Read Three Times Lucky for Free Online Page B

Johnson.”
    “Always liked that boy,” he mused. “Pity about the name. Time of departure?”
    I studied the clock, trying to do the math without moving my lips. Four o’clock is a tough one. “Sixteen hundred hours?” I guessed. “I already changed shirts,” I said, smoothing my purple T-shirt. “I know you like me to look good in a crowd.”
    He nodded. “Return time?”
    “Twenty-two hundred hours.”
    He tossed a potato into the pot. It made a bald, rolling sound. I held my breath. Miss Lana wouldn’t let me stay out until ten o’clock if the planet’s fate depended on it. “Very well, Soldier,” he finally said. “I suppose I can draft someone to help me if we get too busy. Permission granted. But I expect you back on time.”
    “Yes, sir,” I said. I crossed to the Colonel and gave him a quick kiss on top of his head. He smelled like ginger and Old Spice. “Colonel, I don’t know what you and Miss Lana got crossed up about, but don’t you worry. She’ll be back.”
    He sighed. “I know,” he said. “I just wish she’d stay put. She’s so … flighty.”
    “A little, maybe,” I said. “But she’s crazy about you.” Just then, Lavender’s GMC roared into the parking lot, horn blaring. “There’s Lavender!” I cried.
    “Run along, then, Soldier.”
    I stopped at the door and turned. The Colonel looked thin and old and lonesome among the dented pots and pans. “Colonel?”
    “Yes, Soldier?”
    “I think I know what you mean about Miss Lana.”
    He looked up at me, his expression suddenly as fragile and vulnerable as a new fawn. “You do?”
    “Yes, sir,” I said. “I miss her too.”
    He smiled. “Move along, Soldier,” he said. “Never keep a comrade waiting.”

Chapter
5
At the Carolina Raceway
    Lavender leaned across the seat of his 1955 GMC pickup and pushed the door open. I hopped up on the running board and dove in. “Hey,” I said.
    “Hey yourself.” The truck bumped into gear as he eased off the clutch.
    “Truck looks good,” I told him.
    It was true. Lavender found her in a junkyard last year. He restored her piece by piece, and dressed her broad curves in a coat of deep blue paint. I scooted forward to scan the roadside. “Dale ought to be out here somewhere,” I said at the edge of town. “There he is, by the Crash Pine.”
    Dale jumped in almost before we stopped rolling. “Sorry about the mud,” he muttered, scraping his black sneakers together. I glanced at the creek’s dark waters. I could just make out Dale’s bike on the bank, hidden in a tangle of kudzu.
    “How’d you get your feet wet?” Lavender asked.
    I changed the subject before Mr. Jesse’s boat cameup—which it would if Dale started talking. “Hey, you reckon that’s where the Colonel found me?” I asked, peering over the bridge rail. “Because I’ll want a good description for my autobiography.”
    “Your
what
?” Dale yelped, looking like I’d handed him something dead. “You ain’t writing during summer vacation, are you?” he demanded. “Because I’m pretty sure that’s against the rules. Aren’t there rules against that, Lavender?”
    Lavender shifted gears. “Calm down, Dale. Mo’s doing research, that’s all.”
    “Again?”
Dale said, his voice accusing. “You try to figure out your life every time you get close to a birthday, Mo, and you ain’t done it yet. I wish you’d leave it alone,” he said, slumping against the door. “I’m tired of hearing about it. There’s nothing wrong with the people you got.”
    “Well, others are interested in the Mystery of my Upstream Family even if you ain’t,” I said, pulling the newspaper article from my pocket. I cleared my throat and read:
    BABY GIRL FOUND
    Macon Johnson, of Tupelo Landing, found a newborn girl at the edge of Contentnea Creek last Tuesday while helping a man who had wrecked in the hurricane.
    “The old coot in the colonel’s uniform was holding ababy when I found him,” Johnson said.