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bounced up and down on the warped boards in front of the door. “See? Solid as a— yikes! ”
    One of the boards gave way with a crack . Clifton’s left leg sank up to his knee, and if he hadn’t lunged sideways and grabbed the door handle, the rest of him would have followed.
    “Clifton, hold on!” Hugging the railing, I dashed up the steps as lightly as I could—no easy task in my clunky Dr. Scholl’s wooden sandals from Katy Harcourt’s booth. I still hadn’t gotten used to the weird toe grips and unforgiving soles. I grabbed Clifton’s arm and draped it around my shoulder, supporting him until he could free his leg from the jagged jaws of the termite-ridden plank. Easing down beside him on the top step, I surveyed the damage to his leg. “How’s it feel?”
    He rubbed his shin and kneecap. “Nothing’s broken. Prob’ly be black and blue for a few days is all.” If he hadn’t been wearing his usual cowboy boots and Levis, it could have been a lot worse.
    I stood carefully. “We should get out of here. This place is just begging for an accident.” I grimaced and glanced down at Clifton. “I mean, an even worse accident.”
    “No way, man. I ain’t done exploring yet.” Before I could catch up, he bounded around the side of the big house along a path of broken stepping stones.
    “Slow down, Clifton!” As I chased after him, the toe of my wooden sandal caught on an exposed tree root that had cracked one of the stepping stones. I nearly did the splits trying to keep from crashing face first. If I didn’t watch my step, it would be me with the broken neck.
    “Hey, most of these cabins are standing wide open,” Clifton yelled. His words trailed off, and I turned the corner in time to see the grime-covered backside of his jeans disappear through a cabin door.
    “Clifton, will you be careful, please?” Catching up, I leaned on the doorframe and gasped for breath.
    And got a stinging noseful of something best described as rotting compost mixed with a heaping dose of wet dog. The sill felt spongy beneath my feet. A huge hole gaped where the bathroom wall should have been, and the cracked commode lay on its side. Clifton stood dead still in middle of the kitchenette, his boots planted in a sticky yellow ooze.
    The snarl from the bedroom beyond revealed the source of the wet dog smells. The poor thing lay curled up in the center of what used to be a mattress.
    “Don’t move,” Clifton whispered. “Just back out slowly.”
    Most dogs and I get along great, but this bundle of matted black fur didn’t look any too happy to be disturbed. Then I heard soft whimpers—puppies! Craning my neck, I counted three fuzzy, dark heads pressed against their mama’s tummy in search of breakfast. Mama looked too thin to be making much milk, though. No wonder she was cross—a batch of hungry little ones and no way to satisfy them, much less her own empty belly. “Aw, poor thing.”
    “Yeah, this ‘poor thing’ has teeth like a ’gator. Now move so I can get outta here.”
    I eased out the door, and Clifton scooted backward to follow me. As soon as he cleared the doorframe, he sprinted several yards away.
    “We’ve got to get her some food.” I peered inside. A menacing growl, louder this time, warned me to keep my distance.
    “Uh, Julie?” Clifton’s voice cracked like he’d hit puberty again. “We’ve got company.”
    I pivoted on the rickety landing. Clifton faced me with a nervous grin, while behind him loomed a tall, lanky man wearing a scowl beneath a neatly trimmed black beard. One tanned hand clutched Clifton’s shoulder. With the other he pointed an accusing finger directly at me.
    “This is private property,” the man snarled, doing a good imitation of that angry mama dog. “What do you think you’re doing here?”
    “Sir, we didn’t mean any harm.” I edged forward. “We were just—”
    “Looking around. Yeah, I guessed that.” Glancing down, he tugged on a fancy cell phone in the