I jumped out of bed and watched as he disappeared into the kitchen, then grabbed my pillow and headed for Mama’s room. I flicked off the hall light, closed her door, and climbed onto the big four-poster bed. I curled up next to Mama and listened to the soft sound of her breathing, wondering what tomorrow morning would bring.
Chapter 9
My plan had been to wake up early, get Tommy, then head out on the railroad tracks toward the woods. But wouldn’t you know it, Whitey Hudson messed everything up.
Instead of looking for Daddy, by nine o’clock that morning I was on my hands and knees with Tommy and Ernestine, pulling weeds out of Mirabelle’s vegetable garden.
Whitey had barely waited until the milkman showed up before he rung Mama on the telephone, tattling on the three of us.
Of course, she flew into a fit after hanging up the phone. “You kids smashed their flowers? How many times have I told you to keep out of other people’s yards?” She looked at Daddy Joe like she wanted him to agree with her, but he didn’t say anything. I thought I saw a grin flicker across his face; then he rustled his magazine and buried his head behind it, probably studying up on some news about taxes or politics. That’s the kind of stuff he always liked to read about.
I yanked a handful of weeds and cursed our bad luck. I’d have rather spit-shined ashtrays than spent one more minute crawling around Whitey’s feet, listening to him and his prissy show-off granddaughter, Ada Jane, carry on about what had happened yesterday.
“Yes sir, I’d call this a fair punishment,” Whitey said as I tossed the weeds into an old bucket. “A good day of weeding won’t hardly make up for all the time Mirabelle put into them gladiolas, though. You young’uns have got to learn to have respect for people’s private property. The Lord teaches, ‘You reap what you sow,’ and that there’s a good life lesson for you. For your daddies, too.”
Whitey kept following us, grunting and wheezing and fanning himself in the hot sun. He pulled a stiff yellowed handkerchief from his pocket, coughed up some gunk in it, then used it to wipe the sweat off his forehead.
Ernestine made a gagging sound from the tomato row. When I looked over at her, she pointed to Whitey and stuck her finger down her throat. Tommy and I both snorted into our hands.
“You’d better git inside here, Whitey,” Mirabelle yelled from the porch. “You’re going to be laid out flat with that asthma if you don’t watch yourself.”
“In a minute,” he answered, then turned back to us. “Yes sir, it near put me in my grave, them two daddies of yours waving guns around like they was gonna shoot the whole place up. Had to take today off work just to recover.”
Ada Jane fluttered her eyelids and shivered. She glanced over her shoulder like someone was after her.
“I’m scared, Grandpa. Do you think the police will catch them? What if they come back and try to rob someone else?”
Whitey chuckled. “I reckon them two is on a fast boat to China, honey. They ain’t going to be hanging around this area no more. Doubt it, anyways.”
“I hope they’re gone forever,” Ada Jane said. “No offense, Billie.” She looked down at me, her nose all puckered up like she’d just smelled a stinkbug.
I fought the urge to smear dirt on her fancy white tennis shoes. Ada Jane was my same age, and we’d spent a lot of time together when Mirabelle baby-sat me and Tommy—too much time if you ask me. We weren’t what you’d call best friends. In fact, we could hardly stand each other. The worst fight we’d ever gotten into was when she’d called Tommy trailer trash. I’d had scratches on my face for a week from her fingernails, but she’d been the one to finally yell “uncle.” There’d been at least eight kids watching us, and Ada Jane had never gotten over losing to me.
She sidled up next to Whitey, pointing the toe of her shoe at a squash plant. “You missed some here, Billie. Ernestine’s bucket has way more weeds than yours and Tommy’s. Doesn’t it, Ernestine?”
That was the other thing about Ada Jane. She was always trying to steal Ernestine away from me. They lived next door to each other, and Ada Jane couldn’t stand it that we were best friends. She’d done everything she could think of to turn Ernestine against me, even lying about me to Ernestine’s mom.
Ernestine looked in her bucket and shrugged. “I don’t know. I ain’t been counting.”
I coughed back a laugh, then pulled a muddy clump from the bucket and shook it on Ada Jane’s sock. When she noticed what I was doing, she tried to step on my hand, but I scurried down the row of yellow squash.
