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  “Bzzzzrrrrr. Bzzzzrrrr,” Paulo said, letting roasted banana drip down his chin. He smiled at Keisha with the most angelic smile and flicked his curly eyelashes at her, opening his big brown eyes wide.

  “Razi, unstick yourself and go get my pink sweater off the line, please.” Grandma smacked her lips and held the compact away from her face so she could see the whole picture.

  “I’m getting chocolate marshmallow.” Razi jumped from his chair and ran outside.

  “Does this mean you’re not coming with us to Mrs. Sampson’s house, Mom?” Daddy’s mind hadn’t traveled to ice cream or puppies. It was still on the baby crow. “We might need you to convince her to let the crow go.”

  “Of course I’m coming, but not until after ice cream. And I was talking about bringing Razi pie. Ice cream in a takeout box? In this heat?”

  Grandma and Keisha looked at each other.

  “Duh!” they both said at the same time, before giggling.

  “Keisha, maybe you should make a temporary nest for our baby crow, one we can hang outside. That might help convince her. That crow needs to get back into the great outdoors as soon as possible.”

  “The one we really need is Jorge; he can give her the crow’s point of view. And I already have the temporary nest,” Grandma said. “Don’t worry. We’ll be there.” Grandma rummaged in her purse until she found her seed pearl necklace. “I’m happy to go talk sense into Mrs. Sampson, but first I need my pie and then I need my ice cream. We were going to go out for them last night, but Cocoa needed a makeover.”

  “Cocoa?” Mama asked.

  “Don’t get your knickers in a knot, Fay. She’s not a wild animal, so it’s all right to name her. Cocoa’s going to be someone’s pet.”

  “What if they don’t want to call her Cocoa?” Keisha thought it should be up to the person who adopted her to choose the dog’s name. “What if they want to call her Fluffy? Or Sparkles?”

  “I don’t care if they call her Gabriella Louisa Marchese Donatella Versace. As long as she goes to a good home.”

  No one got a chance to answer because Razi rushed through the back door, out of breath. “Somebody stole Grandma’s sweater. We better call the police.”

  “Whoa, buddy, calm down and start over. It’s not on the line? It was there when we were fixing the ducklings’ enclosure.” Daddy tugged the baby out of the high chair. Paulo was still dribbling.

  “Fred, he’s getting too big for that chair. Be careful.” Mama released the tray.

  “I saw it, too,” Keisha said.

  Sometimes things got stolen from the Carters’ neighborhood. But not too many people wanted to come into a yard with so many wild animals—even if they were caged.

  “Maybe it blew away.”

  “Well, there was enough wind to fly a kite, but I doubt enough to fly a pink cashmere sweater. And there wasn’t a breath of wind last night,” Grandma said. “Let’s go out to the scene of the crime and see what’s what.”

  All was quiet as they passed the skunk enclosure. That was as it should be because skunks liked to sleep during the day. Keisha looked up at the wash line. There were the two laundry clips, just where she remembered them. Everyone was looking around—at the bushes and trees, anywhere a sweater might get snagged if it was blown away.

  “Razi, are you sure you didn’t have anything to do with this?” Mama asked. Everyone knew how much Razi loved soft things.

  “Why does everybody blame me? Why doesn’t anyone blame Paulo?”

  With roasted banana drool all over his face and his chubby legs dangling, Paulo looked very innocent of the crime of misplacing Grandma’s sweater.

  “Because he can’t climb the laundry pole yet,” Grandma said, lifting up the branches of the yew bushes that grew beside the house.

  The Carters kept looking. Keisha noticed the laundry pole cast a long shadow over the skunk pen.…

  Wait a minute! What was that peeking out from underneath the den box Razi had made? Yes! It was a little flash of pink cashmere.

  Keisha understood why a skunk would like a soft cashmere sweater, but skunks are only about twelve inches tall when they stand up, so how did the sweater get from the laundry line into the skunk pen?

  “Razi, we’re not mad. Did you tuck the skunk in bed last night? Did you give him a blankie?” she asked her brother.

  “No!” Razi crossed his arms, frustrated.

  Then how did the sweater get all the way to the skunk’s box?

  “Mama? Daddy? Grandma? You better come look.”

