THOSE FLANNIGAN BOYS is available at Amber Quill Press. The following is an excerpt from the book:
Comfort, Idaho might have been a quiet town, if not for the Flannigan boys, but that was the way of things. The town was located between Thunder Mountain and Lightning Canyon.
The boys lived with their mother, Rose, and father, Big Red, so-called for obvious reasons. He stood over six-feet-tall with flaming red hair as bright as a summer setting sun.
Red Flannigan traveled a lot, leaving the three boys in their mother's care. Unfortunately, he was away when it all began that Saturday morning in early June.
"Come on, you guys, hurry up," whispered Scott Flannigan, "before Mom catches us." He looked one way, then the other.
Matt and P.J. Flannigan followed their older brother out the screen door. P.J., as usual, forgot to close it gently. It slammed behind him with a loud, ominous bang.
"P.J.!" Scott and Matt shouted together.
"Now we're stuck," Scott added.
"I didn’t mean to," P.J. muttered, his lower lip quivering.
"You pipsqueak," Scott retorted. "Now we'll have to do yard work for Mrs. Bee instead of going to the river."
Just as predicted, Rose Flannigan opened the door and stepped out. "Where do you boys think you're going?" She propped her hands on her lean hips, always a bad sign.
Scott flashed his dimples, a gesture that usually softened even the meanest teacher at school. Somehow, it never worked with his mother. "Why? What'd you need?" he asked.
She shook her head and rolled her eyes. "You know perfectly well what you promised to do today." Rose tapped her foot as the three boys stared at the ground. "If your father were home, you wouldn't have forgotten, would you?" She pushed her light brown hair away from her face as she spoke.
"No, ma'am," Matt said, his blue eyes wide. Matt was honest to the point of pain, a trait that thoroughly disgusted his brothers. Even P.J., at the age of eight, a year younger, had developed a certain knack for creative thinking.
"We were just going there now, Mom," P.J. said, fluttering his thick eyelashes. Being the youngest, he knew how to take full advantage of his littlest-one-in-the-family position. Scott, tall for a twelve-year-old, watched him work his usual magic.
Rose smiled and patted P.J. on the head. "All right. Run along. I'll have lunch ready when you're done."
She closed the door. Scott kicked the bottom step saying, "Mom likes you best, P.J."
P.J. grinned in the smug way that thoroughly irritated Scott.
The boys headed for the cottage next door, consoled by the fact that their neighbor baked the best cookies in four counties. Mrs. Bibdidlee, or Mrs. Bee, as they called her in private, boasted she was the oldest resident of Comfort, Idaho. No one knew exactly how old that was or how long she had been there.
As the boys approached her house, Scott noticed she had a visitor. Gerald Grimes from the bank stood on her porch while Mrs. Bee stood just inside the open door. Scott frowned, wondering what the man was up to.
"I don't understand, Gerry," Mrs. Bee was saying. "There must be some mistake. The last time I saw Hector, he said he'd take care of the mortgage."
Mr. Grimes shifted his weight. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Bibdidlee, but he stopped making the payments a year ago. You owe the bank almost six thousand dollars. That's including interest."
Scott glanced at his brothers who were staring a hole into Mr. Grimes' back. The banker wasn't popular with the Flannigans. He'd refused to give their father a small business loan that would have kept him home. Instead, Red Flannigan had become a traveling salesman and was gone most of the time. Now Old Grimes was out to get their neighbor.
Mrs. Bibdidlee came outside and sank into a chair on the porch. She shook her head. "Are you doing this because I rapped your knuckles in the fifth grade?" She looked up at the banker, her faded eyes troubled. "You were always copying Joe McGully's papers..." Her voice trailed off.
"That was a long time ago," Mr. Grimes said, looming over her. "You have ten days to come up with the money, or I'll have to foreclose." He backed down the steps, bumping into Scott, who stood his ground and made the banker go around him. "Sorry, Mrs. Bibdidlee, but that's the law."
Gerald Grimes hurried up the street, scarcely acknowledging the Flannigans' presence.
"What did he mean by ‘foreclose’?" Scott asked.
Mrs. Bee blinked, noticing them for the first time. "Oh, hello, boys." Her snow-white hair was untidy, something she’d never have allowed under ordinary circumstances.
