“Thank you.”

  “And Lake Bess is a good place to raise kids.”

  “What!?” I jumped. “Jo-ooe! I’m not going to raise the kid. I’m just babysitting him. Temporarily. Until we find his real family.”

  Joe blinked.

  I blinked. “Where’s the wine?” I asked.

  Chapter 6

  FYI, the wine—at least the good stuff—is almost always at Joe’s house. He grabbed a bottle, and we headed over to the Jolly Green Giant.

  We stopped on the porch to peek into the living room, where Bobby, Truman, and Charlie were chasing each other around, over, and under the rocking chairs.

  “He’s cute,” Joe said. “But why’s Bobby chasing him with a slinky?”

  “It’s a game,” I said. “I don’t understand the rules, but I’m guessing you will.”

  He did. He took over the Twirly Twine Twister from my father and chased Truman and Cow up to my turret and back again while Dad and I got supper on the table. The final battle before dinner took place at the coffee table, and of course Cosmic Cow won.

  Joe stopped running long enough to notice the spaceship stranded beneath the coffee table.

  “The Destiny’s recalerating,” Truman told him.

  “Pardon me?”

  “Truman’s right,” Dad said as he waved everyone into the kitchen. “If Chance takes off before the tracker gasket recalibrates he’ll be lost in space forever. There’s even a possibility the Destiny could explode.”

  “Poof!” Truman said.

  I shrugged at Joe. “It’s teeny-tiny, but evidently the tracker gasket thingamajig is crucial to the whole shebang.”

  “Little things pack a big punch,” he agreed, and we sat down to dinner.

  ***

  Sarah Bliss is a pro at packing a big punch. She called during dessert and ordered me to put the child to bed.

  I checked the kitchen clock. “Is it bedtime?”

  The little guy shook his head vigorously and put down his forkful of chocolate cake to hold up all ten fingers, but Sarah seemed to think seven-thirty or eight was a better option. We hung up after agreeing I’d concentrate on Truman, and she’d concentrate on cramming all his stuff into her SUV to carry over.

  Cramming?

  I shook my head and focused on the kid. “Sooo,” I said. “How would I go about putting you to bed?”

  “But I didn’t meet the FN yet. You promised.”

  That I had. I made a new promise that if he were really good about going to bed, he could meet the FN the next day. Then I turned to my father. “You’re a father. So, like, how does bedtime work?”

  Dad rolled his eyes and shook his head, but Joe, who is also a father, took pity on me.

  “Three easy steps,” he told me. “Bath time, story time, bedtime. Easy.”

  Easy for him to say.

  ***

  Charlie and Truman watched as I filled the tub. “How about bubbles?” I asked.

  “Bubbles!”

  Wow! I got that right.

  While I added oodles of bubbles the kid stripped down, grabbed Cosmic Cow, and almost hopped in. I managed to save Cow in the nick of time.

  “She’s allergic to bubbles,” I said. I held onto his hand, and he climbed in.

  “Toys?” he asked.

  Toys. I appealed to Charlie, and the dog looked around and found one of his tennis balls. Not exactly ideal.

  “I know!” I said. Keeping an eye on the child, I rummaged around in the linen closet where I store some painting supplies and found two paint brushes. “They’re brand new.” I held them up. “Never used.”

  I handed one to Truman, and he frowned and stated the obvious. “It’s a paint brush.”

  “A paint brush?” I exclaimed. “You mean you’ve never seen a space sweeper? These things are all the rage in the Hollow Galaxy. Isn’t that right, Charlie?”

  Charlie thumped his tail, and I splashed my brush into the bubbles and twirled it over Truman’s crew cut. Then I swept his arms and tummy. He was paying attention.

  “Do you like being swept clean?” I asked, and he giggled.

  Wow! Was I on a roll, or what?

  I reached out to sweep his back, but he grabbed onto my wrist and stared at my hand.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Do you have good hands?”

  I glanced down. “I guess so,” I said, and I guess he believed me because he let go and even let me use a washcloth to wipe off his face. I think I got the kid mostly clean.

  I helped him out of the tub and toweled him off. Gosh, he smelled good. I’ve used that same brand of bath bubbles for decades, and I know I never smelled that good.

