Jasmine and I stared at her, puzzled.
She gave us an impish grin and tapped the lab sheet. “The directions don’t say we can’t.” She gave our little green hero a couple of vigorous squirts, then leaned over to the neighboring lab table and sprayed Lucas’s frog too.
My eyes watered. I wasn’t so sure that this was an improvement.
Mr. Bigelow shook his head wearily. “And to think that I could have had a career in research.” He flapped his hand at us. “Fine. Whatever works.”
Forty-five minutes and half a bottle of Sassy Lassie later, the dismissal bell rang.
“I hope I never have to do that again,” said Cha Cha, hopping down off her lab stool.
“Me too,” echoed Jasmine.
“That’s what I said last December,” I told them, stuffing my notebook into my backpack.
Lucas Winthrop, who still looked half-wilted, trudged along ahead of us as we went back down the hall to our lockers.
“Poor kid,” murmured Cha Cha. “Wait until his mother hears about this.”
Jasmine nodded. “He’ll probably have to start wearing a protective helmet to school or something.”
I smothered a giggle. Maybe having a busy mother who didn’t have a whole lot of time for me wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
“Can you believe I have to go back to the orthodontist again today?” Jasmine complained, pulling on her jacket. “Stupid wire broke, and it’s poking me in the lip.” Her cell phone buzzed and she answered it. “I’ll be right out, Mom. No, Scooter says his braces are fine.” She waved to Cha Cha and me. “Gotta run. See you guys tomorrow!”
As she jogged off down the hall, Cha Cha and I joined the flow of students heading for the front door.
“Are you kidding me?” I said in disbelief as we emerged from the building. The sun from earlier in the day had disappeared, and it was snowing again.
“Welcome to winter in New Hampshire,” said Cha Cha, sweeping an arm out in a dramatic gesture.
BLAM!
A snowball hit me squarely between my shoulder blades. I whipped around to see Scooter and Calhoun standing there laughing. Calhoun had Lucas Winthrop dangling by one of his spindly arms and was busy stuffing snow down the back of his neck.
“Welcome to winter in New Hampshire, Truly Gigantic!” Scooter called, mimicking Cha Cha’s sweeping gesture.
“Truly big mistake, Metal Mouth!” I called back, furious. Two could play at this game. Scooping up a handful of snow, I took aim at Jasmine’s brother.
BLAM! My snowball hit its target, exploding into a zillion bits.
My counterattack wiped the stupid grin off Scooter’s face. Calhoun let go of Lucas and gaped at me, shocked.
Take that, I thought smugly.
Cha Cha darted over and grabbed Lucas by the hand. “Run!” she shouted to me.
The three of us took off down School Street. Scooter and Calhoun were hot on our heels. I paused a couple of times to fire off more snowballs for cover, then rounded the corner of Main Street behind my new friends. We dove through the door of Earl’s Coins and Stamps and stood there dripping snow and panting.
“May I help you?” said the man behind the counter, just as Scooter and Calhoun charged through the door, snowballs in hand.
The store owner was pretty spry for someone his size. In a flash, he had both boys by the collar and hustled them outside.
“Sorry, Mr. Jefferson,” said Cha Cha when he returned. “We got ambushed.”
“I can see that,” he replied, eyes twinkling beneath a pair of shaggy dark eyebrows. He was pretty much shaggy all over, from his wild tangle of curly dark hair to his rumpled sweater and corduroy pants. No bird for Mr. Jefferson—he was all bear. “So, is this just a safety zone to give you time to catch your breath, or can I actually do something for you kids?”
I looked over at Lucas, then at Cha Cha. We couldn’t very well toss Lucas to the wolves. Scooter and Calhoun were no doubt waiting outside, itching for revenge. We’d have to let Lucas see the envelope.
I fished it out of my backpack and slid it across the counter. “I’m wondering if you could tell us anything about this stamp.”
“Let’s hope so,” Mr. Jefferson said cheerfully. “Stamps are my business.”
“So are you Earl?”
“Well, technically speaking, yes. But everybody calls me Bud. My father was the real Earl—this store was his baby. And you’re a Lovejoy, from the looks of you.”
