A & L Do Summer (19 page)

Ferret lets out a squeal that would make Sunflower blush. Skunk stench mixes with the dense smoke to form a suffocating toxic soup. I scoop Sammy into my arms and dash down the hall toward the kitchen.

Two firefighters in full gear step out of Miss Simmons's sewing room, and I nearly drop Sammy again. “Is anyone else in the house?” one of them asks, his voice muffled by an oxygen mask.

With my free hand, I point toward Miss Simmons's room. “One,” I manage to croak.

The firefighter who spoke heads down the hall, while the other one steers me through the kitchen and down the steps to the backyard. Clay shakes off the hand of a large man who's holding his arm and rushes to me. He reaches out to hug me but pulls back when he sees Sammy.

“My God, Aspen! Are you all right?” His left eye is swollen shut, his cheek is purple, and there's a smear of dried blood under his nose. “They wouldn't let me go back in.” He takes my upper arm and draws me toward an ambulance parked on Miss Simmons's back lawn.

“I'm fine.” I sound like a frog with laryngitis, and my elbow is throbbing. “But I've got to get Sammy out of here before someone sees him.”

Clay makes a sharp right turn to the alley. “We'll put him in the cab of my truck for now. Then you're going to let the paramedics take a look at you.”

“What about you? Your face is a mess.”

“If you think we look bad, you should see Buster and Kong.” Manny startles me by falling into step with us. Laurel, looking much fresher than I feel, is snuggled under his arm. Manny's nose is bandaged, both eyes are black, and his lips look like summer sausages. “I'm glad you're okay. I came this close to getting worried about you.” He holds his thumb and index finger an inch apart.

Laurel elbows Manny in the side. “You should have seen these guys freak out when the firemen wouldn't let them go in after you.” If I had the energy, I'd wonder why those two are suddenly so chummy.

“Thanks, guys.” I cough, and I swear a puff of smoke comes out my mouth. “Uh, Laurel. Clay and I are taking Miss Simmons's cat to his truck for safekeeping. That might be a good place to put your new…pet, too.”

Manny cranes his neck to look at Sammy. “That doesn't look like any cat I've ever seen.” His eyes grow as wide as possible, considering all the swelling. “What the …! It's a sku—”

“If anyone asks, he's Miss Simmons's pet cat, Sammy Stripers,” Laurel interrupts him. “And Clay is keeping him at his farm until she's out of the hospital.”

The farther we walk from the scene of the fire, the quieter it becomes. I take a deep breath of fresh air and manage to exhale without coughing. I could swear I stumbled around in Miss Simmons's smoke-filled house for hours, but Clay says it's not quite four a.m. Crickets chirp and fireflies glide across the alley, but the mosquitoes are blissfully absent. Maybe it's because we all smell like smoke.

The throbbing in my elbow has settled into a dull ache. Sammy is squirming, so I shift him to my other side. He's getting heavy, and his claws are digging into my arms. “Did you hear how she is?”

“The last I saw of Miss Simmons, she was wide awake and mad as hell.” Clay squeezes my arm just enough to let me know he's still holding on. “She wouldn't let the ambulance leave until she told Officer Sierra about the ‘three thugs' breaking into her house and knocking her down.” He grins. “She's a feisty old gal.”

Of course Officer Sierra is in the neighborhood. It wouldn't be a summer night without him. “Did he arrest Buster and Kong?”

“Oh, yeah,” Manny says. “Thanks to yours truly and my man here.” He reaches across me to bump fists with Clay. “But that loser Ferret took off when the fighting started. He's probably on his way to Canada.”

“Not so much.” I tell them how Ferret tried to block my way out—and how Sammy took care of him.

“That's perfect!” Manny whoops with laughter, then he winces. “My face hurts like an SOB.”

I stifle my sisterly urge to make a comeback.

BEFORE WE TAKE SAMMY TO CLAY'S TRUCK, WE MAKE A DETOUR
to get Cleo out of Laurel's car, which is still parked in the alley behind my house. There's a bright red ticket under her windshield wiper citing her for blocking the right-of-way. She looks disgusted. “I've already gotten about a dozen of these. Who knew the cops in this town would be so picky about where you park?”

Laurel lifts out Cleo's carrier and locks the door again.

“Aren't you going to move your car?” Manny asks.

“Why bother?” Laurel shrugs. “I've already paid for this parking spot.” Manny chuckles and tucks her back under his arm. It's a good thing he's going to college for orientation next week. If they became a couple, Cottonwood Creek would be in deep trouble.

