I So Don't Do Famous (23 page)

“Thanks.” I feel a little dishonest because I'm not giving any credit to Leah, but I really can't. Not if I want to remain credible.

“So, when are they planning the burglary?” Detective Garcia asks. “We'll set up surveillance and catch them in the act.”

“Sometime tomorrow.” I shrug. “Stef'll contact me to say they're on the way to pick me up.”

“To pick you up?” Detective Garcia raises her voice. “You joined up with them?”

“I infiltrated them,” I say proudly. “I'm your inside man, well, girl.”

“No, no, no.” She shakes her head, sending her ponytail whipping through the air. “When they call you, say you'll meet them at Kira Cornish's residence. Then my men and I will move in while you stay safe and sound in your hotel.”

I roll my eyes. “David will never fall for that. He'll cancel the heist. I'll fly back to Phoenix. You won't be able to connect with him.” Plus, I'm so not leaving the mystery in the hands of Detective Garcia and the Beverly Hills PD.

She folds her arms. A variety of expressions cross her face as she realizes she's totally backed into a corner. Finally, she puffs out a breath of air. “As soon
as you hear from them, call me. I'll give you my cell number. No delays. A police car will follow you to the scene.”

“I can even call you again with details once we're set up at Kira Cornish's,” I say. “I'm the lookout girl. I'll be disguised as a dog walker. So I'll contact you from the street.”

“Where's your dad?” the detective asks, her arms still crossed. “He needs to be in on this operation.”

“I'm out if he's in.” I cross my arms too.

The two of us face off, like we're in an old Western movie.

Finally, the detective's arms drop to her sides. I'm a teen; I have staying power in face-offs against adults.

“Look,” I say. “Nothing can go wrong. I'll call you before I leave the hotel with Lorraine, Stef and the others. You follow behind in an unmarked car. I'll call you again from outside Kira Cornish's house when I'm walking a dog on the street. I'll relay any additional info about the heist that I picked up during the van ride.”

“I don't like this,” the detective says. “You're thirteen.”

I wave a hand in the air, dismissing her worries. “But I'm mature for my age.” I think back briefly to other mysteries I've been involved in. This is the
safest I've ever felt. I even have police backup. “I've never been so well covered. Nothing can go wrong.”

Detective Garcia crosses her arms again. “Sherry, when you've been on the force as long as I have, you know there's still plenty that can go wrong.”

B
ack at the hotel, Junie's waiting for me in the lobby. So is Leah. “How'd it go with Detective Garcia?” they both ask, which is really weird given that Junie can't even hear Leah.

I give them the scoop. “Junie, I'm texting you Detective Garcia's cell number in case I have to call or text you to get in touch with her while I'm out in the field.”

“Take me with you to Kira Cornish's,” Leah says. “You don't have to deal with the bad guys all by yourself.”

“Thanks, Leah. I know you're worried about me,” I say. “But I have to be totally alone. I can't have a ghost by my side. Please understand.”

Leah sighs. “I understand. Your mom gave me some
tips for trying to cross thresholds. I'm going to go practice.” The smell of root beer disappears as she flies away.

I tell Junie what Leah's up to.

Junie finishes assigning a speed-dial number to Detective Garcia. “Want to check out the Marilyn Monroe stuff ? Here and in the Blossom Ballroom?”

The hotel has begun decorating for the Marilyn Monroe look-alike contest that's happening tomorrow. In the lobby, there are huge Marilyn Monroe movie posters on easels. A banner with details of the evening dangles over the check-in counter. In the ballroom, every corner has a white screen for presenting various Marilyn Monroe movies throughout the evening. The walls are covered with photos of her. There are still some gaps for more photos.

But the real place of interest is in the middle of the room. There are no chairs. There's no table. It's just a space. An empty space.

“The mirror must be going right here.” I tap my foot on the tile floor.

Junie stands in the space. “Weird to think that tomorrow night Marilyn Monroe might actually show up in a mirror. On this very spot.”

“I hope it works out for my mother and she learns something about Marilyn's death.”

We wander back to the lobby to look at the movie posters.

We're in front of the poster for
Gentlemen Prefer Blondes
, reading the caption:
Two showgirls, Lorelei Lee (Marilyn Monroe) and Dorothy Shaw (Jane Russell), travel to Paris in search of true love and marriage, 1953.

“I should write an article on Marilyn Monroe. I could write about tomorrow evening, about the ghost mirror, her mysterious death, her movies.” Junie's jotting down ideas in her notebook.

“I'll ask my mom for info for you too. She could write an entire book about Marilyn Monroe.”

“Sounds exactly like my mom,” says a voice next to me.

I turn. Standing by my elbow, reading the movie facts, is Mark.

I introduce him to Junie.

“Do you think Marilyn Monroe will show up tomorrow night?” he asks.

“Hopefully.” Junie sticks her notebook in her backpack. “Look at all the trouble the hotel's going to for her.”

“Do you believe in ghosts?” I ask him.

He doesn't respond right away, like he's really considering my question. “I don't know,” he answers finally. “I don't personally have any experience with a ghost, but I don't want to say a definite no.” He flashes a grin. “Will you accept that the jury's out?”

“Sure,” I say.

