Carl Hiaasen - Hoot

"I promise, Dad."

Later his father put Roy's bicycle in the trunk of his car and drove Roy to Trace Middle. As he dropped him off in front of the school, Mr. Eberhardt asked, "Think your friend will be at the ceremony today-Beatrice's stepbrother?"

"Probably," Roy said.

"Pretty risky."

"I know, Dad. I tried to tell him."

"You be careful," Mr. Eberhardt said firmly, "and be smart."

"Yes, sir."

Beatrice Leep was waiting outside Roy's homeroom. Her curly hair was damp, as if she'd just gotten out of the shower.

"Well?" she said.

"I got a note. How about you?"

Beatrice displayed a crumpled paper napkin that had been scrawled upon in red ink. "I woke up my old man to ask him. He was so far out of it, he would've signed anything," she said. "I should've written myself a check for a thousand bucks."

"So I guess we're all set for noon," Roy said. He lowered his voice. "I went to see your brother. He threw me out of the truck."

Beatrice shrugged. "What can I say. Sometimes he's impossible."

She fished in her purse and came out with the camera belonging to Roy's mother. "He dropped this off at the house late last night, after Lonna and Dad went to bed. He says he got the pictures you wanted. I tried to take a look but I couldn't figure out how to work the darn thing."

Wordlessly Roy grabbed the camera and stashed it in his locker.

"Keep your fingers crossed," Beatrice said, before melting into the stream of students and disappearing down the hall.

Roy spent the rest of the morning lost in excited distraction, wondering if his plan might actually work.

At ten-forty-five A.M., a black stretch limousine pulled up to the empty lot at Woodbury and East Oriole. The driver got out and opened one of the doors. Nothing happened for several moments, and then a tall man with wavy silver hair emerged, squinting into the sun. He wore pressed white trousers and a dark blue blazer with an emblem on the breast pocket.

The man glanced around impatiently behind enormous tinted sunglasses. Crisply he snapped his fingers at Officer David Delinko, who was unlocking his squad car.

The patrolman failed to notice he was being summoned. He was knocking off work after fourteen straight hours at the construction site-Curly had gone home to shower and shave, so Officer Delinko had stayed to keep an eye on the earthmoving machines, which had been refitted with new seats. Now that the foreman had returned-dressed up in a coat and tie, of all things!-the policeman was leaving the premises. He had no desire to hang around for the groundbreaking nonsense.

"Officer!" The silver-haired man beckoned insistently. "Yo, Officer! Over here."

Officer Delinko approached the limousine and asked what was wrong. The man introduced himself as Chuck E. Muckle, a vice-president of something-or-other for Mother Paula's All-American Pancake Houses, Inc. In a confidential tone, he added, "We need some discreet assistance here."

"Well, I'm off duty," Officer Delinko told him, "but I'd be glad to call for another unit." He was so exhausted from lack of sleep that he barely had enough energy to carry on a conversation.

"Do you happen to know who's sitting in this car?" Chuck Muckle asked, nodding toward the limo.

"No, sir."

"Miss Kimberly Lou Dixon!"

"That's nice," said Officer Delinko blankly.

"The Kimberly Lou Dixon."

"Well, what d'ya know."

Chuck Muckle thrust his ruddy face closer. "You've got no idea who I'm talking about, do you, Officer?"

"Not a clue, sir. Never heard of the lady."

The company vice-president rolled his eyes and proceeded to explain who Kimberly Lou Dixon was, and why she'd traveled all the way from Beverly Hills, California, to Coconut Cove, Florida.

"And right this minute," Chuck Muckle said, "she rather urgently needs a powder room."

"A powder room," Officer Delinko repeated quizzically.

"A place to powder her nose! A place to freshen up!" Chuck Muckle erupted in exasperation. "Is this really such a difficult concept to grasp, Officer? Let me try to put this in language you can understand-she needs a potty, okay?"

"Gotcha." Officer Delinko gestured toward Curly's trailer. "Follow me."

When Kimberly Lou Dixon got out of the limousine, Officer Delinko was startled by how young she looked compared with the wrinkled old granny she played on the TV commercials. Kimberly Lou had bright green eyes and rich auburn hair and smooth milky skin-a lovely and cultured woman, Officer Delinko thought.

Then she opened her mouth.

"I gotta tinkle," she announced in a sandpaper voice. "Lead the way, hotshot."

The actress carried a leather tote bag over one shoulder, and she wore high heels, a black skirt, and a pale silky blouse.

Curly was dumbstruck when he opened the door of the trailer. Without a word, Kimberly Lou Dixon stepped past him and made her way to the bathroom.

"Can I change in here?" she asked in a husky voice.

"Change what? You look pretty darned good the way you are."

"Change into her Mother Paula's costume," Officer Delinko interjected. "She's with some guy; he wants to know if she can use your trailer as a dressing room."

"Anytime," Curly said with a dreamy smile.

A man's silhouette filled the doorway, followed by a gust of oily cologne. "Why, you must be the one and only Leroy Branitt," growled a familiar sarcastic voice.

Curly cringed. Officer Delinko stepped out of the way and said, "This gentleman is from the pancake-house company."

"I figured," said Curly. He held out his right hand to Chuck Muckle, who stared at it as if it were a dead mudfish.

"Please tell me, Mr. Branitt, that you have no bad news that would spoil this lovely tropical morning. Tell me everything's hunky-dory here in Coconut Cove."

"Yessir," Curly said. "We stayed the last two nights on the property, me and the policeman here, and it's been peaceful as a church house. Ain't that right, David?"

"Right-o," Officer Delinko said.

Chuck Muckle whipped off his shades and eyed the patrolman dubiously. "You wouldn't happen to be the same crackerjack lawman who fell asleep in his car while the vandal trashed our survey stakes, would you?"

As curious as Officer Delinko was to see Kimberly Lou Dixon dressed up as Mother Paula, he now wished that he were somewhere far, far away.

"The same genius," Mr. Muckle went on, "whose careless sleep habits resulted in a newspaper article that unfairly smeared the good name and reputation of Mother Paula? Was that you?"

"Yeah, that would be him," Curly said.

Officer Delinko shot the foreman a dirty look before addressing Mr. Muckle. "I'm really sorry about all that, sir," the patrolman said, thinking: Sorrier for me than for you.

"It's rather astounding that you still have a job," Chuck Muckle remarked. "Your police chief must have a charitable heart. Either that or he's desperate for warm bodies."

Curly finally came up with something positive to contribute. "Officer Delinko is the one who helped me catch that burglar the other night!"

It was a shameless exaggeration of Curly's role in the capture of Dana Matherson, and Officer Delinko was about to set the record straight when Kimberly Lou Dixon came rocketing out of the bathroom.

"You've got, like, a major roach situation in there!" she exclaimed.

"They ain't roaches, they're crickets," Curly said. "I don't know where the heck they all came from."

He elbowed his way past Officer Delinko and Chuck Muckle, and introduced himself to the actress. "I'm the supervising engineer on this project, Miss Dixon, and I just want you to know that I seen all your movies."

"All two of them, you mean?" Kimberly Lou Dixon patted his shiny scalp. "That's all right, Mr. Branitt, it's still a darling thing for you to say."