Wanted . . . Mud Blossom Read online

  Wanted … Mud Blossom

  BETSY BYARS

  Holiday House / New York

  Contents

  1. Junior’s Surprise

  2. Mystery by the Roadside

  3. The Secret Secret

  4. Mad Mary Is Missing

  5. The Crook in the Grass

  6. Mud in the Basement

  7. The Cage

  8. Police Call

  9. The Tunnel of Doom

  10. Death in the Afternoon

  11. Dirty Rotten Murderer

  12. Boys in a Box

  13. The Scariest Thing in the World

  14. Ralphie’s Luck

  15. T-H-E Place

  16. Maggie and Ralphie

  17. Mud in Absentia

  18. The Trial

  19. Verdict!

  20. A Terrible Mist

  21. The Trial After the Trial

  22. The Fastest Man Alive

  23. By Hook or by Crook

  24. The Changing of Ralphie’s Eyes

  25. The New Invention

  Chatting It Up: A Holiday House Reader’s Guide

  A Biography of Betsy Byars

  CHAPTER 1

  Junior’s Surprise

  “Junior.”

  Junior was digging under the pine trees. His mother called again from the porch.

  “Junior!”

  Junior still didn’t hear her. He was intent. He dug carefully, lifting shallow scoops of earth on his shovel, then throwing them sideways into the brush. Sweat rolled down his shiny face.

  “Junior Blossom!”

  Now he looked up. He made a visor with one hand and shaded his eyes from the late afternoon sun.

  “What are you up to, Junior?”

  “I’m making something.”

  “Junior …”

  “It’s something for school.”

  “It doesn’t look like something for school. It looks to me like you’re digging a hole.” This was an accusation.

  “No, no, it’s not a hole.”

  Junior looked down at his feet. He had been digging since he got home from school, and as he dug, he covered his excavation carefully with boards.

  The boards jagged across the pine needles like a streak of wooden lightning.

  “A hole is round, Mom. Does this look round?”

  He spread out his arms to take in the panorama of his digging.

  “Junior Blossom, you know what I told you about holes.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “What?”

  “You told me not to dig them. You said people could break their necks falling into holes. You said you knew a cow one time that fell in a hole and you said your daddy made you and your brothers dig a ramp to get it out. You said even though you had not helped your brothers dig the hole, you had to help dig the ramp, which was not fair. See, I remember every single thing you ever told me about holes.”

  “Then why are you digging one?”

  “THIS is NOT a HOLE!” Junior emphasized the important words to get the message across.

  “So?” his mom said. “What is it?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “Junior—”

  “A good surprise,” he said to ward off what he knew was coming. It came anyway.

  “I have had it with your surprises. You made wings that broke both your legs. You made a coyote trap that trapped YOU. And your UFO ended up on Old Man Benson’s chicken house.”

  “This is different, Mom, really. You’ll like this one.” He stepped over his streak of lightning so he could have a talk with his mother.

  He cupped his hands around his mouth to make the talk more intimate. “Mom, remember what I told you last week about school?”

  She sighed.

  “I said I didn’t like it, remember?”

  “That was not exactly headline news, Junior. I’ve heard that before a time or two.”

  “Well, I take that back. I do like school. I love school. School is my favorite thing in the whole entire world.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  “You’ll see on Friday. That’s just one more day to wait. This is Thursday. Tomorrow’s Friday. Something wonderful is going to happen to me on Friday.”

  Junior had rested his shovel against his skinny chest, and now he folded his hands over it prayerfully. “Please don’t make me tell, Mom. Please! I want it to be a surprise. Please, please, please wait till Friday.”

  “Junior, don’t get down on your knees. If you promise me it’s not a hole …”

  “I promise.”

  “But if I find out it is a hole …”

  “You won’t. You couldn’t. Because it isn’t. It’s a—” Junior clamped one hand over his mouth.

  He had almost told. He had almost blurted out the secret. That was the trouble with a really good secret. It was always trying to slip out on its own.

  His mother seemed unaware of how close she had come to hearing the big news. She said, “I don’t want any trouble on Friday, Junior; that’s when Roon’s coming.”

  “I know that.”

  “I want Roon to think we are a normal, everyday family.”

  “We are.”

  “I don’t want one single thing to go wrong.”

  “It won’t.”

  They watched each other across the empty yard for a moment. There was a long silence.

  Then Vicki Blossom said, “Well, supper’s on the stove—hot dogs.” She crossed the yard to the truck. Her steps quickened as she got closer.

  “Oh, Junior,” she said, more to herself than to her son, “I’m going to the mall and get the best-looking outfit they’ve got. I want to look beautiful tomorrow!”

  “You will.”

  “So, eat when you get hungry.”

  “I’m probably too excited to eat.” He glanced down. “You know … the surprise.”

  “Well, it’s there if you want it. Don’t anybody wait up for me. I’m going to be late.”

  She opened the door to the truck, climbed in, started the engine, and roared out of the yard, leaving a trail of dust behind.

  Vern came out on the porch and sat on the top step.

  Junior leaned on his shovel. “Don’t ask me what I’m making because—”

  “I won’t ask what you’re making because I don’t want to know,” Vern interrupted.

