Weeding Out Trouble by Heather Webber

but it does happen. This may well be one of those times."
    "You think?"
    "No need for snippiness." Releasing the branch, she forged ahead.
    Snow seeped down into my galoshes, absorbed into my jeans. Ask me last week, and I'd have said there was little worse than wet jeans. This week I held a whole new perspective on life's pitfalls.
    Though the jeans still ranked up there.
    "Sorry," I grumbled. "I just don't know what's worse. That he's been gambling for money or that I keep being duped by him."
    Her laughter carried back to me. "Teenagers are created to dupe parents."
    "Did Claudia ever dupe you?" I asked, referring to her grown daughter.
    "Ach. No. I'm too smart to fall for such things."
    I tried to step in the prints Brickhouse made. "Gee, thanks."
    "I'm sure it's not what we think. Talk to him before you accuse him of anything."
    As we emerged from our journey through the Mill's backyards, I decided not to think about it for a while. I'd deal with Riley later.
    A small Saturn, circa 1992, sat at the curb, idling. Thick, crispy street salt adhered to the car like dried out barnacles. Chunks of dirty snow clung to the car's wheel wells, and two inches of thick snow covered the hood, roof, and trunk like a wintry blanket.
    The passenger window rolled slowly down. Inside, I saw Perry leaning across the front seat, cranking the lever.
    Brickhouse and I gaped.
    "Where's the Range Rover?" I asked.
    "Get in, get in," he ordered. "I've been sitting here for ten minutes and the car won't heat unless it's moving. I've lost feeling in the tip of my nose! Hurry, hurry! I like this nose. I paid a lot of money for this nose."
    "Shotgun!" Brickhouse called, yanking open the front door.
    I rolled my eyes and pulled open the back door. The handle, also caked in salt, felt starchy and stiff under my fingers. I rubbed my hands down my pants and made a face at my damp, clingy jeans.
    I was seriously missing summertime.
    Perry air-kissed Brickhouse's cheeks but didn't ask why she was there. He shifted, the gears grinding. Tires spun as he stepped on the gas. The car spurted forward, then stopped, stalled.
    "The Range Rover?" I winced as the gears ground.
    "You wouldn't believe it," he said. The rosy color of his cheeks stood out against the black hat he wore. It had a large rounded crown and drooping ear flaps, and looked like he'd stolen it from the Red Baron's closet.
    The car lurched and I flew forward, almost ending up in the front seat. And I nearly got whiplash when the car died again, sending me backward.
    I fastened my seat belt, tightening it around my waist.
    Perry cursed a blue streak, banging the steering wheel. He ended his diatribe with a vicious jerk of the gear shift and the threat of, "Don't make me get out and kick your rotten, stinkin', rusty chassis," before Brickhouse reached over and turned off the ignition.
    "Get out," she ordered Perry as she opened her door.
    I watched in amazement as he obeyed. I'd never even heard him raise his voice before. He slowly walked around the front of the car as Brickhouse crossed behind. He wore a thick cable-knit Irish wool sweater, jeans, and a wool coat that hit him mid-thigh.
    Brickhouse sat in the driver's seat while Perry took a minute to stomp the extra snow off his Doc Martens before getting back into the car.
    "Seat belts," Brickhouse intoned, using a voice I hadn't heard since tenth grade English.
    Perry buckled in a hurry.
    "Where to?" she asked, sending a stream of wiper fluid onto the windshield to clear away the film of dried salt.
    I thought that maybe, just maybe, I'd never use salt again.
    I gave her the directions I'd memorized. It had taken Tam no time at all to track down Kent's address.
    Brickhouse started the car, revved the engine, and slowly pulled into the street, where previous brave drivers had left gullies to guide us through the snow.
    Perry looked back at me and smiled as though nothing out of the ordinary had taken place. "As I was saying, you wouldn't believe