Free Three Times Lucky by Sheila Turnage Page B

Lana once, out in the flower garden. “I wish I had a normal family,” I said, very casual, pulling a handful of weeds.
    “Normal means ordinary, Mo. The Drab among us have that covered.”
    “I don’t mean drab, I mean normal,” I said. “You know. Parents that go to a regular job, come home to an actual house, maybe cart me around to soccer games. I wish the Colonel was maybe a dentist, like Anna Celeste’s dad.”
    She looked up from her iris. “You want the Colonel to put his hands in other people’s mouths?” she said, like I’d suggested him sticking his head in a lion’s mouth.
    “That’s just an example. I’m saying we could be like people who live on a cul-de-sac. Just to try it, and see if it fits.”
    She sat back on her heels, her face smudged with dirt. “I suppose we could live on a dead end if you really want to, sugar,” she said, “but consider this: If the Colonel and I were Anna Celeste’s parents, you would be Anna Celeste. I would still love you, but I wouldn’t like you nearly so much.”
    “Right,” I sighed. “Being Anna Celeste would be a definite downside.”
    There is a peculiar spin to Miss Lana’s universe, but I admit it’s a spin I miss.
    Please come find me.
    Love, Mo
    The instant I heard the drum of the Colonel’s shower, I closed my notebook and called Dale. He answered, his sleepy hello muffled by shouts in the background. “Hey, what’s going on?” I demanded. “Why’s Miss Rose yelling? Is Starr over there?”
    “Ain’t nothing going on,” he said. “Daddy woke up mean as a snake is all, and Lavender stomped out mad. Why would Starr be here?”
    “He’s investigating Mr. Jesse’s murder,” I said, easing into my bad news.
    “So?”
    “So you’ll never guess who the prime suspect is.”
    “Who?” Dale yawned.
    “You.”
    “WHAT?”
    “It’s all over town. Attila Celeste saw you with Mr. Jesse’s boat this afternoon, but she ain’t identified you by name. Not yet. Don’t say anything incriminating,” I added. “My line may be tapped. Stay out of town until I tell you different.”
    I hung up as the Colonel knocked at my door. “Fan, Soldier,” he said, swinging a heavy black fan onto my desk. “Haven’t made machinery this elegant since World War II.” He clicked it on. “I’m sorry Lana isn’t here to comfort you, but perhaps the murmur of a breeze will help.”
    “She’s a beauty,” I told him. I meant it too. Her heart-shaped feet rested on a pad of green felt, and her metal blades curved graceful as angel wings. Her patient back-and-forth hum sent a gentle breeze through my curtains, across my wrinkled sheets.
    “Good night, Soldier,” the Colonel said, resting his hand on my head. And he slipped from the room, leaving our door carefully ajar.
    Bump.
    The sound grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and shook me like a kitten, waking me from a deep sleep.
    What was that? A killer on the porch?
    Crack.
    A phone line being cut?
    Thud.
    It came from the window!
    Breathe, I told myself, breathe.
    Snap-snap-snap
.
    I squinted at my clock. Three a.m.? Already?
    I grabbed my baseball bat and tiptoed to the window. The shrubs swayed crazily.
    Tap-tap-tap
. The killer?
    “Mo,” the killer rasped. “It’s me. Open the door.”
    I pushed my curtain aside with the bat. Dale had chinned himself on my windowsill, revealing bloodlessknuckles and the top half of his strained face. “Open … the … door,” he panted as his grip gave way and he fell into Miss Lana’s gardenias.
    I flipped my lamp on, marched to my porch door, and pushed the dead bolt aside. Dale shot in, his face drawn. “What am I going to do?” he demanded, scrambling past me. “They’ll try me as an adult. I know they will,” he said, his voice bitter. “I’ll get twenty years at least. I’ll be …” His eyes glazed over as he tried to add.
    “Thirty-one?” I guessed, locking the door behind him.
    “Thirty-one,” he wailed, sinking to the floor.