by Natalie Hyde
Fiona looked horrified. “And what? Just leave the Ducati here? With strangers? No. Way.”
We stood around looking miserable. What a mess. As if this whole thing wasn’t hard enough without motorcycle troubles.
“It’s easy,” Vinnie said. “The answer’s right in front of you!” He spread his arms wide and danced a little happy dance — right there in the parking lot.
We all stared at him. Had he completely lost his mind? Cars were honking their horns as they drove by. I wanted to climb back in the truck and hide.
“What are you talking about?” Fiona asked, one hand still on the Ducati.
“My truck, of course. It can take all of us AND the Ducati up north. Call ahead and get them to order the part and they can fix your bike when you get there. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.”
“Don’t you have a business to run?” Fiona asked him.
“I’m mobile! The mobile muffin man! I can bake in my truck anytime and sell out my window anywhere I stop. And I feel a road trip coming on!” He jumped in the air, one arm pumped up as if he had just scored a game-winning basket.
More honks from cars driving by.
“What about Shard?” Fiona asked. “Won’t her parents expect her back?”
“Shard’s on a rescue mission with her favourite uncle,” he said. “She’s fighting a grave social injustice, battling government interference, sticking it to the man! And if I know my hippie-loving sister, she’d be riding with us, if she could.”
We all looked at Shard. She shrugged. “Simple phone call will tell us,” she said. “Besides, why should Chris get to have an adventure without me?” She punched me in the arm to make her point. I resisted the urge to rub it.
Was that what I was having? An adventure? Felt more like an act of desperation to me.
“Do you mean we have to load that thing back in the truck?” I asked. “And sit on flour sacks again?”
Vinnie rubbed his chin. “Hmm. You’re right. It can’t be good for the flour to have all that body heat on it. Might ruin the flour.”
Ruin the flour? What about my behind? It felt like someone had been smacking it with a hard wooden paddle for three hours.
“Oh, I’ve got it!” Vinnie said with his ever-present grin on his face. He jumped through the big doors at the back of the truck and started moving stuff around. He rolled the metal racks closer together on one side and rearranged the flour sacks to make two flat benches on each side of the opening to the cab. Then he pulled down a couple of blankets from the cupboards and folded them on top of the hard flour bags.
“Ta-dah!” Vinnie said, grinning widely.
I had to admit, they looked pretty comfortable. I climbed up and wiggled around.
“Thanks, Vinnie,” I said. “Just don’t slam into anything because we don’t have seat belts.”
“Well, if the cops stop us, you two hide in the cupboards.” Vinnie said this with a laugh like he was joking. I wasn’t laughing. If it came down to it, I would have to choose between climbing into a suffocating cupboard where I would absolutely have another panic attack, or being picked up by the police and thrown into foster care where any chance of a future with my dad would disappear faster than a cockroach down a drain. I don’t know what I would choose and just prayed it would never come to that.
Shard borrowed Fiona’s phone to call her parents. Vinnie was right. They were happy I was “escaping the clutches of bureaucratic incompetence,” whatever that means, and even said they would run interference for me if Family Services came knocking again. We helped tie down the Ducati and hit the road. We only stopped once for some fast-food burgers and fries, and then kept on going. Vinnie and Fiona decided to take turns and drive all night, seeing as we lost so much time with the breakdown and the garage. That was fine with me now that I had my flour-sack bed.
Besides, all the bad luck was behind us. Right?
CHAPTER 17
THE SECRET WEAPON
I didn’t feel all the bumps and swerves of our night drive, but my body did. I had so many sore muscles and bruises from those rotten flour sacks that I felt like an apple that had been dropped on the floor and kicked around the cafeteria for a while.
Shard was still sleeping on her sacks. I sat up and poked my head through the doorway to the cab. The sky was just turning a violet colour out the passenger-side window. Fiona was driving. Vinnie was snoozing.
“Where are we?” I whispered.
“The middle of nowhere,” Fiona said in a low voice.
