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  For my nephew, Matt Hutchins, a real comedian

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  From the Files of Carters’ Urban Rescue

  From the Desk of Sue Stauffacher

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  At ten, Keisha Carter, the oldest Carter child, knew about a lot of things. But she did not know what ricotta was, and she did not want to ask. In the container on the counter, it had looked suspiciously like cottage cheese. In Keisha’s experience, cottage cheese was lumpy and yucky. It was very hard to sit at the intake desk and feel hungry for the pancakes Grandma Alice was making, which Keisha could now hear sizzling in the pan, and imagine cottage cheese inside them.

  Normally, Grandma staffed the intake desk at Carters’ Urban Rescue in the mornings, but she was better at pancakes than Keisha, and Mama and Daddy were trying to get an enclosure ready for a pair of injured ducklings that had been found by a fisherman at the Grand River boat launch.

  Keisha was almost glad when the phone rang because then she didn’t have to think about her breakfast being ruined by cottage cheese’s evil twin—ricotta.

  “Carters’ Urban Rescue,” Keisha said in her grownup voice (the very same voice she used when counting double Dutch).

  “Is this Carters’ Urban Rescue?” Keisha heard a man’s voice along with a bunch of crackly and windy noises.

  “Yes.”

  “Sorry. You’re breaking up. Is this the place where you report wild animals?”

  “It depends on what they’ve done,” Keisha said. “If they’ve broken the law, you should call the police department.”

  Of course, this wasn’t true. Keisha was using one of her father’s jokes. The person at the other end of the line did not laugh.

  Keisha heard more whistling sounds and also what sounded like water splashing on the ground. She really didn’t like it when people called her from the great outdoors because it was so hard to hear.

  “I’m over here at the community garden,” the man shouted into the phone. “It smells awful! A skunk has been here and left a trail of his stinky skunk stuff.”

  “Do you mean the skunk sprayed?” Keisha asked.

  “Hold on, hold on. Jane’s got a point to make.” The phone got all muffly as if the man who was talking had pressed it to his chest.

  The community garden sat next to Hillcrest School. It was a big flat area that used to be a baseball diamond, but the school had closed and the city had turned it into a community garden. Keisha loved to ride her bike past it and look at the sunflowers. By this late in summer, they were taller than Daddy. And Daddy was taller than almost everything.

  Keisha heard a scraping noise. The caller had put the phone back to his ear. “My wife, Jane—Mrs. Peters—saw the skunk yesterday afternoon strolling through the nasturtiums. She thought it was odd at the time. And then this morning when Jane and I came to get our tools, all the other gardeners were standing around the shed with their noses plugged. Talk about making a stink! And it was coming from inside the shed. That’s where he did it.”

  “And you’re sure it was skunk spray?”

  “Sure I’m sure. When I was a kid, I got sprayed by a skunk. My mother washed me in a bathtub of tomato juice. Who could forget that?”

  It was Keisha’s job—or anyone’s job who sat at the intake desk—to figure out if the people who called Carters’ Urban Rescue had a real problem that needed attention or they just needed information about what to do next. A problem meant that someone from Carters’ Urban Rescue drove over in the old truck to check out the situation. A question meant that no visit would be made, but Keisha might be able to educate the man on the other end of the line to help himself.

  As far as possible, the Carters liked to help people take care of their own problems. Besides, today was a very busy day because at 4 p.m., her little brother Razi was going to become the next new member of their 4-H Wild 4-Ever Club. You couldn’t be a member until you turned six. And Razi had turned six last month.

  Keeping the phone pressed to her ear, she pulled the skunk file out of the drawer with her right hand and an intake form out with her left. Even if the Carters didn’t go out to the community garden, they still needed to know who called about what. Mama was very clear about this.

  “Just a few questions,” she said. “Can I have your name and telephone number?”

  “Peters, Albert Peters. Five-five-five six-two-seven-four. Look, it says here in the phone book Carters’ Urban Rescue. All I’m asking is, come out and rescue us from this skunk!”

