. "I don’t like nurses. The nurse at Daddy’s office gave me a shot in my bottom and it hurt. I hope Grandpa tells Mommy no."

"I hope so, too," Lewis said. His job would be history if Delia convinced her father to hire a nurse.

Delia’s voice blared across the lawn. "Daddy, I’m not discussing this anymore. You need more help than Lewis provides."

Lewis glanced over the hedge in time to see Delia slap the table. Most of the cellophane envelopes containing Mr. Carrington’s stamps scattered and fluttered to the ground.

Sensing an opportunity to guarantee a little financial security, Lewis dropped the hedge trimmers and sprinted to Delia’s side before she could retrieve the stamps.

"Here, let me pick those up for you."

"Thank you, Lewis."

Lewis squatted beside the table and reached for the tiny squares dotting the grass. He retrieved the fallen stamps, slipped a few between his sock and shoe, then stood and handed the remaining packets to Delia.

Thinking fast, he stepped behind Mr. Carrington’s wheel chair. "Sir, it’s time for your lunch and medication."

Half an hour later, Delia approached him, an empty milk carton in her hand.

"Mr. Palmer, that worthless cook forgot to buy milk when she shopped this morning. Please go the supermarket immediately."

Lewis opened his mouth to remind Delia he wasn’t an errand boy when he realized he could stop at his apartment and hide the stolen stamps on his way to the supermarket.

"I’ll be glad to," he said quickly, edging toward the foyer before Delia changed her mind and decided to run the errand herself.

The trip across town seemed abnormally long. Lewis sighed with relief when he parked his car in front of his apartment complex and removed the stamps from his shoe.

"Mr. Palmer?"

He turned to find two uniformed policemen standing beside his car, Delia and Jeffrey Trenton next to them.

"I’ll take those stamps, Palmer," one of the officers said. "Ms. Trenton, can you positively identify these stamps as part of your father’s collection?

Lewis’s stomach clenched as Delia peered at the stamps, then nodded. "Yes, I can. I bought two of them for Daddy personally."

The policeman turned back to Lewis. "Lewis Palmer, you’re under arrest."

Jeffrey tugged Lewis’s pant leg. "Mommy wouldn’t stop yelling at me for asking Grandpa for some stamps to put in my shoes until I told her I saw you do it. She stopped yelling at me, but she starting yelling at Grandpa, then she called the policeman and yelled at him." He frowned. "Mr. Palmer, do you think Mommy yells too much?"

"Definitely," Lewis muttered as the officer pulled Lewis’s arms behind his back, snapped handcuffs around his wrists and led him away.