Sammy Keyes and the Dead Giveaway Read Online Free PDF

very
patriotic
-looking woman, which somehow made her seem, I don't know,
safe.
The lady was wearing a royal blue skirt, a whiteblouse, and a red blazer that had a blue-and-white scarf peeking out of the little scarf pocket. Even her
feet
looked patriotic in blue-and-white pumps with little red buckles across the tops.
    Something about this woman seemed familiar. Not like I'd met her before, but like I'd
seen
her before … maybe on TV? But before I could figure it out, Mrs. Willawago grabs me by the arm and says, “Oh, Sammy, come in!” like she's never been so relieved to see anyone in her whole entire life.
    “Are you all right?” I ask, looking from her to the patriotic lady, trying to imagine what this woman could have done to Mrs. Willawago. I mean, she was probably about as old as Mrs. Willawago and way too beauty-parlored to look threatening. Her hair was all pouffy and dyed, her nails were a perfect candy-apple red, and her face was covered in pressed powder. But where Mrs. Willawago was casual and friendly, this patriotic lady had definite airs. Like a politician who pretended to be one of “the people” but really thought “the people” were a breed beneath them.
    “I'll be all right,” Mrs. Willawago was saying, but her voice was definitely shaking, “as soon as this woman gets out of my house.”
    “This woman?” Blue Butt says, her penciled-on eyebrows arching high. “Annie, honestly, I'm here as a friend to warn you, is all. It's going to happen whether you want it to or not.” She laughs softly, but it's a slick laugh. A practiced laugh. Then she tags on, “You know what they say—you can't fight city hall.”
    And that's when it hits me—this woman
is
a politician.
    Someone Mrs. Willawago hasn't seen in years.
    Someone she would live happily ever after without ever seeing again.
    Someone who, it turns out, had just delivered some very bad news.

“What are you doing here?” I asked ol' Blue Butt, and let me tell you, I didn't ask it nicely.
    She ignored me. “I'll be going now,” she said to Mrs. Willawago. “But honestly, Annie, look at the bright side.” She spread her arms a little, hands up. “Surely you'll wind up someplace better than this!”
    “OUT!” Mrs. Willawago shouted.
    I whipped open the door, and as she crossed the porch and started down the cowcatcher ramp, I said, “And feel free to stay away.”
    “Oh, I'll be back.” She laughed. “To cut the ribbon.”
    I closed the door quick and said, “That was Coralee Lyon, wasn't it?”
    “The Devil herself!” Mrs. Willawago said, hobbling into the kitchen.
    I chased after her. “What ribbon was she talking about? Why was she here?”
    Mrs. Willawago didn't answer me. She just thumbed open a worn leather address book, her hands shaking. Then she picked up the telephone that was mounted on a wall near the kitchen sink and muttered, “She will not get away with this!” as she dialed.
    She stretched the phone cord so she could see out the kitchen window toward the street, so I looked, too.
    No Blue Butt.
    No Mr. Stone to tell her to take a hike.
    Rats.
    Then someone on the other end picked up, and Mrs. Willawago said, “Teri? It's Annie. Next door? I just learned that despite our protests, the city
is
moving forward with their plans!” She relaxed the tension on the phone cord and turned away from the window, saying, “You did? Why didn't you call me? …Oh, oh, that's right. I was at the physical therapist.” There was a long string of “Uh-huh's” and “Yes, I know's,” and finally Mrs. Willawago said, “Why don't you and Marty come over and we'll discuss what to do… Fine. Fine. That'll be fine.”
    When she hung up, I asked, “What is going on?”
    She frowned. “Our illustrious city council had decided to seize all the properties on Hopper Street.”
    “To seize them? As in
take
them?”
    “That's right. If they pass a ‘resolution of necessity,’ my property becomes theirs in as little as three