Read Online Three Times Lucky by Sheila Turnage - Free Book Online
Authors: Sheila Turnage
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Miss Jennifer’s Ballroom on Mondays. Wednesdays we hold open for Emergency Bridal Showers. As we entered the café, the Colonel draped a wiry arm across my shoulders. “Keep your wits about you,” he whispered. “There is an enemy among us, and you are new to the ways of war.”
Mr. Li, dressed in his trim white gi and faded black belt, spotted the Colonel at once.
“Rei!”
he shouted, and his students turned to the Colonel and bowed. We bowed back.
Some say the Colonel earned his black belt in Okinawa, and killed a man to get it. Others say he bought it used at a Fayetteville flea market and never had a lesson in his life. Either way, Mr. Li always bows—just in case, Miss Lana says.
“Miss Mo, will you please join us?” Mr. Li said. “Miss Anna needs a partner. No spitting.” I grabbed a set ofpads and sprang in front of Anna Celeste Simpson.
“Hey Mo-ron,” she whispered, an evil glint in her eyes.
“Hey yourself, Attila Celeste,” I hissed.
Mr. Li clapped. “Ten-way block drill. Begin!” I went at Attila, swinging with all my might. Sadly, she blocked every punch. Mr. Li blew his whistle. “Roundhouse kick! Lean and twist your body when you kick. Throw your weight behind it. Begin!”
“What’s that smell?” Attila panted after our third set.
“Sweat,” I said. “Didn’t your mother tell you?”
“At least I have a mother, Mo-ron,” she said. “And I don’t mean the sweat.”
I sniffed. “Seaweed salads,” I said. “Miss Lana stocked them for Karate Night. She says they’re thematic. The Colonel’s giving them away before they go bad.”
Mr. Li clapped. “Mo! Stop talking!” As we practiced, more townsfolk drifted in, hungry for information and the comfort of friends. At quarter past nine, Mayor Little burst through the door, glistening and out of breath. We froze.
“Everyone settle down,” he gasped, fanning his red face with both hands. “Don’t panic. Detective Starr has things well in hand. The man is a God-send. Stay calm, and have faith in your civil servants. We’ll get past this little speed bump in no time.”
Attila Celeste raised her hand. “I don’t think it’s fair tocall Mr. Jesse a speed bump just because he’s dead,” she said. “It’s not like he can defend himself.”
For a brief instant, I almost liked her.
The mayor zigzagged by, holding his tie to keep it from brushing our sweaty arms.
“Is it true, then, Mayor?” Grandmother Miss Lacy Thornton warbled from the end of the counter. “Is Jesse Tatum officially dead?”
“Dead is such an unflattering term,” he said, sliding onto his stool. “I prefer to think of Jesse as … passé.”
The Azalea Women gasped.
“What’s
passé
mean?” Tinks Williams asked the Colonel, his voice low.
“Dead,” the Colonel said, refilling Tinks’s iced tea.
Mr. Li clapped his hands, snapping the class back to attention. “Line up for kick drills!” he commanded. “Upper belts first!” Thes, in his green belt, and legal whiz Skeeter McMillan, in her brown, stepped to the line along with three high schoolers. “Fighting movement number one!” Mr. Li said. “Front kick, punch-punch, round kick! Begin!”
They set off in perfect unison, slinking across the floor like a band of lethal ballerinas. “Next group! Begin!” The café door swung open as I kicked at Attila’s head. She lunged out of range just in time, lost her balance, and crumpled to the floor.
“Nice round kick, Biblical Mo,” Detective Starr said from the doorway. He gazed around the café as if he could freeze-frame the faces staring back at him. “I could use a cup of coffee, Colonel, if you’ve got one,” he said, strolling to the counter.
The Colonel hid a scowl as he reached for a clean mug.
Starr’s eyes looked tired, and his gray pants were stained black with mud. “I know you have questions, and I’ll answer all I can,” he told us, tossing his hat on the counter and sitting down. He opened his notepad.
Mr. Li, dressed in his trim white gi and faded black belt, spotted the Colonel at once.
“Rei!”
he shouted, and his students turned to the Colonel and bowed. We bowed back.
Some say the Colonel earned his black belt in Okinawa, and killed a man to get it. Others say he bought it used at a Fayetteville flea market and never had a lesson in his life. Either way, Mr. Li always bows—just in case, Miss Lana says.
“Miss Mo, will you please join us?” Mr. Li said. “Miss Anna needs a partner. No spitting.” I grabbed a set ofpads and sprang in front of Anna Celeste Simpson.
“Hey Mo-ron,” she whispered, an evil glint in her eyes.
“Hey yourself, Attila Celeste,” I hissed.
Mr. Li clapped. “Ten-way block drill. Begin!” I went at Attila, swinging with all my might. Sadly, she blocked every punch. Mr. Li blew his whistle. “Roundhouse kick! Lean and twist your body when you kick. Throw your weight behind it. Begin!”
“What’s that smell?” Attila panted after our third set.
“Sweat,” I said. “Didn’t your mother tell you?”
“At least I have a mother, Mo-ron,” she said. “And I don’t mean the sweat.”
I sniffed. “Seaweed salads,” I said. “Miss Lana stocked them for Karate Night. She says they’re thematic. The Colonel’s giving them away before they go bad.”
Mr. Li clapped. “Mo! Stop talking!” As we practiced, more townsfolk drifted in, hungry for information and the comfort of friends. At quarter past nine, Mayor Little burst through the door, glistening and out of breath. We froze.
“Everyone settle down,” he gasped, fanning his red face with both hands. “Don’t panic. Detective Starr has things well in hand. The man is a God-send. Stay calm, and have faith in your civil servants. We’ll get past this little speed bump in no time.”
Attila Celeste raised her hand. “I don’t think it’s fair tocall Mr. Jesse a speed bump just because he’s dead,” she said. “It’s not like he can defend himself.”
For a brief instant, I almost liked her.
The mayor zigzagged by, holding his tie to keep it from brushing our sweaty arms.
“Is it true, then, Mayor?” Grandmother Miss Lacy Thornton warbled from the end of the counter. “Is Jesse Tatum officially dead?”
“Dead is such an unflattering term,” he said, sliding onto his stool. “I prefer to think of Jesse as … passé.”
The Azalea Women gasped.
“What’s
passé
mean?” Tinks Williams asked the Colonel, his voice low.
“Dead,” the Colonel said, refilling Tinks’s iced tea.
Mr. Li clapped his hands, snapping the class back to attention. “Line up for kick drills!” he commanded. “Upper belts first!” Thes, in his green belt, and legal whiz Skeeter McMillan, in her brown, stepped to the line along with three high schoolers. “Fighting movement number one!” Mr. Li said. “Front kick, punch-punch, round kick! Begin!”
They set off in perfect unison, slinking across the floor like a band of lethal ballerinas. “Next group! Begin!” The café door swung open as I kicked at Attila’s head. She lunged out of range just in time, lost her balance, and crumpled to the floor.
“Nice round kick, Biblical Mo,” Detective Starr said from the doorway. He gazed around the café as if he could freeze-frame the faces staring back at him. “I could use a cup of coffee, Colonel, if you’ve got one,” he said, strolling to the counter.
The Colonel hid a scowl as he reached for a clean mug.
Starr’s eyes looked tired, and his gray pants were stained black with mud. “I know you have questions, and I’ll answer all I can,” he told us, tossing his hat on the counter and sitting down. He opened his notepad.
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