Free Jackson Jones and the Curse of the Outlaw Rose by Mary Quattlebaum Page B

word. These old roses are public property, Mr. K. says. Anyway, we're not going to dig up a whole bush. We're just taking a cutting.”
    “From a
graveyard,”
Reuben said.
    “You afraid some ghost will jump out?”
    Reuben didn't crack a smile. “Remember Nemo Comic Number 2? When the Flawt stole the golden orb from the emperor's tomb. Remember the curse?”
    “That was made up!” I said.
“We
made it up. This is real life. There aren't any curses. Anyway, that was an
orb
, we're only taking a little twig.”
    “I just … don't … know.” Reuben's voice trailed off. “Hey, let's go home and finish our new Nemo strip.”
    I sighed. Persnickety, careful, and poke-turtle slow—that was Reuben. Every Captain Nemo he drew, he eyeballed and erased. Every b-ball he threw had to be carefully aimed. The boy
tiptoed
into adventure.
    But we've been best friends since first grade, creators of Captain Nemo Outer-Space Comics since third. And now we were rose rustlers.
    I tried to joke Reuben out of his worry. “Wooooo,” I moaned, flapping my sleeves. “I am the ghost of Rose Cassoway. Who dares touch my precious rooooooses?”
    “Wooo all you want,” Reuben said. “I still think it's wrong.”
    “Woooooooo.” I clicked my shears.
    “Shhh,” Reuben said sharply. “What's that?”
    “It's Rose Cassoway, of course.”
Snip.
I neatly cut the vine. The small piece fell.
    Crackle-crick.
    Something grabbed my shoulder.

CHAPTER THREE

    “Aargh!” I screamed.
    The grip tightened.
    “Please,” Reuben whimpered.
    A voice spoke: “What in the … Sam Hill are you doing?”
    The voice didn't wail. It didn't moan. And what kind of ghost said “Sam Hill”?
    Cautiously I peeked over my shoulder.
    A bearded man smiled at me. “Sorry to scare you boys,” he said, dropping his hand. “I didn't want you getting too close to that fence.”
    Reuben and I stepped back.
    “I manage the clean-up crew for the housing development in the field close by,” he explained. “We've got orders to cut all the growth in thisabandoned cemetery, then tear down that old fence and put up a new one. You know, tidy things up a bit. The job should take one day, two at the most. But the strangest thing …” The man shook his head. “The crew yesterday got poison ivy.
Bad
poison ivy. Must have been some on that fence.”
    “What about you?” I snuck a glance at his hand.
    “I wasn't here.” The man squinted at the fence. “Came to check out the situation today.”
    I squinted, too. I'd recognize poison ivy anywhere, thanks to all the fields I'd tromped in with my plant-loving mama.
Leaves of three, let them be.
    “Huh.” I squinted harder. “I don't
see
any poison ivy.”
    “Neither do I,” said the man. “That's what's so strange. And this isn't the season for it. The only way I can figure, maybe the guys had a reaction to those flowers.”
    On the fence, the little roses swayed.
    Reuben shivered. “See, Jackson?” he whispered. “The curse.”
    “Curse?” the man asked.
    I squirmed. “My friend here thinks that, well, taking something from a graveyard—”
    “Brings on a curse,” Reuben finished. “You gotta show respect.”
    “Curses only happen in movies or books,” scoffed the man. “I tell you, this is nothing but carelessness. With bad luck thrown in. When Jake broke his leg—”
    “Was he close to the fence?” asked Reuben.
    “Yeah,” said the man. “He tripped over that gravestone.”
    Reuben crossed his arms. “Just like you, Jackson.”
    I crossed my arms right back. “Reuben, you gotta stop all that woo-woo talk
now.
You're scaring yourself.”
    Reuben snorted. “Wasn't me screaming.”
    “I yelled.”
    “Screamed,” replied Reuben. “Like a girl in a horror movie.”
    “Yelled.”
    “Okay, okay,” the man broke in. “Yelled, screamed—you made a noise.” This time he squinted at us. “You two jumped like a couple of outlaws.”
    I squirmed again.
    “Yeah,” said the man. “Like a