The Hole in the Wall - Lisa Rowe Fraustino [35]
I avoid lying whenever and however possible. “Oh, Ma, you know we always have a good time when we go skating.”
“Awww, that makes me happy,” said Ma. “Money well spent. And speaking of spending money, while I was at the grocery store I noticed a big empty space on the shelf where the Zenwater usually is.”
“See?” I gave Barbie a so-there punch in the arm. “Not only did the Dogstars disappear, so did their business. Now aren’t you worried, Shish?”
“I wouldn’t worry yet,” Ma said. “The cashier said they were just sold out. The water is on backorder. She hadn’t heard any rumors about the Dogstars.”
Barbie punched me back and said, “And anyway, if the Zenwater really is contaminated, doesn’t that explain why they left so fast? I sure wouldn’t want to live there anymore. Take the money and run.”
“Good point, Barbie,” Ma said. “I hope the Dogstars took Boots to the cleaners.”
Good point, Barbie, nyah nyah nyah. After that I gave quite a bit of thought to her advice about getting a story ready. For about sixty seconds. Before I fell asleep. I awoke when the car came to a jolting stop and Ma said, “What the heck is he doing here?”
11
It was none other than Boots Odum, sitting in his shiny truck with a phone to his ear. When we got out of the SUV with our plastic grocery bags, he hurried over to help Ma. He carried six bags on two fingers of his right hand—the same fingers he had fluttered at me the day he came for eggs. What was it with those fingers?!
Pa yanked the door open for us. He had on his dress pants, a clean collared shirt, and a bodacious grin. The house smelled like apple pie, and it wasn’t even Thanksgiving. Something was going on.
“Well, if it ain’t Mr. Stanley Odum,” Pa said. As if it was a big surprise to him. “Come on in and have a seat.”
The room filled with Boots Odum’s heel clacks. The smell of leather joined the crowd of bleach and mustiness and apple pie. Pa had already dragged the comfortable living room chair over to the head of the table. Barbie started putting away groceries. I ran upstairs and pulled on two loose sweatshirts to hide Celery, then slipped onto the bench at the far side of the kitchen table behind the empty egg basket. Normally Barbie would have manipulated the situation so I’d have to help her put the groceries away, but she took pity on my secret predicament.
“Thanks for calling last night to warn me about the eggs, Claire,” Boots Odum said, pulling two empty egg cartons from his rucksack and holding them out like a sacred offering. “Don’t worry yourself about a refund. We’ll find a use for the eggs. They’ll make good anchors for a space ship.” He smiled proudly at his joke.
Pa guffawed and rubbed his hands together. “Claire, pour this gentleman a cup of coffee and cut him a piece of that delicious apple pie my mother made. Fresh out of the oven.”
Ah, so. Grum was in on it, too. Whatever it was. But she was nowhere to be seen.
Boots Odum rubbed his hands together eagerly and said, “Don’t mind if I do!” After an awkward pause, he added, “Enough rain for you folks?”
“Have a look in the basement, Stanley, and see for yourself,” said Ma. There was no missing the edge in her voice, blaming him. She slammed a huge steaming mug in front of Boots Odum. Coffee spilled.
He looked around helplessly. Barbie tossed him the roll of paper towels off the counter.
“Thanks, cutie. Now, Claire, isn’t the sump pump I sent over doing the job for you?”
Ma took a deep breath and said, “How much sludge could a sump pump pump if a sump pump could pump—”
Pa cleared his throat and laughed. His voice sounded higher than normal. “All Claire means is, we do get a lot of water when it rains. An old house. You know.”
Odum nodded. “No offense, Craig, but I think Claire means it’s my fault that water runs off the gore into your basement.” He reached out to stop the dish of pie Ma slid down the table at him. “No eggs in this, I hope?” he said, winking at her.
She winced a sickly smile. I held my stomach. Well, technically I held Celery. Then I picked my pie apart