On the Road to Mr. Mineo's (8 page)

The Boy Who Cried Wolf

Mutt packed up his tackle box and fishing gear. Maybe his special fishing spot wasn't so special anymore. He'd been here all afternoon and hadn't even gotten a nibble.

He was just turning to head up the path to the road when he saw something out of the corner of his eye.

Something flying. Circling over the sandy patch along the edge of the lake.

Mutt stood still, barely taking a breath.

And then …

… the one-legged pigeon landed on his head.

Mutt's heart raced. He lifted his arms very, very slowly.

A little higher and a little higher and a little higher.

Slowly, slowly, slowly.

Holding his breath, he placed both hands on the pigeon. Then he lifted the bird off his head and held him in front of his face. The pigeon stared at him with his round orange eyes. The iridescent green feathers on his neck sparkled in the late-afternoon sun.

“Hey, feller,” Mutt whispered.

The pigeon made a cooing sound.

Suddenly, Mutt remembered something.

“Shoot!” He stomped his foot, making the pigeon squirm a little in his hands.

He had forgotten to bring a box. He had planned on putting the pigeon in a box so he could take him home and show all the other Raynards that he had
not
been lying.

A one-legged pigeon
had
landed on his head.

He put the pigeon under his T-shirt. It was warm and soft against his stomach.

Then he hurried up the middle of the road toward home.

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Pigeon Pie

Mr. Mineo watched the pigeons swoop out of the weathered blue shed, circle a few times, and then soar out over the lake.

Edna

Frankie

Martha

Samson

Leslie

Taylor

Amy

Joe

Christopher

and
Martin

But not Sherman.

Instead of getting to work cleaning the shed, Mr. Mineo sat on the wooden bench at the edge of the water and talked to Ernie. “Here's what must have happened,” he said, scratching the fat dog's head. Ernie let out a deep doggie sigh and rested his chin on Mr. Mineo's shoe.

“Sherman must have taken off away from the others in that rapscallion way of his.” He swatted at the gnats circling around Ernie's head. “You know, that rebel thing he does just to aggravate me.”

Mr. Mineo gazed out over the lake. The pigeons were just tiny dots in the distance now.

“Then,” he continued, “I bet he flew toward Meadville and got confused.”

Ernie snored.

“Yep.” Mr. Mineo nodded. “I'd bet dollars to doughnuts that's what happened.” He took off his old straw hat and waved it in the air, muttering, “Dadgum gnats.”

He scanned the trees along the side of the lake. “That dern fool bird better not get tangled up with them crazy Raynards over yonder.” Mr. Mineo jerked his head toward the road, chuckling. “He's liable to find hisself in the middle of a pigeon pie.”

He stood up, placed his straw hat back on his bald head, and made his way up the path to the shed, while Ernie still snored by the bench. He swept out the shed and hosed off the perches and refilled the water bowls. Then he took a coffee can full of seed down to the edge of the lake and shook it, calling, “Come and get it!”

Before long, the pigeons appeared in the distance. As they got closer, Mr. Mineo continued shaking the can until the pigeons circled a few times, landed on top of the chicken-wire cage on the side of the shed, and hopped inside, one by one.

Edna

Frankie

Martha

Samson

Leslie

Taylor

Amy

Joe

Christopher

and
Martin

But not Sherman.

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

The Story Continues

That night, a light rain fell.

Weighing down the Queen Anne's lace along the road.

Making little ripples out across the lake.

Pattering softly onto the sidewalks of Meadville.

In the rusty trailer, Mr. Mineo slept soundly in his old plaid lounge chair, his whiskery chin resting against his chest and Ernie curled up on the floor at his feet.

Over on Waxhaw Lane, Stella whispered out of her bedroom window.

Harvey

Harvey

Harvey

Across the street, Gerald tossed and turned in his bed. A fan whirred back and forth on the dresser, blowing the thin white curtains out like ghosts in the night.