  “That is not my pink sweater,” Grandma said when she saw the corner of fabric under the skunk’s den box.

  “No, not your pink sweater anymore, Alice,” Mama said. “Razi Carter?”

  “How come everybody thinks I did it? I know better. Now Grandma won’t give me any ice cream.”

  “Well, I’ll be,” Daddy said.

  Keisha followed the route the sweater would have had to travel to go from the laundry line to the den box.

  “I don’t think Razi did do it, Mama,” Keisha said. “I think the skunk did it. Look … the box is pushed closer to the fence. There are the drag marks. And Razi’s truck is rolled next to the box.…”

  “Connect the dots for me,” Grandma said. “And do it in a hurry because my whole outfit hinges on that sweater—and Bob will be here any minute!”

  “I think the skunk pushed everything over to the fence. Then he climbed up the truck and … jumped from the truck to the box. After he was on top of the box, he could use his claws to climb the rest of the fence. From the top of the fence, he could reach the sweater.”

  “I want to try it!” Razi was on fire with the possibilities.

  “And where, Ada, does a skunk learn how to do that?”

  “And if he got that high,” Daddy said, “why not just climb down the other side and run away?”

  For one long moment, not a single member of the Carter family could think of anything to say.

  “This is no ordinary skunk, Fred,” Mama said at last.

  “No. On the one hand, this doesn’t make sense. On the other—”

  Daddy paused, figuring it out. “It makes a lot of sense. Our skunk goes through the motions of spraying but does not spray and it knows how to use toys and boxes to get what it wants. Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Fay?”

  “This is someone’s pet.”

  “Yes!” Keisha said. The last piece of the puzzle fell into place. A pet wouldn’t want to leave a warm box and fuzzy sweater and a bowl of food to get back to the great outdoors. This skunk wasn’t used to being in the great outdoors at all.

  “You’re telling me that someone is crazy enough to make this skunk their pet.” Grandma wasn’t buying it. “And keep it in the house, like a … like—”

  “Cocoa,” Keisha said. “He’s domesticated.”

  “Maybe he got lost,” Razi said. “Maybe his people are looking for him right now!”

  “We’ll have to drive through the neighborhood around the community garden and ask,” Mama said. “You can borrow my pink sweater, Alice.”

  Baby Paulo started to wiggle and Daddy put him against his chest. “We’ll go this afternoon after Mrs. Sampson’s. I hope we find an owner. If he’s a pet like we think, we won’t be able to relocate him into the wild.”

  “Some skunks like camping out and some skunks prefer hotels with pink cashmere blankets. Jeez Louis Vuitton,” Grandma said. “Now I’ve seen everything.”

  Chapter 10

  “Mrs. Sampson, on behalf of the United States Postal Service, I must advise you that making a postal box unsafe for a carrier to deliver the mail is an offense punishable by law.” Mr. Sanders’s shoulders returned to their normal position. “We’re only human, you know.”

  Mrs. Sampson sat at the kitchen table, her hands folded in front of her. “But I have the baby bird in that box over there.”

  Just before they’d left for Mrs. Sampson’s house, Razi had been invited to run through
the sprinkler at the Vanderests’, so the Carters were able to swing by and ask Wita if Jorge could come along. Now Keisha and Jorge stood shoulder to shoulder waiting to see what would happen next.

  Mama stepped forward and put her hand on Mrs. Sampson’s. “A chicken does not forget where it lays its eggs, Mrs. Sampson, even after the eggs are collected.”

  “But they didn’t lay their eggs in the mailbox.”

  “It’s a Nigerian proverb, Mrs. Sampson,” Daddy said. “I think Fay means the crows will come back to the mailbox until they know differently.”

  Just to let everyone know he was still in the room, the baby crow squawked.

  “Oh dear,” Mrs. Sampson said, pushing up from the table. “I need to feed him again.”

  “No, Mrs.…” Jorge held up his finger so everyone would stay quiet. The baby crow squawked again.

  “I don’t think your bird is hungry,” Jorge said. “I think your bird is sad.”

  “How can he know that?” Mrs. Sampson looked over her glasses at Daddy. “He’s just a child.”