“That narrows it down,” I said, lying back down on my concrete bed. I hoped we were going to stop soon. I desperately wanted to walk around on ground that didn’t jiggle.
It took a while, but the truck finally began to slow and turn. The sun was up, and so were Vinnie and Shard. Everyone was groggy. And grumpy. Was I really the only morning person here?
We were at one of those highway gas stations, because Fiona said we had been running on fumes for the last twenty minutes. Shard and I climbed out through the cab to stretch our legs and use the bathroom.
When we got back to the truck Vinnie was there with two coffees and two juices.
“Guava?” I said, reading the label. “You got me guava juice?”
“It’s guava and strawberry. Very good for you,” Vinnie said.
If it was so good for you, why wasn’t he drinking it? I took a swig and shuddered. It was gross — something like a cross between an underripe strawberry and a watered-down pineapple.
Worse than that, the drink woke my stomach up and it growled pretty loud. Fiona raised her eyebrows. “Hungry?”
I shrugged. I was still trying to save my money for the claim fees.
“I’m starving,” Shard said.
“Sorry, guys. This truck guzzles gas and this is the third time I’ve filled it since last night,” Fiona said. “We can make do with leftover muffins for breakfast. We need cash to put gas in the tank and I’ve got to save some money for the repair bill.”
Vinnie opened his wallet and then closed it again quickly. Shard shrugged. We were a great bunch. No one had enough gas money to get us north.
Vinnie smiled and spread his arms. “Breakfast is on me!” No one said anything. “Come on, everyone in the truck.”
We all climbed back into our spots, this time with Vinnie at the wheel and Fiona collapsing in the passenger seat. We didn’t go back on the highway, but instead drove into whatever city this was. It was bigger than Strathcona and the downtown had office buildings on both sides of the street, blocking out the sun. I don’t know how the scrawny trees that were planted in gaps in the sidewalk managed to survive.
It seemed like every time I climbed out of the truck the landscape had changed entirely — from dark, swampy forests to sleepy small towns to rows of wheat swaying in the wind to the metal and glass of towering office buildings.
Vinnie seemed to be going pretty slow and making a lot of turns, as if he were looking for something. I craned my neck to see out the little service window.
He finally screeched to a stop by a small grassy square that I guess was supposed to be a park. Nobody was using it though; everyone I could see was walking, heads down and hanging on to purses and briefcases.
“Here we are!” Vinnie said, getting out.
I didn’t know what Vinnie was up to, but we were parked on a street with no restaurants. Where was breakfast?
“Help me get the bike out, Chris,” Vinnie said.
At the word “bike” Fiona sat bolt upright. “What are you doing?” she asked in a panicked voice.
“Just moving the bike out of my kitchen,” Vinnie said.
Shard undid all the ties while Vinnie and I opened the back doors and pulled the Ducati out onto the road. Fiona took it from us the minute the front wheel touched the pavement, rolled it over to a bench in the park and sat down.
Vinnie climbed in the back, opened the cupboards and took out bowls, pans, wooden spoons and an apron. He grabbed one of the sacks of flou
r from Shard’s bed and pulled out plastic containers with other white powders in them. He opened the tiny fridge and I saw eggs, milk and fruit. It didn’t take a genius to realize he was going to bake muffins.
“We still have a couple of muffins left over from yesterday,” I said.
“That’s not enough to earn us gas money,” Vinnie said. “We’ll sell those as ‘day-olds’ but we need fresh ones if this quest is going to be successful.”
Quest? First it’s an adventure and now it’s a quest? This might be all fun and games to them, but this was my life. My future. Not some game.
I couldn’t be mad though. Vinnie and Shard had come through when I really needed them. So, if we needed to make muffins to make this work, then pass me a wooden spoon. I jumped in and asked what I could do.
“There are plastic containers in that cupboard,” Vinnie said. “You can package up the ‘day-olds’ for now. Shard, maybe you could pull out that whiteboard there and start making the menu sign for today.”
