Free Cold War on Maplewood Street by Gayle Rosengren

into her pocket to read later. They were turning to leave when suddenly he said, “Wait, girls. I wonder if you can you do me a favor?”
    He lifted a brown bag from behind the counter. “You two live down on Maplewood, don’t you?”
    They nodded.
    He bobbed his head and grinned. “I thought I’d seen you thereabouts when I walk my dog. Anyway, there’s an elderly lady, a Mrs. Strenge, who lives—”
    â€œIn our building,” Pamela cut in with a grin. “Twelve Thirty-nine North Maplewood.”
    â€œRight!” He beamed. “She called and asked me to deliver some groceries. But with my wife out today, I haven’t been able to get away. Do you suppose you could deliver them for me? I’ll give you twenty-five cents.”
    Pamela had the heavy jug of milk, so it was Joanna he was asking. And he was already taking a quarter from the cash register. She didn’t see how she could say no. “Uh, sure,” she said. “Thanks.” She tucked the quarter in her pocket. Then she shifted her books to one arm so she could carry the grocery bag in the other.
    â€œShe’ll appreciate it if you carry them inside for her,” he called as they were going out the door.
    But at their building Joanna declared, “I don’t care what Mr. Hillyer said, I’m not going inside that apartment. I’ll leave the bag on the mat.”
    â€œThe main thing is they’re here,” Pamela agreed. “She can take them inside herself.”
    Joanna set the bag on the doormat. Then she pokedthe doorbell. Pamela ran up to her apartment and Joanna raced downstairs to walk Dixie.
    But before the outer door swung all the way closed behind her, she heard Mrs. Strenge’s creaky voice calling, “Wait! Come back!”

CHAPTER 9
    Uncle Zach
    â€œI NEVER RAN SO FAST IN MY LIFE!” JOANNA TOLD PAMELA when they were setting the Watermans’ dining room table an hour later, after another steamy session with The Book. “I nearly swallowed my bubble gum! And I burst through our door so fast, I scared Dixie!”
    Pamela thunked a plate onto the lacy tablecloth. “Well, I don’t blame you one bit for being scared! It’s creepy the way Mrs. Strenge keeps trying to get you to come close to her.” She shivered. “Ugh!”
    Joanna followed Pamela around the table, putting a folded napkin—cloth, not paper—beside each plate. They were eating in the dining room in honor of Uncle Zach. Mrs. Waterman had even bought a bouquet of real flowers for the center of the table—a mix of pink roses, purpleirises, and white baby’s breath. She had arranged them in a crystal vase. It was beautiful.
    Joanna lined up a plate more evenly with the edge of the table and sniffed the air like Dixie when she smelled bacon cooking. “Ahhh . . . I love your mom’s pot roast.”
    â€œChocolate cake for dessert, too,” Pamela reminded her, as if Joanna was likely to have forgotten. She had seen it cooling on the kitchen table when she arrived.
    Joanna was putting extra napkins back in the sideboard when she heard voices and footsteps coming up the stairwell. A few seconds later, Marie entered the apartment, laughing. Her father and uncle were right behind her. “Oh, don’t tease. He wasn’t that bad,” Marie said between giggles. “He’s just a little stiff yet.”
    Uncle Zach’s slow, one-sided grin reminded Joanna of the Marlboro Man. “The way you flutter those eyelashes of yours at him will loosen him up, I imagine,” he said.
    Marie giggled. “Shame on you, Uncle Zach. I’m just being
nice.
”
    Her uncle raised his eyebrows. “Is that what you call it? In my day we called it flirting. I guess times have changed, huh, George?”
    Mr. Waterman raised his eyebrows right back. “Seems so.”
    â€œHonestly!” Marie shook her head. “You’re