18
Truman wiped the dirt off his hands, surprised that his white suit had remained relatively clean of mud. Queenie was sitting there in the road waiting for him.
“Some attack dog you are,” he said. He waved to Boss and took off running toward his neighborhood, pleased with his escape. Queenie followed on his heels.
He wasn’t sure what he’d accomplished, but he recognized that Boss didn’t seem like the type to steal jewelry. And come to think of it, Truman was pretty sure Boss had never gone to his school—he would have heard of such a brute. What had he been thinking?
Unfortunately, Truman chose a shortcut that took him through an abandoned lot, where, because he was so lost in thought, he ran right smack into Billy Eugene and his pals playing football.
Nelle and Big Boy were nowhere to be seen. Truman made a mental note to talk to them about following through on their investigations.
The boys stopped playing as soon as they spotted Truman in his fancy white outfit. “Looks like this here mama’s boy needs to get dirty,” said Billy.
Queenie took off running again.
Truman threw up his hands. He would have to do everything himself. He’d handled these boys at the swimming hole, so now shouldn’t be any different.
“Hello, guys. I’m conducting an investigation—”
The guys were not interested in Truman’s investigation. As they tackled him into the dirt, he thought of something his daddy always said: “Out of the frying pan and into the fire.” He usually said it because he was always getting himself into an unlikely jam—much like Truman was doing now.
The boys knocked the steam out of little Truman; he tried head-butting them in the stomach, billy goat–style, but to no avail. His last resort, as they pushed his face into the dirt, was to spout off with as big a voice as he could: “I’m as tall as a shotgun and just as noisy!”
Suddenly, the boys scattered. Truman sat up. He couldn’t believe it; it had worked!
Then he felt a giant hand on his head and gazed up to see Boss towering over him. “Oh” was all Truman uttered before his punishment came.
“Hiya, sissy. Remember me?” Boss growled.
Truman knew his best option was to roll up into a ball and play dead like a possum. Hopefully, this bear of a boy would lose interest and move on.
Instead, Boss treated him like a rubber tire, kicking him and rolling him around in the dirt. Truman let the pain drift away and thought of better things: That one Christmas he’d had with his mother and father where they didn’t argue. He remembered a giant turkey and Christmas presents and his father talking about a new scheme that was sure to make them a lot of money.
Truman started to drift off when another voice interrupted the kicks. “Get offa him!” someone shouted, pulling Boss off Truman. “I said, get off!”
Truman wiped the dirt from his eyes. It was Nelle. She had wrapped her arms around Boss’s neck from behind and was whacking him on the head and kicking him in the stomach with her heels. Queenie was running circles around them, barking up a storm.
Boss tossed her like he was wiping snow off his shoulder. She went flying, landed hard, and then bounced back up, dusting herself off and preparing to fight.
Boss couldn’t believe it. “You’re a girl!” he yelled.
“Maybe I am, but I ain’t scared of you, Boss Henderson. I beat up plenty of boys at school and I can beat up you.” She spat into her palms and took her fighting stance.
Queenie growled.
Truman thought Boss almost cracked a smile. “Lucky for you, I don’t hit girls. ’Cept for that twerp there,” he said, pointing at Truman, who flinched.
A couple of old spinsters on their way to the market walked past the lot and gasped at the sight before them.
Boss threw up his hands. He’d had enough. “You’re both losers,” he said to Truman and Nelle as he stomped off. Queenie gave chase until Boss almost kicked him. “And your stupid dog is too.”
“Takes one to know one!” said Nelle. She realized the spinsters were still staring at her, muttering something about Nelle not being ladylike.
She ignored them and ran to Truman, who was still sprawled on the dirt. She knelt by him to help him sit up.
“What took you so long?” Truman whimpered.
Queenie came bounding up to Truman, licking his hand. “Queenie found me and I knew something was wrong,” Nelle said. Nelle wiped the tears from Truman’s eyes. “Look at you, such a mess, ” she said. “I knew I shouldn’ta let you go alone.”
Truman stared at his ripped deerstalker cap. “My cap.” He sighed.
“We can fix it,” she said quietly. “Sook’ll sew it right up and make it good as new, you’ll see. But from now on, we work as a team, okay?”
Truman nodded. Queenie barked happily. “Where’s Big Boy?” He sniffled.
“Jenny spotted us as we went looking for Billy Eugene. One of her workers was feeling sick so she asked Big Boy to help out at the store.”
“Some detectives we turned out to be,” he muttered.
“Don’t be a dope, Truman. Sherlock got into plenty of scrapes. Only difference was, he always had Watson by his side.” She tried to wipe the red dirt from his face but only managed to smear it more.
Then she started laughing.
“It’s not funny,” said Truman.
She rubbed the dirt over the rest of his face. “You look like an Indian!” she exclaimed.
His eyes suddenly lit up. “Cherokee or Sioux?”
She squinted at him. “Shawnee,” she said and knew that was the right choice. She gave Truman a hand up and they limped into the tall grasses, playing cowboy and Indian with a wolf dog for the rest of the afternoon.
For now, the mystery could wait.