doggone luck!”

“Sounds like you got a sick little starter.” Wildcat pulled out his trusty wrench from one of his overalls pockets. “They always click their tongues when they don’t feel good. I’ll have it fixed in a jiffy.”

The von Bruinwalds all got out of the car, disappointed.

An hour later, they were truly on their way with a repaired starter and the car ‘running smooth as a kitten and purring like silk’ as Wildcat put it. It was a bright, sunny day, but not too hot. Their state-of-the-art ‘air conditioning’ - fifty-five miles-per-hour with the windows rolled down - made it comfortable.

Everyone was in a good mood, and all were looking forward to the sights that they were about to see. Baloo hummed to himself as he drove. He grinned over at Rebecca, who held Cassie on her lap. The toddler was fascinated by the passing scenery, lisping, “Twee” or “Moo-cow” every so often. In the back seat, Kit alternated between gazing out the window at the countryside and planning out their course. Molly was curled up in her seat behind her mother, reading a book.

Baloo grinned at Kit in the rearview mirror before breaking the long, comfortable silence with, “Ya know, you’ve had some humdingers of ideas, Becky, but this one’s different.”

“What do you mean - different?” Rebecca said suspiciously, eyes narrowed.

“This trip was actually a good idea,” he chuckled, reaching over to squeeze her paw three times, meaning ‘I love you’.

Rebecca’s face softened into a smile, and she squeezed his hand back.

Aridzona Welcome Center
Three Hours Later
11:30 AM

Weazel leaned against the front of his black Fjord in the shade of the brick welcome center. His eyes, concealed behind orange-rimmed glow-in-the-dark sunglasses, darted around the bustling parking lot. He pretended to read a newspaper while scrutinizing every tourist that came and went. Blazoned across the front page of the paper was “Treasure Map of Emperor Karat Stolen! Huge Reward!”

The welcome center was a perfect place for a secret, highly illegal transaction. It was located in the middle of the Great Usland Desert, miles away from any city, and most importantly, police.

The weasel swiped his hand at the sweat that was trickling down his forehead and glanced at his watch. Kazim was two hours late, but Weazel knew that he had to wait there, all day, if necessary. If Heimlich Menudo ever learned of his failure to retrieve the map, he knew that his life wouldn’t be worth the paper that that map was printed on. Menudo had contacts everywhere. He could orchestrate Weazel’s death, even from prison. In fact, two of Menudo’s masters of torture - Jerry the Nipper and Mickie Finn - were still at large. That terrifying thought alone kept loyal Weazel glued to that very spot, despite the sweltering heat and the utter boredom.

Weazel stared at a maroon Packard-Bruin over his newspaper as it pulled up beside his car.

The Packard-Bruin’s driver side window rolled down. From the interior of the automobile, an accented male voice said, “The rooster crowed...”

“At midnight,” Weasel replied readily. He retrieved a battered brown briefcase from his car and scurried over to the posh Packard-Bruin. “Do you have it, Kazim?”

“Please, no names,” murmured the canine, casually scanning the parking lot. “Do you have the money, Effendi?”

“Got it right here. All $200,000.” Weazel said loudly in a nasal voice that grated on Kazim’s sensitive ears. He thrust the briefcase through the open window, nearly hitting Kazim in the nose.

There was a click of a clasp, then a soft rustling as Kazim thumbed through the stacks of one hundred dollar bills. Pleased with his prize, he drew a folded up, yellowed map encased in a brown paper sleeve from his jacket pocket and handed it to Weazel.

“You’re sure that this is the original?” Weazel said suspiciously, peeking inside the paper sleeve.

“As sure as the hot wind blows across the desert. I don’t need to remind you that you must never reveal where you got this map, or speak about it to anyone.” Kazim ran a skeptical eye up and down over Weazel. “Or do I?”

“Don’t worry, Kazim. I’m a professional,” Weazel averred with a broad grin.

“Professional what?” Kazim said dryly, causing the goofy grin to drop from Weazel’s face. The weasel’s gaudy green suit and fumbling ways reminded him that it was becoming harder to find good lackeys. Aloud, he said, “Relate my best wishes to my friend Heimlich, Weasel.”

“Uh, that’s Weazel.”

“Whatever.” Kazim touched his fingertips to his forehead in a salute, rolled up the window, and exited the parking lot.

Weazel, cloaked in dust and exhaust from the receding maroon car, felt both relieved and nervous now that he had the treasure map in his possession. So nervous, in fact, that he had to use the restroom. “Good thing there’s a bathroom here,” he murmured to himself, stowing the map carefully in his pocket as he headed inside.