We worked like that for another hour or so, with Ada Jane bossing me and Tommy around—and sharing her lemonade only with Ernestine—until Whitey said he felt sick.
“It’s the asthma. I’m going to have to lie down,” he told Mirabelle. “You kids can go on home now, but I want you back here on Saturday bright and early to finish this up. And then you’ll need to help set up for the church picnic.”
I nodded at Whitey with a serious face, like I’d be ready to tackle his chores on Saturday, but my heart had begun to race. In a couple of minutes Tommy and I could start looking for our dads.
“You want to come over to my house, Billie?” Ernestine asked.
“Uh, no. I can’t,” I fibbed. “Mama said I had to go straight home. I’ll see you tomorrow, though.”
“I’ll come over, Ernestine,” Ada Jane said, sidling up to her. “And I’ll let you use my roller skates if you let me ride your new bike.” She smirked at me, then looped her arm through Ernestine’s.
Ernestine rolled her eyes, like skating with Ada Jane was the last thing she ever wanted to do. Even though I couldn’t wait to take off after Daddy, I felt a twinge of jealousy when they left.
“Let’s go,” I said to Tommy once they’d crossed the street. “If we hurry, we can be back in a couple of hours. Our moms will never find out.”
I tugged his arm at the same time Daddy Joe’s station wagon pulled up in front of Whitey’s house.
Shoot! Not again. Why was he always bothering me?
Chapter 10
Daddy Joe stuck his head out the car window. “You need to come home and watch your sister, Billie. You kids hop in and I’ll give you a ride.”
What? I thought he was supposed to watch Carla. Wasn’t that the very thing he’d promised Mama this morning?
“We don’t need a ride,” I said. “We’ll walk.”
Daddy Joe got out of the car and opened the back door. “Get in,” he said. “I got called in to work. I’ll drop you off on my way.”
I glared at the mole on the back of his neck the whole way home, grinding my teeth so hard it felt like I had lockjaw. Time was ticking away faster than Carla poured sugar, and there wasn’t anything I could do about it. There was no way we’d make it out to Old Man Hinshaw’s that afternoon.
Daddy Joe left right away for work, so I got stuck with Carla for six straight hours. Plus he’d left me a list of chores. “I’d like you to pitch in and help your mother,” he said. “She’ll appreciate it.”
Well, Mr. Stand-up-guy Joe Hughes had told another whopper. Mama got home at five-thirty, too worn out to appreciate anything except her easy chair. She didn’t even look at the furniture I’d dusted or the dishes I’d washed. And to top it off, she was too tired to cook. “I was swamped today,” she said, heaving her legs up on the foot-stool. “Why don’t you make us up some grilled cheese sandwiches, Billie? You’re so good at that.”
She didn’t say anything about Daddy, and I didn’t ask. I was too scared to talk about it, too scared I might give away my secret. I kept quiet all during dinner, thinking how Tommy and I could slip off tomorrow morning. I didn’t even argue with Carla when she whined that I’d burnt her sandwich.
After dark I ran across the street to Tommy’s trailer. Aunt Charlene was sitting outside, painting her fingernails. “Hey there, honey,” she said. “You feeling any better about things today?”
“Yeah, I’m okay.” I stuck my head inside the trailer door.
“Where’s Tommy?”
“He’s in his bedroom, sorting stones. I swear that boy could lose track of his shadow whenever he’s messing with those rocks.”
Aunt Charlene was right. I had to sit on top of Tommy’s arrowheads to get him to pay attention to me. “We’ll go first thing in the morning,” I said. “Don’t oversleep.”
“You sure you know how to find the cabin?” he asked me, looking doubtful.
“Of course I do. The lane runs right past the far end of the railroad bridge.”
When I said “railroad bridge,” Tommy flinched.
The next morning I got up with the songbirds. I was lacing my shoes when Mama poked her head in my bedroom door. “I’m glad you’re awake,” she said. “I’m going to Indianapolis to meet with a couple of my suppliers. Margaret called in with a stomach virus this morning, so she won’t be able to open the diner. Charlene’s going to help out before she goes to work, but Joe says it’s too much for her to do alone. He says that you, him, and Carla can pitch in.”
