The Snake Mistake Mystery by Sylvia McNicoll

Author:Sylvia McNicoll
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dundurn
Published: 2018-01-03T00:00:00+00:00

Diamond Drywall

No hole too small,

We can fix your wall.

I wonder out loud, “Do you suppose Diamond Drywall takes walls down, too?”

Reuven answers, “It would be way more fun.”

“Depending on how busy they are,” Renée adds, “they’ll probably do anything. Look at Mr. Ron. When the bricklaying work slows, he walks dogs and cleans paint off cars.”

“I guess the drywall guy took the wall down in his own house, anyway,” I say. Something about that tickles at my brain cells. A thought, fluttering like a fly around a light bulb. Won’t land, though. “Did your car get spray-painted?” I ask Reuven.

“You mean the great white heap?”

“Mr. Kowalksi’s van, right. That’s all your Dad drives these days?”

“Yeah, we no longer own a car. Mr. Kowalski really doesn’t drive all that well, so Dad takes him around. Especially on junk day.”

“Did the heap get spray-painted?” I ask.

“Who can tell? It’s white.”

“With white filler in the dents,” I remember out loud. “You’d have to look pretty closely to see.”

“You can check when we deliver the papers. But why would anyone bother if it doesn’t even show?”

Renée and I stop inserting for a moment and look at him. Why would someone spray-paint someone else’s car at all is the real question. But Reuven has suggested the answer: to leave a mark. Reuven’s knowing that answer seems suspicious.

“It’s a nice big canvas,” I say. “But you’re right. White on white wouldn’t be much fun.”

Renée changes the subject. “Your dad must have driven the Mr. Universe medal over to Mrs. Irwin’s, right? After Mr. K and Mr. Sawyer had that big blow-up about the statue?”

“I don’t think so. He told me Mr. Sawyer took the medal back and delivered it to Mrs. Irwin’s himself.”

“Do you know what they fought about?” I ask.

“Yeah. Mr. K wanted his full name across the statue and Mr. Sawyer thought it would be distracting.”

“But the name of the artist on a piece is very important,” Renée says. “The name can add value.”

“Tell that to Mr. Sawyer.” Reuven loads most of the papers onto the wagon, which already sags in the middle. The rest he stuffs in a large canvas bag, the strap of which he hangs over his shoulder.

Reuven chooses to deliver to the left side of the street. Renée and I pick alternating houses on the right. We hand him a bundle of Cat-astrophe flyers.

“Gee thanks,” he says. “Something else to carry.”

“Do you want a dog to run with?” I ask.

“No thank you,” he answers.

“You’re welcome.” Renée and I jog up to the doors, her with Ping and me with Pong.

I purposely choose to deliver to Mr. Rupert’s ’cause I really don’t want Renée asking about Mrs. Klein. She was our school custodian and she used to date him. I’m sure Renée would have asked him last night if he hadn’t grabbed me and threatened to call the police and all.

Pong dashes up to the house and stands quietly next to me as I ring the doorbell. Mr. Rupert answers. His

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