On Main Street, Luther snored loudly in his tiny room over the restaurant.

Up in Rock Hill, Edsel tossed a wrench into his tool kit, turned off the porch light, and went back in the house, grumbling about his hunk of junk.

At the end of the long dirt driveway on the outskirts of town, Mutt sat by his bedroom window, peering through the dark toward the garage behind Emmaline Raynard's house. He hoped like anything that pigeon wouldn't get out of the box stashed behind the tires and tools and flowerpots. He had poked plenty of holes in the box with garden shears. He had made a soft bed inside it with some cotton stuffing he had pulled out of a hole in the ratty sofa on the front porch. Tomorrow he would prove to everyone once and for all that he was not crying wolf.

And out by the Ropers' barn, the little brown dog sat in the rain beside the old pig trough and howled.

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Little Brown Dog

“I'm telling you,” Ethel said, “there's something wrong with that dog.” She buttered a piece of toast and tossed it onto the plate in front of Amos.

“You can say that again,” Amos said, spreading homemade blackberry jam on the toast.

“Seriously,” Ethel said, “that poor little thing sat out there in the rain all night long.”

“Waiting for you to bring him a pot roast dinner,” Amos grumbled. He sopped egg yolk off the rim of his plate with a piece of toast and popped it into his mouth.

Ethel stomped over to the refrigerator and put the jam away. Then she whirled around and glared at Amos. “Why you wanna go and be so grumpy every minute of the day?” she said, flapping a dish towel in his direction.

Amos made a gravelly
hmmph
noise.

Ethel yanked his plate away. She dropped it into the sink full of sudsy water and looked out the window to the backyard.

She had gone out to the barn first thing that morning to look for the little dog. The pie tin beneath the ladder to the hayloft was still full of oatmeal and two pieces of bacon.

She had searched the rafters up by the eaves to see if that one-legged pigeon was there, but the rafters and the old barn-owl nest were empty. She was pretty sure the pigeon hadn't come the night before. She was pretty sure that was why the dog had been howling in the rain.

Now she was worried and Amos was being so grumpy.

She untied her apron and hung it on the hook behind the back door. “I'm going to go look for him,” she said.

She grabbed her purse off the little table in the hall and went outside, letting the screen door slam shut behind her. She climbed into their blue-and-white station wagon and started the engine with a roar. But just as she was starting down the driveway toward the road, Amos burst out of the front door and hurried down the porch steps, hollering, “Gosh darn it, Ethel, wait for me.”

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Levi's Plan

Levi and C.J. and Jiggs sat on the curb, throwing dirt clods at the UPS truck until the driver came out of the hardware store and hollered at them.

“Where do you think that pigeon is?” C.J. said.

Levi shrugged. “Could be anywhere.”

“I bet he's gonna go back to Gerald's garage,” Jiggs said.

The three of them sat in silence for a while, tossing pebbles into the storm drain. Old Mrs. Banner clomped by and gave them a dirty look. Tollie Sanborn peered through the front window of the barbershop at them, shaking his head.

Suddenly, Levi jumped up and snapped his fingers. “I have a plan!”

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Stella Mopes and Gerald Makes a Dough Ball

Stella sat on the edge of the roof, letting her legs dangle over the side. She clunked her heels against the garage.

Clunk

Clunk

Clunk

She lifted her shoulders and dropped them with a big heaving sigh.

Gerald came out of the back door carrying two sandwiches. His gray-faced dog loped along behind him. From the bottom of the ladder, he called up, “Want one?” and held a sandwich up for Stella to see.

She shook her head. She wasn't hungry.

“It's bologna and mustard,” Gerald said.

She shook her head again.

Gerald clutched the sandwiches in one hand and climbed the ladder to join her on the roof. He sat beside her, dangling his chubby legs over the edge. He placed one sandwich on his knee and began to tear the other one into pieces.

He popped the pieces into his mouth one by one, making smacking noises as he chewed.

