On the Road to Mr. Mineo's

by Barbara O'Connor

  So many problems that Stella hadn’t thought of.

  Stella wasn’t nearly as good at thinking of problems as Gerald was.

  Now she was running home to get her bike.

  Gerald was supposed to get his bike and meet her out front. He wished he hadn’t eaten that dough ball. He clutched his stomach and plodded over to where his bike was propped against the fence along the driveway.

  He couldn’t stop himself from looking at those pale pink words.

  WORMY LIVES HERE

  The dough ball felt like a cannonball in his stomach.

  He pushed his bike up the driveway toward the road, one heavy step at a time.

  Clomp

  Clomp

  Clomp

  Stella was waiting out front, sitting on her dented bike, her curls standing up like springs on top of her head. She grinned at him.

  “Let’s go!” she hollered as she pedaled up Waxhaw Lane.

  Gerald glanced over his shoulder at the garage behind his house.

  How he longed to go back up there and sit in the lawn chair and play cards all day.

  Instead, he climbed onto his bike and pedaled slowly after Stella.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Little Brown Dog

  Ethel ignored the car honking behind her. She was not going to speed up. She was looking for the little brown dog, scanning the roadsides and fields and yards.

  Every once in a while, she asked Amos, “See anything?”

  He would utter a grumbly “No.”

  She stuck her arm out the window and motioned for the car behind her to go around. The car roared by, sending up a swirl of dust.

  Ethel made a hmmph sound.

  Amos mumbled a cuss word.

  “Keep your eye out for that pigeon, too,” Ethel said. “If we see the pigeon, that dog is liable to be nearby.”

  They drove through neighborhoods and up dirt lanes and down bumpy gravel roads. They drove behind gas stations and circled parking lots and wove through trailer parks.

  But they didn’t see the little brown dog.

  Or the one-legged pigeon.

  Amos kept asking Ethel what she was going to do if she found the dog, and Ethel kept saying, “Don’t worry about it.” Actually, she wasn’t really sure what she would do if she found the dog. She just wanted to make sure he was okay.

  “Let’s go drive around the lake,” she said, turning down the road to Mr. Mineo’s.

  When she got to the run-down bait shop, she pulled into the parking lot.

  “Go see if it’s open,” she said to Amos. “Maybe Mr. Mineo has seen something.”

  “Aw, that old guy ain’t never here,” Amos said. “Anybody that wants to fish is better off digging their own dang worms.”

  But he got out and shuffled across the parking lot to the bait shop.

  He tried the door.

  Locked.

  He knocked on the window.

  Nothing.

  He climbed back into the car, grumbling something about wanting to go home.

  But Ethel wanted to find the little brown dog.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Edsel’s Hunk of Junk (Again)

  On the road to Mr. Mineo’s, Luther and Edsel heard a familiar noise coming from under the hood of Edsel’s white delivery van.

  Sort of a whirrrrrr-clunk-clunk noise.

  Then swirls of dark gray smoke twisted into the air like little tornadoes on each side of the hood.

  “Gol-dern criminy cripes,” Edsel muttered. “I’m ready to push this hunk of junk right into the lake and call it a day.”

  Luther didn’t say anything. He knew Edsel well. When that vein on the side of his neck started pulsing like that, it was better to keep quiet.

  The van putt, putt, putted to a stop.

  There was a slow sssssss, two puffs of gray smoke, and then nothing but the still summer air.

  The buzz of a fly.

  Luther clearing his throat.

  Edsel pounding the steering wheel.

  “This gol-dern hunk of junk.”

  Luther and Edsel got out of the van. Edsel opened the hood. The loud squeak of metal echoed across the field of wildflowers on the other side 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.

  “I reckon we’re gonna have to walk up to the bait shop and call for a tow,” Edsel said.

  “I 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.

  “Wanna rest up first?” Edsel said.

  “Sure.”

  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 WORMS FOR SALE sign. Ernie curled up at his feet.

  “Maybe I should just give up,” Mr. Mineo said.

  “Maybe that dern fool bird has found hisself a new home.”

  He sighed.

  “Wouldn’t surprise me a bit.”

  He rubbed Ernie’s back with the toe of his shoe.

  “He always was a little too cocky.”

  He glanced up at the sky.

  “Hoppin’ around that shed like he owned the place.”

  He chuckled.

  “He 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.

