Hunter Moran Hangs Out

A
LSO BY
P
ATRICIA
R
EILLY
G
IFF

Hunter Moran Saves
the Universe

Patricia Reilly Giff

Holiday House / New York

Text copyright © 2013 by Patricia Reilly Giff
Art copyright © 2013 by Chris Sheban
All Rights Reserved
HOLIDAY HOUSE is registered in the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office
www.holidayhouse.com

ISBN 978-0-8234-3000-0 (ebook)w
ISBN 978-0-8234-3001-7 (ebook)r

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Giff, Patricia Reilly.
Hunter Moran hangs out / by Patricia Reilly Giff. — First edition.
pages cm
Summary: When neighbor Sarah Yulefski tells Zack and Hunter that she
overheard someone talking about plans to kidnap someone in
their town, the twins use the last four days of summer vacation to investigate.
ISBN 978-0-8234-2859-5 (hardcover)
[1. Twins—Fiction. 2. Brothers and sisters—Fiction.
3. Family life—Fiction. 4. Kidnapping—Fiction.
5. Mystery and detective stories. 6. Humorous stories.] I. Title.
PZ7.G3626Hth 2013

[Fic]—dc23
2013003172

To James Matthew Giff,
(and nobody else)
with love

. . . from Linny, who's screaming like a hyena. “Get back here, you two.”

Just because she's the oldest, she thinks she's the alpha dog of the family.

“Arf, arf,” I bark, pulling open the back door.

Linny's best friend, Becca, is standing right there. “How come Linny wants you?” she asks.

We don't bother to answer. Becca's the nosiest kid in the world, with a beak to match.

Mary bangs spoons on her high chair and gives us a toothless smile. “Bye-bye.”

I wave at her and speed outside. Zack speeds with me.

“You left those disgusting things all over the kitchen,” Linny goes on.

“Can't even leave one worm around,” Zack mutters.

It's not quite one worm. We actually have a farm with about forty of them in the bottom drawer of the cabinet.

Terrific creatures. Highly intelligent. We're teaching
them to climb the table legs. Give them a boost and they're right up there, heading for the tabletop.

Unfortunately, two or three have wandered away. We're on a mission to find replacements.

“Hunter!” Linny screams. “Zack!”

Any minute she'll alert poor Mom. Without thinking, we take a shortcut across the front lawn, our feet sinking in a little.

We stop at the edge, realizing what we've done. It's a moment of horror. Our footprints zigzag across Pop's newly seeded lawn; it's as if something has chewed up the whole thing. Somehow we'll have to deal with it before Pop gets home from work.

In the living room window, our dog, Fred, with the skunk breath and nasty disposition, is doing somersaults on the back of the couch and yowling at the top of his lungs. They probably can hear him in Fiji.

Zack and I hit the sidewalk and keep going. It's a crucial getaway. We trot past the school; our classroom is on the second floor. That's Doomsday staring us right in the face. Four more days and we're prisoners again! Summer is disappearing fast.

Upstairs, Sister Appolonia is pasting moldy leaves on the window. In a flash, it comes to me that we're supposed to bring in last June's report cards. Impossible.

We buried Zack's with its horrific music mark in a pile
of garbage. Last time I saw mine, it was clamped between Fred's jaws. We told Mom the school is going green, saving paper, doing away with report cards. We'll tell Sister that Mom framed the cards over the living room couch.

Sister Appolonia spots us and sticks out her head. “How about a little help up here?”

“Sheesh,” I mumble, but we maintain our speed. At the same time, I point up at a cloud. Let her think we've become deaf over the summer and we've taken up sky-watching.

We're about to cross Murdock Avenue when a head pops out from behind the telephone pole.

What next?

“It's Sarah Yulefski,” Zack whispers. “Head for the woods.”

He's right. There she is, Sarah Yulefski with her braces festooned with Rice Chex, and her knotty hair down to her waist. Sarah Yulefski, who told the whole class I'm in love with her.

I shudder, thinking about it.

“Stop right there, Hunter.” She sounds like Alpha Dog Linny.

We dive out onto Murdock Avenue, but a truck barrels toward us, horn blaring, gravel spitting. We jump back, barely escaping with our lives.

“One of these days you're going to kill yourselves,” Yulefski says.

If it happened four days later, it wouldn't be so bad. School would be closed on the first day for our funeral. We'd be heroes.

“Listen, guys,” Yulefski says. “I have news.”

Sure. She's playing in another concert. She has a new brown outfit for school that matches her teeth.

“Sorry,” Zack says. “We can't stop. We're on our way to . . .”

“. . . help Sister Appolonia,” I put in.

Sarah Yulefski screws up her face. “You're going the wrong way.”

I sigh. “All right, what news?”

She leans closer. “It's really bad. Terrible, as a matter of fact.”

“I'm bracing myself,” I say, and Zack tries not to laugh.

She takes her time, running her tongue over her teeth, dislodging a Rice Chex, twirling around to see if anyone's listening.

