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wouldn’t put me in the drawer.
    They’d have a sweet service at the church and then take me to the cemetery. Jake would be there, weeping loudly. He’d say, “It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault.” Then he’d tell everybody about stealing Bingo and how I had protected him. Everyone would say, “Wasn’t that Zinny the most noble thing on this earth?”
    The mushrooms, however, were quite tasty, and I didn’t die. I figured I’d have to go back to Mrs. Flint’s and retrieve that notice.
    Too late, too late.
    I was limping back down the trail and had just rounded the bend from where I could see our house below, when I spotted Jake’s truck leaving. I crumpled in the grass. Please do away with me now, I prayed, the quicker the better .
    â€œZinny, Zinny,” Bonnie called. “Guess who was here, and guess what he brought?”
    â€œDon’t tell me—”
    â€œJake! Jake was here and guess what he brought? He brought Bingo back! I knew he’d help. Jake saw the notice in the store and went out looking, and what do you know, he found him! Isn’t that a miracle? Bingo was just walking along the road. Isn’t that amazing? I bet he was sniffing his way back home, don’t you think? Zinny? What’s the matter, aren’t you happy?”
    â€œZinny, guess what? You’re late for school. Hurry up.”
    I moved in slow motion, waiting for everyone else to leave for school and for Mom to take Uncle Nate’s breakfast in to him. Then I scooped up my books and Bingo and set off. I’d be fiercely late for school, but I’d deal with that later.
    I stopped at Mrs. Flint’s store and tied Bingo up outside. Mrs. Flint was surprised to see me. “Don’t you have school?” she asked.
    â€œI’m a little late,” I said, ripping my notice from the board.
    â€œI thought you already took down your sign.”
    â€œHad two of them up here. Forgot this one.”
    â€œThe funniest thing is that Mr. Butler was just in here. He’s lost his beagle again! Look there—he put up another notice.”
    Sure enough, at the top of the board was a familiar sign:
    LOST: 2-MONTH-OLD BEAGLE PUPPY.
    ANSWERS TO NAME OF GOBBLER.
    PLEASE PHONE 266-3554. ASK FOR
    BILL BUTLER. HIDDLE FARM, MORLEY ROAD,
    JUST PAST THE METHODIST CHURCH.
    As soon as Mrs. Flint turned her head, I ripped down his sign as well.
    At the Hiddle Farm, I was once again greeted by the broom-waving Old Mrs. Butler. Bingo-Gobbler howled, and the mother beagle responded with louder howls as she raced toward us. Over these howls came Old Mrs. Butler’s fearsome whinny, followed by, “Gobbler, Gobbler, Gobbler!”
    I dropped Bingo and was out of there so fast I split the breeze. As I tore past the high school which May and Gretchen—and Jake—attended, I was steaming. I halted in my tracks, tore a sheet of paper out of my science book and wrote on it. Inside, I handed it to the secretary. “You must be a Taylor,” she said. “Which one—”
    I lied. “Bonnie. Could you please see that Jake Boone gets that? It’s important. It’s from his mother.”
    I headed lickety-split for the middle school, a block away. I sure hoped the secretary wouldn’t read the note. I had written:
    IF YOU BRING THAT DOG BACK AGAIN,
    I’LL PUNCH YOUR BRAINS OUT.
    I had signed it “Z. T.” I wanted Jake to know exactly who he was dealing with.

CHAPTER 16

B OOGIE-WOOGIE
    E ven before I went in the house, I heard the music. It was that wild, crazy jiving beat of the boogie-woogie that I hadn’t heard since Aunt Jessie died. She and Uncle Nate had played their favorite boogie-woogie record on special occasions: their anniversary, their birthdays. They’d dance up a storm to this music, twirling and wiggling and spinning to beat the band. It was so unlike the quiet, gentle way they usually were.
    Aunt