Junie's phone pings. She totally focuses in on the message. It must be from Nick. She starts thumb-tapping a response, then stops and glances at me and Mark. “This is going to last a while. I'm grabbing a seat over there.” She gestures toward the indoor fountain.

For once, I don't mind that Nick is texting her. I'm cool with a little conversation time with Mark Peña and my pitter-pattering heart. A bubble—like in a comic strip—blinks in my brain. Inside the bubble is one word: “Josh.” I shake my head and the bubble pops. If Josh can hold hands with a high-school girl at the mall, I'm good with chatting with a cute guy.

“Where are you from?” Mark asks.

I tell him. “And you?”

“Flagstaff.”

We high-five. “Arizona rules!” I say.

“You wanna get a soda in 25 Degrees?” Mark asks.

My heart has gone from pitter-patter to actually skipping around like a rubber ball on an elementary school playground. “Yeah, just let me tell Junie.”

I want to race over to where she's flaked out on a leather chair, but force myself to walk at a reasonable speed. “Mark and I are grabbing a soda at 25 Degrees.”

“I'll stay here. Text me if he turns out to be boring or whatever and you need me to save you.” Junie smiles. “But he seems really nice.”

Mark and I slide into a booth, order and start talking. And talking. And talking. We have literally tons in common. Video games. Funny movies. Stepparent. Pesky younger brother. We both didn't like Taco Magnifico.

Mark checks the screen of his phone. “Oh, wow, we've been talking for a couple of hours. I better get going.” He punches a few buttons. “You wanna exchange numbers? Maybe hit Ripley's Believe It or Not together? Or that Mexican restaurant you mentioned?”

I've just entered him on my contact list when my phone rings.

“You're the One,” by the Boyfriends, blasts from my palm. The ringtone that pumps up my heart like I'm jogging the mile in PE class.

Josh is calling!

M
ark heads to the elevator. I dash into the lobby to find Junie, who's scribbling in her notebook.

“Junie! Junie!” I wave my phone. “Josh called.”

She closes her notebook and slides it into her backpack. “And?”

“I couldn't answer. I was with Mark.”

“You gonna call him back now?”

The lobby is noisy with guests chatting and hotel workers moving Marilyn Monroe paraphernalia. “No.”

She stands and takes my arm. “Let's go up to our room.”

A breeze swirls around me. “Sherry!” my mom
says. “Sherry! Finally, I got a tip on how to lure Marilyn here!”

“What?” I say. I turn to Junie. “My mom knows how to get Marilyn to show up.”

“Artichokes!” my mother says.

“Artichokes?” I say.

“In 1947, Marilyn Monroe was crowned the very first Miss California Artichoke Queen in Castroville, California,” my mom says. “And since then, she's felt a connection to the thistle.”

I repeat the odd trivia to Junie, who immediately pulls out her notebook and writes down the info. “So, do you need us to find a grocery store and buy an artichoke by tomorrow evening?” I ask my mom.

“No, Mrs. Howard's taking care of it.”

“Mrs. Howard?” I gulp. “She's coming back out here?”

“Turns out she's a huge Marilyn Monroe fan,” my mother says. “You're doing fine, right? I checked the World Wide Web for the Dead, and there's not anything recent about you.”

“Absolutely everything's übercopa with me. No problems. Not anticipating any.” My arms are outstretched with my palms facing up, like my life's an open book.

“Mrs. Howard arrives tomorrow afternoon. She wants me to introduce her to some of the L.A. ghosts I've met,” Mom says. “So let's rendezvous in the lobby at nine.”

“Tomorrow evening, nine o'clock work for you, Junie?” I ask.

“Sure,” she says. “I'm excited.”

Fingers crossed tomorrow evening isn't heist time.

“Thanks for keeping your behavior squeaky clean,” Mom says. “I know Mrs. Howard can be tough. I'm just looking forward to you and me teaming up again.” The scent of coffee weakens as my mother floats away. “See you tomorrow night.”

Even ghost mothers can dole out the guilt.

Junie and I are the only passengers in the elevator.

I check my phone. “Josh didn't leave a message.”

“You want me to wait in the hall while you call him?” Junie asks.

“No, I need your moral support. I don't know what to say to him.” I chew on my bottom lip. “I mean, he was at the mall, holding hands with another girl.”

“Maybe he's ready to get back together?” Junie says. “Maybe a couple of hours with whoever she was convinced him that you're irreplaceable.”

Definitely a possibility. This could be the make-up call that will patch the holes in my heart. Then again, maybe he left a video game at my house and wants it back.

Walking down the hall, Junie shakes her head slowly, her red hair swaying. “Poor Josh. I bet he misses you so badly.” Her eyes are misty.

How very unexpected that Junie and I have
switched places. She's more romantic than me. Nick is turning her 4.0 brain to mush. She should've entered an essay on true love in
Hollywood Girl
's competition. What's next in my life? A fancy scientific calculator?

I flop down on the bed, my phone next to me. Despite all the scratches, its silver case gleams.

I stare at it. I want to call. But I don't want to call. My hands are sweaty.

Junie hands me a 7Up from the mini fridge. “If anyone can pull off this phone call, it's you, Sherry.” She fluffs up the pillows behind me. “You wrote a winning essay on love. You know all the advice Dear Elle's given for the past couple of years. You're überprepared.”