flash flood. How long had she been missing?
“She’s not missing. She’s just…not here.”
Mr. Duong patted her rubbery shoulder. “Right. Don’t worry now,” he said, looking exceedingly worried. “I’ll notify the authorities.”
Mrs. Petrone leaned over the railing of her porch, calling Mo up.
“You think you’re a duck?” She produced a slightly hairy towel and rubbed Mo’s head.
“I’m looking for Dottie.” Mo swallowed down her rising fear. “I don’t guess she’s here?”
“I saw her run by a while ago, but I didn’t pay attention. That letter has me so distracted!” Mrs. Petrone shook out the towel. “Somebody already struck a deal-it must be those shady people in the old Kowalski house, don’t you think?” Mrs. Petrone broke off, noticing Mo’s face. “
“I’m not worried, I’m just…Yes, I am, Mrs. P. I’m really, really worried!”
“Calm down, catch your breath, that’s it. Now tell me, where’s that handsome father of yours?”
“I don’t know!”
Mrs. Petrone frowned, then crushed Mo to her coconut-scented chest.
“Poor dear man! He has so much to worry about, it’s not right!”
“I need him!” Mo’s words got swallowed up in the squashy soft folds of Mrs. P’s front. “He should be here!”
“With that red hair, she can’t hide for long! We’ll find her! Next thing you know, the two of you will be sitting on my porch having milk and pizzelles.”
Mo’s throat closed, and for a moment she was afraid she’d throw up. She dashed back out into the storm.
Mrs. Steinbott’s grass was littered with the petals of roses shattered by the force of the rain. No one home at the Tortilla Feliz house, or the old Kowalski house, and that left Da’s.
“Hello?” she called through the screen door. “Hello?” The rain pounding on the porch roof drowned out her voice. Mo turned away, then forced herself to pull open the door and step inside. “Hello?”
Mercedes’s head appeared around the living-room doorway. She wore another outfit Mo had never seen before-a flowered skirt cut like a frothy little bubble, with matching leggings and tank top. In her hands she held one of Da’s big black shoes. Her eyes rounded at the sight of the yellow tent planted in the hallway.
Though she already knew the answer, Mo squeaked, “Is Dottie here?”
“Mo Wren?”
Da sat on the couch in a beautiful lilac pantsuit, wearing one shoe. Mo’s eyes darted away. Mercedes must have been helping Da with her special stockings and shoes-they were getting ready for Cornelius and Monette’s visit. Neither said a word about Mo’s muddy feet on the clean carpet.
And then Mo noticed something else. Starchbutt’s pocketbook was propped up on a cushion beside Da, almost like another person sitting there. A guest of honor. Mo had been certain Mercedes would toss that thing straight in the trash.
“Never mind,” Mo said. “She’s not here, and you’re busy.” She spun away, but Da commanded her to halt, then demanded to hear everything, from Dottie getting in big trouble, to their terrible fight, to Mo falling asleep, to all the places Mo had searched.
“But she wouldn’t go far, not in this rain, would she?” Mercedes asked, then smacked her forehead. “What am I talking about? She’s Dottie.”
“How did she get in trouble?” Da asked.
“She…she took something of mine. I shouldn’t have made such a big deal out of it.” If only she hadn’t! “But…it meant a lot to me.”
Da’s face turned gentle. “That’s why she wanted it, Mo Wren.” She fingered the clasp on Starchbutt’s purse. “You’re the sun and the moon to that child, and rightly so.”
“I’m so scared! She went into the ravine, I just know it. She’ll get lost. She never thinks ahead. She never thinks! It flash floods and she can’t swim. She thinks she can, but…and if she makes it to the Metropark, anything could happen.”
“Give me strength,” said Da. “What are you waiting for, Mercedes Jasmine?”
“Right, we’re wasting time.” Mercedes ducked out of the room and returned wearing a cool jacket with a million pockets. She Velcroed her cell phone into one. “Let’s go.”
Mo stared. “You’re coming?”
“No. I’m going to a fashion show. Come on!”
“But…Cornelius!”
“Stuff Cornelius!” exclaimed Mercedes, and astonishingly, Da did not correct her. Instead she thumped her cane on the carpet.
“You find that child and bring her back here lickety-split, so we can hug her hard, then scold her within an inch of her precious life.” She thumped the cane again. “Oh, I’d give anything to come with you.”
Da struggled to her feet, and Mo knew she meant it. Toeless and weak as she was, she had the courage of ten Mos! Disgust with herself made Mo shudder. What kind of weenie was she, anyway? If Da could live with those stumpy mutilated feet, Mo could at least summon the bravery to look at them.
Da’s lap, Da’s knees, Da’s ankles. And then…Da’s foot, with the gaping empty places like sockets without eyes, just as painful and ugly looking as Mo had feared.
And Da was standing upright on them, all by herself.
“We’ll find her.” Mercedes kissed her grandmother’s cheek. She paused to let her eyes rest on the purse, as if it truly were another person she had to tell good-bye, don’t you worry.
Then they ran out into the storm.
Into the Storm
THE HILL WAS A WATER SLIDE. Hardened as the ground was, the rain shot off it in sheets. By the time they reached the Den, Mercedes’s beautiful skirt was a sodden, muddy disaster. She stepped out of it, then tossed it on top of the toolbox.
“That’s better,” she said. “Now I’m streamlined for action.”
They shouted.
“Dottie! Dottie! Dottie!”
“The rain’s so loud.”
“So are we.”
“Dottieeeeee! Dottieeeeee!”
Mo was so accustomed to being quiet in these woods, to making herself as invisible as she could, it was hard to force her voice out into the air. She imagined the mother fox, watching from her den.
“It’s my sister,” she told the hillside. “I have to find her.”
Mercedes spun around. “What?”
“Why was I so mean to her, Merce? All those times I forced her to wear underwear. And last night I locked her out of my room.”
Mercedes planted both feet firmly, the way Da did, which was a considerable challenge on that slick slope.
“Sometimes mean is the only way you can go. I should know.” She wiped her streaming face with the hem of her jacket. “And that reminds me. What do you know about that handbag?”
“I was keeping it. I knew it’d freak you.”
“You were right.”
Inside her rubber tent, Mo grew very warm. She flapped her arms a little.
