Free Turtle in Paradise by Jennifer L. Holm Page B

treats—candy, hair ribbons—the shoes felt different. They were so ordinary, like something that, well, a
father
would buy. Walking down the street in those new shoes with Archie and Mama, it almost felt like we were a real family.
    It’s August now, and everything’s hotter. It rains most days, quick afternoon showers that turn Curry Lane into a bowl of mud. Uncle Vernon’s gone back to Matecumbe, and he took a little bit of Aunt Minnie’s good humor with him.
    We’re on the porch as usual. Smokey’s asleep in a patch of sun, and it’s so hot that Termite can’t be bothered to chase her. He lies under the swing, panting in the thick heat.
    A bunch of kids come riding down the lane on their bikes. I eye their feet for my stolen shoes, but none of them are even wearing any.
    “Who do you think took my shoes?” I ask.
    “I wouldn’t put it past Too Bad,” Pork Chop says. “That kid’s got it in for us since we won’t let him be in the gang.”
    “Do we have to watch babies today?” Buddy asks.
    “We have to watch you every day, Buddy,” Beans says.
    Aunt Minnie walks out and drops a basket of laundry in front of me. Termite yelps, startled.
    “Your cat made a mess in my clean laundry,” she says through gritted teeth.
    Everyone looks at me, and I look at the laundry.
    Sure enough, some cat has done something despicable on a lady’s pale blue silk slip.
    “Smokey would never do that,” I say. “She knows better.”
    “She’s the only cat in the house,” Aunt Minnie says. “That slip’s ruined. I’m gonna have to pay Mrs. Felton for that. I’ll be lucky if I don’t end up owing her more than she owes me.”
    “I swear it wasn’t Smokey,” I say. “Maybe it was Buddy.”
    “It wasn’t me, Ma!” Buddy says. “I only go in my pants!”
    My aunt takes a deep breath and looks down at the laundry and then back up at me.
    “If it happens again, the cat’s going,” she says.
    Then she picks up the laundry basket and marches back into the house.
    Smokey blinks a sleepy eye open.

    A few days later I’m walking down Grinnell Street, my toes squishing in the mud. I’m tempted to use the money Archie gave me to buy some shoes, but I don’t think this is the kind of emergency he meant.
    There’s a bar where the sailors and fishermen like to waste their hard-earned money. Slow Poke’s sitting outside at a little table with another fella.
    “Well, if it ain’t my favorite deckhand,” he says.
    “Hi, Pat,” I say.
    “Hi, Terry,” he says.
    “So when we going to China?” I ask.
    “Whenever you want,” he says.
    “Sooner the better. I sure could stand to find that gold mine,” I say. “Some kid stole my shoes.”
    “What do you need shoes for, anyhow, Conch kid like you?” Slow Poke teases.
    “To walk in,” I say.
    The man sitting across from Slow Poke says, “Just like her mother, ain’t she?”
    “Believe me, I’m nothing like Mama,” I say.
    Slow Poke stares at me. “You do have a little bit of Sadiebelle in you. She wanted to see the world, too.”
    “How well did you know my mama, anyway?”I ask. The other man at the table starts choking, like his drink went down the wrong pipe.
    Before Slow Poke can answer, Kermit races up to me, Buddy hot on his heels.
    “Ma’s burning mad!” Kermit says. “She just about blew her top!”
    “Smokey ruined Mrs. Felton’s skirt! She’s in trouble now!” Buddy says, and my heart sinks.
    When I reach the house, Aunt Minnie is waiting for me on the front porch, holding out the skirt.
    “Please, Aunt Minnie,” I say, “I just know it wasn’t Smokey. She’s never done that before and we’ve lived in a lot of different places. Some other cat must have gotten into the house!”
    She doesn’t say a word; she just shakes her head.
    The supper dishes are washed and the house is quiet. I’m in my room, trying to figure out what to do with Smokey. If I were Little Orphan Annie, Daddy Warbucks would rescue me and Smokey. But