Isabelle the Itch: The Isabelle Series, Book One (7 page)

“Old fools,” Mrs. Stern said. “Neither one of them can see well enough to drive. She brings Billy along as chauffeur. He's ten years younger than Stella but to look at him, you'd think he was on his last legs. He's a mama's boy, Billy. Always has been, always will be, I don't care if he
was
married for over twenty-five years. His first wife died and left him well fixed. Don't think Stella doesn't appreciate that fact.”

Mrs. Stern opened her purse. “I didn't pay Philip last Saturday when he brought you over. Suppose I give you the money for last week and this week and you can see he gets it. I tip him ten cents a week and I'll give you the same.” She handed Isabelle eight quarters.

A tip! Isabelle thought the sound of those quarters was sweet as honey.

A face appeared at Mrs. Stern's door, nose pressed against the glass.

“Chauncey Lapidus, you big sneak!” Isabelle said when Mrs. Stern opened the door. “You followed me.” Only just in time she remembered her manners. “Mrs. Stern, this is a kid in my class, not exactly my friend.”

“Hello, Chauncey,” Mrs. Stern said. Chauncey said “Arragh,” or something that sounded like it, and tugged at his hair and looked at the ground.

Isabelle stalked down the path, Chauncey a close second. It wasn't until they got to the Olsens' house that Isabelle acknowledged his presence. She could hear the dog barking. Too bad she didn't have a leftover sandwich in her pocket.

“All right.” Isabelle turned abruptly, treading on Chauncey's toes. “You want to help, you can deliver here. Make sure you get it under the mat. Tuck it under good so it doesn't blow away.”

Chauncey's chest swelled visibly. He practically saluted. He took the paper and started up the path. Isabelle saw the Olsens' dog rounding the side of the house.

Even if she'd had her Adidas on, she couldn't have run any faster. Philip must've been teasing about the Olsens' dog, though, because she didn't hear Chauncey crying for help.

15

That night, after her father had hollered “Go to sleep!” for the third time, Isabelle combined Mrs. Stern's quarters (she'd forgotten to tell Philip about them) with the contents of her piggy bank. She dumped all the money on her bed and ran her fingers through the pile, pretending it was gold and she was a pirate.

Humming softly with pleasure, Isabelle thought that no one at school had ever seen that much money before. What a nice noise it made, jingling and jangling. And what a beautiful bulge it'd make in Philip's money bag! Chauncey's eyes would practically fall out of his head when he saw that much money. And Mary Eliza would have a fit!

And Herbie would flip. Herbie wouldn't be able to fight for a week when he saw all that money.

Isabelle smiled to herself in the dark. (She'd turned out the light because she thought she heard her father coming up the stairs.) The last time she checked Philip's closet to see what was new, she'd seen his money bag hanging on a hook. In the morning, after he'd gone, she'd take it.

“You're going to miss your bus if you don't hurry!” Isabelle's mother stood at the foot of the stairs next morning, as she did every morning, warning Philip. “And if you do miss it, I'm not going to drive you.”

Philip thundered down as the bus approached. His timing was superb. He never missed that bus.

Sure enough. The money bag was right where she remembered.

Maybe some other customers would want to pay early, as Mrs. Stern had. And if they did pay her, she'd have to have something to carry the money in, right? Besides, Philip would never know. She'd be home long before his play rehearsal was over.

When she got out of sight of her house, Isabelle put the bulging money bag in her lunch box and transferred her lunch into her pocket.

“I'm reporting you,” Chauncey said when she got to school. “Letting me deliver the paper where there's a monster dog.” Chauncey was always threatening to report somebody.

“Where'd he bite you?” Isabelle asked. “Let's see. How many stitches did you have? Did you have to go to the emergency room?”

Isabelle liked the emergency room at the hospital. It was her kind of place, with something always happening.

“It's just lucky for you he
didn't
bite me,” Chauncey said.

“It's pretty lucky for the dog too,” Isabelle said. “He might've got poisoned and died.” She let a dribble of spit ooze out one corner of her mouth to show Chauncey how she felt about him.

“Don't be disgusting,” Mary Eliza said.

“Who asked you?” Isabelle oozed a bit more.