  “Usually, it’s wildlife we rescue, not people, Mr. Peters.” Keisha paged through her skunk file. “It’s strange that a skunk would spray in its own den,” she said. “You’re sure no one else saw it? Skunks usually have a reason to spray.”

  “You don’t need to see a skunk, miss, to know where it’s been. Jane thinks he dug a hole under the shed. She’s showing me the dirt right now. Yup. There it is.”

  Keisha didn’t want to sound too big for her britches by telling Mr. Peters many animals could have made that hole. Foxes, groundhogs and ground squirrels dug holes. Her brother Razi dug holes. Even baby Paulo could make a serious hole if you set him in the sandbox after breakfast with a soupspoon.

  “I have an idea, Mr. Peters.”

  “Well, give it to me, young lady, because I am fresh out of ideas … and I’m starting to get a headache.”

  “If that skunk was traveling through the garden, it won’t be back to spray again. But if … if it is living there like you think, there’s a way to find out.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “All you have to do is sprinkle a fine coating of flour around that den you found and look at it tomorrow morning. If you find little paw prints, call us up and we’ll help you identify them.”

  “Flour, you say. Do you provide that or do we?”

  “Well, it would help if you did, Mr. Peters. Carters’ Urban Rescue is a not-for-profit organization.”

  “All right, then. We have our marching orders. Jane makes an excellent apple tart. I’m sure she won’t mind sacrificing a little flour to the effort. In the meantime, I’ll finish watering my tomatoes with one hand and pinching my nose with the other.”

  As Keisha hung up the phone, Grandma Alice passed the desk with a plate of steaming pancakes. “Breakfast!” she shouted out the door.

  It was as if the whole Carter family had been sitting outside the back door waiting for Alice to call. Keisha pushed the button that transferred the ringing phone right to the voice mail and headed to the bathroom to wash her hands.

  Before the water was warm, Razi pushed his head through the circle of Keisha’s arms and said: “Me first.”

  Razi was just about to start first grade. Keisha felt a little sorry for Mrs. Jenkins, who would be his teacher. A few months into kindergarten last year, the teachers had presented Mama with the All-Day Razi Award. Half days with Razi could be a challenge, so the teachers felt taking care of Razi 24/7 deserved a special certificate.

  “You can’t be first because my hands are already clean,” Keisha said, taking Razi’s hands between hers and helping him rub-a-dub-dub them clean.

  “Ugh. Your fingernails, Razi.”

  “We were looking for snails and grubs for the ducks.”

  Keisha
grabbed a towel and dried Razi’s hands before he could wave them all over the floor. He tugged away from her and rushed to the table.

  Baby Paulo wasn’t dirty. Though he was big for almost one and a half, he could still ride with Mama in the sling. You didn’t get very dirty if you were pressed up against Mama. She set him in the high chair and swiped his hands with the dishcloth. Alice put the big steaming plate of pancakes in the middle of the table.

  Keisha leaned forward to see if lumps of ricotta cheese poked through. She tried not to be obvious about it. Alice didn’t like anyone inspecting the food. Daddy was serving Keisha three pancakes—her normal amount.

  She might have to fake it.

  “The secret here, according to Chef O’s TV show, is to beat the egg whites and the ricotta separately and then fold them together.” Grandma Alice watched Chef O’s show every Tuesday night on GRTV. Chef O said every day should be a celebration and every meal should be a party.

  “Don’t forget my parasol,” Alice said as Mama poured her pomegranate juice. Grandma took Chef O very seriously.

  “One parasol coming right up.” Daddy dropped a little paper umbrella in Grandma’s juice. “Did you take that phone call, Mom?”

  “I took it, Daddy.” Keisha poured maple syrup over her pancakes and cut off a small bite with her fork.… Still no ricotta in sight.

  “Mr. Peters at the community garden thinks there’s a skunk living under the shed where they keep the tools. He says it sprayed last night.”

  “Did they see a skunk? How do they know?”