Meanwhile...

“Aridzona Welcome Center,” Baloo read as they pulled off the road into the gravel parking lot. “What say we stretch our legs an’ use the little pilot’s room, gang?”

Getting out the car, Kit squinted into the bright sunlight. “Whew, it’s hot! Almost as hot as that time when we were in Boomstone. Remember, Papa Bear?”

“No stones that go boom-boom here.” Baloo chuckled.

“Bring the diaper bag, Molly,” Rebecca said, “and I’ll change Cassie.”

“Got it.” Molly shouldered the big pink bag that was on the floor beside her feet, got out of the car, and slammed the door. “Lookee, Mom, they got a playground!” she squealed, pointing to the swings, slide, and merry-go-round. “Can I play on the swings? Please?”

Rebecca glanced at the small park area, which also had a few picnic tables enclosed in a small shelter house. “Maybe after we eat, Pumpkin.”

As the von Bruinwalds entered the restrooms, Weazel came out, drying his damp hands on his new pea green suit coat. He gingerly pulled out the brown paper sleeve and smiled at the map inside “Now all I have to do is get this map to Heimlich Menudo, and I’m home free.” He confidently strolled towards the exit.

Just then, two policemen entered the welcome center, causing Weazel to freeze in his tracks.

“Oh, no! Cops!” Weazel squeaked with fright. “And I’m violating my parole!” He looked at the map in his hand. “If they find this on me, I’ll be in prison for the rest of my life.”

Without further ado, he shoved the map into a nearby rack containing Aridzona state maps and brochures for tourist attractions. Then, he dove behind a trash can and breathlessly watched as the policemen made their way to the men’s restroom.

“‘Scuse me, officer,” Baloo mumbled as he lightly bumped into the panther policeman in the bathroom doorway. “The ‘Big Guy’s’ rumblin’ louder than a dumptruck drivin’ through a dynamite plant. What’s takin’ those gals so long anywhoo, Li’l Britches?”

Kit pored over the colorful brochures in the rack that was situated between the men’s and women’s restrooms. “Mom’s changing Cassie.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah,” Baloo said, leaning against the wall, patting his ample belly. “Wish she’d hurry it up.”

Behind the trash can, Weazel gasped in trepidation as Kit picked up a brochure and turned it over. The weasel sighed with relief when the boy put it back.

“See anything good, Kit?” Rebecca asked, walking from the restroom over to her son. Molly followed her, carrying Cassie. “Anything we should add to the schedule?”

“Nah. Just something about the world’s biggest ball of twine.” Kit grinned.

“That don’t sound very promisin’ unless you’d like to stringthe vacation along,” Baloo joked.

The cubs snickered at the pun.

When Rebecca started searching through the brochure rack, Baloo whined, “C’mon, Becky, the kids are hungry.”

“You mean you’re hungry, Baloo,” Rebecca chuckled, adjusting the heavy diaper bag that was slung over her shoulder.

“Hey, all that drivin’ works up an appetite.”

She smirked. “Then maybe I should drive. I don’t want you passing out from hunger and endangering the lives of our children.”

“Hardy-har-har, Rebecca. I just meant it’s been a long, long time since breakfast.”

Men are bigger babies than babies, Rebecca thought to herself. She plucked one of each brochure and map from the rack - including the treasure map - and stuffed them in the diaper bag to look at later. “All right. I’m coming.”

After the policemen had gone and the lobby was empty, Weazel casually sauntered over to the brochure rack and looked for the map. He nearly went into hysterics when he couldn’t find it. “Where is it? Where is it!” he murmured, grabbing handfuls of brochures and strewing them around frantically. He ripped the last brochure in the rack open - advertising the world’s largest ball of twine - and tossed it over his shoulder in disgust. “That lady must have took it! It must be in that pink bag!”

Weazel dashed outside with a pounding heart and a brochure stuck to his foot. He raced around the parking lot like a chicken with his feathers in a knot, searching for the bearess with the pink diaper bag. When he didn’t find her in the parking lot, he wearily slumped against the nearest car, thinking, I’m doomed!

Then, he heard a peal of laughter.

Following the sound of voices, Weazel skirted the building and came to the park. The bearess he was looking for was sitting at a picnic table in the shelter house. “Thank goodness!” he whispered in relief. He crept closer and hid behind a tall saguaro cactus that was a few feet away from the shelter house. Something’s real

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