She might as well have stuck my finger in a light socket; that’s how shocked I was. Daddy Joe said I could help at the diner? Since when was he in charge of everything, and why hadn’t anyone bothered to ask me?
I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised, even though it wasn’t fair. It seemed like Mama’s worker, Margaret, was sick with the stomach virus every other day. And Mama never asked me if I wanted to fill in for her; she just told me I had to. It was always “Billie, I need help scrambling eggs this morning” or “Billie, get those tables cleaned, please; they’re a sight.” That’s the way it’d been ever since Daddy Joe bought the diner for her.
I finished getting dressed and hurried over to Tommy’s. “You mean we can’t go out looking for our dads this morning?” He frowned like he was all blue over the news. I could tell he was more relieved than disappointed, though, because he didn’t look one bit happier when I told him we could go after lunch.
Aunt Charlene stood at the bathroom mirror, fluffing her hair and dabbing perfume behind her ears. “Tell your daddy Joe to get the first pot of coffee on,” she said as I left. “I’ll be down there in ten minutes.”
Mama left me a list of instructions longer than our church bulletin, mostly “don’t do this” and “don’t do that.” “I’ll be there at noon,” she wrote, “before Aunt Charlene leaves. I want you and Carla to mind Daddy Joe. Remember! Put a smile on your face for the customers.”
She should’ve left that note for Daddy Joe; he’s the one who didn’t crack a grin. I smiled until my mouth was stiff, all morning long while I waited on customers, even though I couldn’t think about anything except finding Daddy. Besides that, I cleaned tables and washed dishes and helped Aunt Charlene scramble eggs.
But here’s what Daddy Joe did: nothing. Unless you want to count tinkering with the faucet and the pipes and the back door as work. When Aunt Charlene asked him what he wanted to do, wait tables or help in the kitchen, he said, “Oh, you and Billie can handle that. I’ll take care of some maintenance problems.”
Carla followed Daddy Joe around all morning, doing nothing with him. She had her bride doll in one hand and his tool belt in the other. He nodded at everything she said, pretending to be interested in her chatter about dolls and how much she wanted “the best doll of all—a Kimmy doll.”
He didn’t pay me one bit of attention, though, not even to say, “Those dishes look real clean, Billie.”
It was different when my real daddy came to the diner, back when Mama was just a waitress there. Daddy liked to be out front with the customers. He knew everyone, and he’d goof around with people, laughing and joking and getting them to stay forever and order coffee and pie, just so they could hang out with him. I remembered the day Daddy told a tableful of Mama’s lady friends, “Free banana cream pie on the house.” He’d cut each of them a giant piece, then brought them all a free drink, too. They’d gushed over him like he was a movie star.
But Mama hadn’t been all that happy about it. Like usual, she’d jumped all over Daddy when everyone left. “Now who’s going to pay for the three pies?” she’d said. “Me? Because Roy”—he was the restaurant owner back then—“will have a cow when we come up short.”
“Relax,” Daddy had told her. “It’s only pie. He’ll never miss it. Besides, we’re doing the man a favor. It’s good public relations.”
Mama had grumbled so much Daddy finally said, “Okay, okay. Don’t say anything to Roy; just let me take care of it.”
You sure wouldn’t catch Daddy Joe giving out free pie. He even reminded Aunt Charlene to charge for the second coffee refill. “It’s the little things that add up to making money,” he said.
The morning dragged by slower than Whitey Hudson’s benediction prayers. Finally, ten minutes before noon, Mama showed up. I’d never been so happy to see her in my life, until she laid another bombshell on me.
“Billie,” she said, “Joe’s worn out. You’ll need to stay home and watch Carla this afternoon while he sleeps. And make sure you keep the noise down.”
He’s tired? I thought. How come? I was the one who’d done all the work.
I paced around the house all afternoon, watching Carla play dolls, itching to get away. What if Tommy and I missed Daddy and Uncle Warren? I knew they couldn’t stay at Old Man Hinshaw’s cabin forever.
Two whole days had passed since the robbery, and I wasn’t one bit closer to tracking Daddy down.