  “Because it has a stripey on its back.” Razi was eating his pancakes the Nigerian way by tearing off strips and dipping them in his syrup. As long as hands were clean, Carter children could eat either way: with their fingers, like Mama’s family from Nigeria, or like Daddy’s family from Chicago by way of Sweden did with their forks. But that rule was only for meals at home.

  “The usual way. He smelled it.” Keisha sniffed at her pancakes. Right now, she couldn’t even think about nasty skunk spray because Grandma Alice had put vanilla in the pancakes, just the way she liked them, and also dusted them with powdered sugar and cinnamon.

  “Keisha, eat those before they get cold.” Grandma had no patience for picky eaters. “When I was a little girl, you had—”

  “Three minutes!” Razi shouted. “Or somebody else got to eat yours.”

  “Six kids and full-time farmwork. I used to eat dirt for a snack.”

  Mama gave Grandma a look. The look said, Alice, do not give my boy any more ideas.

  “What? Times were hard.”

  “Was it good?” Razi asked.

  Keisha glanced over at baby Paulo, who also chose the Nigerian way. He seemed so happy with ricotta pancakes that he was trying to stuff a whole circle in his mouth.

  “Can I get some dirt to try it, Mama? Please.”

  “No.” Mama had a way of saying no that nobody questioned. Conversation over.

  Using her fork, Keisha popped a small piece of pancake into her mouth. She waited a minute to make sure her mouth was telling her brain the correct information. It was delicious. Very moist and sweet and just a little crispy at the edges.

  Alice was watching Keisha with a critical eye. “When are you going to trust your elders, eh, miss? Ricotta cheese comes from a cow just like milk does.”

  “Mmmmmm,” Keisha said.

  “Can we go back to the skunk?” Mr. Carter had finished the pancakes on his plate and was eating his dish of fruit. Scoop, scoop, scoop and he was done. Daddy had a lot of stomach to fill.

  “I’m not positive there was a skunk, Daddy. The lady said she saw one in her flowers, but skunks don’t go out in the daytime. It might have been a cat. So I told him to put out an APB. With the flour.”

  “Hmmm, yes. An all-paws bulletin. With the flour. Good idea. I wonder if they’re leaving food around.… That’s usually how it starts.”

  “But why would it spray?” Mama wondered. “Something must have been bothering it.”

  “Ding-dong,” Mr. Sanders said as he came through the door with his twin boys. “We already had our cereal, but maybe we could find room for just one or two pancakes. We need our energy for later on. Big, big day. New member for Wild 4-Ever, I hear. Big ceremony.”

  Razi smiled. He wiggled a little in his seat. Everyone was looking at him, and that’s just how he liked it. “I’m going to say the pledge.”

  “Mrs. Sanders has promised to make you a special ‘no bake’ dessert for the occasion. She has weekend college, but the boys and I will be in attendance.”

  Saturday was Mr. Sanders’s regular day off. He delivered the mail for the whole Alger Heights neighborhood and his other day off changed each week, but Saturday he was free all day to be with his two boys, Zeke and Zack. Mr. Carter gave them the nickname the Z-Team. They looked exactly alike except that Zack had a chipped tooth.

  Alice pulled another big stack out of the oven and Mama got the chairs from the dining room table. Zeke and Zack took their places between Keisha and Razi and spread napkins on their laps. They were always polite at Mama’s table.

  Mr. Sanders served himself a single pancake, but Alice put two more on top.

  “Alice, you spoil me.” There was nothing Mr. Sanders liked better than to come over and eat the Carters’ food. Mrs. Sanders was in her second year of the botany program at Grand River Community College, and over the winter she made her kitchen sink into a terrarium. The Z-Team ate a lot of frozen dinners.

  “I do have another reason for coming over,” Mr. Sanders said, his mouth full of pancake. He held up his finger as he chewed.

  “Mmmm. A triumph, Alice. You did it again. How do you make them so fluffy?”

  “It’s the egg whites,” Razi said. “You beat them up and then you fold them in with the cheese.”

  Zack froze just as his fork was about to enter his mouth. “What cheese?” Zack didn’t like cheese, especially the yellow kind.