  “Well, good riddance is what I say.”

  He shifted the toothpick to the other side of his mouth.

  “And good luck to whoever’s got him now.”

  He studied the treetops on the other side of the road.

  “Right, 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.

  “Come 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 gleam
ing. 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 roared with laughter as Stella and Gerald disappeared around the corner of Waxhaw Lane.

  “I told you she’d fall for it,” Levi said, beaming at C.J. and Jiggs. “She’s a ding-dong doodlebrain.”

  They slapped each other’s backs and high-fived and whooped it up until finally Levi said, “Now we’ve got to get up there on Gerald’s garage and wait for that pigeon.”

  The three of them dashed across the street to Gerald’s house. They tiptoed up the driveway and along the shrubbery to the ladder.

  Levi shot a quick look over his shoulder to the back door of Gerald’s house, then whispered, “Come on.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Stella Wouldn’t Slow Down

  Stella pedaled and pedaled and pedaled.

  Every now and then she glanced behind her at Gerald.

  His face was red. His hair was damp with sweat. He huffed and puffed and hollered, “Slow down!”

  But Stella wouldn’t slow down.

  She was going to find that pigeon before Levi did.

  No matter what.

  She pedaled past the hardware store and the church and on out toward the outskirts of town. She passed the Ropers’ small brick house with the big wooden barn.

  She passed the dirt driveway that led to the cluster of ramshackle houses where the Raynards lived.

  Then she turned down the road that led to the lake.

  The road to Mr. Mineo’s.

  As she pedaled, she scanned the trees and rooftops and telephone wires, searching for the pigeon. But she didn’t see him.

  She studied the road ahead, looking for Levi and C.J. and Jiggs. But she didn’t see them. She was starting to worry that maybe Levi had tricked her.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  The Story Continues

  Mr. Mineo drove his pickup truck on the side roads of Meadville. His fat dog, Ernie, sat beside him with his head stuck out the window, panting in the summer breeze. Every once in a while, Mr. Mineo got out of the truck and rattled a can of birdseed, calling, “Come and get it!”

  Meanwhile, Stella and Gerald pedaled their bikes along the narrow road toward the bait shop. Stella looked very determined, searching the trees and rooftops along the way.

  Gerald looked very hot and tired. His face grew redder by the minute as he tried his best to keep up with Stella.

  Ethel Roper drove her blue-and-white station wagon around the lake, searching for the little brown dog and the pigeon. Amos slouched beside her, grumbling.

  Luther and Edsel slept in the white delivery van on the side of the road.

  Over on Waxhaw Lane, Gerald’s mother yelled at Levi and C.J. and Jiggs to get off her property before she called the police, sending them scampering down the ladder from the garage roof and racing home.

  In Emmaline Raynard’s garage, Mutt flapped his arms and hollered at the cats, while the one-legged pigeon swooped and fluttered above them.

  And the little brown dog trotted up the dirt driveway toward the cluster of ramshackle houses.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  The Boy Who Cried Wolf

  Mutt’s heart raced.

  The cats jumped onto sacks of fertilizer and climbed over car parts and leaped onto rusty paint cans and tractor tires and milk crates.

  Mutt tried to grab them, but they hissed and yowled and darted away from him. He tried to grab the pigeon, but it flapped and fluttered and swooped from one side of the garage to the other.

  And then suddenly …

  … a little brown dog burst into the garage, barking and carrying on like crazy, chasing the cats around and around until they scurried outside.

  Then everything got calm and quiet.

  The dog sat in the corner of the garage and stared up at the pigeon, his tail swishing back and forth on the cool cement floor. The cats sat out in the yard in the shade of a scrawny dogwood tree, grooming themselves and looking annoyed. The pigeon nestled in the rafters of the garage and cooed softly down at the dog.

  Mutt’s heart settled down, and he let out a sigh of relief.

  But just when it seemed like the commotion was over, all those Raynard kids whose names started with the letter B came running from around the side of Emmaline’s house. They made such a racket that the dog darted out of the garage, raced across the yard, and scampered off into the woods. Then the pigeon swooped down from the rafters and soared out of the open door, disappearing over the top of the house.

  “Gol-dern it!” Mutt hollered, shaking his fists at the kids. “Look what y’all done!” He pointed at the sky over Emmaline’s house. “That was the pigeon I told y’all about.”