As we walk toward Clay's truck, Manny takes the carrier from Laurel. “So what's in here—a possum?”

Laurel cuts a look at me. “No. It's just a little chicken,” she says meekly.

“Seriously?” Manny lifts the carrier to eye level and peers in at Cleo. “So it is.” His swollen nose and lips make his
s'
s sound like
th.

My breathing stops while I wait for one of the guys to make the connection.

It hits Clay first. He pulls me up short. “Aren't you working out at the chicken farm?” I can't bring myself to look at him.

“I was…sort of.” Laurel avoids his gaze. “Yesterday was my last day.”

“Let me guess. They gave you one of their chickens as a going-away present?” Clay cocks an eyebrow at her.

“I had to save Cleo. They were going to kill her!” Laurel's eyes well up, but I'm not so sure tears are going to work on Clay.

Clay drops my arm. “And stealing it was all you could come up with?” His good eye is blazing and the muscles in his neck are rigid. “A laying hen is worth—at the most—five bucks. Why didn't you just offer to buy it from them?”

Laurel squares up for an argument. “I tried, but the owner is out of town and the manager wouldn't let me. If I waited until the owner got back, Cleo would be dead.”

Clay blows out a frustrated breath. “Okay. I can kind of see your point. But it's not too late to pay for the bird.”

Laurel shakes her head. “If I confess and offer to pay for Cleo now, I'll get arrested again.”

“Why can't Laurel pay for Cleo without confessing?” Since I'm not brave enough to meet Clay's eyes, I look at his chin. “If she sends EggstraGood five or even ten dollars—anonymously, of course—they get more money than Cleo's worth, Cleo gets to live, and Laurel doesn't get arrested. It's a win-win-win.”

“You need to add another ‘win' to that list, because her accomplice wouldn't be arrested, either.” Clay flashes me a grin and links his arm through mine again.

“Okay, make it four wins.” I let out a sigh of relief.

“How about this,” he tells Laurel, “you send EggstraGood twenty dollars—”

Laurel squeaks but wisely keeps her mouth shut.

“—for…Cleo, and we all forget this conversation ever happened.”

“It's a deal,” I jump in before Laurel says something stupid.

When we get to Clay's pickup, which happens to be parked in front of our house, he takes Cleo's carrier from Manny and lifts it into the back of his truck. But where to put Sammy is a problem.

“Cleo doesn't take up much room,” Laurel says. “We could put Sammy with her in the carrier for now.”

Clay snorts. “You really are a city girl. Skunks are predators; chickens are prey. It wouldn't be good for Cleo's health.”

We end up making a nest of rags in the passenger seat for Sammy and pulling the bed cover over Cleo's carrier in the back of Clay's truck. We've barely gotten the animals settled when the outdoor lights flip on and my parents barrel out our front door.

What's left of the night is gobbled up by interviews, interrogations, and paramedics. Officer Sierra and the fire department are in charge of the interviews. My parents and Laurel's dad handle the interrogations. The paramedics check us over, put a patch over Clay's eye, and hand out ice packs. My elbow is bruised, but I pass on having it X-rayed. Now that my funny bone isn't sending electric shocks through my nervous system, it doesn't feel that bad. For the first time, Laurel and I won't have a problem telling Officer Sierra the truth about what happened, mainly because he's not interested in where we were before we arrived at Miss Simmons's house.

Too bad our parents don't share his lack of interest. Laurel and I are under eighteen, which means Mom, Dad, and Mr. Piedmont are going to be listening and probably taking notes when we give our statements to Officer Sierra. Mom and Dad astonish us both when they let Laurel drive me to the police station. I guess they figure it's better than leaving her car parked in the alley. Laurel and I take advantage of the time to concoct what we hope is a plausible story about what happened before we went to Miss Simmons's house.

“Since I got you into this, I'll take the blame.” Laurel checks the rearview mirror to make sure Manny is following us. Clay will meet us at the police station after he gets Sammy and Cleo settled at his farm. “I couldn't sleep and my phone was dead, so I drove to your house for company. I woke you up, you came downstairs, and we were sitting in your backyard talking when we saw Buster's pickup drive by.”

“We'd better say we were on the front steps. You can't see the street from the back.” It makes as much sense as anything else we've done this summer. “I got worried because of Ferret's unnatural interest in Miss Simmons—”

“Everything about Ferret is unnatural,” Laurel points out.

