Evi Lenz they were back in town.
Ms. Lenz was so happy to see and hear them again at night, she made some special owl-shaped chocolates with peppermint eyes, ears, and little feet and displayed them in her window beside the lemon truffles.
With less to do in the tree house, PJ welcomed Mrs. Patel’s help in the garden. Together they raked over the Picklelimes’ veggie patch to plant rows of lettuce, spinach, beets, carrots, and radishes. PJ stapled lengths of twine along the ground to keep the lines beautifully straight. She planted beans and honeysuckle close to the fence. She also planted climbing jasmine against the trellis under her window. But she knew she would have to train it to grow up only one side so that she could skim down the other side at night.
“The art of creating a garden is to have a mix of plants and shrubs that flourish in different seasons, PJ,” Mrs. Patel said after wheeling a barrow full of young flowering rosemary bushes over to the Picklelimes’ to plant in bare and scruffy areas as ground cover. “Rosemary stays green and strong all year and grows beautifully in full sun. Snap some twigs for pretty displays on the kitchen table. It smells lovely. Or boil potatoes and sprinkle sprigs of rosemary over them with a little sea salt.
Delicious!”
With PJ indoors and Mrs. Patel outdoors, the two tracked one another from window to window to plan new plants for the best views.
“I know what I want,” PJ said when she ran down into the garden. “Pretty pink and red bushes and flowers to attract masses of butterflies and hummingbirds we can enjoy watching from all the windows.”
“Good choice,” said Mrs. Patel. “Oh, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something, child.”
The seriousness in her voice told PJ this had nothing to do with butterflies and pink bushes. “Yes, Mrs. Patel?” she said, shading her eyes from the sun.
“Helicopter Pete left all of a sudden. Someone said he was offered a job in Singapore, or was it São Paulo?” She paused. “Funny thing is this: Mr. Tweety the pet store owner left with him.”
“All right!”
PJ whooped.
“Of course their departure wouldn’t have anything to do with you, or those birds escaping from Tweety’s, would it, PJ?”
PJ grinned but said nothing.
“And you didn’t know that Helicopter Pete was seen running for his life, surrounded by swarms of angry seagulls?”
PJ frowned, totally baffled. So Big Gull and Little Gull had organized this on their own? Way to go!
“Well, let’s say our community lost some badapples.” Mrs. Patel sighed. “But a little word of advice, here, PJ.”
“Mrs. Patel?”
“Next time, if you and Ruth suspect something, talk to the police. Because we don’t know what those two scoundrels will do next, do we, child?”
The thought hadn’t even occurred to PJ. “At least Tweety’s name is all over the Internet now.”
“True. Still, don’t get too reckless, PJ, will you?”
“I won’t, Mrs. Patel,” PJ said, and kept her fingers crossed behind her back.
Ruth
While waiting for her mom to come home on the weekend, PJ felt a need to do something very practical with her dad. Something that wouldn’t end in an argument. So she asked him to help her paint her room egg-yolk yellow.
“Egg-yolk yellow, PJ? Such a strong color?” he said, raising his eyebrows.
“Oh, Dad. It’s
sooooo
my color this year!”
“Next year it’ll be red?” He smiled.
PJ laughed. “We’ll see,” she said. Together they went to buy drop cloths, egg-yolk yellow paint, rollers, paint trays, and brushes. Ready to tackle the task together, PJand her dad moved everything in her room into the center, draped it carefully, and layered the drop cloths on the floor.
Mr. Picklelime showed PJ how to pour paint into the trays, then spread it back and forth before rolling it on the walls, careful to avoid drips. He masked the windows and painted the rims an even darker shade of yellow, PJ’s
Ms. Lenz was so happy to see and hear them again at night, she made some special owl-shaped chocolates with peppermint eyes, ears, and little feet and displayed them in her window beside the lemon truffles.
With less to do in the tree house, PJ welcomed Mrs. Patel’s help in the garden. Together they raked over the Picklelimes’ veggie patch to plant rows of lettuce, spinach, beets, carrots, and radishes. PJ stapled lengths of twine along the ground to keep the lines beautifully straight. She planted beans and honeysuckle close to the fence. She also planted climbing jasmine against the trellis under her window. But she knew she would have to train it to grow up only one side so that she could skim down the other side at night.
“The art of creating a garden is to have a mix of plants and shrubs that flourish in different seasons, PJ,” Mrs. Patel said after wheeling a barrow full of young flowering rosemary bushes over to the Picklelimes’ to plant in bare and scruffy areas as ground cover. “Rosemary stays green and strong all year and grows beautifully in full sun. Snap some twigs for pretty displays on the kitchen table. It smells lovely. Or boil potatoes and sprinkle sprigs of rosemary over them with a little sea salt.
Delicious!”
With PJ indoors and Mrs. Patel outdoors, the two tracked one another from window to window to plan new plants for the best views.
“I know what I want,” PJ said when she ran down into the garden. “Pretty pink and red bushes and flowers to attract masses of butterflies and hummingbirds we can enjoy watching from all the windows.”
“Good choice,” said Mrs. Patel. “Oh, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something, child.”
The seriousness in her voice told PJ this had nothing to do with butterflies and pink bushes. “Yes, Mrs. Patel?” she said, shading her eyes from the sun.
“Helicopter Pete left all of a sudden. Someone said he was offered a job in Singapore, or was it São Paulo?” She paused. “Funny thing is this: Mr. Tweety the pet store owner left with him.”
“All right!”
PJ whooped.
“Of course their departure wouldn’t have anything to do with you, or those birds escaping from Tweety’s, would it, PJ?”
PJ grinned but said nothing.
“And you didn’t know that Helicopter Pete was seen running for his life, surrounded by swarms of angry seagulls?”
PJ frowned, totally baffled. So Big Gull and Little Gull had organized this on their own? Way to go!
“Well, let’s say our community lost some badapples.” Mrs. Patel sighed. “But a little word of advice, here, PJ.”
“Mrs. Patel?”
“Next time, if you and Ruth suspect something, talk to the police. Because we don’t know what those two scoundrels will do next, do we, child?”
The thought hadn’t even occurred to PJ. “At least Tweety’s name is all over the Internet now.”
“True. Still, don’t get too reckless, PJ, will you?”
“I won’t, Mrs. Patel,” PJ said, and kept her fingers crossed behind her back.
Ruth
While waiting for her mom to come home on the weekend, PJ felt a need to do something very practical with her dad. Something that wouldn’t end in an argument. So she asked him to help her paint her room egg-yolk yellow.
“Egg-yolk yellow, PJ? Such a strong color?” he said, raising his eyebrows.
“Oh, Dad. It’s
sooooo
my color this year!”
“Next year it’ll be red?” He smiled.
PJ laughed. “We’ll see,” she said. Together they went to buy drop cloths, egg-yolk yellow paint, rollers, paint trays, and brushes. Ready to tackle the task together, PJand her dad moved everything in her room into the center, draped it carefully, and layered the drop cloths on the floor.
Mr. Picklelime showed PJ how to pour paint into the trays, then spread it back and forth before rolling it on the walls, careful to avoid drips. He masked the windows and painted the rims an even darker shade of yellow, PJ’s
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