Was it that obvious, I wondered? I nodded. “I’m Truly Lovejoy.”
“There’s another one?” His shaggy eyebrows shot up. “Your aunt True and I went to high school together. Well, welcome to Pumpkin Falls, Truly. Or perhaps I should say you’re truly welcome to Pumpkin Falls.” He grinned at his own joke. “We were all delighted to hear about your dad and True taking over the bookshop. Not that we won’t miss Lola and Walt,” he added hastily.
Picking up the envelope, he examined the stamp. “Oh, sure, I remember this one. The Battle of Gettysburg. This was from the Civil War series about twenty years ago.” He spun around and ran a finger across the notebooks lining the shelves behind him. “Here it is,” he said, pulling one of them out. Riffling through the plastic sleeves it contained, he pointed to a pristine horizontal strip of stamps.
Cha Cha leaned in to take a closer look while I jotted down the year. “There’s President Lincoln, and Harriet Tubman, and Ulysses S. Grant,” she noted. “These are actually kind of cool.”
Mr. Jefferson nodded. “I like to think so.”
“My father collected stamps,” Lucas suddenly piped up.
“That’s right,” said Mr. Jefferson. “He used to spend a lot of time in here. The two of us were good friends.”
Cha Cha had told me that Lucas’s father died when he was a baby, which I guess kind of explains a lot about Mrs. Winthrop being so overprotective.
“You’re welcome here anytime,” Mr. Jefferson continued.
Lucas stared at the stamps. “My mother likes me to go right to the diner after school.”
“I understand,” the shop owner told him. “But my door is always open.”
Lucas nodded.
I would have liked to stay and look at more stamps—Cha Cha was right, they were kind of cool—but I was due at my tutoring session in five minutes and my father wouldn’t be happy if I was late. The three of us thanked Mr. Jefferson and left.
I looked carefully both ways to make sure Scooter and Calhoun weren’t lurking behind a mailbox or something, then motioned my friends to follow me across the street.
“So did that help?” Cha Cha asked.
“I guess,” I told her. “At least we’ve narrowed down the date range.”
“Twenty years ago is a long time, though,” Cha Cha said. “The person who wrote the letter and the person it was meant for might not even live here anymore.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I know.” It was probably going to be impossible to track them down. But for some reason I still wanted to try.
As we approached the bookstore, I noticed a man in a dark green hooded jacket peering in the window. He stepped back, started to walk toward Lou’s Diner, then hesitated. After a moment he returned to the window and peered inside again. Odd, I thought.
Before I could say anything, though, a snowball came sailing out from behind a parked car.
“Incoming!” I hollered, and grabbing ahold of my classmates, I pulled them into the bookstore.
CHAPTER 11
“Greetings and salutations,” said Aunt True as the snowball splatted harmlessly on the glass door behind us. She glanced outside. “A skirmish, I take it?”
We nodded.
She locked the door. “It’s your lucky day, then. Due to inventory, the store is officially closed. You have now entered a snowball-free zone, and on top of that, it’s snack time!” She smiled as she crossed the room toward us, then drew back abruptly. The smile vanished. “Good heavens, what is that smell?”
“Um,”
I said. “Us, probably. We dissected frogs today in science class.”
She gave me a tentative sniff. “I’m not exactly detecting Eau de Kermit.”
“Cha Cha sprayed our frogs with perfume.”
Aunt True laughed. “And you would be Cha Cha, I presume?” she asked, turning to my new friend.
Cha Cha held out her hand. “Charlotte Abramowitz,” she said. “Nice to meet you.”
“Cha Cha’s parents own the Starlite Dance Studio across the street,” I told my aunt, as the two of them shook hands. “And this is Lucas Winthrop. His mom works at Lou’s.”
“Happy to meet you both,” said Aunt True. “I’m True Lovejoy, Truly’s aunt.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see my classmates giving her a discreet once-over. Aunt True was dressed parrot-style as usual, in a bright orange hand-knit sweater over jeans. Down at her ankles, purple-and-green striped socks disappeared into a pair of leopard print clogs. “I hope you kids are hungry for a snack, because I’ve been baking all afternoon.”