  “Pajamas?” Joe asked, and I jumped ten feet.

  “You’ve been spying on us.”

  “Guilty as charged.” He pointed to Truman, and I reminded everyone we didn’t yet have his clothes.

  The kid was adamantly opposed to sleeping in the nude, so we ended up putting him back into his Lake Bess sweatshirt.

  “Now what?” I asked. “Brushing your teeth?”

  What a shocker, that went okay, too. Being so short, I keep a step-stool on every floor. I found the one in my bedroom closet, and Truman climbed up to reach the sink. I even had a new toothbrush to give him. It was too big for his mouth, and he wrinkled his nose at the taste of my toothpaste, but at least he brushed. Meanwhile I contemplated the concept of toothpaste specially formulated for children.

  “Now what?” I asked.

  “Bedtime.” Joe scooped up the kid and swung him by his arms like a pendulum.

  I grabbed Cosmic Cow, and Charlie and I followed into the guestroom, where Truman was resisting the “girlie” bed.

  “You really can’t blame him,” Joe told me.

  Maybe not, but luckily Charlie is colorblind. He jumped onto the covers, and once I promised that Charlie would stay with him all night, Truman climbed aboard also. I handed over Cosmic Cow, and reached for the light.

  “You’re forgetting something,” Joe said.

  “Dad’s the story guy,” I argued, but when I thought back on the day Truman had endured, I agreed he deserved a bedtime story.

  I gestured for Cosmic Cow, he handed him over, and Cow and I twirled around the room. “Cosmic Cow had a busy day.” I used some weird story-telling voice that I’d never used before. “She’s fought off the dreaded Twirly Twine Twister hundreds of times.”

  Truman nodded agreement.

  “Therefo-ooore,” I said as Cow flew to the closet. “Cosmic Cow needs to sleeee-eeeep.”

  She didn’t like the looks of the closet, so we searched the room looking for the perfect sleeping spot.

  We tried the windowsill, and Cow shook her entire body.

  “Too drafty,” I said.

  “Too noisy,” Joe added. “The FN451z lives in that direction.”

  Cow flew to the rocking chair.

  “Too pink!” Truman said.

  “But she’s a girl,” I argued. “She likes pink furniture.”

  “Even so, she’d get too lonely over there.” Joe took her from me and flew her over to Truman’s chest.

  “Ah-ha!” I said. “The perfect spot.”

  Truman grabbed Cow and held on tight, Charlie snuggled up close, and I again reached for the light.

  “You’re forgetting something,” Joe said.

  I bent down and gave the child a kiss.

  ***

  “Those pink sheets have got to go,” Joe told me as we headed downstairs.

  “No worries.” I insisted Sarah would deliver everything we needed. “Sheets, pajamas. Heck, if we cross our fingers, she might bring along a family member or two.”

  “Pajamas-yes, sheets-no, family-hell no.” Sarah snarled at me as I rounded the first floor landing. “Did I hear something about pink sheets?”

  “It’s nice to see you too, Sarah. Welcome.”

  “Bobby already did that.”

  “Bobby’s making coffee,” Dad said from the kitchen. “Show Sarah a seat, girl.”

  I pointed her to the couch, but she had to step over the two or three garbage bags of what I assumed was Truman-junk to get there.

  “Kids must come with a lot of junk,” I said, and for some reason everyone chuckled.

  “Need some help?” Joe asked.

  Sarah wished him luck, and he headed outside.

  I scowled at the overstuffed trash bags. “You mean there’s more?”

  “Tons more, babe.”

  Bobby served the coffee, and Joe returned balancing three large boxes. He lowered them onto the floor, told me there was more, and retraced his steps.

  “More?” I asked Sarah.

  “Tons more, babe.”

  Joe came back with a large tool-chest-looking thing. “Toy box,” he said and walked back out.

  “More?”

  “Tons more, babe.”

  Let’s just say, this was the gist of the conversation for a while. As the living room filled up I considered bringing things upstairs, but I didn’t want to disturb Truman or the dog. Obviously Charlie understood he was supposed to stay with the little guy, no matter what the commotion downstairs.

  At some point Joe came back empty-handed. But he stood in the doorway cringing and grimacing.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked.

