Read Online Eleven and Holding by Mary Penney - Free Book Online Page A

“I see this guy pull up in Ginger’s driveway in some kind of delivery van. He comes out a few minutes later carrying something all covered up in a blanket. I thought maybe it was laundry, but then I saw a long tail hanging out.”
    Twee and I stared at each other, our eyes big.
    He continued. “It was Mr. McDougall’s tail! And the kidnapper was talking to him. I could see his mouth moving, like maybe he was telling him to shut up or something.” He paused, his forehead clouded with the remembering.
    â€œ Then what?” I said, my impatience like a bulldozer pushing him on.
    The kid shrugged. “Then the kidnapper guy laid him in the front seat of the truck and drove off.”
    Twee shook her head. “Did you call 911?”
    â€œNo way,” he said. “I’m not allowed. Not unless I’mon fire. That’s what my dad says. I did tell my mom, though. She told me to stop spying on the neighbors.”
    â€œThis is unbe liev able,” I said. I stared over at Ginger’s, trying to visualize it all. “Tell me more about the van. Did it have any writing on it?”
    â€œYeah, but I couldn’t really read it. The writing was sort of loopy and fancy. I couldn’t read the first word, so I gave up.”
    â€œWas there anything else on the van that you remember?” I pushed, but gentler now, not wanting to scare away any valuable clue.
    He screwed his face up, thinking. “Nooo, nothing else. Except . . . ,” he said, his face lighting up, “the wheels had custom mags, definitely not factory issue. Dual tones. Trailblazer tires. Urban squealers, they call ’em; steel belted, sixty-five-thousand-mile warranty, run you about hundred twenty-five bucks apiece.”
    â€œThank you, Mr. Goodyear,” Twee said. “How do you know all that?”
    He shrugged. “I like cars.”
    â€œBut can you remember anything useful,” I pressed, “like what color the van was?”
    â€œHmmm . . . Well, some dark color, for sure. Maybe blue or green or brown. Oh! Oh!”
    â€œWhat?” Twee and I screamed in harmony.
    â€œLittle lima beans!” he said, triumphant.
    We looked at each other, puzzled, and then back at him. “Lima beans?” I asked.
    â€œYep, bunches of them—next to the writing.”
    Just then, a woman with lungs the size of Texas stuck her head outside the kid’s front door and bellowed, “BUSSS TTTER ! Get home right now!”
    â€œGotta go. S’my mom,” he added, putting his palm up for the money.
    Twee handed him his drippy Popsicle, but I held on to George. “One more thing. Did you tell all this to a kid on a skateboard a couple of days ago?”
    He nodded. “Uh-huh. He gave me nearly a pocket full of quarters, and a candy bar. Said if I remembered anything else, or if anybody came sniffing around on the case, he wanted to know what and who. Said to leave him a note.”
    â€œLeave him a note where?” I asked.
    â€œOn the left wing of the plane at Jet Park. Under one of the flaps. He called it his ‘mailbox.’ Said his initials were on it. Cool, huh? I’m gonna get me a secret mailbox, too, and then—”
    Twee interrupted. “Did you tell him everything you told us?”
    â€œNot the part about the brown lima beans. ’Cos I just now remembered that.” He looked anxiously toward his house. “Look, I gotta go. Just give me mymoney like you said, okay?”
    I handed him one buck and then pulled out another to go with it. He licked his lips.
    â€œOkay, Buster. But keep the lima beans just between us. You got that?” I said.
    He raised two juice-stained fingers in a poor imitation of a Boy Scout pledge. “Okey-dokey, Smokey.”
    He turned to run, and I reached for the neck of his shirt gently, reeling him back in. “You remember anything else, Buster, you leave me a note. Not the kid on the skateboard,