Free On the Road to Mr. Mineo's by Barbara O'Connor Page A

of the road.
    Smoke billowed out from under the hood.
    There was a brief tick-tick-tick sound.
    Luther and Edsel peered down at the engine.
    Luther checked the oil.
    Edsel wiggled the spark plugs.
    Luther examined the fan belt.
    Edsel fiddled with the duct tape on the radiator.
    They tugged on hoses and jiggled wires and poked at stuff.
    Then they stood back with their hands in their pockets and stared at the engine, frowning.
    â€œI reckon we’re gonna have to walk up to the bait shop and call for a tow,” Edsel said.
    â€œI reckon,” Luther said.
    Luther and Edsel looked up the road.
    Waves of steamy heat hovered above the asphalt. Queen Anne’s lace and wild blackberries grew on either side. The rain the night before had left little puddles scattered here and there. Kudzu snaked its way up a speed limit sign with a couple of rusty bullet holes in it. Up ahead was a neglected peach orchard, the trees dried and brown, the ground littered with rotten peaches. The narrow road ahead of them wound lazily through fields of corn and soybeans.
    It looked like a long walk to nowhere.
    â€œWanna rest up first?” Edsel said.
    â€œSure.”
    Edsel stretched out on the seat of the van, his head on the armrest and his legs dangling out of the door.
    Luther opened the back doors, pushed aside the fishing rods and tackle boxes, and flopped down on a dirty canvas tarp with his baseball cap over his face.
    Before long, deep steady snores echoed across the Carolina countryside.

 
    CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
    Eight Xs and a Toothpick
    Mr. Mineo put another X on the calendar.
    Eight.
    He went out front and sat on the bench beside the W ORMS FOR S ALE sign. Ernie curled up at his feet.
    â€œMaybe I should just give up,” Mr. Mineo said.
    â€œMaybe that dern fool bird has found hisself a new home.”
    He sighed.
    â€œWouldn’t surprise me a bit.”
    He rubbed Ernie’s back with the toe of his shoe.
    â€œHe always was a little too cocky.”
    He glanced up at the sky.
    â€œHoppin’ around that shed like he owned the place.”
    He chuckled.
    â€œHe don’t even know he’s only got one leg.”
    Mr. Mineo took a toothpick out of the pocket of his shirt and chewed on the end of it.
    â€œWell, good riddance is what I say.”
    He shifted the toothpick to the other side of his mouth.
    â€œAnd good luck to whoever’s got him now.”
    He studied the treetops on the other side of the road.
    â€œRight, Ernie?”
    Ernie stirred slightly in his sleep. Mr. Mineo sat in front of the bait shop all morning, chewing on the toothpick and watching the sky.
    Finally, he said, “Dagnabbit, Ernie, let’s go look one more time.”

 
    CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
    The Boy Who Cried Wolf
    Mutt whistled and held his hand out toward the pigeon fluttering around the garage.
    â€œCome here, fella,” he whispered.
    But the pigeon would not come. He flew up to the rafters at the top of the garage and blinked down at him.
    Skipper crouched in the doorway.
    Mutt turned to the cat and hollered, “Get on out of here!”
    But Skipper stayed.
    Then Lola, Emmaline’s fluffy white cat, came sauntering over from the yard.
    And then Coco, the skinny one.
    And Nellie, the orange one.
    Skipper and Lola and Coco and Nellie.
    Lined up side by side in the doorway of the garage, tails twitching, eyes gleaming. The silence in the garage was thick and heavy.
    Mutt looked from the cats to the pigeon.
    From the pigeon to the cats.
    Silence.
    Silence.
    Still, still, silence.
    Then Mutt lunged toward the cats, flapping his arms and hollering, “Shoo! Go! Get!”
    Which made the pigeon flutter wildly around the top of the garage.
    Which made the cats leap on tires and boxes and flowerpots and ladders, swatting the air with their sharp claws and getting closer and closer to the one-legged pigeon.

 
    CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
    Levi and C.J. and Jiggs Whoop It Up
    Levi and C.J. and Jiggs