  “In my experience, children are better at understanding animals than adults, Mrs. Sampson. However, it might help you to think about it this way.…” Daddy paused, waiting for the right words to come to him. “Think of the bird as … lonely. Lonely for other crows.”

  The porch screen door slammed.

  “Move aside, everyone,” Grandma Alice said in her most important voice. “We have an emergency case and I need to consult the nurse.”

  Mama raised her eyebrows and glanced over at Daddy. They couldn’t get Mrs. Sampson to give up the crow. Why would they be bringing another case here?

  Big Bob followed close behind Alice holding a large brown box in his hands.

  Alice stepped to the side and swung her arm like they did in the infomercials she watched on TV. “Ta-da!” she said.

  Big Bob set the box down on the table so everyone could see. Cocoa was lying on her side, her little bandaged leg sticking out at an uncomfortable angle. She moaned in pain but wiggled her bottom anyway, to show she was friendly.

  “Fred, I know you have a list of volunteers that work with dogs and cats, too, but I’ll be darned if I can find it.”

  “It’s on the hard drive, Grandma,” Keisha said. “Go to the ‘organizations’ file, and choose the ‘vet volunteers’ file.”

  Grandma Alice gave Keisha one of those you-must-not-have-any-idea-where-I’m-going-with-this looks. “I’m quite sure it is, dear, but we were having problems with the system this morning.”

  “What problems?” Daddy wanted to know. “That’s a brand-new computer.”

  This time Daddy got the look.

  Every third or fourth word in the conversation, the crow in the corner let out a squawk.

  “That little guy’s going to need a cough drop,” Mr. Sanders said.

  All of a sudden, there was a tremendous scuffling noise inside the box. The baby crow was trying to fly! He succeeded in lifting the tea towel a couple of times, but mostly, he sounded like he was knocking up against the sides of the box.

  “What’s happening?” Mrs. Sampson’s open hand hovered over the box as if she could stop the little crow from hurting himself. “Why is he so upset?”

  “He’s doing what he is meant to do, Mrs. Sampson,” Mama said. “He is trying to fly.”

  “I let him do that yesterday afternoon. We practiced launching off the kitchen table. But he could hurt himself in the box.”

  “You’re right. He could injure himself.” Daddy reached down and used the tea towel to scoop up the bird and pin its wings to its sides. “The first thing to know about wild animals, Mrs. Sampson, is that they won’t do things on your timetable. He’s not going to practice flying like Keisha going to the playground and practicing her double unders. He’s going to do it whenever he wants.”

  The baby crow fell silent in Daddy’s hands, making it easier to hear the moaning sound coming from the box on the table. Jorge was tall enough to see inside, but Keisha had to climb onto a kitchen chair to get a better view of the two button eyes and the little wet nose.

  “What do we have here?” Mama said. “This does not look like a wild animal to me, Alice Carter.”

  “Now don’t get your tea towels in a tangle, Fayola,” Alice said. “I just wanted to consult the nurse.”

  “She’s had a lot of tendon damage to her foreleg,” Bob said.

  “What kind of damage?” Mrs. Sampson asked, squinting into the box.

  “Not sure. Definitely some sort of tear, but we’re also wondering about compression of the nerve endings and how that will affect her ability to walk.”

  “So she’ll need this cast for a few weeks.”

  “At least. She has to have vitamins and antibiotics administered orally on a strict schedule and she’ll have to be carried outside to go to the bathroom. After the cast comes off, she’ll need physical therapy and to be walked with a sling until she can put weight on her leg. We’re still not sure the leg can be used, but if she gets the right physical therapy, there’s a chance.”

  “That’s a lot of work for one old pup,” Daddy said. “You’re sure there’s no owner?”

  “Oh, this old gal has been on her own for some time,” Bob said. “I agree, Fred. This is a hard case. Even if she does get the medical attention she needs, it won’t be easy to find an owner for an old dog. They’re just—”

  “Daddy, I—” Keisha couldn’t help herself. It just came out of her mouth. Wouldn’t it be perfect? She could help rehabilitate this little dog, and then instead of releasing her into the wild, they could release her to the Carter family couch.

  “I see where you’re going with this.” Mrs. Sampson was looking directly at Grandma. “But I can’t take care of a crow and a dog.”

