TITLE: BEANBLOSSOM VERSUS BOMBASTIC BANDITS
GENRE: MG Mystery
Up until that fateful Friday the Thirteenth, Jacob Beanblossom's claim to fame had been the ability to fart on cue. But that was about to change.
Jacob dragged Old Man Fudgewick’s bratty Pomeranian down Main Street.
Everyone from the businessman with an overstuffed briefcase to the teenage girl texting on a hot pink cell phone gave them a wide berth because the dog yipped and snarled like it would earn him extra doggie treats.
The lady pushing the stroller with red-headed triplet boys checked for cars and, seeing the coast was clear, jaywalked rather than cross paths with the yapping Pomeranian.
Jacob tugged on its navy blue, rhinestone-bordered leash. “Calm down, Special Fella.” Every time Jacob said “Special Fella,” he cringed at the stupid moniker. But the only chance he had to be obeyed was to call the dog by name. Jacob eyed the black curlicue sign on the storefront ahead that read Madame LeChance’s Psychic Palace. “We’re almost there, Special Fella.”
Jacob shoved open the Psychic Palace door, wondering what quacks he’d see there today. As he yanked Special Fella from the sidewalk and into the waiting room, Jacob heard high-pitched classical music.
Anjali Sharma, the biggest nerd in the sixth grade, sat on the floor on a large dark purple cushion. She plucked at the strings of a weird guitar on her lap. She was probably here to find out if Madame LeChance could see if she’d get straight As for the rest of her life.
Special Fella growled at Anjali. She stopped playing the instrument and glared at Jacob and Special Fella.
“Get that dog out of here! You’re ruining the ambiance.” Anjali darted a meaningful glance at the ancient lady clutching a black and white wedding photograph in her tiny, age-spot dotted hands.
Jacob folded his arms and gave Anjali a smug smile. Apparently the know-it-all did not know it all. “We’re clients.”
Anjali’s eyes widened behind her huge glasses. “What?”
“We have the four o’clock appointment.”
Anjali took the weird guitar off her lap and laid it down beside her. She stood up and marched over to the desk with the phone. She opened the only drawer.
Jacob’s eyes bulged. “Whoa! Snooping in other people’s business, Miss Goody Goody?”
Anjali rolled her eyes. “I’m allowed. I work here.”
Anjali flipped open a notebook with fairies on the cover and ran her finger down the page until she got to 4 p.m. “You’re SF? What does that stand for? Serial Farter? Sir Fartsalot? Senor Flatulence?”
Jacob smirked and nodded at the Pomeranian who was sniffing the ancient lady’s shiny black shoes. “He’s SF. Special Fella. Since when do you work here?”
“Since Madame LeChance found out I learned to play sitar in India last summer. She thought it would add to the ambiance here. I’m working everyday during Spring Break, but I’m starting today because it’s an auspicious day.”
“It’s a what day?”
Anjali’s nostrils flared. “Auspicious. Lucky.”
“Friday the Thirteenth is lucky?” Smart people could be so dumb sometimes.