  “I put his bike in the garage.”

  “Bike!?” I jumped. “He has a bike!?”

  “Duh.” Sarah put down her coffee. “He’s been begging to get his training wheels taken off.”

  I mumbled a colorful word, Dad repeated it, and Joe kept cringing.

  “Am I missing something?” Sarah asked.

  “Cassie gets flustered around death,” my father said.

  “Huh?”

  “He is only five,” Joe reminded me.

  “Five and a half,” I corrected.

  “Huh?”

  “You were ten when you went for that bike ride,” Dad told me. “The little boy isn’t nearly as nuts as you were.”

  “And he doesn’t know the way to Delaware,” Joe added.

  “He can read a map,” I said. “We taught him how.”

  Sarah waved to get our attention. “What are you guys talking about?”

  Nothing that Sarah needed to know. I shook my head and asked Joe to please take a seat.

  He cleared his throat. “There is one more thing, Cassie.”

  “Goody.” I waved impatiently at the pile of junk at my feet. “Bring it on.”

  Joe waited until I looked up. “It’s a cat.”

  “A what!?” I jumped up.

  My father mumbled several colorful words. I repeated all of them.

  Sarah waited until I was finished. “Didn’t I mention the cat?”

  “No! You did not mention the cat!” I started pacing, and Sarah watched me trip over—something.

  “Are you allergic?” she asked.

  “Not allergic,” Dad answered.

  I tripped over a case of canned cat food, and Joe suggested I sit down before I hurt myself. I plopped into my purple rocking chair, stared at the litter box I’d failed to notice earlier, and groaned.

  “Let me guess,” I said. “The cat’s name is Nots. Or maybe Knots with a K.”

  “No K,” Sarah said. “But a Z at the end. Notz.”

  I looked at my father. “Nuts.”

  ***

  Joe knelt beside the cat carrier. “Should I let him out?”

  Charlie answered that. He’s a good dog, but in case you haven’t been paying attention, there was a cat in the house. The dog was downstairs in a flash, and the kid wasn’t far behind.

  “Notz!” he squealed and fell to his knees.

  Joe waited until Bobby assured him Charlie wouldn’t harm the cat, and Sarah promised the cat would be fine with Charlie.

  And Notz was freed from his carrier.

  And I gasped.

  And my father gasped.

  Joe glanced at me. “You’re spooked.”

  An understatement.

  “Look.” Sarah pointed to the cat, who was taking a tentative interest in Charlie. “They match.”

  “They’re both black,” Truman told me.

  “Yes,” I said as calmly as humanly possible. “I noticed.”

  Chapter 7

  Joe said something about the rest of us needing to talk and herded the kid, the dog, and yes, the cat, toward the stairs. He picked up the litter box, gave me one fleeting glance, and followed.

  “Coward,” I mumbled.

  Good old Sarah started on a bright note. “You broke about fifty laws today,” she said.

  “I broke?” I flapped my arms. “How about we broke? Better yet, how about you broke?”

  “How about you keep your voice down,” Dad said.

  I glared at Sarah. “Why did you get me into this mess?”

  She shrugged and informed me that if I ever got caught, I might get off with thirty years. “No parole,” she added.

  “Pa-role!? I’m going to jail!?”

  “More like prison.”

  “Prison!?”

  “Cassie.” Dad gave me one of his I am your father looks, and I shut up. But for the record, he also gave Sarah that look. “Explain yourself,” he demanded. “Why have you put my daughter in this position?”

  “Truman has no other family.”

  “Excuse me?” Dad was incredulous. “We’re not his family. Where’s his father? Where are the grandparents? Aunts, uncles, cousins?”

  “And most importantly,” I added. “How long should we plan on keeping him?”

  “Until you send him off to college, or get arrested,” Sarah answered. “Whichever comes first.”

  ***

  I got a little hung up deciding which would be a worse fate, but Dad kept his head about him and continued questioning Sarah. “We assume you knew the boy’s mother?” he asked.

  The answer was yes, very well. Sarah had babysat Judy Tripp decades earlier, and as they grew older, they became friends.

  “Best friends,” Sarah said. “Even our jobs kept us close. We both work—” She swallowed. “Worked for the county.”

