Special Delivery! by Sue Stauffacher

shattered the window. Though the window was due to be fixed, Mama was tsking about the way the shed looked when her nose caught something in the air.
    It seemed like everyone smelled it at the same time.
    “That’s stinky garbage,” Razi said, plugging his nose.
    “Mama?” Keisha caught up. “Skunk?”
    Mama pursed her lips, thinking.
    “How will we find Mr. Peters?” Keisha asked, trying to get her mind off the smell.
    “The honking will spread the word.…” Mama sniffed again. “There is something about that smell.…” Mama touched her long fingers to her forehead, thinking.
    Sure enough, an older lady in a plaid jumper and tennis shoes came over and put her hand on Mama’s shoulder.
    “I’m Mrs. Peters,” she said. “You won’t hurt it, will you? I’ve read terrible things on the Internet about what they do with nuisance animals.”
    Even though it was hot, Mrs. Peters hugged herself tight and shivered. “Though I have to agree, thatsmell … is one of the most unpleasant. Even the tea from my thermos smells like it now.”

    At the same time Mrs. Peters was talking, Razi tugged on Mama’s hand. She leaned over and whispered to him: “Where I can see you.” Then she looked at Keisha in a way that told her eldest daughter it was her job to watch her brother.
    Straightening up, Mama took Mrs. Peters’s hand in both of hers and said, “Fayola Carter.”
    Mrs. Peters looked into Mama’s eyes. “Jane.”
    “And Mr. Peters?”
    “He’s spraying the aphids off our mums.” Mrs. Peters put her hand up over her eyes so she could see the far part of the garden. “Not with poison, mind you. Just a strong jet of water.”
    “Where did you spread the flour?” Mama asked.
    “Over on this side of the shed.”
    As Mrs. Peters led the way, Mama asked Keisha, “Does this smell like skunk to you?”
    Keisha thought about it. Skunks had a smell that was all their own. It was a little like rotten eggs, a little like dead things.
    “Mama, look!” Razi was excited. “I found his hidey-hole.”
    No matter how many times Keisha told Razi it was called a den, Razi insisted that burrowing animals lived in hidey-holes. Call them what you wanted, Razi was an expert at finding them.
    “As you can see”—Mrs. Peters pointed to the evidence—“this is where we spread the flour.”
    Mama kneeled down and examined the tracks. “You see, Mrs. Peters? No toenails and only four pad marks. You’ve had a cat travel through here.”
    “We have dozens of cats,” Mrs. Peters said, laughing. “I’m not surprised about that.”
    Keisha noticed a few boards on the shed were peeled back and rotting, especially where Razi was on all fours. The entrance to the tunnel was not easy to see unless you were close to it. But when they bent down to look, Keisha could see that under the shed, the dirt was packed hard and the hole was wide.
    No cat was responsible for this den.
    She and Mama must have been thinking along the same lines because Mama said, “Wide for a skunk.” Mama pulled Razi into her arms and away from the hole. “Maybe a woodchuck. Have you been missing any flowers?”
    “Now that you mention it, Mr. Johnson lost a whole patch of petunias in one day. He thought the neighborhood children were picking them.”
    “Well, let’s take a look. You should be able to tell the difference,” Mama said. “If they are being eaten—” Razi broke free and squiggled farther into the hole. Keisha grabbed his hand. Grandma always said if you lost your trouble, Razi could find it.
    “Come and jump rope with me, Razi,” she said.
    At the same time that she added, “You can count,” Razi asked, “Can I count?”
    No one liked it when Razi counted because he losttrack and then made up the numbers. Even when he used the mechanical counter that Aaliyah kept in her purse, he would get distracted by a butterfly or a passing car and stop pressing the counter. Still, Keisha remembered they’d left the ropes in the back