I So Don't Do Mysteries (15 page)

I flounce down
the stairs and out into the sunlight.
I'm fuming at my mom. And fuming at myself too. I wanted to make up with her. But, oh no,
now it's worse than ever. I have a huge, hollow, not-getting-along-with-mom feeling in the pit of
my stomach. Again. At some point, we'll have to have a big, fatty, emotional talk. Arghhh.

And just when I'm wallowing in the major drama of it all, I spot something that
is guaranteed to improve my spirits. The Old Town Ice Cream Shoppe. A double scoop won't
fix my problems, but it won't hurt them either. And I could certainly use a treat.

Minutes later, I'm blister-hobbling down the avenue with a double scoop,
bubble-gum and cheesecake, in a sugar cone. A few licks, and I'm entering a less-stressed
space. A few more licks, and I'm ready to call Josh.

I plop down on a bench at the side of the road. See, I know my limits. There's
no way I can walk, eat, balance my phone and talk to Josh Morton all at the same time. So under the
shade of a tall palm, I fish my cell from my mini-backpack. And prepare for a chat with the boy.

He picks up in the middle of the first ring and sounds so happy to hear my voice, I
practically melt. A puddle of me + bubble-gum ice cream + cheesecake ice cream, right there on a
Southern California sidewalk.

Josh: You free tomorrow around noon?

Me: Definitely.

Josh: Wanna meet at Belmont Park? It's this little amusement park in Mission
Bay, right by the ocean.

Me: Definitely.

I disconnect and lean back on the bench, sticking my legs straight out and crossing
them at the ankles. The sun's starting to set, and a salty ocean breeze caresses my face as I
pop the last of the cone in my mouth.

Tomorrow is Tuesday. Tuesday. As in Twosday. Josh and Sherry. Sherry and Josh.
Tuesday. Twosday. The most romantic day of the week.

My heart beating loudly with love, I pick myself up off the bench and head for the
condo.

I push open the front door to the sounds of the TV. Walking down the pink hall, I
identify the show. The evening news. Must be Junie watching it.

“Hi, Junie,” I say.

From the pink couch, she jumps up, all startled. Junie doesn't just watch the
news; she zones out on the news.

I ask, “Where's Amber?”

She sits back down, glues her eyes to the screen and doesn't answer till the
anchorpeople break for commercials.

“She met a guy. She's on a date.”

“What happened to Rob?”

“His boss sent him out of town to cover a car show.”

“A car show?”

“Yeah. He'll be gone for a week. Turns out we were on to something
when we couldn't find his byline. He's a pretty junior reporter.” Junie glances at
the TV. Another commercial. “So Amber's lukewarm on him now.”

A week? That doesn't sound like it'd fit into the agenda of a rhino killer.
I guess that just makes Rob a rude reporter with a large forehead and too much hair gel. Now
we're down to Damon and Chef L'Oeuf for suspects.

“Amber's going back to the set tomorrow around noon,” Junie
says, an eye still on the TV screen. “You wanna do something together?”

“Sorry. I'm hooking up with Josh.”

Click
. The TV screen goes black. Junie squeals. “Cough up the details,
girlfriend!”

I am a
really excellent sleeper. I can crash anywhere. I can
doze way late into the afternoon. I can usually sleep through high levels of noise.

So I'm totally shocked on Tuesday to find myself leaping out of bed at the
crack of dawn. I glance at the digital alarm clock and shake my head. Nine thirty-two a.m. What is
going on?

And that's when I hear it. Loud, obnoxious squawking from Grandpa at my
bedroom window and loud, obnoxious squawking from Amber at my bedroom door. It's like
I'm in a pet store. Where the animals are revolting.

“Shut that bird up!” Amber yells. “Shut it up!”

Squawk. Squawk. Squawk
.

“Shut up!”

Of the two, Amber wins the Shriek Award.

Sighing heavily, I open the door.

All puffy-eyed, she elbows past me. “I'm gonna kill that freakin'
bird. I gotta have my sleep. I'm gonna kill that bird.”