Out the back doors I could see Fiona sitting on the bench, fiddling with her phone.
“I’ll be right back,” I told Vinnie, and jumped out.
“Can you do me a favour?” I asked her when I got near.
Fiona made a face. “Haven’t you had enough favours lately?”
“Yeah. But could I ask for one more?”
Fiona sighed. “What is it?”
“Can you call my dad?”
“You can’t call someone in jail,” she said.
“I know. But we could find out if he’s still locked up or out already. If he was released, he could be on his way up to meet us.”
“Here, call yourself.” She held her phone out to me.
“I can’t,” I said. “They’ll ask where I am, or check the GPS or something if they know it’s me.”
Fiona shook her head and then asked me where he was. It was probably the thought that if my dad was out and could come, then she could go home again and be rid of me that made her look up the number on her screen and then dial it.
“Marlin Correctional Facility,” I could hear a voice say, even though Fiona was holding the phone to her ear. I leaned in closer.
“Yes, hello. I’m trying to find out if you have a prisoner there named Frank Dearing …” Fiona said, trying to shoo me away.
“Francis!” I whispered frantically. “His real name is Francis.”
“… er, Francis Dearing.”
“We don’t give out information over the phone,” the voice said.
“Oh, right,” Fiona said. “It’s just that I’ve been asked to take over his case because his original lawyer got sick, and his handwriting is impossible to read in his notes so I wasn’t sure which correctional facility he was being held in.” Did I mention what a great liar she was?
“Oh, well, I still shouldn’t, but seeing as you’re his legal counsel …” There was silence. “Yes, he’s here.”
“Oh, great. I’ll head over then.”
“Wait a minute,” the voice said. “I have a note here on his file that his son is missing. Do you know where he is?”
I felt all the blood drain from my face.
“No, but I’ll ask around,” Fiona said and hung up.
She didn’t say anything to me, and I didn’t feel like saying anything to her. I just went back to the truck. I was still on my own.
When I climbed back in, Vinnie was pouring batter into muffin cups. “Bears in a Bathtub, Polka-Dot muffins, Cosmic muffins and, um, maybe some Lemon Liftoff muffins,” he said.
Shard rolled her eyes but wrote them all down on the whiteboard.
“What are Bear in a Bathtub muffins?” I had to ask.
“You’ll see,” Vinnie said, moving at warp speed from the counter to the oven to the racks. “And now, for my secret weapon.”
Vinnie reached up over the oven to the vent that went to the outside and slid a lever to the left. “Aaaaaah,” he said. “The heavenly smell of my muffins will call to the people and they will come to the Muffin Man.” He laughed.
You know what’s weird? His secret weapon worked. That smell of baking chocolate and cinnamon and lemon was like the Pied Piper of aromas. I watched out the back of the truck. You could see people’s heads come up, their eyebrows crinkle and their eyes dart around looking for the source. Then you could see them read the side of the truck, smile and come over.
Shard ran the cash while I packaged up the warm muffins. Vinnie was still moving like a blur. Fiona was still on the bench outside, ignoring us.
That lineup never stopped for what seemed like hours. Vinnie just kept mixing, stirring and baking. Shard and I snacked on the muffin mistakes — the ones that broke when they came out of the pan. When there was finally a break in the customers, I looked at the clock over Vinnie’s window. It was eleven thirty.
Vinnie stuck his head out the window and looked up and down the street. “I’ll just wait for the last few customers as I clean up,” he said to us, pulling his head back in. “Why don’t you two take a break?”
He didn’t have to tell me twice. I was exhausted. Fiona was still on the bench, both legs draped over the seat of the Ducati, her head back, mouth open, asleep. I didn’t kid myself though. If someone so much as stared too long at that bike, she’d feel it and wake up.
Shard and I walked down the street, looking in the lobbies of the office buildings and in the fronts of the photocopy shops, dry cleaners and florists.
“Where did Vinnie learn to bake?” I asked.