She must really be stressed, Scott thought.
"If only Hector were here," she muttered, twisting her hands in her lap. "He'd find a way out of this mess."
Scott glanced at his brothers again and shrugged. They'd heard a lot about Hector Bibdidlee since they'd moved in next door, but they’d never actually seen him. Most people doubted that Mrs. Bee's son would ever come home now, he’d been gone so long. Some even whispered that he might have met with foul play and was probably dead. No one really knew for sure.
"Can we help?" Scott offered. "Maybe we could find Hector for you."
Mrs. Bee straightened and looked hopefully into his eyes. "You think you could?"
Scott stepped forward, feeling big and brave. "We could try. Do you have any clues as to his whereabouts?" He'd heard that line on a TV detective show and thought it sounded pretty good.
Her shoulders sagged again as she shook her head. "I don't know. It's been such a long time since I’ve heard from him." She struggled to her feet and motioned them inside. "Come on in, boys. Let's talk about this."
Scott winked at Matt and P.J. and transmitted a message. He was sure they instantly understood their good fortune. Mrs. Bee had forgotten all about yard work, at least for now. They had something more important to do.
Stepping into her parlor was like entering the distant past. The hair sofa and cushioned chairs were plump and comfortable. Dust clouds rose impressively when the boys slapped the padded arms...when Mrs. Bee wasn't looking, of course.
Matt and P.J. followed Mrs. Bee through the parlor and into the kitchen, with Scott close behind. "Take off your hat," he whispered to P.J. His youngest brother stuck his tongue out, but did as he was told.
"Make yourselves at home, boys. I'll pour some milk.
Adventurers have to keep up their strength." She ruffled P.J.'s hair. He was the only one with red hair, like their father, while Scott and Matt were blond. P.J. also had freckles, for which he paid the price of constant teasing.
Scott wondered if they should go ahead and dig into the plate of sugar cookies sitting on the table. P.J. didn't wait, reached for one, and took a big bite. He grinned at his brothers, revealing the gap where two top teeth belonged.
Scraping a chair backward, Scott sat down and lifted a cookie from the plate. Sugar crystals fell onto his lap. He licked his finger, touched the crystals, then licked them off.
Mrs. Bee carried a tray with three glasses of milk. Of course, Matt had waited for her to offer before he took a cookie.
After she'd settled into her chair, she spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. "Now, what's our plan?" Mrs. Bee and the boys had always been able to talk to each other about almost anything.
"What was Mr. Grimes talking about?" Scott asked. Obviously, the banker was at the root of her troubles.
Her face creased into a frown. "He said the bank will take my house in ten days if I don't come up with a lot of money. Hector would help me if he knew."
Scott leaned forward. "Tell us about him."
An hour later, the Flannigan boys left by the rear door. They slipped through the hole in the fence and into their own yard. Rose Flannigan was hanging sheets on the clothesline. "Back already?" she asked. Taking a closer look, she said, "You're still clean. Didn’t you do yard work?"
"No, Mom," Matt said, "Mrs. Bee’s in trouble and we're going to help her."
Scott groaned softly. P.J. kicked Matt's leg, not so softly.
"Ouch! What'd you do that for?" Matt yelped.
Rose propped her hands on her hips again. "Why did you do that, Patrick James?"
He seemed at a loss for words. Scott knew they were in trouble when she called P.J. by his full name. They might as well tell her part of it. "She wants us to find her son, Hector."
"Dear me," Rose said. "I wonder if there really is a Hector...alive, I mean.”
Matt started to say more, but Scott momentarily distracted him by stepping on his foot. "Ouch!" Matt said again.
"Scott," his mother said, "explain."
Mrs. Bee had sworn them to secrecy. What should he do?
"We want to help her, if we can." That much was true, though his mother was probably among those who considered Hector Bibdidlee to be dead. The Flannigan boys wouldn't let a little thing like that stop them.
As if sensing that was all she'd learn from him on the subject, Rose sighed and turned to finish pinning the sheet to the line. She stuck several clothespins in her mouth and muttered around them.
