CRISS CROSS, DOUBLE CROSS
Criss Cross Double Cross
Sophie * Alias Star Girl * to the Rescue
Norma Charles
Copyright © 2002 by Norma Charles
First Edition
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher or, in the case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a licence from CANCOPY (Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency), Toronto, Ontario.
This book is published by Beach Holme Publishing, 226-2040 West 12th Avenue, Vancouver, B.C. V6J 2G2. www.beachholme.bc.ca This is a Sandcastle Book.
The publisher gratefully acknowledges the financial support of the Canada Council for the Arts and of the British Columbia Arts Council. The publisher also acknowledges the financial assistance received from the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP) for its publishing activities.
Editor: Suzanne Norman
Production and Design: Jen Hamilton
Cover Art: Ljuba Levstek
Author Photograph: Brian Wood
Printed and bound in Canada by AGMV Marquis Imprimeur
National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data
Charles, Norma M.
Criss cross, double cross
“A Sandcastle book.”
ISBN 0-88878-431-7
I. Title.
PS8555.H4224C73 2002 jC813’.54 C2001-910160-3
PZ7.C3783Cr 2002
In memory of Suzanne Norman’s children, Hannah and Benjamin
One August morning in 1949 in Maillardville, British Columbia, the heat was already rising in shimmering currents from the dusty road. The whole summer day stretched out as long and hot and empty as a straight prairie highway in the middle of a heat wave.
Sophie LaGrange was sitting in the shade on the top step of her front porch reading a comic book about her favourite superhero, Star Girl. From just outside her gate, she heard loud barking and frantic squeals.
Trouble! Someone was in trouble! Star Girl to the rescue!
Sophie leaped from the steps and dashed across the lawn. She flung open the gate and a flurry of white fur exploded past her legs. A cat! Right behind it, with long ears and tongue flapping, loped a brown dog.
Running after them, Sophie yelled, “Get away, dog! Leave that cat alone! Get away!”
But the dog dashed past her, yapping at the cat’s tail. The cat jumped onto the trunk of an apple tree and scrambled into its branches, leaving the dog barking frantically at the bottom. Sophie recognized the cat. It was Gigi from next door. Her friend Jake’s cat.
“There you are, Bunny! Come on, boy.” A girl rushed into the yard. It was Elizabeth Proctor, who had been in Sophie’s grade-four class.
“Is that your dog?” Sophie cried over the barking.
“Yes!” Elizabeth Proctor yelled back. She was wearing a red ribbon tied in a big bow around her long blond hair to match her red shorts and red blouse.
Sophie smoothed the skirt of her wrinkled sundress.
“We got him just a few weeks ago,” Elizabeth said. “I was taking him for a walk. He has to have a walk every day, you know. But he got away and ran on ahead. I don’t know why. My Bunny is usually such a good dog.”
The dog pawed at the tree trunk and barked some more at the cat on the branch above his head. Gigi hissed back at him, her tail fluffed angrily.
“Call your dog off,” Sophie said. “Can’t you see that cat is scared?”
Elizabeth shrugged and pulled on the dog’s collar. “Come on, Bunny. That’s right. Come on, Bunny-boy.” The dog reluctantly left the tree but continued to bark. “That cat must have been teasing my Bunny. That’s probably why he started chasing it. Maybe if he had a drink of water he’d stop barking.”
“Okay. I’ll get him one.”
Sophie went up the steps and into the house. She thought Elizabeth would wait in the front yard, but the girl followed her right inside and down the hall, and so did her dog, his claws clicking on the polished hardwood floor.
The kitchen was hot and steamy. Grand’maman was at the wood stove, wearing a big flowery apron, frying a pan of chopped onions and garlic to put into the boulettes she was making. When she saw the girls, she smiled at them over her steamed-up glasses. “Bonjour, mes filles. Qa va?”
Sophie wished her grandmother wouldn’t speak French in front of her friends. They’d all think she didn’t know how to speak English. “This is Elizabeth Proctor, Gran,” she said loudly. “She was in my class at school. I’m going to give her dog a drink of water.”
Elizabeth’s dog tangled around their legs and barked at Grand’maman, who arched her eyebrows but nodded and continued to stir the sizzling pan on the stove. She wiped her sweaty brow with the hem of her apron.
Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. “What’s that...um...smell?”
“It’s onions my grandmother’s frying for a special dish for supper. Sort of spicy meatballs. She puts in plenty of onions and garlic, then lets them simmer all afternoon. They’re so good.”
Elizabeth sniffed. “Onions give my father indigestion. We never have them at my house.”
Sophie shrugged and put a bowl of water on the floor for the dog. He stopped barking long enough to slurp up the water with his long pink tongue.
“How come your bread’s all lumpy?” Elizabeth asked. On the table were four fresh plump loaves of bread with bumpy golden brown crusts.
Sophie shrugged again. “That’s just how it turned out, I guess. My gran always bakes bread for us on Thursdays. With all my brothers around, it doesn’t last very long.”
“We buy our bread at the grocery store,” Elizabeth
