Free Wanted . . . Mud Blossom by Betsy Byars

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    Pap turned his worried face to Maggie. “Go ahead, Maggie, what’s your idea.”
    â€œMud,” Maggie said firmly, “has got to stand trial for murder.”

CHAPTER 14
Ralphie’s Luck
    Ralphie listened to Junior’s “I’ll never give it up” speech from the back porch of the Blossoms’ house.
    Apparently Mud had eaten a hamster, which was considered an act of murder. Ralphie couldn’t have been more pleased. It took something like an act of murder to distract the Blossom family.
    It was the Ralphie luck, he thought. The only time in his whole life that the Ralphie luck had deserted him was the time he had the accident on the riding lawn mower.
    So now, with the family properly distracted, he could slip up the steps and into Maggie’s bedroom—he knew which one it was because she often called out the window to him. “I’ll be right down. Don’t go away.” As if he would.
    Even with the Ralphie luck, Ralphie didn’t take chances. He slunk down the hallway, close to the wall. He paused with his foot on the first step. He listened.
    Maggie, Junior, and Pap were in the front yard. He could hear their voices. Vern and Michael were at the side of the house—in the bushes. Ralphie had almost run into them, but they were laughing at some secret joke and never even saw him.
    Ralphie’s better judgment told him not to continue, but then his better judgment was always doing that. Ralphie started up the steps. He kept to the wall because he had read that was how thieves got up steps without being heard. Not one creaking board betrayed him.
    In the upstairs hall, Ralphie paused.
    Maggie’s bedroom was on the right side of the stairs. As he crossed noiselessly to her room, his heart began to beat faster. He paused in the doorway to breathe the air in Maggie’s room.
    This air was different from any air Ralphie had ever breathed before. He felt that if he breathed enough of this splendid air, he would become intoxicated.
    He had intended to go directly to the dresser and check for the flower, but the richness of the room overwhelmed him.
    He stepped inside.
    There were hundreds of pictures on the wall, and Ralphie moved around the room respectfully. He kept his hands behind his back as if he were in a museum.
    Here was a snapshot of Maggie as a baby—coming home from the hospital. Ralphie leaned closer. She had on tiny cowboy boots instead of booties, and Mrs. Blossom, holding her, looked like a girl with a turned-up nose instead of a middle-aged woman.
    Here was a birth announcement—Cotton and Vicki Blossom’s baby girl, Maggie, has come out of the chute weighing seven pounds, two ounces. … Ralphie moved down the wall.
    Here was a picture of her on a horse with a laughing man, her father. And here she was two years old maybe, holding a baby that had to be Vern. And here she and Vern were—maybe a year later—in cowboy outfits and hats.
    And here she and Vern were holding Junior. It had to be Junior because Junior hadn’t changed that much—same round face, round eyes. …
    Ralphie heard a burst of anguish from Junior. Junior was now suggesting they cut Mud open with a butcher knife. Ralphie brought himself back to earth immediately.
    Now. Where was the flower? He crossed to the dresser. In his mind the flower had been right there on top of the jewelry box, but there was no jewelry box.
    Ralphie divided girls into two categories—girls (in little letters) and MAGGIE (in capitals). Girls would have jewelry boxes—MAGGIE would have what?
    Where would a girl put a flower if she didn’t have a jewelry box? Ralphie didn’t have any sisters, and for the first time he regretted this.
    The flower had to be here somewhere. He bent to look in the trash can. It wasn’t there. That was good news.
    Where did a MAGGIE keep things that had special meaning? Valuables, jewels, stuff like that.
    There was