Maverick Mania Read Online Free Page B

and Leontine would answer it. That would give me a chance to dump my dinner back into the casserole dish. “How can they stop him from playing soccer?”
    â€œHe’s not eighteen,” Dad said. “I believe the law would still consider him a minor and under his parents’ care.”
    â€œI know there’s something mysterious about all of this,” Mom said.
    â€œDo you like the casserole?” Leontine asked me.
    â€œIt’s an interesting flavor,” I said. Interesting is a good nonspecific word. The casserole was horrible, in an interesting way. “Is that a new streak of green in your hair?”
    All it takes to distract Leontine is to get her talking about her hair or her clothes.
    â€œOh, yes,” Leontine said. “Me and my friends had nothing to do today, so we—”
    â€œMy friends and I,” Dad corrected her. “What you do is take away ‘my friends’ and see whether ‘I’ or ‘me’ works by itself. You wouldn’t say, ‘Me had nothing to do today.’ You would say, ‘I had nothing to do today.’ Then add your friends to the sentence, and it comes out, ‘My friends and I had—’”
    â€œListen,” Mom said from her end of the table, “I really did find out something that makes this a mystery.”
    She says that a lot. Last month, she was convinced that one of our neighbors—old Mr. Cardston—was a Nazi war criminal.The embarrassing part was when he caught her stealing his garbage to look for letters from other Nazi war criminals.
    Dad rubbed his bald head with both hands. He tells us he does it because the stubble itches where he’s shaved his scalp. But Leontine and I have noticed he only does it when he doesn’t want Mom to see him smirk at another one of her crazy ideas.
    â€œYes, dear?” Dad asked mildly.
    â€œOn my way to work today,” Mom said, “I drove past the Rigginses’ house. I took down their license plate numbers and got some of my police friends to check them out. I spent the rest of the day asking questions and learning everything I could.”
    Dad began to rub his scalp harder. “Yes, dear,” he said again.
    Mom was so excited about her detective work, she didn’t notice his lack of enthusiasm.
    â€œFirst of all,” she said, “the Rigginses moved here about thirteen years ago when Caleb was only three.”
    Dad whistled. “Lock them up.”
    Mom frowned at him. He smiled sweetly, like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
    â€œYou were saying...,” he said.
    â€œThe thing is, there is a weird gap in their credit record. It’s like they stopped living for the year before they moved to Lake Havasu City. How do you explain that? Then, when they resurfaced, they had a lot more money.”
    â€œMust be part of the Mafia,” Dad said. “I bet he used to own half the mob in New York. He moved here to get away from them and lives under an assumed name.”
    Mom looked at him with a thoughtful expression.
    â€œI was just joking,” Dad said quickly. “Maybe he inherited a fortune. Or won a lottery. There could be any of a dozen explanations.”
    â€œUh-huh...I’d like you to do me a favor. You have keys to the school, right?”
    Dad nodded. He looked like he had heartburn, but I knew he hadn’t touchedany of the casserole. So it must have been from Mom’s need to find a mystery in everything.
    â€œCheck the school files,” Mom told him. “Caleb is a year ahead of Teague—”
    â€œMatt,” I said. “Please, it’s Matt.” I live in dread of the day she’ll call me Teague in front of my friends.
    â€œCaleb is a year ahead of Matt in school,” Mom told Dad. “Surely there’s something in the grade school records about Caleb.”
    Dad finally sighed. “I’m not sure it’s right to do