The Actual & Truthful Adventures of Becky Thatcher by Iacopo Bruno

Author:Iacopo Bruno
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers

Chapter Nine

My marbles in danger (and I hate, hate, hate Mr. Dobbins)

When I came down to breakfast Thursday morning, my nerves were up and alert despite the rest of me feeling dog tired. Daddy was stabbing at fried eggs and reading through a stack of papers at the kitchen table. Covering a series of yawns, I stepped aside while Miss Ada nudged past me with a single hotcake and egg on a plate. Creaking stairs told me where she was headed. I sat down to a breakfast of steaming hotcakes and syrup, hearing three knocks on an upstairs door. A jealous part of me hoped Mama wouldn’t answer.

But the door opened with a soft click and Miss Ada came down empty handed. My chest tightened for a minute and I felt something sore behind my eyes. Maybe I’d given myself a cold by being out the night before.

“Morning, Daddy.” One of his papers was sticking out from the rest and I saw the word “Reward.” It sent a prickle through my body all the way to my feet, making my toes tap on the floor. “Are those papers about the Pritchards?”

He took a sip of coffee. “Yep. Sheriff’s trying to decide whether or not to take the posters down around town. I told him there’s not much use in getting people nervous if the Pritchards have gone downriver for good.”

I swallowed hard, trying to get a wad of guilt back down in my stomach before it could pop out of my mouth and say something that would get me in trouble. Besides, I needed to concentrate on the Widow Douglas this morning, not the Pritchards. “You still busy with that dug-up grave business?”

“Mm-hm,” he said, chewing and not looking up. The dining chair creaked beneath his considerable frame and I wondered if Daddy getting a breakfast appetite might be bad news for the furniture.

“Seems awful odd that the sheriff found the Widow’s shovel at the graveyard when I saw it clear as day underneath her porch on my walk home from school yesterday.” I took a big bite and chewed, waiting for his reaction.

“Odd,” he echoed, eyes still glued to his paperwork. “Well, the Bumpners were mighty quick to let us know it was the Widow’s shovel, so maybe she’s got two.”

I shrugged, trying to ignore the faces of Billy and Forney Pritchard glaring at me from Daddy’s stack. “Maybe.” I put down a forkful of hotcake. “Now that’s funny.”

Daddy squinted like he had a headache, but put his fork down and watched me. “What’s funny?”

“Well, if I recall, the Bumpners have red handles on their tool set too. I saw Mrs. Bumpner working on that awful garden of hers last week.” Which was true enough. I’d seen her. “I could have sworn that her pruning shears and hoe had red tips on the handles. I’m pretty sure, anyway. Might want to check and see if their shovel is accounted for.” I took another bite. “Maybe I’m wrong. These hotcakes sure are tasty.

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