My father emerged from the back office just then. “Truly? You’re right on time.”
“Hi, Dad.” My family, the freak show, I thought, as Cha Cha and Lucas politely looked everywhere but the hook that protruded from the end of my father’s right shirtsleeve. “This is Cha Cha Abramowitz and Lucas Winthrop. They’re in my class at school.”
“Nice to meet you both,” he said politely. “Now say good-bye to your friends, Truly. Time’s a-wasting and math’s a-waiting.”
I sighed. “Yes, sir.”
“Not so fast,” Aunt True told my father, pulling a tray out from under the counter. “I promised them a snack. I’ve decided that as part of the bookstore’s new marketing campaign, we’re going to offer tea and treats every afternoon for our customers.”
Miss Marple, hearing the word “treats,” trotted over to join us.
“Hey, Miss Marple,” said Cha Cha, giving her a pat on the head.
My father looked over at Cha Cha, clearly startled to hear such a deep voice come out of such a petite person. “What marketing campaign?” he asked my aunt. His eyebrows dove for each other as he frowned. “We don’t have money in the budget for tea and treats.”
“Word will soon spread,” Aunt True continued, ignoring him. “Hordes of visitors will descend to sample our goodies, and stay to buy our books.”
“A bunch of freeloaders will show up, you mean,” muttered my father, but I noticed he reached for a cookie.
My aunt passed the tray to my friends and me. I selected a cookie too, and took a bite, which I immediately ejected back into my hand. “Um, Aunt True, what’s in these?”
Beside me, Lucas started to cough. Cha Cha, who hadn’t taken a bite of her cookie yet, eyed it suspiciously.
“Looks like your culinary skills haven’t improved much over the years, sis,” my father remarked, grimacing.
Aunt True put her hands on her hips. “I’ll have you know I’ve cooked to great acclaim on every continent!” she retorted. “This is a recipe inspired by my time in Tibet. I had to make a few substitutions, of course, since the General Store doesn’t carry yak milk. Did I add too many hot chilies?”
“Maybe just a few,” I told her, slipping the rest of my cookie to Miss Marple. She promptly spat it onto the floor, and my father gave a hoot of laughter.
“And the reviews are in!” he crowed, sounding almost like his old self. “Bad sign when the dog won’t eat it, True.”
“Maybe a more traditional recipe would be a better idea, Ms. Lovejoy,” Cha Cha suggested, discreetly returning her cookie to the tray. “What if you did something in honor of our town, like pumpkin bread or pumpkin muffins?”
Aunt True nodded. “Pumpkin muffins. I like it. No—wait! How about pumpkin whoopie pies? Quintessentially New England, but with a twist.” She nodded. “That’s perfect! They’ll be our signature treat.” She gave my father a sidelong glance. “I’ll make mini ones, which will be more budget-friendly,” she added. “People will come from far and wide to sample the treats at Lovejoy’s Books.”
My father threw his cookie in the trash. “Good, because they won’t come from anywhere to sample these things.” His brief flash of a good mood had evaporated. He looked over at me. “I’ll be in the office. Don’t be long.”
“No, sir.”
Aunt True looked ruefully down at the tray. “I hate to waste these, but he’s right. They’re pretty awful.”
“You could give them to Danny and Hatcher,” I suggested. “They’ll eat anything,”
My aunt’s eyes lit up. “Excellent strategy! Thank goodness for teenage boys.”
“We should get going,” Cha Cha told me. “I’m due over at the Starlite, and Lucas’s mother will worry if he doesn’t turn up at Lou’s soon.”
Hearing this, Lucas blushed.
I peered out the window. “The coast looks clear,” I told them. “You should be okay.”
“If you’re worried about an ambush, that’s a problem easily solved,” said my aunt. “I have an errand to run, so why don’t I just go along and make sure you both arrive at your destinations safely? I need to check on Memphis first, though—he and Miss Marple weren’t getting along this afternoon, so I had to separate them.”
Cha Cha turned to me as my aunt disappeared out the side door toward the stairs to her apartment. “Real quick, can you show me where you found the envelope?”
“The one with the B on it?” asked Lucas.
