Three Times Lucky by Sheila Turnage Read Free Book Online

“Said he found the baby floating downstream on some debris. He named her Moses. She’s darned lucky to be alive, if you ask me.”
    Anyone with information about the man, who had the name Lobo on his pocket, or the baby should contact Mayor Little.
    “Yep, that sounds like Macon,” Lavender said. “I’m surprised there’s not more about the Colonel, though.”
    “He’s got his own article,” I said, slipping the story back into my pocket and buttoning the flap. “Miss Lana’s keeping it for him.”
    Dale looked back over his shoulder. “Daddy was right, Mo. You were lucky to get out of that creek alive.”
    “Mo’s always been lucky,” Lavender said. The truck chugged good-naturedly through her gears and settled into a steady hum.
    An hour later we rumbled across grassy, rutted acres of parked pickup trucks, and through the crew gate of the Carolina Raceway. Lavender let the GMC glide to a halt. “Here you go, little brother,” he said, pulling a twenty-dollar bill out of his pocket. “You two get us some eats and meet me in the infield.” He stretched. “Listen, Sam brought a couple of ladies, so don’t skimp on the food, okay? Don’t worry about drinks. We brought a cooler. All right? Can you handle it?”
    “Sure,” Dale said, stepping out onto the running board. I slid out after him. “Lessee,” Dale muttered as we headed for the concession line, which wound down the drinking side of the bleachers and halfway across the family seats. “You, me, Lavender, Sam, two ladies. That makes six.”
    “Don’t waste your money buying food for those girls,” I told him. “If I know Sam, he’s brought a couple of ex-baton-twirlers trying to starve themselves into cheerleader-size jeans.” I peered at the line ahead of us. “Hey, I’m going over to Potty Palace. I’ll be back before you get to the front of the line.” Dale nodded, straining to see the menu board, and I trotted into the crowd.
    I got my first shock of the evening just after exiting Potty Palace. I rounded the corner at near Olympic speeds, slamming square into a tall, slender woman who wheezed like an out-of-sorts accordion. I careened off of her, jumped a medium-size azalea, got my feet tangled, and landed in a crumpled heap by the gravel walk. “Jeez Louise, lady,” I shouted. “Why don’t you look where you’re going?”
    “I
was
looking, Mo,” the woman said, trying to stand up straight. “Were you?”
    “What?” I rolled onto my back and squinted into a shockingly familiar face: Miss Retzyl, my fifth-grade teacher from last year. She’s also my sixth-grade teacherfor next year, having suffered the dreaded Curse of the Combined Grades. “Miss Retzyl? You should be careful! You could have killed us both!”
    She smoothed her starched white blouse, then her hair.
    I sighed. The truth is, I adore Miss Retzyl, who is tall and willowy, with red hair and brown eyes. She’s smart and poised, and always on time. She has an average house and drives a dark blue convertible. When it comes to Predictable, a quality rare in my life, she’s the real deal. Plus, she likes me. I cast about in my mind for something brilliant to say. Sadly, I came up empty. “Good Lord,” I muttered instead, pointing to her legs. “What are those?”
    She stepped back nervously, looking at her sandals. “What do you mean?”
    “Knees,” I answered. “You got knees.”
    She frowned. “Of course I have knees, Mo. Everyone has knees.”
    “Right. But I never saw them before. You always wear those old-lady dresses. And shorts!” I cried. “Miss Retzyl, you’re wearing shorts!”
    She smiled uncertainly. “Are you all right, Mo? Did you hit your head?”
    “I’m fine,” I said, swiping the gravel off my shins. “What are you doing here?”
    “I’m … here for the races.”
    “Really? Dale’s brother is in the next one. Me and Dale are timing laps for him.”
    “Dale and I,” she murmured.
    “Right. You remember Dale? Third row,