“Mrs. Esposito wants you, Herbie.” Mary Eliza delivered her message with a smile. She loved delivering messages. “I think she wants to bawl you out.”

“I didn't do nothing,” Herbie started to stick his finger in his nose until he saw Isabelle frown at him. The day before Herbie had got a giant splinter in his rear end sliding down an old wooden slide and his mother had rushed him to the doctor's for a tetanus shot.

“That old splinter must've been about a foot long,” he told Isabelle. Herbie still wasn't himself.

“Not ‘nothing,'” Mary Eliza corrected. “Anything, Herbie, you didn't do anything.”

“That's what I said.” Herbie put his boil on his neck which was pale gray because his mother let him skip his bath because of the tetanus shot. That boil wouldn't have fooled anyone.

Isabelle took her apple and sandwich out of her pocket. “Where's your lunch box?” Mary Eliza asked. She was the nosiest girl in school.

“It's full of money.” Isabelle shook it in Mary Eliza's face and the sweet jingle jangle filled the air. “A five pound box of money.”

“You robbed a bank and I'm going to tell!” Mary Eliza shouted.

Nonchalantly, Isabelle crossed one foot in front of the other. “It just so happens it's collection day,” she announced. “My paper route you know.”

Chauncey made a grab for the lunch box. “I'm going to report you to the authorities if you don't let me help you collect,” he said.

“What's all the commotion about?” Mrs. Esposito asked, coming into the hall.

“I like your dress, Mrs. Esposito,” Mary Eliza said in sugary tones. She was always complimenting Mrs. Esposito on her dress or her shoes or her pocketbook. She thought she'd get in good and get a better report card if she did that. She made Isabelle sick to her stomach.

“It's a size fourteen,” Mrs. Esposito said sadly. “I bought it last week and it's a size fourteen. I thought I'd lost weight but it turned out I was just kidding myself.”

They all stood and looked at the ground.

“Mrs. Esposito”—Isabelle handed her the lunch box —“would you keep this for me until after school? It's full of money and I'm scared somebody might pinch it.”

“Oh, Isabelle, who would do that?” Mrs. Esposito asked. She carried the lunch box into the room and placed it in a desk drawer.

“Sally Smith's father told her somebody called up Saturday night and complained about noise we were making at the slumber party,” Mary Eliza said, narrowing her eyes. “With a soundproof rec room and everything. I bet I know who it was,” she said, staring at Isabelle. “I'm having a slumber party this coming Saturday. My mother said I could have all my friends.”

“Boy”—Isabelle bobbed and weaved around Mary Eliza—“that'll be some crowd. Both of them?”

16

“My mother said to tell you she wants you to start delivering the paper,” a voice said to Isabelle.

Jane, the new girl, stood with one long leg wrapped around the other, like a stork. She was tall, much taller than Isabelle and her eyes, behind their glasses, were sand-colored to match her hair. She looked as if she were always smelling something bad.

“How'd you know I delivered papers?” Isabelle asked.

“We live on Blackberry Lane. I saw you yesterday with that fat boy. I just happened to be looking out the window and I saw you and him walking by,” Jane said.

“That Chauncey. He followed me. He's a pest.”

“Anyway, my mother said if you want, you can start delivering today.”

“It's really my brother's route,” Isabelle told her. “He's paying me to do it this week.”

“Well,” Jane shrugged, “if you want you can start today. My mother says if we want to be a part of the community we better take the local paper.”

“Feel this.” Isabelle hefted the money bag. “That's full of money.”

“The paper boy we had at home had lots more in his bag,” Jane said.

“Does your father have three cars?” Isabelle asked.

“Sure. One for him, one for my mother, and one for my sister. She's a market analyst. My father has his own business. We moved here because he says there's more room for growth here.”

“Did you want to move?” Isabelle asked. She'd lived in the same town all her life.

“I hated to. I tried to get them to let me stay with my best friend or even my grandparents but they wouldn't. I cried for eight days straight,” Jane announced with somber pride. “My eyes were so swollen I could hardly see.”

“Gee,” Isabelle said. Against her will, she was impressed. She didn't think she could cry for eight days straight even if she forced herself. “Do you like it now?”