  “While the Humane Society does have a shortage of volunteers to take care of high-needs dogs, we do have two volunteers to watch over this crow.” Daddy pointed to the front door. “And they’re waiting in a tree outside. Jorge, do you think you can provide some evidence of this to Mrs. Sampson? We’ll have to go out on the front porch.”

  “But can we leave the dog alone?”

  “Oh, she’s as comfortable as she can be, Mrs. Sampson,” Grandma said.

  Jorge, Mr. Sanders, Mama, Daddy, Grandma, Big Bob and Mrs. Sampson gathered together on Mrs. Sampson’s front porch. They stood quietly, looking at the trees.

  “First, let’s get their attention,” Daddy said to Jorge. “Why don’t you sprint over to the mailbox?”

  Jorge ran across the yard, stopping about ten feet from the mailbox. Up in the trees, the crows came alive. They didn’t dive down on Jorge, because he wasn’t close enough to endanger their baby, but they sure did put up a racket.

  “I’m inviting them to my next New Year’s Eve party,” Grandma said. “They’ll do a much better job than pots and pans of making a hullabaloo when the ball drops in Times Square.”

  “Okay, go.” Quick as a wink, Daddy uncovered the baby crow’s head and held him, pointing in the direction of the trees. Jorge began making his noises, only this time they weren’t loud throat noises, they were little awping baby crow noises. The birds got very agitated. They circled Jorge and dropped down to branches closer and closer, responding in vocalizations Keisha had never heard crows make before. They were longer drawn-out caaaaaaws.

  The baby crow struggled in the towel, but Daddy had him wrapped up tight. Except for his head. His glossy little head with the rock candy eyes turned this way and that, looking out at the big wide world.

  “Awp, awp!” As soon as he started making noise, Daddy covered his head and took him back inside. The adult crows seemed confused. One landed right on the mailbox and pecked at it. Another soared to a tree closer to the porch.

  “We don’t need mama and daddy dive-bombing your front porch, Mrs. Sampson. Now do you see?”

  Mrs. Sampson took off her glasses and polished them with her apron.

  “I suppose we could give it a tr
y,” Mrs. Sampson said at last. “But my old eyes won’t be able to keep track of him if he’s not right in front of me.”

  Daddy patted Mrs. Sampson’s shoulder. “You don’t have to worry about that, Mrs. Sampson. We weren’t able to build a nest with all that was going on this morning, but maybe we can rig something that will keep him protected until he’s ready to be on his own. As you can see, his crow family stands ready to protect him.”

  “We don’t have to rig a thing,” Grandma said. “I came prepared. Keisha, go out to Bob’s car and bring me what’s on the backseat, please.”

  Keisha ran out to the car, taking care not to go anywhere near the mailbox. She opened the backseat door only to find Grandma’s straw bag, the one she used to carry sunblock and swim caps to the pool. Surely she couldn’t be thinking … Keisha brought the bag into the house.

  “That’s it, one ready-made crow nest.”

  “But this is your favorite pool bag,” Mama protested.

  “Correction, it was my favorite pool bag. According to Marilyn Kirschner of The Look On-Line, straw bags are seriously OL. I want to re-purpose this bag to be a baby crow sling.” Grandma squinted and put her hand to her forehead like a visor.

  “Look out there. We can hang him on the laundry line. He’ll be in the shade, and it’s not too far from the ground for when he’s ready to flutter.”

  “Alice, you’ve really thought this through.”

  Grandma Alice rummaged in her purse and pulled out the scissors from their kitchen drawer.

  “Yes, I have,” she said. “I put a Tupperware top in the bottom to make sure it doesn’t collapse and we’re going to have to cut down the sides a bit for easy reentry. Believe me, given the crows’ nests I’ve seen, this little baby is getting the Cadillac version.”

  “Let’s hang this,” Daddy said, examining the bag. “And if it works as well as I think it will, Mrs. Sampson can give it back to us after the crow abandons it. Now, I don’t know about the rest of you”—Daddy was rubbing his stomach—“but I might need a little something to tide me over until dinner. I can run over to Charley’s candy store and get some fuel for the volunteer cat chasers.”