B.B. Cantwell - Portland Bookmobile 02 - Corpse of Discovery Read Free Page B

way slowly downhill to a new stop edging Forest Park in
Northwest Portland.
    “I’m glad I
studied my Thomas Guide to get us to this new spot, ’cuz this pea soup sure as
heck-fire isn’t helping,” said Pim, never losing a chance to sing the praises
of the map book that she called her Bookmobile Bible. “But I sure wish the
siting committee would drive out to these spots before sending us to the back
of beyond. Look at this!”
    Pim was carefully
threading the big bus down a narrow street with just enough room between solid
rows of parked cars to squeak through if …
    “Nope, can’t do
it, hang on a second!” Pim clucked as she yanked on the parking brake, leapt
from her seat, barreled out the rear door, ran to the front and folded in both
side mirrors, then scuffled back to her driver’s seat.
    “OK, now I think
we can make it, but where we’re going to park down here, Jumping Jehosephat
knows!”
    Hester studied
the “Location Information Missive” that had been sent along by Dora, the
library’s bookkeeper and “Head Bossy Boots,” as Pim called her. Dora’s “missives”
were supposed to tell where it was OK for the bookmobile to park and turn
around at each designated stop.
    “It says
something in hieroglyphics here about ‘Horseshoe pt. OK 4 pkg. Posts hv. bn.
remved.’ But I haven’t a clue what that means,” Hester groaned as Pim came to
the road’s end. “Why does she have to write these instructions like she’s a
code specialist moving a MASH unit into enemy territory?”
    Above them, a
high, arching bridge soared above the park entrance and carried Thurman Street
to the upper west side of town. A walkway from the road’s end threaded beneath
the bridge and followed a stream reputed for its resident trout population. On
weekend mornings, the path transported legions of joggers and dog-walkers into
the huge wooded preserve, known as the nation’s largest park inside city
boundaries.
    Just ahead of
the bookmobile a narrow driveway led to a building with restrooms.
    “Well, this is
just dandy, folks, how am I supposed to turn this thing around?” Pim blustered
as the big bus ground to a halt. But not one to be daunted by any challenge,
she immediately ground the gears, inched forward and started maneuvering up and
back in what turned into a 16-point turn to get the bookmobile facing the other
direction.
     Only once did
Hester wince when a corner of the front bumper pulled a branch off a little
ginkgo tree “planted by Mrs. Rasmussen’s Third Grade Class in honor of the
Challenger astronauts,” according to a plaque.
    “OK, now where
do we park so we’re not in the way? I can’t really see a dang thing in this
fog, but it looks like there’s a sandy area there next to the restrooms that
could take us. I’m backing in!” Pim declared, jumping out of her seat to unfold
the mirrors again.
    “Aha, Pim –
sandy area? Could it be a horseshoe pit? I think I just made sense of Dora’s
gibberish!” Hester laughed when her driver climbed back in her seat. “And it
says the iron posts have been removed so we’re good to go!”
    As she steered
by the mirrors, there was a moment when the big bus seemed to stall, but Pim “just
gunned it,” as she liked to say, and the bookmobile bumped and swayed to a
resting point.
    Only a few
patrons found them this first day in the new stop, but Hester was happy to
check out a copy of “Treasure Island” to a shy 10-year-old boy and the latest
Thomas Jefferson biography to his father.
    Like a theater
curtain rising, the fog finally lifted. A cloud of blue smoke took its place as
Pim revved the diesel and readied for departure. Just as Hester opened the rear
door to pull up the portable step, she looked up into the smiling face of a
runner in an Oregon Ducks sweatshirt, his thighs sheathed in tight green nylon
running shorts.
    “Hester, what
the heck are you doing here?” asked a panting and sweaty Nate Darrow, the
police detective who lived