Read Online Sammy Keyes and the Runaway Elf by Wendelin Van Draanen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Wendelin Van Draanen
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Hero. For a minute I thought I was at the wrong place—that maybe I’d mixed up addresses. I put some distance between me and the truck and checked my notes. Hero belonged to Lance Gigoni on Elizabeth Street, not on Braxton Way. So what, I wondered, were he and Lance doing at Paula’s?
I put my notes away and went up the walk to her house, thinking that the best way to find out was to just dive in and see. I stood at the front door for a minute, wondering if I should risk electrocution by ringing or knock through the rip in the screen. I decided to knock.
I could hear country music playing inside, and I wasn’t real sure if anyone had heard my knock, so I did it again, only this time I pounded.
All of a sudden the music stopped. For a little while I heard footsteps shuffling back and forth inside, then the peephole flipped open and a great big blue eye said, “Yeah?”
“Ms. Nook?”
The eye blinked. “What do you want?”
I felt like telling her she’d won tickets to the rodeo so she’d at least open the door. “I … um … I need to ask you some questions.”
The eye just stared. “About?”
“About the Christmas parade.” I felt like I was talking to a wooden Cyclops.
“I got nothin’ to say,” she said, and slammed the peephole closed.
I stood there for a minute staring at the rip in the screen, thinking. Finally I got off the porch and walked around to the garage. I put my ear up to the door and listened, but I didn’t hear any tortured dogs whining inside. I whispered, “Marique! Here, girl!” and then peeked over the backyard fence and did the same thing.
Now, the backyard was like a little corner of the city dump, and I was so amazed by all the junk that was piled up that I must have stared at it longer than I thought, because all of a sudden I’m being attacked. By Hero.
I scramble up the fence the best I can, and for a minute he just stands there, barking at me. Then he tries to figure out some way to lift his leg on me. So there I am, hanging onto a fence post for dear life, while he’s dancing around, squirting away, trying to nail me with pee, when his master comes up and says, “That ought to teach you to go snooping around where you’re not wanted.” He whistles and calls, “C’mon, boy!” and then shuffles off in his dirty cowboy boots and jeans. Hero chases after him, whipping his little red rat around behind him, but Ididn’t let myself off the fence until I heard them grinding gears down the street.
Now, there was no way I was going to go knocking on the door again. I mean, maybe she only showed her one eye, but Paula Nook’s got a shotgun behind her door, you just know it. And the last thing I wanted was to see it aiming at me through that peephole—that blue eye of hers was bad enough.
I decided to give up on Paula and Ribs, and I obviously wasn’t going to get far with Lance and Hero either, so I headed out to Carriage Court to see if maybe Nora Hallenback and Fiji knew anything. But the closer I got to the Hallenbacks’, the more useless going there seemed. What could she possibly know about Marique? And why would she even care about helping me?
All of a sudden I felt really panicky—like I was running through a swamp with a mama crocodile at my heels, and everywhere I turned, another set of jaws opened up to bite me.
NINE
There were no pickup trucks parked on Carriage Court. No broken screen doors, either. And when I found Nora Hallenback’s house, I didn’t have to go sniffing around the garage door—it was wide open.
There was a white Mercedes-Benz parked inside, and a lady with puffy red hair was going back and forth between the house and the car, unloading flower arrangements.
I walked partway up the driveway and called, “Mrs. Hallenback?”
She turned and said, “Yes?”
I stepped into the garage. “My name’s Samantha and I’m writing an essay for my English class about the dogs in this year’s calendar …”
“Really?”
I
I put my notes away and went up the walk to her house, thinking that the best way to find out was to just dive in and see. I stood at the front door for a minute, wondering if I should risk electrocution by ringing or knock through the rip in the screen. I decided to knock.
I could hear country music playing inside, and I wasn’t real sure if anyone had heard my knock, so I did it again, only this time I pounded.
All of a sudden the music stopped. For a little while I heard footsteps shuffling back and forth inside, then the peephole flipped open and a great big blue eye said, “Yeah?”
“Ms. Nook?”
The eye blinked. “What do you want?”
I felt like telling her she’d won tickets to the rodeo so she’d at least open the door. “I … um … I need to ask you some questions.”
The eye just stared. “About?”
“About the Christmas parade.” I felt like I was talking to a wooden Cyclops.
“I got nothin’ to say,” she said, and slammed the peephole closed.
I stood there for a minute staring at the rip in the screen, thinking. Finally I got off the porch and walked around to the garage. I put my ear up to the door and listened, but I didn’t hear any tortured dogs whining inside. I whispered, “Marique! Here, girl!” and then peeked over the backyard fence and did the same thing.
Now, the backyard was like a little corner of the city dump, and I was so amazed by all the junk that was piled up that I must have stared at it longer than I thought, because all of a sudden I’m being attacked. By Hero.
I scramble up the fence the best I can, and for a minute he just stands there, barking at me. Then he tries to figure out some way to lift his leg on me. So there I am, hanging onto a fence post for dear life, while he’s dancing around, squirting away, trying to nail me with pee, when his master comes up and says, “That ought to teach you to go snooping around where you’re not wanted.” He whistles and calls, “C’mon, boy!” and then shuffles off in his dirty cowboy boots and jeans. Hero chases after him, whipping his little red rat around behind him, but Ididn’t let myself off the fence until I heard them grinding gears down the street.
Now, there was no way I was going to go knocking on the door again. I mean, maybe she only showed her one eye, but Paula Nook’s got a shotgun behind her door, you just know it. And the last thing I wanted was to see it aiming at me through that peephole—that blue eye of hers was bad enough.
I decided to give up on Paula and Ribs, and I obviously wasn’t going to get far with Lance and Hero either, so I headed out to Carriage Court to see if maybe Nora Hallenback and Fiji knew anything. But the closer I got to the Hallenbacks’, the more useless going there seemed. What could she possibly know about Marique? And why would she even care about helping me?
All of a sudden I felt really panicky—like I was running through a swamp with a mama crocodile at my heels, and everywhere I turned, another set of jaws opened up to bite me.
NINE
There were no pickup trucks parked on Carriage Court. No broken screen doors, either. And when I found Nora Hallenback’s house, I didn’t have to go sniffing around the garage door—it was wide open.
There was a white Mercedes-Benz parked inside, and a lady with puffy red hair was going back and forth between the house and the car, unloading flower arrangements.
I walked partway up the driveway and called, “Mrs. Hallenback?”
She turned and said, “Yes?”
I stepped into the garage. “My name’s Samantha and I’m writing an essay for my English class about the dogs in this year’s calendar …”
“Really?”
I
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