“Too true. But in this case we decided to walk to her house and make sure she was okay. On the way we ran into Manny and Clay coming home from—”

“We won't think about that,” Laurel cuts me off. “From that point on, we'll tell what happened.” She looks over at me and grins. “For once we don't even have to lie. We just leave out a few insignificant details.”

If we keep our fingers and toes crossed, it might just work.

With Buster and Kong in jail—and Ferret on his way as soon as someone finds a store selling tomato juice in gallon jugs—Laurel and I don't hold anything back. Well, we skip over the pig incident since it's ancient history. And we use our new alibi story to explain the time we spent rescuing Cleo. But Laurel tells Officer Sierra the truth about the M-80s. I fill him in on the stalking, threats, and the pellets Buttferk shot into Carmine. After Clay arrives, all four of us tell our versions of what happened in Miss Simmons's house.

By the time we finish our official statements, dawn is breaking, and my heart rate has returned to normal. For the first time this summer, something actually went better than expected. Officer Sierra seemed to believe us about Buttferk, our parents didn't threaten capital punishment, and Clay promised to call me this afternoon.

Before we leave the police station, Officer Sierra asks to speak to me in private. As he leads me to his office, my pulse switches into overdrive. What does he know that I don't know he knows?

“I'm sure you're exhausted, Aspen. This will only take a minute.” Officer Sierra's hair is matted, and his face is streaked with soot. He looks dead on his feet. “I'm sure it's no secret to you how Mr. Baumgarten came to be soaked with skunk spray.”

“I…uh …”

“It's okay, Aspen. Everyone on the force knows about Miss Simmons's skunk. It's the worst-kept secret in town.” He smiles, rearranging the creases of dirt around his mouth. “We just want to be sure the little guy is safe.”

Is this a trick or—

“You don't have to look so suspicious. Honestly, I'm not trying to wring a confession out of you.” Officer Sierra rolls his eyes in exasperation. “Tell you what—if Miss Simmons's
cat
is safe and in good hands, blink once. If not, blink twice.”

I close my eyes once very deliberately.

“Thank you, Miss Parks. Now go home and get some sleep. I know I'm going to.”

“DO YOU REALLY THINK MANNY WILL LIKE MY HAIR THIS
color?” Laurel asks again as she twists herself into a corkscrew studying her reflection in my bedroom mirror. “Or will he think it's too ordinary?” Her short, razor-cut layers have been changed from strawberry red to her natural auburn, with a few subtle high- and lowlights scattered throughout.

Today is the first time we've seen each other since the fire at Miss Simmons's house six days ago. Miss Simmons spent the day and night after the fire in the hospital while the doctors ran some tests to make sure her concussion wasn't serious. She must not have been feeling too bad, because she called me three times to check on Sammy. Each time she did, I had to phone Clay for an update, which was more than fine with me. When Miss Simmons was released from the hospital, she moved into the Cottonwood Inn, the town's only hotel, until her house is put back together. With repairmen swarming her place around the clock, I don't think the repairs will take long.

The morning after the fire Laurel's mom and stepdad picked her up on the way home from their Colorado camping trip and drove her to Chicago for a surprise visit before the beginning of school. We texted each other, but it was pretty inadequate considering everything we had to talk about. Now that she's back, there are more interesting topics to discuss than her hair color.

“For the millionth time, it looks great. But you're going to end up in traction if you keep contorting your neck like that.” My hair has valiantly resisted Laurel's efforts with the curling wand and is doing its impersonation of whole-wheat spaghetti. But I can't help noticing my eyes. Thanks to this summer's adventures, their ordinary brown sparks with mischief and mystery.

“Come on, girls. It's time to go!” Mom calls from the bottom of the stairs. “You can't be late to your own ceremony.”

My parents sit in the front seats of our SUV, Mr. Piedmont is in the second row, and Laurel and I take the back. While they babble about boring adult crap, Laurel and I exchange whispers.

Laurel slides over to me. “Clay says Cleo's doing okay, right?” Her breath is minty from my mouthwash.

“Cleo is having the time of her life.” And so am I, with Clay calling every night to give me updates on Sammy and Cleo. “She and Rooster Cogburn, the resident chicken stud, have definitely found true love.”

“Hmph!” Laurel sticks out her lower lip. “I guess it's okay, as long as Cleo doesn't forget about me.” She leans in closer. “I sent EggstraGood a twenty-dollar bill from Chicago. That should give Steve's father something to wonder about.”

“Good. We can close out that sordid chapter of our lives.”

