Read Online Calamity Jayne and the Sisterhood of the Traveling Lawn Gnome by Kathleen Bacus - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kathleen Bacus
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Abigail Winegardner. I'd bet my life on it."
"Now hold on there! You accusin' me of stealing?" Harve said, puffing out his chest like an affronted rooster.
"Tressa Jayne saw that gnome right there," Aunt Eunice said and pointed at the mailbox. "Didn't you, Tressa?"
"Well, I saw a gnome—"
"And it had a blue shirt and pointy blue hat just like Abigail's."
"I told you before, I didn't have no gnome!" Harve said.
"We can't be sure it was Abigail's gnome, Au…er…Uncle Bo," I pointed out. "And if Harve said he didn't have one, he didn't have one. Harve's as honest as the day is long."
"The days are getting shorter, you know," she said and gave Harve the 'I'm watching you' look. "Abigail's gnome is a one-of-a-kind antique. Quite distinctive. If you saw a picture, do you think you could identify it, Tressa?"
Deputy Samuels snorted.
"Good grief. A photo layout of lawn gnomes?"
Great Aunt Eunice clapped the deputy on the back. "Great idea, Deputy! Now you're thinkin'. Thanks for putting that together. I'll get a photo of Abigail's gnome to you today," Aunt Eunice said.
Samuels' smirk wilted.
"Come on, Harve," he said. "Let's take a look around your place and get some pictures," the deputy said. "Maybe we'll find the culprit is a dwarf with a pointed hat and white beard."
I resisted the juvenile urge to flip the bird at the deputy's retreating back. Uncle Bo had no such qualms.
"Well, what do you know? We got us a rumble right here in River City," Uncle Bo said, sounding a lot more like my gammy than she probably suspected.
Beauregard Blackford was right.
That apple didn't fall far.
CHAPTER NINE
"Help yourself to another roll, Tressa," Abigail Winegardner called to me from another room.
I sat back in my chair and rubbed my tummy and stared at the plate of gooey perfection that was Abigail Winegardner's famous sticky buns.
Should I or shouldn't I?
"Oh, come on, Tressa. You know you want it."
I looked over at Aunt Eunice—or a version thereof—sitting at Abigail's dining room table next to me. She'd removed the mustache and wig but was still wearing the au couture line from the hobo haberdashery.
"I really shouldn't," I said, patting my waistline.
"Oh, come on. Live a little. No one makes pastries like Abby."
"Don't I know it," I said, having just consumed proof of that fact.
You'll cover for me with my gammy, won't you? Wink, wink.
I was about to select a particularly gooey third roll—but who's counting—when Abigail entered the dining room again.
"Here it is! I knew I had some pictures of Cedric."
I blinked. "Cedric?"
She nodded. "As long as I can remember, our little lawn gnome has been known as Cedric. And dear Cedric is no ordinary gnome."
I blinked.
"He isn't?"
"Oh, no. Cedric is quite old. He dates back to the 1920s."
Yikes! That was old.
"Here he is, our poor little missing lawn gnome." Abigail handed me several photographs.
I stared.
Holy Leprechaun , the movie! Three billy goats were missing their troll! Little Cedric here made Chucky look like People's Sexiest Doll Alive.
Dressed in a sky blue shirt and tights and matching pointy hat and paired with a short khaki-colored belted overall and pointed ankle high boots, it was the wee little bearded man's scrunched up, misshapen face, pointed ears, and maniacal eyes that had visions of killer ventriloquist dummies playing tricks in my head.
"Cedric has always watched over our yards," Abigail said, wistfully.
I frowned. Cedric here was as much of a benevolent guardian of the garden as a herd of rabid mutant jackrabbits.
And totally more terrifying.
"He's quite…unique," I said and winced, glad now I'd resisted the offer of the additional sticky roll.
"He's from the early twentieth century. Cast iron, too. He's really quite rare."
I forced myself to look at the picture closer. It certainly looked like the gnome I'd seen at Harve's mailbox the previous night.