  “What pigeon?” Byron said.

  “The one that landed on my head.” Mutt tapped the top of his head.

  “I didn’t see no pigeon,” Brassy said.

  “Me neither,” Becka said.

  “He’s only got one leg.” Mutt held a finger in Becka’s face and she slapped at it.

  Then one of the kids said, “You’re such a liar, Mutt.”

  “Yeah, you’re such a liar, Mutt,” another one said.

  Then they all started hopping around the yard on one leg, chanting, “Mutt is a liar. Mutt is a liar.” Mutt chased them and yanked their hair and slapped their legs and punched their arms until they ran off toward home.

  Mutt glared up at the sky. Now he was more determined than ever to catch that pigeon.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  By the Side of the Road

  “I give up,” Mr. Mineo said to Ernie. “That dern fool bird is gone, and I say good riddance to him.”

  He studied the cloudless sky. “If he gets hungry enough, he’ll come home.”

  He scanned the tops of the trees on the side of the road. “Aw, heck with him, right?” He glanced over at Ernie, curled up on the seat beside him.

  “Let’s go get some lunch.” He turned the pickup truck in the direction of the bait shop.

  Just as he rounded a curve in the road, he spied something on the side of the road ahead.

  A white delivery van.

  “That’s Edsel’s van,” he said.

  He turned the truck onto the grass by the roadside and stopped. Just as he was getting out, a car pulled in behind him.

  A blue-and-white station wagon.

  Amos Roper got out of the passenger side and waved to Mr. Mineo. “Got trouble?” he said.

  Mr. Mineo shook his head. “Not me.” He nodded toward Edsel’s van.

  The hood was up.

  Edsel’s feet were hanging out of the side door.

  Luther’s feet were hanging out of the back doors.

  And snores echoed across the Carolina countryside.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  Levi Has Another Plan

  Levi and C.J. and Jiggs sat glumly on the curb in front of the barbershop, tossing pebbles into the storm drain and listening to them hit the water below the grate.

  Ploink

  Ploink

  Ploink

  “What do y’all want to do now?” C.J. said.

  Levi shrugged. He glanced across the street at Luther’s Chinese Takeout. A sign hung on the door:

  GONE FISHING

  The three of them sat in silence.

  Suddenly, Levi sat up straight and whispered, “Don’t move.”

  C.J. and Jiggs
didn’t move.

  “That pigeon is over yonder,” Levi whispered.

  Sure enough, the one-legged pigeon hopped around in front of the restaurant, pecking at the sidewalk.

  “What do we do now?” Jiggs whispered.

  Levi thought.

  Then he told C.J. and Jiggs his plan.

  Two of them would stay here and keep an eye on the pigeon, while one of them went to the convenience store up the street to buy something to lure him. Crackers or chips or popcorn.

  Then they would tiptoe across the street, and one of them would make a trail of crumbs up the sidewalk while the other two waited in the alley.

  The pigeon would hop up the sidewalk, eating the crumbs.

  And then, when he got near the alley …

  … bingo!

  They would nab him.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  The Boy Who Cried Wolf

  Mutt was steaming mad. As he made his way up the side of the road, he kicked at rocks.

  Hard.

  Each time he kicked a rock, he called out one of his cousins’ names that started with the letter B.

  He was so busy being mad and kicking rocks that he didn’t notice Stella and Gerald riding toward him until he nearly ran smack into them.

  Stella stopped. “What are you doing out here?” She narrowed her eyes at him.

  “I live out here,” he said. “What are you doing out here?”

  Stella glanced at Gerald, who stood there looking tired and red-faced. “We’re just riding our bikes.” She gave Gerald a poke. “Right, Gerald?”

  “Right,” he said, shifting from foot to foot in that nervous way of his.

  “Bye.” Mutt waved at them and continued up the road toward town.

  “Wait!” Stella called after him. “Have you seen that one-legged pigeon?”

  “Yes.” Mutt called over his shoulder as he continued up the road.

  Stella jumped off her bike and ran after him. “Really?”

  “Yes.” Mutt kept walking, looking straight ahead, wanting Stella to go away.

  “You have not.” Stella stomped her foot. “You’re such a liar.”

  Mutt stopped. His face turned red. He clenched his fists and kicked at the dirt on the side of the road, sending up swirls of dust. He yanked at weeds and threw rocks and stomped on his baseball cap.