Minerva Clark Gives Up the Ghost Read Online Free Page A

that I would automatically know where it was? Or maybe between the time Angus Paine first called me and the time I’d called him back, he’d found someone else to help him. Or maybe he’d just decided to forget it.
    Man, was it hot up there. The windows were wide open over my desk, but the air was dead still, a breeze the last thing on its sluggish mind. I pulled my hair up and tied it in a knot on top of my head, tugged off my khaki pants, kicked them into the back of my closet, and put on some jean shorts. I have a theory that the reason why jeans never go out of style is that you can fish them out of a dirty clothes pile and they are never wrinkled. They can pass for clean longer than any other type of clothing.
    I was just about to settle in with my rebus notebook when I heard someone clomping up the stairs to the third floor.
    Kevin!
    â€¦ who was not supposed to be in my bedroom at all, ever.
    The second day Kevin was my boyfriend Mark Clark came home from work early and caught us smooching in the TV room. My face was so red I thought I might give myself sunburn. Kevin leaped up when Markappeared in the doorway, then got one look at the paid-assassin expression on my brother’s face and made up an excuse about having to go home for dinner, even though he was supposed to be having dinner with us.
    After Kevin left, Mark Clark demanded to know if our mom had ever talked to me about the birds and the bees. The birds and the bees! Does anyone under the age of ninety even call it that anymore? I could not believe we were having this conversation. From the look on Mark Clark’s face, he could not believe we were having it either. Mark Clark was sweating, giant pit stains beneath his arms.
    We’d been standing in the kitchen. For some reason I was holding a can of refried beans. I was so traumatized, I cannot remember why I was holding a can of refried beans. I told him I needed to practice the piano and ran into the living room and started pounding on our baby grand. I haven’t taken piano lessons in five years. Then Mark Clark came after me and said I wasn’t allowed to have Kevin in my room. Never
ever
EVER. A week later, I found the can of beans under the piano bench.
    Now Kevin came over and sat on the other edge of my bed. There was nothing weird about it. Why Mark Clark was so hysterical, I don’t know. Kevin turned my rebus notebook toward him and took a mechanical pencil out of his pocket. Kevin is the kind of boy whoalways has a mechanical pencil (but not a pocket protector). He wrote:
    S
B
A
R
G
    â€œThat would be ‘Stand up for sbarg,’” I said.
    â€œHa ha,” said Kevin. “Too easy, huh?”
    â€œUp for grabs,” I said. “I think I already did that one.”
    â€œI just made it up,” he said.
    â€œYou probably stole it from me,” I said. I reached over and poked him in his side. He waggled his eyebrows at me. A smooch was most definitely incoming. At the same time, I heard a car door slam outside in the driveway, beneath my window.
    It was Mark Clark! It was Mrs. Dagnitz! It was some authority figure capable of getting me GOT—Grounded Off Technology—which meant no television, DVD player, computer, or cell phone. It was the equivalent of being flung back into the Stone Age, and should have been illegal, like selling children into slavery.
    I hopped off the bed, trying to be casual instead of hysterical. I could still see Mark Clark saying, “Never
ever
EVER!” This must be evidence that I’m not boycrazy, because I would much rather pass up a smooch from Kevin than get grounded for the rest of the summer.
    â€œHeyyyy. Come back here,” Kevin said.
    â€œIncoming ferret,” I said. I reached down and scooped up Jupiter from where he was hauling one of my Chuck Taylors around by the shoestring. I tossed him into Kevin’s lap.
    â€œToday some dude called me about solving an arson,” I