"Poor Mrs. Bibdidlee. If her son was alive, surely he'd have come home by now. Or she would have heard from him." Rose dropped the wooden pins into her pocket, then lifted a pair of socks from the basket.
As she draped them over the line, Scott motioned his brothers toward the tree house where they always hatched their infamous plans.
"Lunch in twenty minutes," Rose called absently.
The three boys climbed up the tree, pushing and shoving until each had found a perch. They could see part of the town from here, though the pine trees on Main Street blocked much of the view.
Scott frowned, his dimples sinking deep into his cheeks. "Okay, Mrs. Bee said that the last she knew, her son was prospecting with a friend up near Hollow Creek." He smoothed the rough map she'd drawn and showed it to them. "Maybe we can get a lead on the friend. She says he lives on Bibdidlee land somewhere up there.”
The other two nodded, Matt's hazy blue eyes innocent and P.J.'s green gaze calculating. Scott went on. "We've got one more week of school, so it won't be easy to find time to investigate. We'll have to start tomorrow afternoon."
"What're we gonna do?" P.J. asked.
Scott leaned over to make sure no one would hear, especially his mother. "We'll take our bikes as far as we can, then climb the rest of the way."
"Didn't Mrs. Bee mention the big tree that got hit by lightning?" Matt asked. "The woods are thick up there. And dark." It was obvious he could picture them in his mind's eye.
"That's where we find the trail to Hollow Creek," Scott said, with a big brother's confidence. "Don't worry, I'll protect you."
"From what?" The question came from Matt.
Scott realized he'd said too much. It was time to change the subject. "I wonder what Mom's making for lunch?"
The mention of food was enough to calm any fears he might have stirred in his brothers. He needed their full support in this venture, especially since Mrs. Bee didn't want anyone else to know about her embarrassing dilemma. She said she'd always paid her bills and was proud of the fact.
They scrambled out of the tree and through the back door, stomping the dirt off their feet as they went. The aroma of Rose Flannigan's spaghetti sauce wafted toward them. Scott's mouth began to water.
Rose automatically said, "Take off your shoes," as she busily stirred the bubbling sauce. "Then wash your hands." Each boy slipped out of his shoes and lined them against the wall. They went into the small bathroom near the kitchen and cleaned up for dinner.
"Now remember," Scott said, "mum's the word." That was another phrase he'd heard on a TV mystery show.
"What does that mean?" P.J. asked.
Scott scowled. He was dealing with amateurs. "It means, keep your yaps shut about what we're doing!"
"Oh." The other two agreed solemnly. The three boys headed back to the kitchen where steam rose from the hot dishes on the table.
Rose waited until they were all properly quiet before saying grace. The moment she finished, three pairs of hands flew toward the food. "Stop!" she ordered sharply. "You're to behave like gentlemen."
P.J. snickered and Scott nudged him under the table. If his mother got mad, there'd be no dessert tonight.
"What was that, P.J.?" Rose waited for an answer.
"I said, please pass the spaghetti."
Later that night, when everyone else was asleep, Scott lay on his bed under the window and gazed up at the stars. He often had trouble sleeping. "Too much energy," his mother always said. Thoughts tumbled through his mind. Another week of school, and they only had ten days to save Mrs. Bee.
Searching Hollow Creek was a long shot, but he didn't know where else to begin. Was Hector Bibdidlee anywhere near Comfort? Was he alive? And would he be able to help? Mrs. Bee had told them a little more about Hector’s friend, Brimford. He lived on a section of mountain owned by the Bibdidlee’s, where Hector’s great-grandfather once operated a small gold mine. When Brim lost his family, he went crazy and began to think he was living back in the gold rush days a hundred years ago.
“It probably helped him to forget,” Mrs. Bee had said.
Scott’s door clicked open and P.J. came into the room. The light from the hallway traveled with him to the bed.
Scott propped himself on his elbow and watched his little brother's approach. "What's the matter?"
"I had a bad dream," P.J. said, climbing in beside him.
"Why didn't you tell Mom?"
"Because she wouldn’t let me watch scary movies anymore, if I did."
Scott groaned and scooted over to make room. "Okay, P.J., just don't hog the covers."
P.J. snuggled in comfortably and fell asleep.
Scott knew it was going to be a long night.
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