  “But ask me tomorrow and I will tell.”

  “I’m not going to ask tomorrow or any other day. I wouldn’t ask if you begged me. I—”

  The phone rang inside the house and Vern got quickly to his feet. “If it’s for me,” Junior called after Vern, although Junior had never gotten a call in his life, “if it’s for me, say I’m busy making a surprise.”

  Vern disappeared into the house, and Junior took his shovel and dug three more scoops of earth. He measured the length of the excavation with his eyes.

  It was perfect.

  Junior put the last board into place and stepped back. For the first time he saw the completed project.

  It took his breath away.

  This was the best thing he had ever made in his life. Junior put his hand over his heart to keep it from bursting out of his chest with pride.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, as if he had been looking at something too bright for human eyes to endure. He tried to swallow the lump of emotion in his throat. Then he opened his eyes and looked again at his invention.

  This time Junior tried to look at his invention critically, as if he were Vern. He tried to find fault with it. But he couldn’t. There was no fault. Perfection, absolute perfection, lay at his feet.

  When Junior was small, he used to say things like, “Good-bye, house” and “good-bye, red hill.” But the family was always
saying, “Junior, stop that. Hills and houses can’t hear you.”

  “Maybe … maybe not,” Junior would answer.

  But now there was no one to hear him, to make fun of him.

  “Hello, tunnel,” Junior said softly.

  He picked up the shovel, and walking backwards so he could admire his work as long as possible, like a procession in reverse, Junior moved toward the house.

  Vern picked up the phone. “Hello?”

  “Vern, is that you?” It was his best friend Michael.

  “Yes.”

  “Vern, has anything happened?”

  Michael’s voice was a whisper. Even though Vern was alone in the house, he lowered his voice too.

  “No, we’re still all right.”

  “She hasn’t told on us?”

  “No.”

  “Do you think she will?”

  “Well, it’s been …” Vern paused to count the days on his fingers. It had happened Saturday, so there were Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and today was Thursday. Almost five whole days. “It’s been five days,” he whispered.

  “Do you think if she was going to tell, she already would have?”

  “I hope so.”

  “I’m still scared, are you?”

  “I’m still scared.”

  “Mad Mary is the scariest woman in the world.”

  Vern could not disagree with that. “Yes.”

  “But how are we going to get our backpacks?”

  “I haven’t figured that out.”

  “Mine’s Boy Scout, and it’s got my name on it. My mom’s already asked me where it is.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said I left it at your house. We have to go back to get it; but if we do, I’m afraid she’ll kill us.”

  “I’m afraid she’ll kill us too. She wanted to kill us last time.”

  Junior spoke from the doorway. “Who wanted to kill you? What are you talking about?”

  Vern said quickly, “I got to go. Big Ears just walked in.” He hung up the phone.

  “Who wanted to kill you?” Junior persisted.

  “Nobody.”

  “I’ll tell you about my surprise if you’ll tell me who wanted to kill you.”

  “Nobody! How many times do I have to tell you? Nobody!”

  Vern ran up the steps into his room and slammed the door behind him.

  CHAPTER 2

  Mystery by the Roadside

  “I know you’re tired of hearing about my summer, Ralphie, but I can’t stop talking about it.”

  “I noticed that.”

  “I mean, I was disappointed at first that Pap and Vern and Junior didn’t go on the rodeo circuit with Mom and me; but really, Ralphie, the truth is that Vern and Junior are still children and Mom and I are …” She paused.

  “Women.” Ralphie said the word in a flat voice that made it unflattering.

  “And there’s always next summer. We can all go then.”

  “I thought the family was going to settle down—stay home.”

  Maggie was on the back of Ralphie’s bicycle. Ralphie was pedaling. They were moving slowly up the hill toward the Blossom farm.

  “Well, we are … eventually—” She broke off. “Oh, stop, Ralphie, there’s a turtle.”

  “The turtle’s making better time than I am.”

  “Please, Ralphie.”

  Ralphie moved to the side of the road and stopped. “Maggie, this is a hill, and when we stop on a hill, it’s hard to get started.”

  “I’ll walk the rest of the way. Every time I see a turtle on the road, I just have to stop and help it across, don’t you?”

  “Not really.” Ralphie shook his head. Sweat flew.

  “October’s the turtle-mating season, did you know that?”

  “No, but this is the third turtle you’ve made me stop for. These turtles need to cool down.”

  “I think it’s romantic the way they cross highways and ditches for the turtles they love.”

  Ralphie thought it was romantic the way he was pedaling up an impossible hill for the girl he loved, but he said nothing.

  “I would just hate it if while this turtle was rushing toward her lover, a truck came by.”

  Maggie picked up the turtle. It drew back into its shell, but the legs continued to walk in the air.

  Maggie looked at the turtle’s face as she carried it across the road.

  “Ralphie, do you think she’s on her way to one particular turtle?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  There was the sound of a car horn and Maggie glanced over her shoulder. She said, “Oh, it’s my mom. Mom!” She waved with her free hand.

