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not the time to make a big fuss over her. We have more important matters at hand.
    I don’t like this situation one bit—especially since Big Momma is trying to cover it up. “Do you have the girlfriend’s phone number?” I ask India.
    “No,” she says, disappointed.
    “What was her name?”
    “I don’t know, but Daddy said into the phone, ‘Girl, you are just like your name—softer than a mink coat.”’ Sadness flickers in India’s eyes.
    “We’ll find out what’s going on,” I assure my cousins, trying to sound hopeful. They seem so scared about their daddy having disappeared for three days, and I don’t blame them one bit. I’m anxious about it myself.
    “Can Porgy and Bess stay here with us one more day?” India asks, not missing a beat.
    “Of course they can,” I say, pleased that I’m able to give my cousins something that’ll make them happy.
    At the end of the evening, walking back to Ma’s car, Angie mutters, “We’d better call Galleria as soon as we get home.”
    “Yeah—I don’t feel right about this whole thing.”
    “You mean about Uncle Skeeter?” Angie asks, as we lean against Ma’s Katmobile, waiting for her to come outside.
    “No—about going on some audition without them.”
    “Yeah,” Angie agrees.
    When Ma gets in the car, I blurt out what our cousins told us about Uncle Skeeter. “Ma, he hasn’t been home for three days.”
    Ma lets out a sigh. “Big Momma was never good at lying—I’ll tell you that,” she says.

Chapter
6
    W hen we get home, I ask Ma if we can call Galleria on the phone. I
know
it would be too much to ask if we could log on to her computer, but we’re dying to talk to all of the Cheetah Girls. If there was ever a time when we needed a council meeting, it’s
right now
.
    “Whazzup, Houston?” Galleria cackles into the phone.
    It’s kinda weird telling Bubbles about our predicament—an audition that popped up outta nowhere.
    “Well, the three of us can’t afford to come down to Houston and tiptoe through the tulips with the two of you, Miz Aquanette,” Galleria says, trying to sound like it doesn’t bother her. But I
know
Bubbles—she’s usually down for anything, and always up to something, as Big Momma would say. She says good-bye with a chirp in her voice, but I can hear the sadness underneath.
    “We could just end up singing in a soup kitchen, for all we know,” Angie says, spritzing the dining room table with Splendid cleaning spray.
    “Angie, don’t use that!” I hiss to my absent-minded sister. She’s always pulling stuff like that when she’s too lazy to do something the right way. “Go get the lemon oil and a nice soft rag.”
    It’s nine o’clock in the morning, but Ma is still upstairs sleeping, which is very unusual in itself. On top of her not wearing her high heels with her pantsuit, and her chipped nails, things are beginning to add up, and I don’t like the answer I’m getting—something is wrong with our ma.
    We’re creeping around downstairs trying to clean, because I can’t believe how messy the house is. It’s just not like her—
especially
leaving cigarette butts in the ashtrays.
    “Those are Uncle Skeeter’s,” Angie says, picking up one of the butts and seeing the “Lucky Ducky” brand on the filter. Yes, that’s Uncle Skeeter’s brand, all right.
    Suddenly, I feel a pang in my chest. I can just see him smoking, cackling and coughing at the same time. I wonder where he could be?
    “Do you think Galleria was upset?” Angie asks, spreading a few drops of lemon oil on a corner of the table and wiping it carefully with the rag like she should.
    “I think Bubbles is more upset about her grandmother than anything else,” I tell Angie.
    “We’d better wake Ma up,” Angie says with a sigh. Ma is driving us to the audition, and we’d rather go earlier than later, just to get it over with. Like I said before, who knows what we’re walking into?
    Just then, right on cue, Ma walks past us