The Plan

“What ore you doween?” Dewey’s little sister Emma had spotted him on his iPad. Now he’d never get anything done.

His four-year-old sister had large, almond-shaped eyes. One evening they had played a family game of picking what color everyone’s eyes were in the big box of Crayola crayons and Emma’s, they decided, looked “Denim.” Emma, aka, Pooh Bear, had milky white skin, this little kitten nose, and, messy, soft, long brown hair, and, if anyone had bothered to pick a crayon color for her lips, they’d be “Pig Pink.” She was downright adorable. She was also downright annoying.

Perhaps even more unfortunate, though, was the fact that Pooh Bear was stronger than he was, which, as you can imagine, humiliated him occasionally. OK, maybe a lot of the time. She had some letter problems which made her sound like a baby, but that didn’t seem to make her any less tough.

One time, a runny-nosed brat tried to steal Dewey’s Transformer, and she put a swift elbow to that kid’s ear, grabbed it back, and then went right back in for his GoGurt. She was just two. Emma didn’t mess around.

“Nothing. Just some stuff.”

“What kind of stuff? Can I pway?”

“I’m not playing. I’m working. Can you bug off?”

“Yes! I wuh be a wady bug!! ‘Wady Bug Wady Bug fwwwy away . . .’ Hey, Dewey?”

“Yeah?”

“What ore you doween?”

“Some research.” He sighed. “Do you want to help?”

“Yes! Oh yes! I want to hewp, Dewey. Hey, Dewey? Can I hewp?”

“I just said you can help! Here. Hold this. Now press this button. See? The cars are loading. We want to see if we can find the nicest red Corvette for sale online.”

“I wike wed wowipops.”

“Ha! I’ll bet you do! I wonder if I can find one right about now.”

Dewey went to his Halloween stash and managed to find a green one.

“Will green do?”

Two nods of the head later and that kid was licking and sucking like a pool filter when the water level is low.

🖉

“You said your dad is into cars, especially Corvettes. Be sure you load his iPad to this page so next time he opens it, that’s what pops up,” explained Dewey. He was talking softly under the orange tree in Danny’s back yard. The air felt hot today, and the shade brought a welcome break from the heat.

“And that’s it? Then what?”

“Then just wait. It’s better if you don’t know too much. It’s easier for you to not let on you know something when you don’t, well, know something . . .” That sounded funny to Dewey’s ear when he heard himself say it, so he added, “If you know what I mean,” and pushed his mock glasses up on his nose.

“Just do what I’ve said and let me know what happens,” continued Dewey. “Place the iPad and watch what he does. If he takes the bait the way I think he will, we’ll be set. Report what happens to me. Don’t call. Don’t email. Wolfie will be waiting here under this tree with a small recorder around his neck. Come out and pet him, hit record, and whisper to him all that you know. Oh, and feed him a snack for his troubles, would ya? Sliced carrots are good. Then send him on his way and just wait.”

“Got it: iPad, observe, carrots, pet dog, whisper. Roger that!”

“Say, speaking of snacks, you have anything? I’m starving.”