When I woke up Saturday, I was hoping everyone had forgotten about Whitey’s garden and the church picnic. Mama might have, because she had a lot on her mind. But not Daddy Joe. Oh no. He never forgot anything that involved chores, and sticking his nose in my life seemed to be his favorite pastime. He looked at his watch when I walked in the kitchen. “You’d better get hopping. Whitey called; says there’s some weeding left. He’s expecting you and Tommy at nine.”
“I don’t see why we have to go back over there,” I said. “It’s not fair. We already pulled a bunch of weeds on Thursday, way more than a bucket full. If you ask me, Whitey’s just too lazy to do it himself.”
Daddy Joe spit coffee back into his cup, and his eyes widened like I’d just said a string of cusswords. I couldn’t tell if he wanted to laugh or yell at me. All he said was: “Well, if I recall it correctly, I didn’t ask you. It’s your responsibility. And you’d better get going before your mother gets another phone call from Whitey.”
But he’s your uncle, not mine, I thought. Maybe you should tell him to quit phoning our house about every little thing.
Ada Jane was stretched out on a lawn chair, a happy smirk on her face. She sipped at her lemonade while Tommy, Ernestine, and I got our gardening instructions from Whitey. “And once you kids are done out here,” he said, “you can help Mirabelle set up for the church picnic.” He hooked his thumbs around his tight belt. Two of his shirt buttons had popped open, and his hairy white belly looked ready to burst into the sunlight any second now. “That oughta take a good two hours or so.”
My heart sunk. For the third day in a row it didn’t look like we’d make it to the cabin.
“Whitey,” Mirabelle called out the window, “Ralph Clarkson’s here. He’s got that collection money ready for the bank. Says it’s a nice bundle.”
“Send him on back,” Whitey said. “I’m keeping my eye on these kids.”
Mr. Clarkson followed Mirabelle out the back door. He’d barely set his foot in the yard before he started talking to Whitey about the bank robbery. “Guess you had the hellfire scared out of you on Wednesday, huh?”
“Ain’t that the truth?” Mirabelle butted in. “Got his asthma goin’ again. I was afeared he’d go into a full-blown attack.”
“Now that’s too bad,” Mr. Clarkson said, shaking his head. He glanced down at me and Tommy real quick, then leaned toward Whitey and started whispering something. Mirabelle and Ada Jane moved in closer to him.
My heart turned a cartwheel. Did he have news about Daddy? I wanted to j
ump up off the ground and yell at Mr. Clarkson to speak up. Just when I thought I’d die of curiosity, Mirabelle reared her head back in surprise.
“What?” she screeched. “What’s that, Ralph? You say the police found the robbers’ carcasses alongside the road?”
Chapter 11
Carcasses! I fell against Tommy, my heart pumping so fast and hard I thought it would explode. Daddy was dead! They’d already found his body.
“No. You got it wrong,” Whitey told Mirabelle. He pulled a dirty snot rag out of his pocket and used it to wipe the trickle of sweat from around his mouth. “He didn’t say anything about a carcass. Did you, Ralph?”
I held my breath, watching Mr. Clarkson like a hawk eyes its next meal, waiting for his answer. He fidgeted with his shirt collar, his face turning pinker than a raspberry. “Er…um…well, what I meant to say was that the police has found the robbers’ car alongside the road near Indianapolis. The engine’s dead.”
“You mean our dads got away?” Tommy blurted out.
“For real?” Ernestine asked.
“That’s correct,” Mr. Clarkson answered.
My body went limp with relief. I slumped over, letting the breath I’d been holding hiss out of my nose.
“Hmph!” Mirabelle said. “Didn’t hear you right. Guess I need me one of them dad-burned hearing aids.”
Ada Jane giggled, and the three grown-ups went on talking about our dads like Tommy and I weren’t even there. I pretended like I couldn’t care less what they said.
Ernestine crawled over next to us. She handed Tommy and me each a stick of gum. “Golly! I’m glad your dads got away. I hope they make it to New York City okay.”
“Yeah. Me, too.” I took a shaky breath, but I couldn’t get what Mr. Clarkson said out of my mind: The police had found the stolen getaway car on the way to Indianapolis, which was north of Myron. Old Man Hinshaw’s cabin was south of Myron, the opposite direction. So where were Daddy and Uncle Warren? What if I’d been wrong? Suppose they hadn’t gone to the cabin at all?
Tracking Daddy Down Page 5