“I hate it. People are snobs here,” Jane said flatly. “My mother says nobody even came to call when we moved in. At home, if new people moved into the neighborhood, my mother would take over a cake or a casserole or something. Here they don't even say good morning.”

“If your mother helped at field day maybe she'd get to know some people,” Isabelle said. “My mother always helps sell hot dogs, puts the mustard and relish on, and sticks straws in the soda. Things like that.”

“I don't know,” Jane said doubtfully.

“Which house do you live in on Blackberry Lane?” Isabelle asked. “I'll have to buy an extra paper when I pick mine up.”

“The white one on the corner of Blackberry and Vine, with the picket fence.”

“O.K., tell your mother I'll start delivery today. See you,” she said. She'd buy the extra paper at Ken's store. She hadn't seen Ken in a while.

“I see you're in the newspaper game now,” Ken said when he saw the
Courier Express
bag on Isabelle's shoulder.

“I just got a new customer,” Isabelle said, “so I need another copy. How's tricks with you and Pearl?” Pearl was Ken's ancient hound dog who slept under the counter. Ken called her his watchdog but as Pearl was almost blind and pretty deaf, Ken said he was building up her ego. “Dogs got egos just like humans,” he told Isabelle, “and old Pearl was quite a girl in her day.”

“We're fine, can't complain,” Ken said. “I didn't know you had a route. They're taking them younger and younger these days, eh?”

“It's my brother's. He's paying me a buck fifty and I'm buying track shoes with the money,” Isabelle said. “This year I'm coming in first in the fifty-yard dash, anyway.”

“Atta girl. I always said that about you, kid, you sure don't let the grass grow under your feet. No sir.”

“How about a candy bar for half price, old buddy?” Isabelle boxed around Ken a couple of times and he returned her punches.

“Anybody come in here and see me poking away at a tyke your size would haul me away to the loony bin for sure,” Ken said. “They'd get me for child abuse sure as you're born.” He reached behind the counter. “Here's a nifty candy bar I been saving for you, kid. It's only half a bar which is why I'm letting it go for half price.”

“What happened to the other half?”

“Pearl got it,” Ken said with a straight face. “You know Pearl and sweets. She just sorta gums it around nice and easy like.”

“Never mind, I'll take a Good 'n Plenty for full price,” Isabelle decided. “I better get going. See ya, Ken.”

“Not if I see you first,” he said.

Mr. Johnson's runny-nosed kid was waiting.

“Whatcha got in there?” she pointed to the money bag.

“Money,” Isabelle said.

“Can I have some?”

“Nope.” Isabelle handed her the paper. “I'm collecting. Your mother home?”

“She's taking a nap,” the kid said. “I got sick last night. I threw up all over my bed and the floor and everything,” she said proudly. “I ate something I'm allergic to. I do it all the time.”

“Good for you,” Isabelle said. “Take it easy.” She went on her way, swinging the money bag in wide arcs around her head. When she reached the Carters', their little creep was digging a big hole in the front yard. Isabelle watched while he shoveled the dirt with a measuring cup.

“Whatcha digging, a swimming pool?” she asked.

“Nope,” he said, “just a hole.”

“When you're finished, what're you going to do with it?”

He thought a minute.

“I'm going to fill it back in,” he said finally.

“Cool,” Isabelle said. She rang the Carters' bell. Mrs. Carter came to the door. “I'm collecting,” Isabelle handed her the paper.

“The boy collects on Saturday,” Mrs. Carter said.

“I'm the boy's sister and I'm collecting today,” Isabelle said.

Mrs. Carter said, “I don't have change.”

“I do,” said Isabelle.

“Tell the boy to collect on Saturday,” Mrs. Carter said and shut the door.

Oh well. Isabelle shrugged her shoulders philosophically. It wasn't as if she hadn't tried.

No wonder that Carter kid is such a creep. With a mother like that, he doesn't stand a chance.

She rang the bell at the white house with the picket fence and a lady came to the door.

“Jane said you wanted me to start delivering today,” Isabelle said.

“Jane, it's your little friend from school,” the lady called. “Come in, dear. We're glad of company.”