Full of Beans: Chapters 6–13

I remembered my resolve to be hard and shoved my newspaper-boy cap low on my head. “We don’t work for less than a dime,” I told Johnny Cakes.

“My good man,” Mr. Stone was saying to the old Conch man sitting on the porch, “you need to open the shutters on your house.”
“Why?” the old man asked.
“Because we want Key West to look hospitable.”

A small black creature with claws and a waving tail scuttled up the side of the house. “Was that—was that a scorpion?" Mr. Stone gasped, holding his hand to his chest.

In his version, the dull gray house had cheery yellow shutters, the brown of the palms was a fiery orange, the roof was a burnished red. The whole picture was bright and inviting like a movie poster, instead of looking like a tired old house hidden behind overgrown weeds.

“You need some people in there,” I told him, pointing at the canvas.
He cocked his head.
“Otherwise it seems kind of dead. Who would want to visit a dead town?”
“Very astute observation,” he said. “I think you might secretly be an artist.”

She would have been beautiful except for the big dark circles under her eyes. The red-faced, bawling baby in her arms was the one who gave them to her.

Mrs. Albury made the best divinity candy in all of Key West. It was chocolate and sugar spun into sweet little dollops that melted in your mouth.

“Try this on Dizzy’s bungy,” I told her.
She looked at it dubiously. “What is it?”
“Secret formula. My mother uses it on her hands, and it always works,” I told her.

Our last stop was at a house where we didn’t like to linger. It belonged to Nana Philly. The meanest lady in Key West. Nana Philly was notorious. She made grown men cry.

“What was in the bucket?”
“Dirty water from washing up. Maybe some blood and guts. I was butchering chickens for stew.”
Kermit looked stricken. “Blood? Guts?”

Mrs. Albury spoke before I could defend myself. “Your son is a lifesaver!”
“A lifesaver?” my mother repeated.
Mrs. Albury nodded vigorously. “He cured Little Dizzy’s diaper rash!”

“So, I’m impressed,” he began. “You have an excellent work ethic. Good help is hard to find.”

Johnny Cakes frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous. I just need a diversion. You set off a fire alarm and the whole town will be focused on the ringing bell. Then I can get my coffins of booze to the boat, and nobody will be the wiser.”

“But I can’t move all these coffins during the day. It’s too suspicious.” He looked at me. “So can I count on you?”
I wavered. This seemed different from delivering liquor. Dirtier somehow.
But five dollars was a lot of money.

“So, where’s your mom today?” I asked in a deliberately bored voice.
“Oh, she’s visiting my granny. She won’t be back home until supper.”

“What are you doing following me?” I asked in exasperation.
The dog sat on his haunches and wagged his tail at me, drooling.
“Go home!” I ordered, pointing to Curry Lane.

“What are you doing following me?” I asked in exasperation.
The dog sat on his haunches and wagged his tail at me, drooling.
“Go home!” I ordered, pointing to Curry Lane.

“Beans! Beans! Fire bell went off!” Kermit declared.
“I heard when I was out there doing my business,” I said, feigning surprise.

If I was a ghost, I wouldn’t haunt these shabby little houses. I’d haunt somewhere nice, like a mansion.

Kermit shook his head and swallowed, wincing. He looked a little pale. “This ain’t gonna work.”

My great-grandfather had been a wrecker. He’d salvaged boats that crashed in the treacherous Keys, and claimed the cargo—silver, furniture, silk, you name it.

My great-grandfather had been a wrecker. He’d salvaged boats that crashed in the treacherous Keys, and claimed the cargo—silver, furniture, silk, you name it.

“Well, she’s good at sewing,” I said, and pointed to a patch on my pants.
“I taught her how to sew,” Nana Philly told me. She sounded wistful. For a moment, she seemed like a different person.

To make matters worse, she insisted that Kermit swallow a concoction she whipped up for his throat.

Pork Chop gave me a look. “And you believed her?”
I shook my head in dismay.
Dot had Winkied me.

Pork Chop chortled. “Isn’t that a riot, pal?”
“It’s a regular work of art!” Ira said.
I had to agree: the artist had talent.

“You sure like painting houses,” I told him.
Avery dabbed watery blue under the roof eaves of the house.

He waved his paintbrush. “‘Come discover a hidden gem, Key West. Where the weather is balmy, the ocean breeze sweet, and the architecture unique.’ You would have a starring role as the Charming Local Boy.”

“I hear they’re going after the dogs!” Kermit said.
“The dogs?” Pork Chop said in disbelief. “Tell it to Sweeney!”
“It’s true!” Kermit insisted. “Mr. Stone says they’re a nuisance.”

“Luckily, I have an excellent solution,” he declared. “Follow me!”
Like the Pied Piper, he led us down streets and lanes, halfway across town.