Stella heaved another sigh. She watched Gerald out of the corner of her eye. He rolled a piece of bread into a ball of dough.

Around and around between his palms.

Stella glanced back at the chalk pigeon town. The houses and the roads. The church and the birdseed store. She searched the tree branches overhead. She sighed again.

Gerald squished the dough ball between his fingers, making it flat, like a tiny pancake. Then he rolled and rolled it between his palms again. It was starting to turn a little gray.

“I don't know if we should go look for Harvey or wait here in case he comes back,” Stella said.

Gerald shrugged.

Stella clunked her heels against the side of the garage again.

Clunk

Clunk

Clunk

That dough ball was starting to irritate her.

“Maybe one of us should go look for him and one of us should stay here,” she said.

Gerald popped the gray dough ball into his mouth. Then he started tearing the other sandwich into pieces. “But what if Levi and them show up?” he said, squeezing his eyebrows together in that worried way of his.

“So?”

“So, um, I don't know, I'm just—”

“Don't be such a baby, Gerald.” Stella wanted to snatch those sandwich pieces away from him. She sat on her hands and stared down at Gerald's dog, panting below them. She stood up and studied the trees overhead again.

If only Harvey would come back. This time she would keep him in the shed until she and Gerald could make a cage for him. Levi was
not
going to get him.

“Let's go look for him,” she called to Gerald.

Stella was just starting toward the ladder when she heard a familiar noise.

The rumble of skateboards on the sidewalk.

She motioned for Gerald to be quiet.

The rumble stopped.

Voices drifted up to the roof from the sidewalk below.

“I'm sure it was him. How many ONE-LEGGED PIGEONS do you think there are around here?”

“Levi!” Stella whispered to Gerald.

“So he was heading out toward the LAKE?”

“Jiggs,” Stella whispered. She cocked her head, straining to hear.

“Not so loud,” Levi said. “Stella's liable to be around here somewhere.”

Stella lifted her eyebrows and looked at Gerald, wide-eyed.

“Anyway,” Levi continued, “I'm pretty sure I saw him headed toward the LAKE. You know, on that road to the BAIT SHOP.”

Stella nodded at Gerald and whispered, “They're talking about Harvey.”

“Let's get our bikes and go over that way and LOOK FOR HIM.”

“C.J.,” Gerald whispered.

“Okay,” Levi said. “If we find him out there by the BAIT SHOP, we can catch him and he'll be OURS.”

Then the rumble of skateboards grew fainter and fainter.

“He might be trying to trick us,” Stella said.

Gerald kept quiet, hoping Stella didn't have one of her good ideas.

“But then, maybe Harvey
is
out there by the lake,” Stella went on. She dashed to the ladder. “Come on!” she hollered. “Let's go!”

 

CHAPTER FORTY

The Boy Who Cried Wolf

Mutt hurried to the garage behind Emmaline Raynard's house. The door had come off its hinges long ago and lay on the ground, covered with kudzu. Mutt stepped inside the garage and squinted into the darkness. He stepped over the tires and tools and flowerpots. The cardboard box was still there, safe and sound. He lifted a flap and peered inside. The pigeon was nestled in the sofa-stuffing nest, blinking up at him. Mutt let out a sigh of relief.

Just then, the low, steady purr of a cat drifted through the dark, damp garage.

Mutt looked down.

One of Emmaline's cats was rubbing his head against his legs.

Purr

Purr

Purr

The pigeon rustled slightly inside the box.

“Dern it,” Mutt said. “Go away, Skipper.”

But Skipper stayed. The fur on the back of his neck stood up. The tip of his tail twitched.

Mutt hurried to close the flap of the box, but he tripped over the dented bumper of Jackson Raynard's old Chevy, and fell backward against a rusty bicycle with two flat tires. The box tipped over and the pigeon flew out and fluttered wildly around the garage. Mutt scrambled to grab Skipper, who crouched menacingly by the door, but the cat hissed and swatted at him with bared claws.