Read Online Summer of the Spotted Owl by Melanie Jackson - Free Book Online Page B

“He, she, or, Lord knows, maybe it , informed me that a hang glider was about to miss the landing field and come down into Rowena’s backyard by mistake. That I could get a great picture not only of the smashed hang glider, but of how disgracefully messy Rowena’s garden was.”
    I was so surprised I abruptly let go of the ignition key. Sylvester’s head struck the steering wheel. “Owww!”
    â€œYou’re saying the hang glider was supposed to miss the landing field?”
    â€œNo, I’m saying, ‘Owww.’ ” Sylvester clutched his head. “My skull is permanently dented, I’m sure of it.”
    â€œLet me see, Sylvester.” I slid farther in for a proper look. “What a fuss! Your head isn’t even bleeding.”
    Then, in my excitement, I hopped up and down beside his car. “You know what this means, don’t you? Itchy is definitely connected to the people playing pranks on Rowena. Think how tidy and well-pruned this posh neighborhood is. I myself noticed it from day one. Then think how a Bugle photo of Rowena’s ultra-messy backyard would’ve prompted tons more demands that she move.”
    â€œI don’t want to think,” Sylvester complained. “I want to be home with some hot lemon tea, aspirin and leaflets on how to register for an insurance-selling course.”
    I stopped hopping and mused, “I still don’t get why Itchy, an expert navigator, crashed into the Urstads’ pool rather than landing expertly on Rowena’s dandelions.”
    â€œYeah?” Sylvester floored the accelerator. The engine roared. He didn’t go anywhere because the gearshift was still in Park. Sylvester was definitely having a bad day. He wrenched the gearshift into Drive.
    â€œWait,” I objected. “We gotta figure out why all this is happening —”
    But Sylvester vroomed down the street. The kids playing hockey screamed and leaped out of the way.
    Their net wasn’t so lucky. Sylvester’s car plowed into the net, scooping it up. Sylvester careened round the corner, the net bobbing in front of him.

Chapter Seven

Fishy Business at the
Salmon Hatchery
    A water-filled red balloon shot across the stage. Darwood King, the host of Tomorrow’s Cool Talent , caught the balloon — it didn’t break. Already covered with a lemon meringue pie, Darwood called off-camera, “Ha! Foiled ya this time.”
    He announced, “And now, a singer from North Toronto!”
    On-screen, wild applause. Offscreen, I booed loudly.
    Jack switched the tv off. “Why torture yourself, Dinah? You know you’re better than any Tomorrow’s Cool Talent contestant. You’ll make it without the show’s help.”
    â€œYeah, but with the show’s help, some contestants get record contracts and tv appearances and stuff,” I muttered grumpily.
    Hearing our voices, Madge came in from the dining room. Her smock was free of paint splotches — which meant that, for yet another day, she hadn’t thought of a subject for her mural.
    She plopped down beside Jack and they exchanged a kiss. No doubt this would have been a longer and gooier kiss if I hadn’t been there, eyeing them. I tolerated only just so much lovey-doveyness.
    â€œIt’s me you should be giving the pep talk to, not Dinah,” Madge told Jack. “Dinah has tons of confidence.”
    Yeah, but you have tons of beauty, I thought, pressing the remote’s on-switch again. Why, I wondered, as I often did, couldn’t I have got a smidgen, just a smidgen, of Madge’s good looks?
    â€œWhereas I have painter’s block,” Madge was sighing. “Mrs. Urstad wants a bright, cheerful scene of nature. This morning I outlined a couple of perky bluebirds on top of a white picket fence. More greeting-card stuff. Yech!”
    Jack grinned. “I take it the perky bluebirds have been