Tracking Daddy Down Chapter One The summer I turned eleven, my daddy, Earl Leon Wisher, took a gun and robbed the Henderson County Bank in Millerstown, Indiana. He did it in broad daylight with his older brother, Warren, and from what I heard, they never even bothered to disguise themselves. All they did was tie checkered bandannas over their mouths, so of course they were recognized right off. "Morons." That's what Mama said the day we heard the news. "Dumb as doorknobs--both of them." I didn't say anything at the time, but I figured Daddy wasn't as dumb as she claimed, because word had it him and Uncle Warren tore out of Millerstown that day with more than ten thousand dollars. And nobody had a clue where they ran off to, either. Nobody except me, that is, and I sure didn't have any plans to squeal on my own daddy. I'd already lost him once, back when I was in third grade and he took off for California, leaving both us girls with Mama. I wasn't ready to lose him a second time. I heard about the bank robbery on a Wednesday in June, right before my eleventh birthday. The day started out normal enough. I'd been out riding bikes around our town of Myron, Indiana, with my best friend, Ernestine, and my cousin, Tommy--he's Uncle Warren's boy. We decided to stop and play a round of double dare on South Street Hill. For riding bikes, South Street was the best--smooth and steep. It was my turn to make up the dare, so I gripped the middle of my handlebars, balanced my feet on the back fender, then wove from one side of the road to the other all the way down the hill. The faster I got going, the more my eyes bugged out with excitement. When I hit bottom, I jumped off my bike and sent it spinning to the grass. I lay panting on the side of the street, waiting for Tommy and Ernestine to follow my dare. But neither of them moved. They just stood at the top of the hill, like they were glued to the pavement. "I ain't doing it," Tommy hollered. "My chain's too rusty. It might come off." "Liar," I yelled back. "You're a sissy." I knew that would get him. Tommy acted tough, but when it came down to it, he never worked up the nerve to do half the stuff I did. Not that I'm bragging or anything. Mama always said I was reckless, that I didn't act like I had the sense God gave a chicken. "It'll be a miracle if you don't kill yourself with one of those daredevil stunts," she'd told me. I glanced up to see Ernestine whizzing straight down the middle of the street, her tangled red hair blowing around her face, her mouth working furiously on a wad of gum. She skidded for several feet before stopping. A pang of envy stung me when I looked at her new red bike with its padded seat and slick chrome fenders. Her rich aunt Myrtle from Washington, D.C., had just bought it for her. "Chicken," I said when she stopped. "Am not." "Are too. You didn't even ride the fender." Ernestine spit on her handlebars and wiped them to a shine with the bottom of her blouse. "That's because my bike ain't broke in good enough yet. I can't take any chances on it. My aunt Myrtle made me promise." "Can I ride it?" I'd been eyeing that bike for a whole week, but so far she hadn't let me or Tommy so much as sit on it. She claimed we might dent the fenders. "Myrtle says no, not till I've had it a month." She fidgeted with the red, white, and blue streamers hanging from her handlebars. "Well, it doesn't matter anyway," I said, acting like I didn't care. "Daddy's getting me a new bike for my birthday. He says I can pick out whatever one I want." Ernestine's eyes widened big as Tootsie Roll Pops. "For real? I thought he didn't have any money." I guess I could understand why she'd think that, seeing as how Daddy hadn't ever bought us kids anything except for a piece of candy now and then. Mama said he didn't have money because he couldn't hold a job. But ever since he'd come back three months ago, Daddy had been working steady at Ray's Auto Parts over in Millerstown. Plus, he'd told me about the good job he'd had out in California and how they still owed him a bunch of money. He said he'd be getting it any day. "What do you want, baby?" Daddy had asked me a few days ago, when I'd reminded him my birthday was coming up. "You want one of those big Kimmy dolls they got in the window at Clarksons'?" "Daddy, I don't want a doll. I want a new bike, one that has streamers coming out of the handlebars--like Ernestine's. Only I want a blue one." "No problem. You want a bike; you'll get a bike," he'd promised. "Soon as I get the money owed me. I'll buy the Kimmy doll for your sister's birthday." That would make Carla happy, for sure. She was only five, and she'd been begging for a Kimmy doll ever since we first saw them at Clarksons' Five and Dime in downtown Myron. I couldn't have cared less about the stupid thing. Mama said I'd always been a tomboy--which is why she called me Billie instead of Billieanne--and that I'd never played with dolls, even when I was little. All I knew was that Ernestine and I had lots more fun tromping along the railroad tracks or playing dodgeball with Tommy than we did brushing some doll's hair. I didn't blame Daddy for not knowing any of this, though. He'd been gone almost three years, and I figured he'd just forgotten the things I liked to do. Tracking Daddy Down . Copyright © by Marybeth Kelsey. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold. Excerpted from Tracking Daddy Down by Marybeth Kelsey All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