"I knew I should've kept him in the backyard, but I thought it would
"Now hold on there! You accusin' me of stealing?" Harve said, puffing out his chest like an affronted rooster.
"Tressa Jayne saw that gnome right there," Aunt Eunice said and pointed at the mailbox. "Didn't you, Tressa?"
"Well, I saw a gnome—"
"And it had a blue shirt and pointy blue hat just like Abigail's."
"I told you before, I didn't have no gnome!" Harve said.
"We can't be sure it was Abigail's gnome, Au…er…Uncle Bo," I pointed out. "And if Harve said he didn't have one, he didn't have one. Harve's as honest as the day is long."
"The days are getting shorter, you know," she said and gave Harve the 'I'm watching you' look. "Abigail's gnome is a one-of-a-kind antique. Quite distinctive. If you saw a picture, do you think you could identify it, Tressa?"
Deputy Samuels snorted.
"Good grief. A photo layout of lawn gnomes?"
Great Aunt Eunice clapped the deputy on the back. "Great idea, Deputy! Now you're thinkin'. Thanks for putting that together. I'll get a photo of Abigail's gnome to you today," Aunt Eunice said.
Samuels' smirk wilted.
"Come on, Harve," he said. "Let's take a look around your place and get some pictures," the deputy said. "Maybe we'll find the culprit is a dwarf with a pointed hat and white beard."
I resisted the juvenile urge to flip the bird at the deputy's retreating back. Uncle Bo had no such qualms.
"Well, what do you know? We got us a rumble right here in River City," Uncle Bo said, sounding a lot more like my gammy than she probably suspected.
Beauregard Blackford was right.
That apple didn't fall far.
CHAPTER NINE
"Help yourself to another roll, Tressa," Abigail Winegardner called to me from another room.
I sat back in my chair and rubbed my tummy and stared at the plate of gooey perfection that was Abigail Winegardner's famous sticky buns.
Should I or shouldn't I?
"Oh, come on, Tressa. You know you want it."
I looked over at Aunt Eunice—or a version thereof—sitting at Abigail's dining room table next to me. She'd removed the mustache and wig but was still wearing the au couture line from the hobo haberdashery.
"I really shouldn't," I said, patting my waistline.
"Oh, come on. Live a little. No one makes pastries like Abby."
"Don't I know it," I said, having just consumed proof of that fact.
You'll cover for me with my gammy, won't you? Wink, wink.
I was about to select a particularly gooey third roll—but who's counting—when Abigail entered the dining room again.
"Here it is! I knew I had some pictures of Cedric."
I blinked. "Cedric?"
She nodded. "As long as I can remember, our little lawn gnome has been known as Cedric. And dear Cedric is no ordinary gnome."
I blinked.
"He isn't?"
"Oh, no. Cedric is quite old. He dates back to the 1920s."
Yikes! That was old.
"Here he is, our poor little missing lawn gnome." Abigail handed me several photographs.
I stared.
Holy Leprechaun , the movie! Three billy goats were missing their troll! Little Cedric here made Chucky look like People's Sexiest Doll Alive.
Dressed in a sky blue shirt and tights and matching pointy hat and paired with a short khaki-colored belted overall and pointed ankle high boots, it was the wee little bearded man's scrunched up, misshapen face, pointed ears, and maniacal eyes that had visions of killer ventriloquist dummies playing tricks in my head.
"Cedric has always watched over our yards," Abigail said, wistfully.
I frowned. Cedric here was as much of a benevolent guardian of the garden as a herd of rabid mutant jackrabbits.
And totally more terrifying.
"He's quite…unique," I said and winced, glad now I'd resisted the offer of the additional sticky roll.
"He's from the early twentieth century. Cast iron, too. He's really quite rare."
I forced myself to look at the picture closer. It certainly looked like the gnome I'd seen at Harve's mailbox the previous night.
"I knew I should've kept him in the backyard, but I thought it would
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