Read Jackson Jones and the Curse of the Outlaw Rose for Free Online

understands,” I said. “Everything will be fine.”
    Reuben heaved a doom-and-gloom sigh.
    “What?” I said.
    “You never know with ghosts,” Reuben said in his careful, poke-turtle way. “They're … unpredictable.”
    “Everything will be fine,” I repeated.
    We finished loading Mama's signs, spades, and shears, and squeezed in beside Gaby, Ro, and Juana. Mama gave an embarrassing
toot-toot
on the horn to Mailbags in his truck, and the zuke mobile was off.
    No bees, no broken bones, no poison ivy.
    No jitters for me. I felt relaxed all the way to Mr. K.'s building.
    Mama pulled up and gave another
toot-toot
    The door flew open, and out hobbled Mr. K., chased by his nurse. He looked like a skinny gerbil pursued by a stethescope-wearing cat.
    “Don't fuss,” he barked, scrambling into the front seat. He arranged his cane and waved gleefully to the nurse, who smiled and shook her finger.
    “Step on it, Grace,” he cried to my mama. “Before the old cat crams another pill down my throat.”
    The zuke mobile puttered into action,weaving up the street like a squash stuffed with seeds. Rowdy seeds named Gaby and Ro.
    “Ta-da.” Mr. K. pulled yellow roses from a brown paper bag.
    Small, frilly old-time yellow roses.
    The roses the ghost had tended.
    “What a beautiful bouquet!” Mama exclaimed.
    “A good-luck present for your booth.” Mr. K. beamed. “Cut 'em myself this morning. That do-nothing nurse fixed the vase.” His gnarly old hands flicked a petal. “Bet those garden-show folks have never seen roses like this.”
    Good-luck present, ha. Who knew what the ghost might do now?
    “Speaking of roses, Jackson.” Mr. K. suddenly turned to me. “How's that cutting from the cemetery? Have you planted it at Rooter's?”
    Reuben and I exchanged glances. In all the worry about the ghost, we had completely forgotten our reason for clipping the rose twig in the first place. Mr. K.: rose rustler.
    “Speak up, boy.” Mr. K. frowned. “How's that cutting?”
    Luckily, at that moment, a terrible stink distracted the man.
    “Ro!” Juana complained.
    “But my worm is lonely,” whined Ro. “Let me talk to him. Just for a minute.”
    “The lid goes on
now,”
Juana ordered.
    Quickly Mama let down the windows and we gulped city air.
    “See what I have to live with?” Gaby moaned. “A rotten worm.”
    “He's healthy,” Ro assured her. “He's just making—”
    “We know,” said Juana.
    Ro mournfully stuck his thumb in his mouth. “My worm needs a friend,” he murmured.
    I closed my eyes against the hot breeze from the window. Saved by a worm. Maybe Mr. K. would forget about the cutting, at least till we had returned it to the cemetery. Then it would be too late for him to plant it at Rooter's himself—and to try bossing it into growth. Now I had a ghost
and
Mr. K. to deal with. Talk about stress.
No bees, no broken
bones, no poison ivy.
I made a silent song with the words.
No questions from Mr. K.
    “Oh, look,” Mama called. “Isn't that Howard Green? But what's he doing?”
    “Strange boy,” barked Mr. K.
    My eyes snapped open.
    Blood was scurrying down the sidewalk. Not swaggering. Not sauntering.
Scurrying.
His head swiveled constantly. Right, left, up, down.
    “Maybe he's searching for something.” Mama slowed the van,
toot-tooted
the horn at Blood. “Can we help?”
    Blood glanced at the zuke mobile. His eyes locked on mine. Widened with fear.
    Then he bolted down the sidewalk.
    “Look at him go,” Mr. K. said admiringly. “Big—but he runs like a deer.”
    “Did you see the bee?” Reuben whispered.
    Juana shook her head. “But the way Blood is acting, he must be listening for it,” she whispered back.
    I got a mind picture of Blood's face. Scared. Constantly searching. Waiting for that bee tostrike. Yeah, maybe that bee was giving Blood a bit of what he'd been giving other kids for years.
    “That poor boy,” Mama murmured. “He looked so scared. Maybe we should