Charlotte Figg Takes Over Paradise Read Online Free Page A

passed through it quickly and only had to stop at two red lights. Then I saw a sign that read, "Welcome to Bright's Pond. Home of the World's Largest Blueberry Pie."
    "Would you look at that? Home of the world's largest blueberry pie. I knew this was the right place for us. Imagine that, a town that understands the importance of pie."
    Soon we were driving through the quaintest little town I had ever seen. We passed a small church across the street from a large Victorian house. There was a delightful-looking diner called the Full Moon Café. I would have stopped in for a cup of coffee and a piece of pie, but a quick glance at my watch told me I'd better head on toward Paradise. I had told Mr. Wrinkel we'd be there around noon.
    Just a few minutes later I pulled The Little Tough Guy up a hill. When we reached the top I saw two spectacular and large green, orange, and yellow painted palm trees with wide leaves and coconuts on either side of a driveway on my left. A neon rainbow arch connected them. The word Paradise blinked on and off in the rainbow. I was so surprised I drove right past them and nearly crashed into a truck carrying logs.
    "Goodness gracious, Lucky, did you see those palm trees?"
    I slammed on the breaks and nearly jackknifed The Little Tough Guy. But fortunately, he stayed upright. I negotiated a tricky U-turn, much to the dismay of the log driver, and headed back for the palm trees. Lucky and I drove under the rainbow into Paradise. He was so happy riding on the front seat with his tongue lolled out and wearing a wide smile. He barked twice as if to say, "We're home."
    I slowed to a turtle's pace over the speed bumps. Multicolored trailer homes lined up like crayons in a box on either side of the street. In the periphery of my eye, I caught sight of another sign that read MANAGER and pointed a brown-painted finger toward a long green trailer nestled inside a grove of trees. Two tiny pink neon flamingoes flanked what I assumed to be the front door, and the word MANAGER, also in pink neon, hung over the top.
    "That must be Fergus Wrinkel's office," I told Lucky. I parked on the street behind a red Datsun and heaved a huge sigh of relief that my trailer didn't capsize on the way over the speed bumps, crack open like an egg, and dump all my worldly possessions on the road.
    I lingered in the car and took in the sights. The park seemed pleasant enough with groves of trees and trailers with awnings and white picket fences. Some had flower gardens with tiny gnomes like Midge's. I saw pink flamingoes standing on one leg, angel statues, and clotheslines. Other trailers looked disheveled, with weeds and overgrown grass and hanging-down, dilapidated metal roofs. Just about every single one displayed an American flag. Remnants of the last snowfall were still evident in dirty, exhaust-painted snow heaped in the shade of the trailers. Two women dodged a couple of potholes as they walked down the road. One carried grocery bags while the other pushed a stroller. When they saw me, they disappeared as quickly as snipers.
    "Well they looked nice," I said. "Younger than me, but nice enough. Just a little shy, I guess."
    I draped my arm around Lucky. "Just like any old neighborhood, I suppose. Now you stay here a minute while I fetch the keys to our house from Mr. Wrinkel."
    I saw no bell button, so I pulled open the rickety screen door. My knock made a tinny, hollow sound. I waited what I thought was enough time and then knocked again. The door opened slowly. One eye, one ear, and a nose peeked from the side.
    "Hello," I said. "I'm looking for Mr. Wrinkel."
    Nothing.
    "My name is Charlotte Figg." I spoke a little louder in case the ear was hard of hearing. I couldn't tell if I spoke to a young ear or an elderly ear. "I purchased the double-wide on Mango Street. I called and told Mr. Wrinkel I'd be arriving today. About this time." I'm not sure why, but at the end of each sentence my voice rose as though I asked a question. It