Free Billy and the Birdfrogs by B.B. Wurge

continued slowly, “if it’s my house, then why is it in your name? Shouldn’t it be in my name?”
    “Jubber, you lubber. Hey! Woah! Did you catch that? Oh my God! Hold the press! It rhymed! I’m a poet! This is amazing! Jubber, you lubber, I told you. It’s a tax thing. You gotta trust me. You see, Jubber, you’re rich. You’re real rich. You’re unbelievably rich. And naturally, you wanna be more rich. Me, I got brains. I know how to work it. So you give me your money, and you get richer. See? See? Simple as simple! Simple as pie in the sky! Simple as tic tac toe. You get it, don’t you?”
    “I. . . . I guess so. . . .” Mr. Jubber raised his glass again. I couldn’t see his face. From where I was crouching, I could only see a little above the tabletop. He must have taken a huge gulp, though, because the glass was nearly empty when he put it back down.
    Mr. Earpicker filled it up again right away. “I like you, Jubber. I really do. That’s why I’m going to all this trouble for you. You should thank me!”
    “Well. . . . Thanks.”
    “Don’t mention it. Say, but did you see the look on the old bat’s face when the steam roller hit her? Did you see that? Did you?”
    “Uh . . . no, I missed that.”
    “Darn! Me too! I missed it! I wanted to see it! But it happened too fast. I turned around, and it was all done. Blam! Whang! The sidewalk looked exactly like that thing had driven over a couple of cans of tomato paste. Say, that was brilliant. You were brilliant. Sometimes you’re real smart. Telling her to stand right there and wait for you, when you knew those steam rollers were going to come charging around the corner like that!”
    “But . . . I thought. . . . Didn’t you tell her?”
    “Me? No! Jubber, I won’t take the credit here! It was your own brain wave. It was your own whopper of an idea.”
    “I thought it was your idea—”
    “Don’t be so modest, Jubber! Of course it was yours. I had nothing to do with it.”
    I felt my face get hot, and I started to tremble. I wanted to come charging out of there and start kicking those two people, starting with Mr. Earpicker. Maybe I could grab a frying pan and hit him over the h ead. But even though I really wanted to do some thing, I realized that I had better not. It was better to stay hidden and see what else they said.
    Mr. Earpicker twisted around in his seat, looking around the kitchen. “Look at that! The old bat, she sealed up the basement door! Say, Jubber, you think she’s got any skeletons down there? Ha! Ha!”
    I didn’t know what to make of this comment. Did he mean real skeletons of extinct animals? If my grandmother was right, then Mr. Earpicker knew all about the hole in the basement. But he could just as well mean regular, human skeletons. He might just be making a nasty comment about my grandmother. It was hard to tell.
    “Jubber,” he said, “Tomorrow we’ll look through the whole darn house and see what else she did to it. Tennis balls in the soup, turtles in the toilet, tigers in the tearoom, this is fun! This is a blast!”
    He twisted around in his seat again and looked the opposite direction. “Say, Jubber, it’s real late. Look at the time. My god! Is that clock right? Did the old crackpot set her clock wrong? No! It really is! It’s almost two o’clock! I gotta go! I only meant to stay half a minute! Say, but it was great. Great housewarming. You throw a heck of a party. You’re my friend, right? Of course you are. You gotta trust me. Always trust me, Jubber. See you tomorrow.”
    Mr. Earpicker leaped up and ran out of the kitchen. Mr. Jubber started to get up too, slowly, but Mr. Earpicker was already gone. The outside door slammed shut.
    Mr. Jubber sat back down again and emptied the rest of the wine bottle into his glass. He sighed. “That man,” he said slowly. Then he took a long drink of wine. “Gives me a headache.”

Chapter 15
    The Potato Peeler Gets Me Through

    Mr. Jubber sat in the kitchen