  “No interrupting,” Mr. Sanders said. “This is about a murder.”

  The word “murder” got everyone’s attention. They chewed quietly while Mr. Sanders told his story.

  “Yesterday, I was finishing up my route when the strangest thing happened. You know that dilapidated brick house at the end of Orchard Street, boys, the one that sits off by itself? An old woman lives there alone—Mrs. Sampson. Mr. Sampson died last year. I still deliver his mail because she might want it.

  “Anyway, she doesn’t get a lot of personal mail, but there’s always third-class stuff, advertisements and catalogs and people asking for money. So yesterday, when I came up the street, a whole flock of crows circled around me as I got near her mailbox. When I went to open the box, they started diving at me! I had to back away. I was afraid I’d lose my balance and spill my mail in the middle of the street!”

  “And that’s when you got murdered?” Razi asked, his mouth hanging open, full of half-chewed pancake.

  “Hush,” Mama said, leaning over and tapping the bottom of Razi’s chin. “Or was it a murder of crows, Mr. Sanders?”

  “A murder of crows, kids, is what they call a whole group. Strange name. Just like they say a flock of sheep or a gaggle of geese or a parliament of owls.”

  “Was it a whole flock?” Daddy asked Mr. Sanders. “Or was it a pair? Do you think they were trying to attack you or were they swooping down around you?”

  “When something tumbles out of the sky, it’s hard to pay attention to details,” Mr. Sanders said, patting his hair as if it had just happened.

  “It was a murder of crows,” Zeke blurted out, reaching for another pancake, even though his mouth was also still full. Zeke was like Daddy and Mr. Sanders. They had a lot of empty spaces to fill.

  “I think we should go get ’em,” Zack replied. “I’ll show those crows they can’t do that to my dad!”

  “Mr. Zack, concentrate on your breakfast and leave the crow-catching to the professionals.” Mama didn’t like that sort of talk at her tabl
e. When kids started chasing after wild animals, the animals often ended up at Carters’ Urban Rescue.

  “You have to think like crows. Why would they attack you, Doug? It’s not normal behavior,” said Daddy.

  “Now that I think about it … maybe it was only two,” Mr. Sanders said as he eyed the last piece of grilled fruit.

  “Have you ever been dive-bombed before?” Daddy picked up the plate. “Would anyone like this last piece of pineapple?”

  Keisha knew he was doing it so that Mr. Sanders wouldn’t have to ask. She would like it, but guests came first. If only Mr. Sanders didn’t have such a large appetite. No one knew where the food went. He was shorter than Daddy but just as skinny. Mama said he walked it all off on his mail route.

  “I do!” Razi said. Hopping up and down all the time gave Razi a big appetite, too, though only if something sweet was being offered.

  “I will split it between you and Mr. Sanders, then.”

  “Oh, don’t trouble yourself,” Mr. Sanders said. But everyone knew he really wanted it. “I’m trying to remember now, about the crows. It was such a surprise. As I got closer to the box, I heard the cawing. I didn’t even get to put the mail in. They came at me from two sides and I just ducked my head and ran.”

  “It’s a little-known fact that crows can recognize people,” Daddy said. “I read an article about how scientists banded and released crows on a university campus to keep track of them. The crows that had been caught set up quite a racket when those same men and women walked past. You haven’t had any run-ins with crows in the past, have you, Doug?”

  Mr. Sanders shook his head. “No. Plenty of dogs. A cat or two. Once even a bad-tempered potbellied pig. But no crows.”

  “Maybe we could go to Mrs. Sampson’s after breakfast,” Keisha said, “and see if the crows dive on us.”

  “Yeah! Let’s be crow bait!” Zeke said.

  “I want to go, too,” Razi said. “I want to be crow bait.”

  Razi didn’t even know what crow bait was; he just liked to tag along for everything. Which could get a little annoying when you were the older sister. In fact, one of the reasons she suggested it was so she and Zack and Zeke could ride their bikes around without having to bring Razi.