The Odds of Getting Even by Sheila Turnage

Author:Sheila Turnage
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2015-09-17T16:00:00+00:00

Ten minutes later we blasted through the café door. “Miss Lana! Colonel!”

Capers dropped the phone on the hook. “I was just calling in my story and you just missed your folks. The Colonel’s gone to Kinston, and Lana and Miss Thornton ran over to the inn to welcome some guests,” she said, taking my leaf collection from my freezing hands. “Lana’s working too hard. She needs some help over there.” She looked from me to Harm to Dale. “What’s wrong?”

What’s wrong? Just an ax murderer and the biggest clue of our lives—not that I wanted any of that in the paper.

“Nothing,” I said. “When’s the Colonel coming home?”

“Soon, I hope. I’m on cake duty and I don’t bake.”

Excellent. A diversion opportunity.

I sniffed. “Cake? Is that what’s burning?”

“Oh my gosh, it better not be,” she said, scrambling for the kitchen.

I looked at Dale. “Follow her,” I whispered. “Keep her busy. Don’t give our clues away. And don’t mention the car. Harm will help.”

I grabbed the phone and dialed as the door swung shut behind them.

Miss Retzyl answered. “Hello?”

“It’s Mo. I’d love to talk metaphors, but I need Joe Starr pronto.”

She sighed. Sometimes her sighs last exactly as long as it takes to count to ten. Interesting. “Joe,” she called. “It’s Mo. For you.”

From the café’s kitchen, I heard a crash. “I’m sorry,” Dale cried.

“We’ll help clean that up,” Harm said.

“Detective Starr,” Starr growled into the phone.

“Hey,” I said. “We need backup. Pick us up at the café. And keep this confidential.”

“I’m not your backup,” he snapped. “I’m a law enforcement professional. I don’t taxi kids around.”

My temper growled like a wolverine. I counted to ten.

“I understand,” I said. “We found the missing patrol car and we’ll bring it in once we’re old enough to drive. It won’t be long. Harm’s already twelve.”

I hung up and glanced at the 7UP clock on the wall. Starr should be here in two minutes flat. I loaded fresh film into my camera. Another crash from the kitchen. With that much noise, Miss Lana’s cake will fall flat as Louisiana.

Exactly two minutes later Starr skidded into the parking lot, siren wailing. “Where’s the patrol car?” he demanded, blasting in.

“Patrol car?” Capers said as Grandmother Miss Lacy’s Buick fishtailed up.

Miss Lana bounded through the door. “Mo? What’s wrong?”

“Your red velvet cake fell,” Dale reported. “It must have been the noise from the siren.”

Capers frowned. “What’s going on? Joe? Desperados?”

Please. Does she think we cough up leads easy as Spitz coughs up a hair ball?

Dale smiled. “We found the patrol car with our camping gear and Daddy’s clothes in the trunk,” he said. He looked at me. “That was a secret, wasn’t it?”

Capers grabbed her notebook. “Let’s go,” she coaxed, giving Starr a smile. “I won’t write a word until you say I can.”

My temper popped. “Until he says you can?”

Capers snagged her jacket. “Sorry. Until the Desperados say I can. Grab your camera, Mo. A photo will look great with my article. Your byline will too.”

“Mo,” Miss Lana whispered, “she’ll find out anyway.

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