Dad pulls the car into the crowded police station parking lot, and my stomach gets queasy. The gray brick building looks pleasant enough, but I can't let go of the nagging fear that Officer Sierra is waiting by the door with two sets of shiny new handcuffs for Laurel and me.

Manny and Clay pull up in Clay's pickup as we're climbing out of the SUV. The plan was for them to change clothes at the golf course and meet us here. Clay smiles and waves at us. But instead of getting out when Manny does, Clay reaches over the seat, into the back of the cab.

As soon as Manny walks over, he flips on the charm switch with Laurel and her dad. He's blond and bronzed and, if he weren't my brother, I might be as giddy as Laurel seems. She hasn't heard—and smelled—Manny's farting demonstrations or experienced the delight of him scratching his crotch at breakfast. So why did Mr. Disgusting get all of the looks in the family?

Clay finishes whatever he was doing in the truck and joins us. I watch him work his way through the parent maze to end up beside me. His red-brown hair is damp, and freckles peek through his tan. “Hi, Aspen. It's great to see you.” Clay's voice, low and intimate, makes my legs rubbery. Then our arms brush, and it's like touching a warm, tingly electric fence.

Feeling like an idiot, I manage a squeaky hello. I've never been happier that my parents can't tell what I'm thinking.

The police station lobby is packed with people and cameras. Mayor Danielson and several members of the city council stand in a cluster on one side of the lobby. Two police officers and several firefighters are lounging by the hallway that leads to the cells. Even Principal Hammond and some of the Cottonwood Creek High teachers are among the people in the crowd.

Laurel latches onto my arm. “Aspen, look!” she hisses in my ear. “There are cameras from at least three TV stations here! We'll be all over tonight's news!”

Eyes turn toward the main entrance as Office Sierra walks in with Miss Simmons on his arm. Her hair is done up in old-lady curls, and she's wearing a flowered blue dress. A three-pronged cane has replaced the walker she's been using all summer. She stretches her neck, scanning the crowd, until she sees me.

I've talked to Miss Simmons on the phone at least twenty times since the fire, but the sight of her in one piece without her walker gives me a surprising rush of happiness. Even more amazing is that I'm honestly looking forward to having her as our neighbor again! Three months ago I couldn't have imagined being friends with that cranky old woman. Now I'm wiping away tears.

“Aspen Parks, there you are,” she calls, dropping Officer Sierra's arm and waving. “Grab that boyfriend of yours and come over here. I want to talk to you both.”

Everyone turns to look at me. My face is sizzling, and I'm rigid with embarrassment.

Clay places his palm on the middle of my back. “I think she means me,” he whispers with a grin as wide as a watermelon wedge. “We should go talk to her before she announces our engagement.” He reaches over and takes my hand.

“Okay.” If my legs will stop trembling.

We trail after Miss Simmons and Officer Sierra as he escorts her to a padded chair on a raised platform at the far end of the room. As soon as she's seated, she dismisses him with typical Miss Simmons charm. “You've done your duty, Miguel. Now scoot over and talk to your police friends. I have something to discuss with these two young people.”

Before Officer Sierra walks away, he catches my eye and…winks.

My mouth drops and hangs there until Miss Simmons grabs the sleeve of my only decent dress and nearly pulls me off my feet. “Is my Sammy eating and sleeping? I'm worried to death that he's pining away for me!”

Clay comes to my rescue. “Sammy's doing great, Miss Simmons. I set him up in a little pen in my backyard. I even put clean bedding in an old doghouse so he has a nice, comfortable place to sleep.”

Miss Simmons clutches her chest and her face turns white. “You're making my poor Sammy live outdoors! He'll catch his death of cold!”

When it comes to mellowing out, she still has a way to go. “Skunks are supposed to live outside,” I say in my most reasonable voice. “Besides, it's been ninety degrees all week.”

Miss Simmons huffs and puffs before she finally says, “I suppose it will have to do until Monday. I'm told my house will be livable then, although I can't imagine how that crew of idiots will get rid of the smoke smell. Even so, anything will be better than putting up with another night in that vermin-infested Cottonwood Inn.”

She pulls a blue handkerchief from her sleeve and wipes her forehead. “Thank goodness those three delinquents are going to get what's coming to them.”

My ears prick up. “Oh? How's that?”

Miss Simmons wriggles her fingers for us to lean closer. “Miguel Sierra told me—in confidence—that the police believe those…those …”

“Buttferk,” I offer helpfully. “That's what Laurel and I call them.”