“Oh, in an old-folks’ home.”
“He was the cook in a seniors’ place?” Somehow I couldn’t picture Vinnie making daily vats of Jell-O and rice pudding. He was too, I don’t know, creative for that.
“Not really,” Shard said, looking a bit uncomfortable. “He did some community service there.”
“Community service? As in, punishment for getting arrested?”
Shard nodded.
I laughed. NOW we were talking my kind of relatives. “What did he do?”
“It was a disorderly conduct charge.”
“Okay. But what did he do?” I tried to picture what sort of crime Vinnie would commit: Peeing on a street corner? Swearing at a bus driver? Inciting a riot? What?
“He, uh, was holding up traffic in a big intersection.”
“Holding it up? Doing what?”
Shard winced. “Singing Italian opera for money.”
I laughed again. I didn’t see that coming. “So he gets community service in an old-age home and learns to bake?”
It was a great story. Shard and I joked about our relatives all the way back to the muffin truck. As we got close, a silver car slowed as it passed by, and I glanced over. My eyes locked with the driver’s.
It felt like icy cold fingers were clawing down my back.
The driver was Randy the wallet thief.
CHAPTER 18
COPS HAVE LONG MEMORIES
“What is he doing here?” I said, my voice quivering a bit as I watched the car slowly continue down the street and then turn the corner.
“Who?” Shard asked, looking around.
“The driver of the silver car that just went by … it was the guy who came to our apartment that night and started asking all those questions about my grandfather’s claim.”
“No. It couldn’t be. I’m sure it was just someone who reminded you of him. What would he be doing here in … where are we again?”
I couldn’t tell her — some big, nondescript city with doppelganger wallet thieves driving around. I wanted so badly to believe Shard that it was just a guy who looked like Randy, but if I listened to deep down in my gut, which was churning like a cement mixer, I’d know I was right. I could only hope he didn’t see Fiona sitting in the little park and realize that I was riding with the Muffin Man. That truck wasn’t exactly camouflaged.
Vinnie was just wiping down the stove and counters when we climbed back in.
“So, how’d we do?” Shard asked.
Vinnie held up a grey metal cash box and shook it like maracas so the coins rattled. Then he jumped up and clicked his heels. You know, you had to smile when you were around Vinnie. He was just so darn happy.
“A bunch of coins aren’t going to buy us supper and gas,” Shard grumbled.
“The bills are already put away in my secret lockbox,” Vinnie said. “Let’s load up the bike and hit the road!”
I couldn’t help glancing up and down the street before I jumped out to get Fiona, just to make sure the silver car wasn’t lurking just up the street. It wasn’t.
Fiona was awake again and back on her phone.
“News from home?” I asked, hoping it wasn’t her mother telling her not to bother coming, that Uncle Joey was already floating down the river.
“It’s Lisa.”
“Oh. How are things at the Bull?”
“Well, last night there were two fights, one arrest, a broken lamp and six smashed glasses … all in all, a pretty quiet night.”
Really? What was a rowdy night like?
“We’re ready to hit the road,” I said.
Fiona put her phone in her pocket. “Coming.”
Vinnie was in a great mood when we pulled out. My mood wasn’t bad either, seeing as we were finally moving again. There was just that little worry about the “Randy Incident,” but maybe Shard was right: maybe it was just his look-alike.
I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I was getting used to the bumpy ride on blankets over flour sacks. Shard and I even managed to have a card game, using one of the flat metal baking trays as a table.
We made only one quick stop at a mini-mart, and while Vinnie loaded up on baking supplies we grabbed some subs for lunch. Then it was back on the road. We were off the main highway now and mostly going through small towns on two-lane country roads. It was slower going but every hour brought me closer to my new future, and with all the delays so far, we needed to make tracks.
“Have you figured out how you’re going to register the claim yet?” Shard asked. “What if they ask for ID?”
“Maybe I’ll get a fake ID with my dad’s name on it.”