As if anyone in the whole world would be interested in what Sarah Yulefski has to say.

Wrong.

She leans forward. Whispers one word.

Zack's eyes are as big as pizzas and I can hardly swallow.

“A kidnapping,” Yulefski breathes. “It's going to happen right here in Newfield. Actually, it's someone . . .”

We lean forward, two inches away from Yulefski and her teeth.

“. . . in your family,” she finishes, looking ecstatic at her bad news.

Zack and I stagger back.

“Give me a buck twenty-six,” she says, “and I'll tell you the rest.”

We dig into our pockets and come up with our life savings. Sarah Yulefski counts every penny, every dime, as if we were out to cheat her. “All right,” she says at last. “The victim will fit in a cage.” She frowns. “I think he said
thick
. A thick cage? Thick something, anyway.”

“What? Who?” I manage. My legs are going to give way any minute. Zack sinks down on the sidewalk.

Yulefski holds up her hand. “I'm getting to that. I was hanging around in Vinny's Vegetables and Much More,
listening to various conversations as I picked out bags of healthy snacks.”

“Get to it, Yulefski,” Zack says.

“Three things,” she says. “Item one. The kidnapper was muttering to someone. Or maybe to him- or herself. I couldn't tell if it was a man, woman, boy, or girl.” She shrugs. “It could have been an alien for all I know.”

Zack cuts in. “Didn't you get a look?”

“I was in the beef jerky aisle,” she says. “The napper was around the corner, probably looking at the cleavers on sale.”

Cleavers!

“Item two. The kidnapper whispered that the victim never kept quiet for a minute. I think that's what he said; it was hard to hear. I had to poke my nose into all those packs of jerky.”

I remind myself never to eat beef jerky for the rest of my life.

Sarah Yulefski runs her fingers through her knotty hair. “So here's the deal. I caught just a bunch of words:
Moran. Cage. Need thick? Thick money?
” She takes a breath. “Yes, he or she sounded like a foreign agent:
lure the victim in. Try not to get caught
.”

She works on her teeth. “You can see that. It would mean jail for the rest of his or her miserable life. You can't keep someone in a cage, throw him a little food once in a while . . .”

Zack makes impatient circles with his hands. “Keep going.”

At the same time, I'm almost yelling. “Are you sure he said
Moran?
”

“One at a time here,” Yulefski says. “And yes, I heard
Moran. M-o-r-a-n
. As for item three . . .” She looks embarrassed. “What was item three, anyway?”

Impossible.

She sucks on her braces. “Don't worry, it will come to me.”

Probably two years after the kidnapper strikes.

Sarah Yulefski tosses her hair over her shoulder, just like
TV Witch Girl
, two o'clock, Friday afternoon. She disappears up the street.

Zack and I stare at each other. Should we head for the police station? Should we tackle Pop with the news?

Who'd believe Sarah Yulefski?

Zack reads my mind. “Only us, Hunter. Only us.”

We head for home without our life savings. Yulefski has no mercy. Not only is our family in terrible peril, but last week she charged us a buck seventy-four for our worm start-up.

But never mind that. We definitely have a kidnapping on our hands. Which one of us? I run through the whole family in my mind, oldest to youngest. Airhead William, Alpha Dog Linny, Zack and me, Mary, who almost lives in a high chair, and . . .

I stop dead in the middle of the street.
“The victim never keeps quiet
.” Steadman shuts his mouth only to chew on the most unhealthy snack he can find.

Zack claps his hand to his head. “Small enough to fit in a cage.
A thick cage
?”

Steadman is only five years old. What a hole that would leave in our family. Instead of six kids, there would only be five, not counting the one that will be born any minute.

It's impossible to think about it.

We start to run and get as far as the front door. Linny, skinny hands on her hips, stands there with Becca, who's
a mass of lumps and bumps. “Practicing gymnastics at Gussie's Gym,” Becca says. “You should see the new guy, Alex. He's bent over like a corkscrew from working out.”

I raise one shoulder. Who has time to think about Becca and her run for the Olympics, which will never happen anyway?

“You two are so lucky,” Linny cuts in.

Lucky? I don't think so. “Where's Steadman?”

Linny waves her hand toward the house. “In the yard.”

All fenced in. Safe for the moment.

“Here's your luck,” Linny goes on. “Pop's not coming home for dinner.”

Zack makes a Jell-O face, squishing his cheeks in and out. He thinks Linny has lost her mind.

I know she has.

But Linny points one finger at Pop's new lawn. “You'd better pray he doesn't get home before dark.”

The lawn!

“I don't want to be in your shoes when he sees this,” she says. “Shoes. Get it?” She snickers at her own joke.

“Hysterical,” I say.

She opens the door, and Fred dashes out. He gallops toward us with a couple of frothy growls.

“Watch your ankles,” Zack warns.

Becca jumps back and darts behind a tree. “That dog is a disaster,” she mutters.