Three Times Lucky

For my parents—Vivian Taylor Turnage

and A.C. Turnage, Jr.—who taught me to love books.

C
HAPTER 1:
Trouble in Tupelo Landing

C
HAPTER 2:
The Colonel

C
HAPTER 3:
The Three Day Rule

C
HAPTER 4:
Meeting Up at Lavender’s

C
HAPTER 5:
At the Carolina Raceway

C
HAPTER 6:
Keep Your Windows and Doors Locked

C
HAPTER 7:
Desperados

C
HAPTER 8:
Miss Lana

C
HAPTER 9:
The Cousin Information Network

C
HAPTER 10:
At the Tobacco Barn

C
HAPTER 11:
Murder Weapon to Go

C
HAPTER 12:
Stay Away from My Crime Scene

C
HAPTER 13:
Don’t Call Me Baby

C
HAPTER 14:
Deputy Marla

C
HAPTER 15:
A Spiritual Curveball

C
HAPTER 16:
Lavender Blues

C
HAPTER 17:
Mr. Jesse’s Final Contribution

C
HAPTER 18:
Miss Lana!

C
HAPTER 19:
Listening to the Stars

C
HAPTER 20:
A Suitcase Full of Cash

C
HAPTER 21:
Ransom

C
HAPTER 22:
A Town Full of Nobodies

C
HAPTER 23:
Creative Chaos

C
HAPTER 24:
Right Under Our Noses

C
HAPTER 25:
A Hurricane Party

C
HAPTER 26:
Sorry

C
HAPTER 27:
Storm Break

C
HAPTER 28:
Didn’t See It Coming

C
HAPTER 29:
Dear Upstream Mother

Trouble cruised into Tupelo Landing at exactly seven minutes past noon on Wednesday, the third of June, flashing a gold badge and driving a Chevy Impala the color of dirt. Almost before the dust had settled, Mr. Jesse turned up dead and life in Tupelo Landing turned upside down.

As far as I know, nobody expected it.

As for me—Miss Moses LoBeau, rising sixth grader—trouble was the
last
thing on my mind as I crept across Dale’s front porch at six o’clock that morning. “Hey Dale,” I whispered, pressing my face against his sagging window screen. “Wake up.”

He turned over, tugging at his sheet. “Go ’way,” he mumbled. His mongrel dog, Queen Elizabeth II, stirred beneath a hydrangea at the porch’s edge.

Dale sleeps with his window up in summer partly because he likes to hear the tree frogs and crickets, but mostly because his daddy’s too sorry to bring home any air-conditioning. “Dale!” I bellowed. “Wake up! It’s Mo.”
Dale sat bolt upright, his blue eyes round and his blond hair spiking in all directions.

“Demons!” he gasped, pointing vaguely in my direction.

I sighed. Dale’s family is Baptist. “It ain’t demons, it’s me,” I said. “I stopped by to tell you: The Colonel’s come home and he ain’t up to cooking.”

He blinked like a stunned owl. “You woke me up for that?”

“I’m sorry, Dale, I got to open the café today.”

“Oh,” Dale said, his disappointment riding the word to the ground. “But we been planning this fishing trip forever, Mo,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “How about Miss Lana? Can’t she whip up some craps, or—”

“Crepes,”
I said. “It’s French. And no, she can’t. Miss Lana slammed out just after the Colonel slipped in. She’s gone.”

He swore, his voice soft as a breeze through the reeds. Dale started swearing last year. I haven’t started yet, but the way things are going, I could at any moment.

“I’m sorry, Dale. We’ll have to go fishing another time. I can’t let the Colonel and Miss Lana down.”

The Colonel and Miss Lana are the closest thing to family I’ve got. Without them, I wouldn’t have a home. I probably wouldn’t even have a name. I am bereft of kin
by fate, as Miss Lana puts it, washed into my current, rather odd life by Forces Unknown.

Just then, Dale’s bedroom door creaked open and his mama leaned into the room, her green eyes soft from sleep. “Dale?” she whispered, clutching a faded pink housecoat to her throat. “You all right? You aren’t having nightmares again, are you, baby?”

“It’s worse than that, Mama,” he said gravely. “Mo’s here.”

Miss Rose used to be a real beauty, back before time and Dale’s daddy got hold of her. That’s what people say: coal-black hair, a tilt to her chin, and a sway that made men stand taller.

“Morning, Miss Rose,” I said, pressing my best smile against the window screen.

“Lord have mercy,” she said, staggering back. “What time is it, Mo?”

“A whisker past six,” I said, smiling. “I sure hope you slept well.”

“I did,” she said, “for a shockingly brief period of time.” Like Dale, Miss Rose doesn’t necessarily wake up good. Her voice took on a silky, dangerous tone. “And you are on my porch before the sun has wiped the sleep from its eyes because … ?”

I took a deep breath. “Because the Colonel’s back but
Miss Lana’s gone, so I got to open the café, which means Dale and me can’t go fishing, and I feel like it would be rude not to let him know. I’m just trying to do what’s right,” I concluded.

A tiny frown creased her forehead.

Fortunately, Miss Rose is a person of manners and, as Miss Lana says, manners will tell. “Well,” she finally said, “as long as we’re all awake, won’t you come in?”

“She can’t,” Dale said, swinging his legs over the side of his bed. “Me and Mo are opening the café today.”

“Mo and I,” she murmured as he stood up fully dressed and stepped into a pair of sandals that looked way too big. She blinked. “What happened to your pajamas? And why are you wearing your brother’s old shoes?”

“Sleeping in my clothes saves time, and my feet are growing,” he replied, shoving his black T-shirt into his shorts and running his fingers through his hair. The men in Dale’s family are vain about their hair, and with good reason.

“He’s growing feet first,” I added. “The rest of him will catch up later.” Dale is the second-smallest kid in our class. Only Sally Amanda Jones is smaller. Dale’s sensitive. “Gotta go!” I shouted, and grabbed my bike and headed across the yard.

Dale caught up with me just outside town. We coasted past the mayor’s new sign—W
ELCOME TO
T
UPELO
L
ANDING
,
NC, P
OPULATION:
148—and skidded to a halt in the café parking lot, kicking up a rooster tail of oyster shells and sand. “Holy moly,” he said, dropping his bike. “Looks like the Colonel’s got a new car.”

“A ’58 Underbird,” I said modestly. “Original paint.”

“You mean a Thunderbird,” he said, strolling around the car.

Dale’s family knows cars. In fact, his big brother Lavender, who I will one day marry, races at Carolina Raceway. Dale kicked a tire and squinted at the silvery letters sprawling across the car’s fender. “Used to be a Thunderbird,” he announced. “Looks like the
T
and
H
fell off.”

“Well, it’s an Underbird now,” I said, waving my key in front of the café’s door.

“I don’t see why you do that,” he said, watching me. “Everybody in town knows that door won’t lock.”

“I don’t do this for everybody in town; I do it in case of strangers. You can’t be too careful about strangers. That’s what the Colonel says.”

Dale grabbed my arm. “Wait. Don’t open up today, Mo. Please? Let’s go fishing. I was going to surprise you, but … I got us a boat.”

I froze, the door half-open. “A boat? Where’d you get a boat?”

“Mr. Jesse’s,” he said, rocking back on his heels.

I tried not to sound impressed. “You stole Mr. Jesse’s boat?”

He studied his fingernails. “I wouldn’t say
stole,
” he said. “But I did borrow it pretty strong.”

I sighed. “I can’t, Dale. Not today.”

“Tomorrow, then.” He grinned, grabbing the C
LOSED
sign and flipping it to O
PEN.