“Buttferk! How appropriate.” Miss Simmons cackles. “Miguel says Buttferk is most likely responsible for burglaries in Redfield, Adel, and Winterset. It's going to be a cold day in Hades before they break into anyone else's house.”

Mayor Danielson taps on a microphone set up next to where we're standing. “If I may have your attention, everyone, we'll begin the award ceremony.”

Laurel and Manny wander over, and the four of us sit on the chairs beside Miss Simmons. After that, we're subjected to a round of speeches praising our bravery and courage, daring and valor, and every other synonym in
Roget's Thesaurus
.

My nose itches, my left butt cheek falls asleep, and there's more water under my armpits than in the Cottonwood Creek swimming pool. I sneak a side-glance at Clay, who may very well be praying for death. But Manny is beaming like a game show host, and Laurel is eating up the accolades like they're chocolate truffles.

After the speeches are finished, the police chief pins medals on the four “heroes,” and we pose for enough pictures to clog the Internet for a week. TV reporters stick microphones and cameras in our faces and ask the same questions at least a dozen times. Manny and Laurel bask in the spotlight, mugging for the cameras and making witty comments. Clay looks ready to bolt for the nearest exit. I may beat him there.

When the hoopla finally ends, Miss Simmons drags Clay away, probably to give him more orders about Sammy's proper care and feeding. I'm about to follow when Laurel nudges me in the ribs. “Things between you and Clay seem to be going well.”

“I suppose.” Clay leans down to say something to Miss Simmons, and she actually laughs. “But, as friends or …” I don't want to jinx anything by saying it out loud.

“Yeah, he is kind of hard to read. Unlike your brother, whose intentions are perfectly clear.” Laurel giggles. I tear my gaze away from Clay and look at her. Her face is flushed, her lipstick is smudged, and the hem of her blouse is sticking out. Until this second, I thought nothing was grosser than pig poop.

“Holy crap, Laurel, we're in the police station! Couldn't you guys wait ten more minutes?”

“Excuse me, girls,” Officer Sierra says, and I jump about a foot. This guy has cornered the market on stealth. “May I talk to you for a minute?”

Laurel and I exchange glances and gulp in unison. We don't have much choice except to follow Officer Sierra into his office. After we're seated—on the edges of our chairs, with our eyes fixed on the door—he congratulates us again on saving Miss Simmons and rounding up Cottonwood Creek's equivalent of the James Gang.

“You know, ladies, there's been so much excitement, and official paperwork”—Officer Sierra blows out a sigh—“surrounding the incident at Miss Simmons's place that, until yesterday, I forgot about something unusual that happened the same night.”

I will not make eye contact with Laurel. I will not make eye contact with Laurel. I will not …

“Oh, what was that?” Laurel's “that” comes out as a squeak.

“Funny you should ask, Laurel, because it involves the place where you used to work.”

“The Sub Stop?” she asks, all innocence.

Good one, Laurel!

“Noooo.” He drags it out until it sounds like three words. “The EggstraGood Chicken Farm. About thirty minutes before I got called to the B and E at Miriam Simmons's place, a call came in from a neighbor on a suspicious vehicle sighting at EggstraGood. It didn't sound particularly urgent, so I decided to finish my rounds before heading out there.”

My arms are pressed tight against my sides to keep my sweat from dripping on the carpet. But if my heart stops and I keel over, he's going to know something's wrong.

“When all hell broke loose at Miriam's, I forgot all about it.”

Laurel nods. “That's understandable.” She's as cool as if they're discussing Cottonwood Creek's upcoming football season.

Officer Sierra cocks his head at her. “Then yesterday afternoon I got a call from Sid Turner, who owns EggstraGood. One of his workers found a roll of duct tape outside the electric fence. Sid wouldn't have thought a thing about it, except he got an envelope in the mail with a twenty-dollar bill inside. No message, just twenty bucks.”

“Really?” Laurel isn't sounding quite so cool now.

“Really.” He leans back and crosses one leg over the opposite knee. “Sid hasn't found any damage or anything missing, so, as far as I can see, there's no crime involved. I just thought it made an interesting story, especially since the manager told me you wanted to buy a chicken that was marked for slaughter.”

Officer Sierra stands abruptly and straightens the creases in his pants. “Well, ladies, I'd better let you go. I'm sure you're anxious to go out and celebrate.”

He opens the door for us. “Just so I have this straight—you're both going back to school tomorrow, right?”

Laurel and I both confirm that we are.

Officer Sierra looks up at the ceiling. “Thank God for small favors.”