sitting at the table.
âHow did it go with the Tisks last night?â Mom asked.
âI gave them their cat back and said I was sorry.â
âGood.â
âEven though I wasnât, really. After what they did to Charlotte.â
âWeâll get your book problem straightened out tomorrow,â Dad said.
âIâm sure the Tisks did it,â I said. âI mean, he said he was going to burn every last copy.â
âYou may be right,â Dad said. âBut there are many other possibilities. As I told you before, weâll get it all straightened out on Monday. Youâll just have to wait.â
I am not good at waiting.
  â¢Â  â¢Â  â¢Â Â
I can be a little obsessive sometimes, which is to say most of the time. There were many things I could have been doing that day, but the only thing I wanted was to find out what happens to Charlotte and Wilbur. If anybody other than my dad could undo the damage to Charlotteâs Web , it would be Billy Bates. Maybe he could help me with the Flinkwater thing too, if we werenât rudely interrupted again by his tutor.
Given the violently insecticidal tendencies of his robot butler Alfred, I was relieved when Billy answered the door himself.
I saw why at once. Alfred was on the floor, decapitated. Billy was holding his headâor rather, his sensor arrayâunder his arm.
âYou tore Alfredâs head off?â I said.
âJust a tune-up,â Billy said. He tipped his own head to the side to look at me from a slightly different angle, as if he was trying to figure out who I was. âCan I help you?â
That was a weird thing to say. How did he know I needed help?
âAs a matter of fact, yes,â I said. âI have a mystery that needs solving. Two mysteries, actually.â
âUm . . . okay?â He was still giving me that odd look.
I launched into the whole Charlotteâs Web thing, and told him about what had happened with the Tisks, and how Iâd sort of kidnapped their cat, and how it had all started because I had to write this paper for school, and . . . well, when I get talking, sometimes I talk a lot. I finally ran out of things to say and awaited his hopefully helpful response.
He said, âOkay, but . . . you are . . . who again?â
âIâm still who Iâve always been,â I said. âAre you okay?â
âIâm Billy,â he said, not at all helpfully.
âWell Iâm Eleanor Roosevelt.â
Billy blinked, then said, âWife of Franklin D. Roosevelt. Longest serving first lady of the United States, March 1933 to April 1945. United States delegate to the United Nations, 1946 through 1952.â
I said, âHuh?â
âYou seem too young to be that Eleanor Roosevelt, whose first name was actually Anna, and who died on November 7, 1962, at age seventy-eight. Were you named after her?â
âNo! Billy, cut it out! I was kidding!â
âYour name isnât Eleanor Roosevelt?â
âNo!â
âThen what is it?â
I gaped at him uncomprehendingly.
âSeriously,â he said. âHave we met?â
I punched him in the stomach.
12
Sherlock
I know not to hit people. Itâs barbaric, rude, dangerous, and unseemly. But then so is pretending not to recognize oneâs Longtime Acquaintance and Beloved Fiancée and Soul Mate and True Love. Billy was just asking to be punched.
Billy said, âOof!â and staggered back. âWhat was that for?â
âFor pretending not to recognize me,â I said. I felt bad about it right away, even though I didnât hit him that hard. âAre you going to help me or not?â
âYes! Okay! Just donât do that again.â
I unclenched my fist. âIt was a one-time thing,â I said.
âIt hurt !â
âIâm sorry.â
âYou canât just walk into somebodyâs house and hit them.
Sara Bennett - Greentree Sisters 02 - Rules of Passion