The Case of the Swirling Killer Tornado by John R. Erickson Page A

gosh, there’s one now!”
    â€œYes, and it’s all come back to me. I had just said, ‘We’re cooked, Drover,’ because we are now trapped between Sally May and a deadly swirling hurricane.”
    â€œOh my gosh, oh my leg, I’m going to jump out a window and get out of here!”
    He left the kitchen and went streaking into the living room. “I’m afraid that won’t work, Drover. We would be cut to pieces on the glass, so I’d advise you not to . . .”
    I heard a thump, then . . . his voice. “I did it, Hank, I made it through the window and now I’m outside!”
    I hurried into the living room, toward the sound of his voice. “That’s impossible, Drover. I didn’t hear the crash of broken glass. You see, windows are made of window glass, therefore . . .”
    â€œYeah, but the window was open and I knocked the screen off and here I am, outside. Are you proud of me?”
    Hmmmm. It appeared that this thing needed, uh, further study. I went streaking to the so-called window and found . . . by George, there was an open window in the living room, and it appeared that someone or something had . . . well, removed the screen, so to speak.
    â€œOkay, Drover, relax. The pieces of the puzzle are falling into place. You’re probably wondering why that window happened to be open, aren’t you?”
    â€œNot really.”
    â€œI mean, why would anyone open a window in the midst of a rainstorm? Most dogs would never figger that one out, Drover, but I happen to know the answer.”
    â€œYou may know the answer but I’m outside the house!”
    â€œHush, Drover, I’m about to tie this all together. You see, Loper opened several windows. That’s what you’re supposed to do when a hurricane is coming. Can you tell me why?”
    â€œHank, these clouds look awful. They’re green.”
    â€œLet me finish. When a hurricane is coming, Drover, you open one window to let it in and a second window to let it out. That’s why Loper opened the windows, don’t you see, and that explains why.”
    â€œHank, I hear something roaring.”
    â€œHuh? Roaring, you say?”
    â€œYeah.” We were quiet for a moment, and . . . by George, I seemed to hear a certain . . . well, roaring sound. “Hank, do hurricanes bark or growl?”
    â€œI don’t think so. In other words, no.”
    â€œDo they roar?”
    That roar was getting LOUDER.
    â€œDrover, we may need to cut this lesson short and . . . yikes, maybe I’d better get out of here!”
    And with that, I went flying through the open window.

Chapter Ten: Okay, Maybe It Was a Tornado

    Y ou’re probably wondering why Little Alfred had parked his stupid tricycle right under that window. I wondered that myself.
    It was very careless of him. I mean, suppose the house had caught fire and members of his family had been jumping out the windows. Someone might have landed smack in the middle of his stupid two-bit tricycle, just as I did, and gotten a handlebar in the rib cage, just as I did.
    Did it hurt? You bet it did.
    Kids are supposed to park their tricycles on the porch, not under windows and fire escapes and emergency exits, but the most annoying part of this was that Drover had jumped out the same window only seconds before and . . .

    How do you explain that?
    He’s so lucky, he doesn’t need brains.
    I limped around for a moment, trying to jumpstart my hearts and lung. It was that serious. At last, I got ’em going again and turned a steely gaze on Mister Ate My Bacon.
    â€œYou might have warned me that I was about to dive into the middle of a killer tricycle!”
    â€œWell, I was so worried about the hurricane that I didn’t think about it.”
    I stuck my nose right in his face. “Drover, if a dog gets killed on a tricycle, he doesn’t need to worry about a hurricane, does he?”
    â€œI never thought