Cha Cha and I exchanged a glance. Lucas had obviously been paying attention! Cha Cha raised an eyebrow, and her unspoken question hung in the air.
“Oh, fine,” I said. It wasn’t as if Lucas would blab our secret to anyone—he barely spoke as it was. I explained about the mystery as I led the two of them back to the Annex.
“It was here in the used-book section,” I told them, waving vaguely at the bottom shelf and handing the envelope to Lucas. He opened it and read the letter inside while I looked around for the basket of books without bar codes. There was no sign of it. “It was inside a copy of Charlotte’s Web.”
“Do you remember the pages it was stuck between?” asked Cha Cha. “That could be important.”
I shook my head. “I wasn’t really paying attention.”
“And nothing else was in there?”
“Not that I noticed.”
Just then, there was a sharp knock on the bookshop’s front door.
“We’re closed!” I heard my father yell from the office. “Can’t you see the sign?”
The knocking escalated frantically. Grabbing the letter and envelope from Lucas, I stuffed them back into the pocket of my jeans and hurried to the front of the store to see what was going on. My friends were right behind me.
“For heaven’s sake!” said Aunt True, crossing to the door and unlocking it. “What’s the matter?”
“Where’s that blasted January thaw when you need it?” fussed a small, plump, elderly person, barging past her into the store. She was bundled in more layers than Lucas Winthrop, but hers were considerably rattier. The two scarves wound around her neck clashed horribly with her threadbare jacket—red and blue stripes and purple plaid do not go well with green camouflage—and her boots, which looked about two sizes too big, were stuffed with crumpled newspaper. A face as wrinkled as a dried plum peeked out from beneath a bright orange hunter’s hat. The earflaps were tied securely under her chin. Emerging from beneath the flaps were a few wisps of snow-white hair and the telltale wires from a pair of earbuds.
An elf owl, if ever I’d seen one.
“We’re closed,” my father repeated.
“Good afternoon, Miss Marple,” she said, ignoring him.
Miss Marple got to her feet and trotted over expectantly.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t forget your treat.” There was a rustling noise as the woman plunged an orange mitten into one of the many plastic bags she was carrying. “Oops, that’s not it.”
The five of us stared at
her mittened hand. There was a kitten in it. The tiny creature let out a squeak, and at the sound another furry little head popped out of the woman’s jacket pocket.
“How many kittens do you generally carry with you?” asked Aunt True, blinking in astonishment.
There was no response, so my aunt repeated her question, louder this time.
The elderly woman removed one of her earbuds. I heard the faint, tinny strains of the Beatles’ “Can’t Buy Me Love.” “Depends,” she replied.
Tucking both kittens back into their hiding places, she rummaged in the plastic bag once again, this time pulling out what looked like toast crusts. What I hoped were toast crusts, at least. Miss Marple had had enough food surprises today, what with Aunt True’s cookies.
“We’re closed,” my father repeated for the third time.
“It’s a book emergency,” said our visitor.
Seeing our blank looks, she wiped her nose on the end of one of her scarves and rooted around in another plastic bag, emerging with a battered paperback this time. “Mystery swap,” she added, waving it at us. “You know, bring a book, take a book?” When that got no response either, she heaved a sigh. “Never mind, I’ll do it myself.”
“Who’s that?” I whispered, as she trundled off toward the Annex.
“No idea,” Aunt True whispered back.
“It’s Belinda Winchester,” said Cha Cha.
Dad’s head snapped around. “That’s Belinda Winchester?” he said, watching her walk away. “She was at least a hundred when I was a kid! I can’t believe she’s still living here. Or still living, period.”
“She looks kind of homeless,” I said.
“She wasn’t when I was growing up,” my father replied. “She used to live in a big old house at the end of our street.”
“She still does,” said Cha Cha.
“I remember her now!” said Aunt True. “A little nutty, had about twenty-seven cats—or at least she did back then—house crammed with stuff?”
“That’s her,” said Cha Cha.
Belinda Winchester returned a moment later with a different paperback. My father stepped over to the cash register. “How would you like to pay for that this afternoon?”
Absolutely Truly Page 8
