that? Richard said we were glad to help. Very glad, I added, dying inside, wondering if Cyril could at least be arrested for bad taste.
The night was still. Spider stood guard near the toolshed, hugging a slipper. Max was showing splotchy patches, clear signs of squash stress. Tonight was warmer, but I had my blankets and heater ready to fight off frost. If it wasn’t pumpkin thieves, it was something else. You could count on it. The clock moved to midnight and my ears strained for the sound of sirens.
M rs. Lemming ran from door to door with the news the next morning. She was waving her arms all excited because her boy, Spears, the sheriffs deputy, had phoned her at 1:00 A.M. so she could be the first to know.
Actually, Dennis and his rotten cousin were the first to know, being arrested and all, right in the middle of Cyril’s patch just before they could chop Big Daddy off his vine at exactly 11:23 P.M. Dennis had put up quite a fight, kicking Spears as he put the handcuffs on and screaming for a lawyer, but Spears was used to foul behavior, being in the service of the law. The sheriff let Spears do most of the work, since the sheriff had a bad back and wasn’t too keen on tackling nineteen-year-old thugs. There were three of them, Mrs. Lemming said—Dennis, his cousin, Bart, and a nasty boy from Circleville with tattoos—vicious criminals all of them, with shifty eyes and coal black hearts.
Mrs. Lemming’s eyes were wet when she said it was over now—Spears had captured the thieves. Growers could relax and go about their business—Spears was on patrol.
Dennis denied the whole thing. Said he wasn’t the pumpkin thief, that he was just passing by Cyril’s with a big knife and a pickup at 11:00 P.M. , and that the Rock River Sheriffs Department was going to be sorry. Mrs. Lemming called Mannie Plummer and her sister and they went down to glare at Dennis and his band and bring the sheriff and Spears some cranberry strudel, which was Mannie’s specialty and which she only doled out at funerals and other special occasions.
I fed Spider some Alpo with a biscuit crumbled on top and wondered why the arrest had to happen before they could cut Big Daddy off the vine. After the fact would have made for a better case, and that’s what the law wanted, didn’t they?
The sun was warming Max, who stretched to reach the heat. It was good to feel safe again, even though I’d given Cyril the break of his life. I took down my BACK OFF, CREEPS, YOU’RE BEING WATCHED sign and jangled the bells around Max’s plot in solemn victory as Spider howled. Ding, dong, the witch is dead. I watered Max, explaining gently that the pumpkin thieves’ reign of terror was over. Max’s sprinkler system needed adjusting. I set the timer on medium spray for another thirty minutes.
Nana was eating cinnamon buns when I came by, which weren’t exactly on my diet, but I didn’t want to be rude. I’d gained back a pound since Grace’s party and was frustrated with my diet and my life.
“With that glorious news,” Nana said, “I thought you’d come sailing in here.” I told her I was glad Dennisgot caught. “I hear,” Nana said, “those boys are in deep trouble.”
Yes, I nodded, that was probably true. They deserved it. “And tell me,” she said. “How are you?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not either.”
“I’m okay then.”
Nana nodded and waited. I fidgeted. She said, “It’s not over yet, honey. There’s ten more days.”
“Yes it is, Nana. He’s going to win.”
Nana wiped her hands and looked at me hard. “Well,” she said. “So what if he does?”
So what?
“What if Cyril does win?” she continued. “What does that really mean?”
“It means he wins and sticks it to me.”
Nana stomped her foot. “Ellie Morgan,” she cried, “I’m ashamed of you, grousing around here like some bad loser. What does it mean if he wins, Ellie?
You tell me
, because I can’t seem to get there on my
The night was still. Spider stood guard near the toolshed, hugging a slipper. Max was showing splotchy patches, clear signs of squash stress. Tonight was warmer, but I had my blankets and heater ready to fight off frost. If it wasn’t pumpkin thieves, it was something else. You could count on it. The clock moved to midnight and my ears strained for the sound of sirens.
M rs. Lemming ran from door to door with the news the next morning. She was waving her arms all excited because her boy, Spears, the sheriffs deputy, had phoned her at 1:00 A.M. so she could be the first to know.
Actually, Dennis and his rotten cousin were the first to know, being arrested and all, right in the middle of Cyril’s patch just before they could chop Big Daddy off his vine at exactly 11:23 P.M. Dennis had put up quite a fight, kicking Spears as he put the handcuffs on and screaming for a lawyer, but Spears was used to foul behavior, being in the service of the law. The sheriff let Spears do most of the work, since the sheriff had a bad back and wasn’t too keen on tackling nineteen-year-old thugs. There were three of them, Mrs. Lemming said—Dennis, his cousin, Bart, and a nasty boy from Circleville with tattoos—vicious criminals all of them, with shifty eyes and coal black hearts.
Mrs. Lemming’s eyes were wet when she said it was over now—Spears had captured the thieves. Growers could relax and go about their business—Spears was on patrol.
Dennis denied the whole thing. Said he wasn’t the pumpkin thief, that he was just passing by Cyril’s with a big knife and a pickup at 11:00 P.M. , and that the Rock River Sheriffs Department was going to be sorry. Mrs. Lemming called Mannie Plummer and her sister and they went down to glare at Dennis and his band and bring the sheriff and Spears some cranberry strudel, which was Mannie’s specialty and which she only doled out at funerals and other special occasions.
I fed Spider some Alpo with a biscuit crumbled on top and wondered why the arrest had to happen before they could cut Big Daddy off the vine. After the fact would have made for a better case, and that’s what the law wanted, didn’t they?
The sun was warming Max, who stretched to reach the heat. It was good to feel safe again, even though I’d given Cyril the break of his life. I took down my BACK OFF, CREEPS, YOU’RE BEING WATCHED sign and jangled the bells around Max’s plot in solemn victory as Spider howled. Ding, dong, the witch is dead. I watered Max, explaining gently that the pumpkin thieves’ reign of terror was over. Max’s sprinkler system needed adjusting. I set the timer on medium spray for another thirty minutes.
Nana was eating cinnamon buns when I came by, which weren’t exactly on my diet, but I didn’t want to be rude. I’d gained back a pound since Grace’s party and was frustrated with my diet and my life.
“With that glorious news,” Nana said, “I thought you’d come sailing in here.” I told her I was glad Dennisgot caught. “I hear,” Nana said, “those boys are in deep trouble.”
Yes, I nodded, that was probably true. They deserved it. “And tell me,” she said. “How are you?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not either.”
“I’m okay then.”
Nana nodded and waited. I fidgeted. She said, “It’s not over yet, honey. There’s ten more days.”
“Yes it is, Nana. He’s going to win.”
Nana wiped her hands and looked at me hard. “Well,” she said. “So what if he does?”
So what?
“What if Cyril does win?” she continued. “What does that really mean?”
“It means he wins and sticks it to me.”
Nana stomped her foot. “Ellie Morgan,” she cried, “I’m ashamed of you, grousing around here like some bad loser. What does it mean if he wins, Ellie?
You tell me
, because I can’t seem to get there on my
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