Read Online Weeding Out Trouble by Heather Webber - Free Book Online

backyard. I think she's falling in love with the snowman. She keeps licking its face."
    For some reason, I wasn't the least bit surprised.
    Miss Maisie lived five houses down, across the street, next door to Mrs. Greeble. Maisie had been widowed since
    1971 and refused to remarry. We found her on her front porch. She had something cornered under the porch swing, and her language made me blush. Riley's mouth dropped open in shock. "Like you've never heard those words before," I said to him.
    "Not coming from an eighty-year-old woman!"
    Actually, I'd never heard them come from an eightyyear-old woman either.
    "Maisie!" Flash bellowed. "What in God's good name are you screeching about?"
    Miss Maisie straightened and looked over her shoulder at us. A small delicate hand went to her lips, covering them. Color burned her cheeks, though from the cold or embarrassment, I wasn't sure.
    As soon as she backed away from the swing, a small white blur ran out.
    My mother squealed. Miss Maisie swung her broom this way and that, nearly knocking Riley clear off the steps. "Get him!" she yelled.
    The "him" in question was a snow white rooster. It flapped its wings and ran in circles, while Miss Maisie tried to sweep it into oblivion.
    "Mercy me!" my mother shouted.
    Riley looked to be in complete and utter shock, his eyes wide, his mouth open. Either that or he'd seen his life flash before his eyes when the broom came at him again.
    "Grab it!" Miss Maisie yelled at me.
    I spun around as the rooster ran circles around my feet. I bent down and reached out, but the rooster ran right through my legs—still free as, well, a bird.
    "Why didn't you grab him, Nina?" Flash asked me.
    "I can't feel my hands!"
    "Where's your coat?" he asked me.
    "Long story, Flash."
    "Well, I can't catch him! Not with my arthritis. Riley?"
    Riley sprang into action, chasing the bird around the
    yard. It was my mother, however, who reached down and plucked the rooster from the ground, holding it firmly in the crook of her arm.
    I wasn't sure who looked more surprised, me or the rooster, who I immediately named Gregory Peck. He was a handsome little guy.
    Winded, Riley dropped onto Miss Maisie's bottom step. "Grandma Cel, where'd you learn to do that?"
    "I grew up on a farm, c hérie ."
    My mouth dropped open and I spoke around my chattering teeth. "You grew up on a farm? How come I didn't know this?"
    My mother shrugged.
    Argh.
    Mr. Cabrera came jogging up, not wanting to miss out on the action. "A rooster!"
    "It's becoming an epidemic," Miss Maisie stated, banging her broom against the wooden floorboards of her porch. "A poultry plague."
    I saw Riley ease away.
    "It's true," Flash said. "First the turkeys, then a rooster?"
    "Is someone trying to get rid of us?" Miss Maisie asked, her dark eyes wide with fear.
    I thought it both a bit dramatic and paranoid of her, but didn't want to upset her by saying so. "How?" I asked.
    "I was just watching a news story the other day about the bird flu! These birds could be contaminated. Someone probably brought them to the Mill to infect us so they could clear the neighborhood of the old riffraff. Developers would love this land to build spiffy new condos."
    Immediately, my mother dropped the rooster. It took off, running zigzag across Miss Maisie's yard.
    "Now, Maisie," Flash began, apparently having no qualms against upsetting the woman. "That's silly."
    I crossed my arms and tucked my hands into my armpits to keep my fingers from getting frostbitten. "They're not contaminated," I said. "There's been no bird flu reported in the U.S. yet."
    "Then you explain it," Miss Maisie demanded.
    Two turkeys. One terrified rooster. I had no explanation whatsoever.
    "That's what I thought," she snapped. "Someone has to catch that rooster so we can get it tested."
    No one budged.
    Miss Maisie took the tearful approach. "Our lives could be at stake!"
    My mother nudged me. "Go get the rooster, c hérie ."
    "Oh, sacrifice your favorite child."
    She