  “Then why didn’t Judy put you down on all those school documents?” I asked.

  “I told her to after her husband died. Michael was in the service—he got killed in the line of duty two years ago.”

  Dad and I took a few deep breaths.

  Sarah continued. “Anyways,” she said. “I promised Judy I’d take Truman if there was ever a need, but she refused. She thought I had a full enough load with my own three sons.” Sarah shrugged. “That ain’t no lie.”

  “So she chose my daughter instead?” Dad shook his head. “A complete stranger?”

  “Judy had a reason,” Sarah said firmly.

  “Like what?” I asked.

  She let out a breath. “Because.” Another sigh. “Because maybe I bragged about you, okay?”

  “Say what? You think I’m Looney Tunes.”

  “I think you’re a nincompoop, babe. But.”

  “But what?”

  “But Cassie impressed you last summer,” Joe said as he came down the stairs. He took the chair next to mine and reached for my hand. “Your dead redhead-pajama incident, Cassie.”

  I stared aghast.

  Sarah shrugged and admitted that Judy had been impressed also. “She was addicted to Maxine’s Lake Bess Lore column that month.”

  “So she entrusted me with her only child?” I asked. “Talk about Looney Tunes.”

  “Hey!” Sarah snapped. “Judy was a good mother. If she named you as next of kin, she meant it.”

  I apologized for the comment, and Sarah calmed down enough to tell us what had happened that morning. Or at least she tried.

  “Judy was a cautious driver,” she said. “How could she have rolled her car like that?”

  Evidently, the local paramedic Ginger Graham had been the first on the scene. She knew how close Sarah and Judy were, and had called Sarah immediately.

  “After I got through with Ginger, I talked with Sheriff Hawthorn,” she said. “I told him to let me handle things with Truman. He didn’t argue.”

  “No one argues with you,” I said.

  “You shouldn’t either. You’re Truman’s auntie.” She turned to Bobby. “And you’re the surrogate grandpa. You got it?”

  “Not really,” Dad and I said.

  “What if Truman doesn’t get it?” Joe asked. “What if he tells someone he’s living with strangers?”

  Sarah waved a hand. “He’s five years old, and he just lost his mother. No one’s gonna believe him. It’s too crazy.”

  Well. Yeah.

  ***

  “Speaking of crazy,” Dad said. “There really is no other family?”

  Sarah told us we were welcome to look, but the only person I know is Judy’s grandmother.”

  “Grandmother?” I sat up. “Who? Where?”

  “In Hilleville.”

  “Hilleville!” I threw my arms up. “Why didn’t you say so? Truman should be with his grandmother. Children live with their grandmothers all the time, right?”

  “Wrong.”

  “Wrong?” I whined.

  “First of all, Mrs. Abernathy is Truman’s great grandmother.”

  I slumped. “That sounds kind of old.”

  “And she lives at the Hilleville House. In the Alzheimer’s unit.”

  I slumped some more. FYI, the Hilleville House is a nursing home, and the Alzheimer’s unit is, well, the Alzheimer’s unit.

  Sarah was nodding. “P.T. and I went there this afternoon to break the news, and Mrs. Abernathy cried because Dorothy was dead.”

  “Who’s Dorothy?” Joe asked.

  “Mrs. Abernathy calls Judy Dorothy. Judy? Dorothy?” Sarah glanced around. “Anybody get it?”

  Chalk it up to the Looney Tunes thing, but I did. “The Wizard of Oz,” I said. “Judy Tripp somehow got confused with Judy Garland?”

  “Wow.” Sarah scowled at me and told us Mrs. Abernathy had been living in the Land of Oz for the last two years. “She thinks the rest of us live there, too. She calls me the Good Witch of the South.” Sarah shook her head. “Proof positive she’s lost her marbles.”

  “The poor woman,” Dad said, but Sarah reminded us the Hilleville House is a good nursing home.

  “And Mrs.Abernathy’s happy enough,” she said. “Even today. Mrs. Abernathy was sad about Judy, or Dorothy, but she was happy for P.T. She tapped his deputy’s badge and congratulated him on getting his heart. She thinks he’s the Tin Man.”