  Vicki Blossom honked again. “Supper’s on the stove!” she called as she passed them. Then she gunned the motor, and the truck disappeared over the top of the next hill.

  “My mom has a new boyfriend, did I tell you?”

  “I thought she liked the bull rider.”

  “No, that’s over.”

  “So what does this guy do?”

  “Ralphie, my mom has fallen in love with a horse detective. My mom could not fall in love with someone who sells hardware or drives a bus. She has to fall in love with a horse detective.”

  “Well, I guess somebody’s got to.”

  “It’s like, well, somebody buys a horse and insures it for a hundred thousand dollars. This happens, Ralphie. Then the horse dies. So then this man—his name is Rooney—gets hired by the insurance company to prove it was murder. Which he usually does.”

  “You like him?”

  “I haven’t met him yet, but my mom has told me a lot about how people kill horses and it would make even you sick, Ralphie.”

  “Why do you say ‘even you’? I’m human, Maggie, hard as it may be for you to believe.”

  “Ralphie, they hook them up to electricity. They suffocate them; one time somebody put Ping-Pong balls up a horse’s nose.”

  “Yes, that makes even me sick.”

  “This weekend he’s coming out to the farm, and we have our orders. We are to pretend we are a normal, everyday family, which we aren’t!”

  “I agree.”

  “Maybe we can pretend to be normal for an hour or two, but not for a whole weekend. We Blossoms have never been just anybody.”

  “No.”

  Ralphie glanced down. There was a flower at Maggie’s feet, and Ralphie bent to pick it. He stood with it in his hand, as if deciding what to do with it. Then he leaned forward and worked the stem into Maggie’s braid.

  Maggie smiled. “That was nice, Ralphie.”

  “I’m always nice.”

  “You know what I want to do when we get home?” Maggie jumped the ditch and set the turtle on the ground, facing the woods. “Off you go!” she said encouragingly.

  What Ralphie wanted to do was collapse on the front porch in a rocking chair. His legs hurt.

  Ralphie had an artificial leg—the result of an accident with a power mower three years earlier. He now had the best artificial leg made—a Cat-Cam—but even a real leg couldn’t take the strain of pedaling Maggie up and down hills all day.

  “I thought we were going to eat supper. Your mom said …”

  “Well, we are; but after that I’d like to get Sandy Boy and go—”

  She broke off. “Ralphie! Look!”

  “Maggie, if it is another romantic turtle—”

  “No! Ralphie! Look!” She pointed to the weeds at her feet.

  There was an urgency in Maggie’s voice that made him forget his discomfort. He moved toward the ditch.

  Ralphie shielded his eyes. “What am I supposed to be looking at?”

  “There.”

  Maggie bent and reached into the tall grass. She pulled up a stained cloth bag. “Don’t you know what this is?”

  “Here’s my first guess—a stinking bag.”

  “Ralphie, this is Mad Mary’s bag.” Her voice was low with concern. “This is the bag she carries with her all the time. Ralphie, s
he collects things to eat in this bag.”

  “So?”

  “So she would never be without this if … if she could help it. …”

  There was a silence. A truck rounded the curve, sounding its horn, and Ralphie moved his bicycle onto the shoulder of the road.

  Maggie glanced in annoyance at the truck for interrupting.

  “This bag was part of Mad Mary, just like her cane. You remember her cane, don’t you?”

  Ralphie nodded. He did remember that cane. Mad Mary had loaned it to him and Maggie the night they climbed the tree together. “That was the cane,” he said, “that she loaned us the night—”

  “Yes.”

  “Let me finish. The night we climbed up in the tree and you kissed me.”

  “I did not kiss you.”

  “Well, you kissed me back. It’s the same thing. You can’t deny you kissed me back, Maggie.”

  “Ralphie, I’m serious.”

  “I am too. Girls kissing me back is very serious to me.”

  “Ralphie, this bag was part of Mad Mary. She would never just abandon this bag …” She opened the handles and looked inside.

  “Oh, Ralphie.”

  Ralphie sighed. “What now?”

  “Ralphie, it’s a dead possum. Now I know something’s happened to her.”

  “How?”

  “She would never abandon a dead possum. This is her supper. She makes varmint stew out of them. Junior’s eaten it.”

  Ralphie ran one hand through his red hair. He let both hands come to rest on his hips.

  “Ralphie, something terrible has happened to Mad Mary.”

  Ralphie was silent. Concern for turtles, for Mad Mary. Even dead possums got more concern than he did.

  “Ralphie, we’ve got to get home fast.”

  With a sigh, Ralphie pushed his bicycle onto the road.

  Maggie jumped the ditch and sat on the seat of the bicycle. She clutched his thin shoulders.

  Ralphie put his weight on the pedal and they started slowly up the hill.

  “Does this mean,” he asked hopefully, “that we won’t be stopping for turtles?”

  CHAPTER 3

  The Secret Secret

  “I know the best secret about myself in the world,” Junior said.

  “That’s good,” Pap answered.

  Junior and Pap were on the front porch. Pap was in the rocking chair. Junior stood balancing on the railing, eating a hot dog wrapped in a slice of white bread. Mustard oozed out the end.