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  Mango Thief   A Mango Bob and Walker Adventure   by   Bill Myers   www.mangobob.com   This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.   Copyright © 2023 Bill Myers. All rights reserved including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the author.   Version 2023.04.20    Chapter One   I was in my motorhome, parked in the vacant lot behind Taco Bell in Titusville, Florida. According to the web, it was one of the few places where I could park a rig as big as mine and watch a rocket lift off from Cape Kennedy just across the bay.   There were better viewing spots on the Space Coast, but none that I could get my RV into, unless I had planned ahead and reserved a site six months in advance.   I hadn’t done that, so my best option was the lot behind the Bell. It had plenty of room for my motorhome and as a bonus, if I got hungry while waiting for the launch I could walk across the lot and order up fresh tacos.   I’d been parked there for three days. Two days longer than I planned. The launch had been postponed twice due to high winds, but it looked like today might be the day. Or maybe not. The winds were still blowing.   There were six other RVs in the lot, all there for the same reason. To watch the launch.   No one had parked close to me or felt the need to come over and start a conversation.   That suited me just fine.   It wasn’t that I was anti-social. Just that I didn’t feel like making any new friends right away. It was nice not having to listen to strangers tell me things I didn’t want to hear.   Sometimes though, you don’t have a choice. When you're in an RV, people sometimes come up and talk to you whether you want them to or not.   This was one of those days.   I was outside, scraping bugs off my RV’s windshield when a woman walked by with her dog. She was about my age. Nice looking, but not in a beauty queen kind of way. More of a wholesome farm girl look.   The faded jeans she was wearing fit her well. The oversize gray sweatshirt hid the rest. Maybe on purpose. Or maybe just to fend off the morning chill.   The woman, busy with her phone, didn't see me. But her dog, a beagle mix, did and bolted in my direction. She had him on a leash, but didn’t have a good grip on it. Still focused on her phone, the mutt got away and headed straight for me.   By the time she caught up with the dog, he was at my feet, laying on the ground, belly up, wanting a pet. He looked harmless, so I bent over and gave him a belly rub.   Putting her phone away, the woman walked over. “Sorry, about that. He got away from me. Hope he’s not bothering you.”   “He's not. I needed to take a break anyway. What’s his name?”   “Biscuit. I’m Norah. With an ‘h’.”   I couldn’t think of a reason I’d need to know how to spell her name, but if it came up, I now knew to add an ‘h’ to the end.   “Biscuit? His name is Biscuit?”   “That’s what they told me when I picked him up at the shelter. Kind of fits him, don’t you think?”   Norah with an ‘h’, had just scored two points with me. First, she had a dog named Biscuit. And second, she’d rescued him from a shelter.   She pointed to an older motorhome parked near the back of the lot. “We came down from Knoxville to see the launch. You here for that too?”   “Yep.”   That’s how I answered. Just one word. "Yep."   I could have said more. Maybe tell her about the two launches that had been delayed or the menu choices at Taco Bell.   But I didn’t.   I just kept rubbing Biscuit's warm belly. He was laying there with a grin on his face while kicking one of his back legs in the air, like dogs do when you rub them in the right place. I guess I'm the same. Rub me in the right place and I'll shake a leg too.   Since my three-letter answer of 'yep' had done nothing to keep the conversation with Norah going, I figured she'd get the hint, pick up the leash, and carry on with Biscuit’s morning walk.   But she didn’t.   Instead, she pointed back to her RV again and said, “I think yours is the same as mine. A Winnebago Aspect, right?”   I looked over my shoulder to see where she was pointing. Near the back of the lot sat a motorhome like mine. A few years older, but the same make and model. Probably with the same floor plan.   It would have been rude not to answer her question, so I said, “Yeah, they’re the same. I guess that makes us twinkies.”   She frowned almost like I’d offended her. “Twinkies? What does that mean?”   “You know, Twinkies. Two of a kind. Like the cupcakes.”   Still frowning, she shook her head. “Where