A Fine Mess

Chapter Three

The next morning, Lyddie met Frank in the lobby as he was settling their bill.

"Wait a second!" he protested, stabbing a finger at the bill. "What's this charge for?"

"That's from supper last night," the clerk said.

"But it was just me and my cousin. What's this third meal?"

The clerk blinked rapidly, clearly surprised. "That was Mr. Smythe. He said you were covering his meal too. Seemed like he knew you, so I didn't question it."

"Right, Mr. Smythe." Frank's lip curled. "Yeah, I'm covering his meal." He dug a few extra coins out of his pocket and slapped them on the counter. He grabbed Lyddie's elbow and nearly dragged her outside.

"But, Frank," she said as they stepped onto the wooden sidewalk. "You're paying for his meal? He lied! He as good as stole from you." She couldn't believe he was just putting up with this.

"That he did," Frank replied through tight lips.

"If you want to go over to his house and pop him one right in the nose, I won't stop you."

Frank jerked to a stop and stared across the street, a grin spreading across his face. "Oh, I have a much better idea."

Lyddie's stomach fluttered as she followed Frank's gaze to a large covered wagon bearing a sign that said "Jasper Brown: THE DYNAMITE MAN!"

******

"If it can wait until the end of the month, I'd be more than happy to come out to the Lucky Star and help him," Brown said. "Might be safer having a professional do it."

Frank waved him off. "Mr. Brown, if there's one Carter who knows what he's doing, it's my father. Don't you worry. And we'll be real careful carrying these home."

Brown shrugged, wished the cousins well, and promised to see them when he came through Placerville.

Lyddie nearly had to run to keep up with Frank as he led her through the streets of Auburn. She kept one eye on the two small sticks of dynamite under Frank's arm the whole way. Her fingers tingled. Surely he wasn't planning on harming Johnny. Was he?

When they arrived on B Street, Frank pointed to a squat, ugly little bungalow that blended right in with all the other squat, ugly little houses on the street.

"That's where Johnny and his brother live," he muttered. "Come on and keep quiet."

They crept behind the Smythe home. There wasn't a backyard to speak of—just room for a pungent outhouse and an equally pungent chicken coop. She and Frank crouched behind a half-dozen scraggly wild-rose bushes as Frank laid out his plan.

"All right," he whispered. "This will take some patience, but it'll be worth it. You stand guard and warn me if anyone's coming. I'm gonna place these charges in the rafters of the privy and run the extra fuses out here. When ol' Johnny comes out to do his business, we light 'em."

Lyddie's mouth went dry. "You'll blow him to bits," she hissed.

"Not with these two tiny charges, I won't. I place them in the rafters just right, and that privy will fall down around him."

It still seemed like a terrible idea, but she supposed that Frank had helped Uncle Will in the mines enough to know what he was doing. And Johnny sure did have it coming. She giggled.