The Order of Odd-Fish Read Online Free PDF Page B

room was loud and the TV was turned up. The Belgian Prankster’s theme music jangled, his giant face filling the screen. Jo caught a glimpse and shivered. She turned away from the TV, looking out the window, and was startled to see storm clouds rapidly darkening the desert. The Belgian Prankster’s face was reflected in the window, grinning back at her. Jo spun away and stared at the wall.
    “Hey! The Belgian Prankster’s on!” said Mr. Tibbets. “Turn it up!”
    “I can’t see! Move the television!” said Mrs. Horpness.
    Jo stood still, her eyes closed, trying to block out the noise of the Belgian Prankster.
The Belgian Prankster Hour
was everyone’s favorite TV show. Even Aunt Lily was addicted to it.
    But Jo simply couldn’t watch the Belgian Prankster—a blubbery old man who wore nothing but dirty fur pelts and a rawhide diaper, with gray hair that frazzled in all directions and oversized green ski goggles. It was the goggles that creeped Jo out most. Every time she looked at the TV, she felt the Belgian Prankster staring right back at her.
    Nobody knew exactly who the Belgian Prankster was. Some said he had been an anonymous executive in an Antwerp fish-stick company, where he had quietly embezzled billions for his pranks. Others maintained the persona was a hobby of Prince Poodoo, a wealthy and mysterious Sri Lankan playboy. And a few swore that the Belgian Prankster was nothing less than the Devil himself, come to unleash a new era of chaos upon the world.
    The Belgian Prankster’s pranks vexed scientists the world over. Nobody knew how the Belgian Prankster caused Vladimir Lenin to rise from his grave and stroll the streets of Moscow, offering free makeovers to startled ladies—makeovers the embalmed dictator performed with expert skill. Nor could anyone fathom how (as the Belgian Prankster had threatened) everyone in New York woke up to find the entire city covered with hideous orange carpet. And it was the Belgian Prankster who, in the work of a single night, had flooded the Houston Astrodome with piping hot clam chowder.
    The Belgian Prankster’s pranks could be as playful as releasing ten thousand bichon frise puppies onto the streets of Osaka, or as deadly as turning the Eiffel Tower upside down. The Belgian Prankster was as admired as he was feared, especially by children—parents around the world could discipline their sons and daughters just by saying, “Do you want me to call the Belgian Prankster?”
    “Jo!
Jo!
” shouted Mrs. Beezy. “Are you okay?”
    Jo shook herself awake. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” she mumbled, and looked around the restaurant uneasily. “Wait, does anyone know where Aunt Lily went?”
    The women’s restroom door banged open, and Aunt Lily danced out in her “magic show” costume (gold top hat, red bustier, glittering miniskirt), waving a wand around, shouting, “Magic tricks! Magic tricks!”
    “No! No!” said Mrs. Beezy, hastening from behind the counter. “I told you I don’t want you to do your shows here anymore!”
    “Magic tricks!” Aunt Lily pranced to the center of the room. “Magic tricks for Christmas! For Mr. Cavendish’s birthday! Everybody likes magic tricks!”
    “I don’t!” said Mrs. Cavendish testily. “And Mr. Cavendish certainly doesn’t—how could he?—why, he’s half dead!”
    “Don’t bury me yet!”
    Jo steeled herself for trouble. Everyone in Dust Creek had seen Aunt Lily’s magic show a million times, and everyone hated it. Last year, Aunt Lily had put on her show at the café almost every day, until Jo had forbidden her to do it anymore. Aunt Lily had sulked for weeks, but Jo was firm. For as frail as the senior citizens were, Jo had seen murder in their eyes.
    Aunt Lily was already doing a card trick. “Now, where’s that ace of spades?”
    “It’s in your hat!” shouted everyone.
    Aunt Lily raised her eyebrows. “Clever audience today!”
    “We’ve all seen your tricks a hundred times!” snapped Mr.