dead?”
“No, no, she just drank too much liquor or something like that, I suppose.”
“And is she the Witch Lady?” I asked.
“The very same.” He offered me a peach. I rubbed the fuzz and waited to hear more.
“Well, after that, I didn’t see that boy around anymore for a long time. Early last spring, those construction fellas started clearing the fields and building those new houses, and a few weeks ago I saw the boy again. I asked him where he’d been, but he wouldn’t tell me.”
“He’s got a secret,” I said.
“Looks that way.”
Up the street, Paz limped toward us. She didn’t need crutches, but her ankle was tender. That reminded me …
“Otis, do you know anything about voodoo curses?”
“Ha! I know plenty. Too much. My high school girlfriend made a mean love potion. How do you think she got me to take her to the prom?”
“Someone put a curse on Paz,” I said. “I’m trying to figure out who it is.”
“That won’t be easy,” Otis said. “But if I were you, I’d look for a doll. Find the voodoo doll, you find the source of the curse.”
“Thanks, Otis.”
Paz finally made it to the cart. Otis gave her a cup of lemonade. “Cures what ails you.”
“Even sprained ankles?” Paz asked.
“Sure, why not?”
Paz drank the lemonade. From the backyard I heard Mr. Jack yell, “Hamburgers ready! Who wants one?”
“That’s what I’ve been waiting for.” Otis jumped off his cart and jogged over to the picnic. I walked slowly across the grass with Paz.
“Sorry I didn’t come to the parade,” she said. “It gets tiring standing on one foot.”
“That’s okay.”
“How was it?”
“Boring and stupid.”
“I figured.”
We settled at a picnic table. I got us each a hamburger, and we ate among our neighbors.
“Is this seat taken?” Wendy sat beside Paz, her paper plate loaded with a ketchupy burger and potato salad.
“Mind if I sit here?” Mr. Rogers sat down next to me. He had a hamburger patty, no bun, with pickles and no potato salad. And a Diet Rite cola.
Hmmm.
I glanced at Paz, but she didn’t seem to notice. Then I remembered: Paz didn’t know about the secret diet sabotage.
That was my other friend, Raymond.
“I don’t know why I don’t just give up,” Mr. Rogers said to Wendy. “My diet’s not working anyway.” He laughed and patted his belly, but it was a sad laugh.
Wendy, who’s tall and thin, nodded and smiled, her mouth full of burger, as if she understood. After she swallowed she said, “I think you look fine, Ken.”
“Thanks, Wendy.” Mr. Rogers looked down at his plate. “It’s for health reasons, you know, the diet. I have to stay healthy to keep up with Troy there.”
Troy and David were sitting at the end of the table, competing to see who could stuff the most potato salad into his mouth at one time. Mayonnaise dribbled down David’s chin. Potatoes spewed out of Troy’s overstuffed mouth.
“Any sign of Phoebe yet?” Mr. Rogers asked.
Wendy’s eye grew wet. “No. I’ve posted signs everywhere. I check the animal shelter every day. Looks like she’s just … gone.”
Mr. Rogers’s eyes welled up too. That surprised me. Again I checked to see if Paz was watching this, but she was studying Kip and Melina at the next table. Melina was talking to Kip, but his attention kept wandering away to the buffet line. She’d tap his hand, and he’d look at her and nod to show he was listening. But he obviously wasn’t.
“Why don’t you and I take a drive later and see if we can find her?” Mr. Rogers said to Wendy.
Fwat! A watermelon seed suddenly plastered itself to Mr. Rogers’s face. He glared down the table at Troy, who held a straw to his mouth. Fwat! He shot another seed at Wendy.
Mr. Rogers jumped up. “Troy Rogers, you come with me.” He rounded the table, grabbed Troy by the arm, and led him away. “When will you learn to behave? We’re going to have a talk, Buster….”
Troy didn’t look scared.
“No, no, she just drank too much liquor or something like that, I suppose.”
“And is she the Witch Lady?” I asked.
“The very same.” He offered me a peach. I rubbed the fuzz and waited to hear more.
“Well, after that, I didn’t see that boy around anymore for a long time. Early last spring, those construction fellas started clearing the fields and building those new houses, and a few weeks ago I saw the boy again. I asked him where he’d been, but he wouldn’t tell me.”
“He’s got a secret,” I said.
“Looks that way.”
Up the street, Paz limped toward us. She didn’t need crutches, but her ankle was tender. That reminded me …
“Otis, do you know anything about voodoo curses?”
“Ha! I know plenty. Too much. My high school girlfriend made a mean love potion. How do you think she got me to take her to the prom?”
“Someone put a curse on Paz,” I said. “I’m trying to figure out who it is.”
“That won’t be easy,” Otis said. “But if I were you, I’d look for a doll. Find the voodoo doll, you find the source of the curse.”
“Thanks, Otis.”
Paz finally made it to the cart. Otis gave her a cup of lemonade. “Cures what ails you.”
“Even sprained ankles?” Paz asked.
“Sure, why not?”
Paz drank the lemonade. From the backyard I heard Mr. Jack yell, “Hamburgers ready! Who wants one?”
“That’s what I’ve been waiting for.” Otis jumped off his cart and jogged over to the picnic. I walked slowly across the grass with Paz.
“Sorry I didn’t come to the parade,” she said. “It gets tiring standing on one foot.”
“That’s okay.”
“How was it?”
“Boring and stupid.”
“I figured.”
We settled at a picnic table. I got us each a hamburger, and we ate among our neighbors.
“Is this seat taken?” Wendy sat beside Paz, her paper plate loaded with a ketchupy burger and potato salad.
“Mind if I sit here?” Mr. Rogers sat down next to me. He had a hamburger patty, no bun, with pickles and no potato salad. And a Diet Rite cola.
Hmmm.
I glanced at Paz, but she didn’t seem to notice. Then I remembered: Paz didn’t know about the secret diet sabotage.
That was my other friend, Raymond.
“I don’t know why I don’t just give up,” Mr. Rogers said to Wendy. “My diet’s not working anyway.” He laughed and patted his belly, but it was a sad laugh.
Wendy, who’s tall and thin, nodded and smiled, her mouth full of burger, as if she understood. After she swallowed she said, “I think you look fine, Ken.”
“Thanks, Wendy.” Mr. Rogers looked down at his plate. “It’s for health reasons, you know, the diet. I have to stay healthy to keep up with Troy there.”
Troy and David were sitting at the end of the table, competing to see who could stuff the most potato salad into his mouth at one time. Mayonnaise dribbled down David’s chin. Potatoes spewed out of Troy’s overstuffed mouth.
“Any sign of Phoebe yet?” Mr. Rogers asked.
Wendy’s eye grew wet. “No. I’ve posted signs everywhere. I check the animal shelter every day. Looks like she’s just … gone.”
Mr. Rogers’s eyes welled up too. That surprised me. Again I checked to see if Paz was watching this, but she was studying Kip and Melina at the next table. Melina was talking to Kip, but his attention kept wandering away to the buffet line. She’d tap his hand, and he’d look at her and nod to show he was listening. But he obviously wasn’t.
“Why don’t you and I take a drive later and see if we can find her?” Mr. Rogers said to Wendy.
Fwat! A watermelon seed suddenly plastered itself to Mr. Rogers’s face. He glared down the table at Troy, who held a straw to his mouth. Fwat! He shot another seed at Wendy.
Mr. Rogers jumped up. “Troy Rogers, you come with me.” He rounded the table, grabbed Troy by the arm, and led him away. “When will you learn to behave? We’re going to have a talk, Buster….”
Troy didn’t look scared.
Similar Books
