How to Get Dirt (11 page)

****

When she got home that day, she
was grinning
from ear to ear. In her hand, she clutched a phone number. Courtney
'
s phone number.
I feel guilty about Mary Lou, but at the same time, I
'
m
happy she
won
'
t be tormenting me anymore.
Her smile widened.

“
You
'
re in a happy mood today,
”
Miranda said, looking at her.
“
Did something good happen?
”

After that fight with Mary Lou, I completely forgot
my plan
. I
have
to talk to the neighbors.

“
Yeah,
”
Pickles said, stopping before heading inside the house.
“
I
'
ve got a project, though. I have to ask the neighbors questions. It
'
s for my English class.
”

Miranda raised an eyebrow.
“
Isn
'
t that kind of dangerous?
We aren
'
t exactly close to our neighbors.
”

“
It
'
s for school,
”
Pickles said.

With a frown, Miranda shuffled her feet. She bit her bottom lip in concern.

“
Please, Miranda.
”
Pickles gripped her backpack strap tight.
“
I
'
m used to talking to people I don
'
t know. I
'
ve spent a lifetime in foster homes, remember?
”

Face going pale, Miranda shook her head.
“
Well, all right
. You go and ask your questions. I wouldn
'
t want to keep you from your homework.
If someone does something strange
—
anything at all
—
I want you to come back inside. I
'
ll make up some excuse for the teacher, understand?
”

Shocked, Pickles nodded. Miranda
turned
around and went inside, leaving the door open a crack. It took Pickles a moment to
realize she
had done this on purpose.

Mrs. Jones never did that. When I lived with her, I was at Susie
'
s house more than home.
She found it
odd
that
someone
like Miranda could distrust the neighbors so much. Shrugging her shoulders, Pickles headed toward the house directly to the right of hers. The house was tall
—
three stories
—
and had a nice, ivy trim. She moved to the front door with her heart pounding in her ears
then
knocked.
After
a few
loud thuds came from within the house
, an elderly woman
opened the door
.

“
Kim, is that you?
”
the woman asked.

Pickles stared. Who was Kim?

“
No,
m
a
'
am.
”
She shook her head.
“
I
'
m your next-door neighbor.
”

“
Don
'
t think you can fool me. We don
'
t have
any
neighbors. We live in the country.
”

The door slammed shut with a bang. Pickles stared at the door, eyebrows raised. What on earth had just happened?
Well, if she had seen anything, she probably wouldn
'
t remember it anyway.

Turning around, she headed for the
town
house directly across from her own. It was also small, but it had a crimson door instead of a green one
.
A
dead plant
drooped over the cracked terra cotta planter
in front of it. Pickles knocked on the door
.
Th
e sound of yelling
filtered through the door,
followed by thumping. The
hairs
on the back of her neck stood up
as her heart played fear
'
s song on her rib cage. Her palms grew balmy as she sucked in air in an attempt to calm herself.

The door creaked open,
and
a painful
ly thin woman stood
in the
threshold
with a baby on her hip.
Pickles recognized her. It was the woman from the park who had told her the time.
Through the crack in the door, Pickles
saw
many other people inside
,
lounging
on the couch
.
Cigarette smoke billowed. How many people lived there?
She was strongly reminded of her old foster home
where she had been forced to share space with a lot of other people
.

“
Do you need
some
thing?
”
the woman asked,
re-capturing her attention
. The baby on the woman
'
s hip began to cry, but
she
ignored it.
“
Are you selling cookies?
”

“
Um, no, I
'
m not selling cookies,
”
Pickles said.
“
I have some questions, if that
'
s okay.
”

“
I suppose I don
'
t have anything else better to do.
”
The woman shrugged, as the baby on her hip cried harder.
“
Fire away.
”

“
Well, I live at the house across the street from you. The Harris
e
s.
”
Pickles set down her book bag
so she could
pull
out her notebook.
“
I was wondering whether you have seen anyone odd com
ing
or go
ing
from their house.
”

“
What do you mean?
”
the woman asked, her eyes darting from side to side, nervously.

“
Have you seen anyone?
”
Pickles repeated.

“
They put you up to this, didn
'
t they?
”
the woman
asked
. She
turned
around and deposited the baby on the floor behind her.
“
Okay, okay it was me. I did it.
”

Pickles eyes widened in confusion. What was this woman talking about? Maybe something
fishy really was
going
on
at
the
Harris home
. A part of her had
hoped she
wouldn
'
t find anything.

The woman disappeared from behind the door for a second,
and
a moment later, she came back with a wooden decoration. Pickles
realized it
was
the
one
that
had been on Miranda
'
s door the
day she
had
moved in. The woman shoved the
welcome
sign into
Pickels
'
s
arms
as
she
frowned in confusion.

“
I
'
m sorry I took it,
”
the woman said.
“
You aren
'
t going to tell anyone, are you? It
'
s
just my
boyfriend doesn
'
t buy me things like that, and
I loved
the colors.
It
'
s not like my roommates have much mind for decorations either.
”

The woman
'
s face was scarlet. Pickles felt bad for her and shook her head.

“
Oh, bless you.
”
The woman patted her head.
“
What
'
s your name?
”

“
I
'
m Pickles.
”

“
Pi
ckles,
”
the woman said.
“
That
'
s
a new one, and I
'
ve worked
at some strange places
. I
'
m Nancy. Thanks for being so nice
.
”

Before Pickles could ask any more questions,
Nancy shut the door
with a bang
.
Pickles
stared at it, confused.
First the crazy old lady next-door and now this.
She scooped up the door decoration, her notebook, and then her backpack. She
turned
around and went to the house beside Miranda
'
s, feeling much more nervous now. She knocked at the door several times then waited.
Nobody came.

A low window by the door drew her gaze,
so she walked over to it
to
look
through the pane.
Inside, a couch rested against one wall and next to that stood a lamp. Packages of ramen noodles lay scattered across the kitchen counter.
It
appeared somebody
lived there
but
they weren
'
t
home
now. Just as she got even
closer, steaming up the window
, a pale skeleton face
appeared on the other side of it
. She shrieked
and
ran back home
.