Behind her, Junie stumbles into the room, hiking up her Mickey Mouse pajama
bottoms.

We owl-blink at each other and yawn.

Amber beelines to the window and tugs it open.

Grandpa screeches loud and high. He flies at the screen, then lifts up backward, kicking
his scrawny little feet at Amber. He's, like, totally teasing her.

With a push, she flips the screen out, shoving it down to the ground. Then she leans
way out through the open space, both arms outstretched, trying to grab Grandpa. “Come here,
you maniac bird. You wanna piece of me? Come and get it.” All mafia-like, she's
waving him in, her nail jewels glinting in the early-morning sun. “You wanna piece of
me?”

Grandpa coasts in close, hovers above her just out of reach, then drops a big, fat, juicy
one. Right on the top of her head.

“Ahhhhhhhhhh!” Amber's scream rattles the ceiling fan. Then
she's outta the bedroom and into the shower before the ringing in my ears has stopped.

“Sherry?” Junie says, a puzzled look on her face. “Is that the
same bird from the Wild Animal Park?”

“Yeah.” Crossing my arms, I stick my head out the window.
“Grandpa, that wasn't very mature.”

He flaps over to a nearby bush and cackles.

A sudden breeze whips up, carrying on it the smell of coffee. The grass flattens as my
mother skids in.

The corner of the screen pops into the air. “Can you help me with this?”
Mom asks, all nice, obviously wanting to get along.

“Sure.” I can be nice too.

Junie's as white as a ghost. Her freckles are so standing out, it looks like I
could pluck them off her skin.

“My mom wants us to put the screen back in.”

Like she's in a trance, Junie moves to the window.

The screen floats toward us. I grasp the sides, and Junie slots the bottom into the metal
track. From the outside, Mom jiggles the top till it slides into place, and Grandpa head-nudges the
screen sideways till it's gliding nice and smooth.

We're quite the little team. Although one of us looks like her 4.0 mind is being
blown wide open.

“Thank you, Sherry,” my mom says. “Tell Junie thank you for
me.”

“My mom says thanks,” I say to Junie, my eyes on her every reaction.
“I'm passing along the message 'cause no one can hear her but
me.”

Her tongue tip is poking out between her teeth, a signal that Junie is hard-core
processing.

Mom says, “Grandpa wants to meet on the patio.”

“Sure thing, Mom. Just let me throw on some clothes.” I open my
suitcase. “Junie, wanna join Grandpa, Mom and me on the patio?”

No answer.

The bedroom door creaks.

I turn around just in time to catch sight of Junie's Mickey Mouse butt leaving
the room.

I get dressed, then head down the hall to the kitchen and grab a Mountain Dew Code
Red from the fridge. My stomach's nervous-jumpy. I really thought I didn't care if
Junie believed me or not. I mean, I'm in it for my mom. But now that there's a little
sliver of a chance that Junie might join me, truly join me, in this strange adventure, I want it so bad.
It's like when you get the flu and your whole body aches. I ache all over with how bad I want
my best friend and me to be on the same wavelength.

I step out onto the patio.

No Junie.

“Over here, Sherry.” Mom's voice comes from one of the
flowered garden chairs.

Plunking my soda down on the table, I sink into the chair across from her. I pop the tab
and slurp.

No Junie.

Grandpa croaks, “Get talking, girls.” Or else it was,
“Pet-walking squirrels.” Or maybe, “Bet on mock turtles.”

No Junie.

Mom clears her throat. “You know, Sherry, I probably didn't always
make the best choices in life. Certainly there were times when I picked work over home. And if I could
redo that last shift . . .” She draws in a ragged breath. “I would.” More throat
clearing. “You and your brother are the best things that ever happened to me. And this time that
I'm getting with you now is really precious.”

I'm all teary-eyed.

And then I feel pressure on my shoulders. A hugging kind of pressure. My
mom's hugging me. And I'm feeling it.

I whisper, “I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, Sherry.”

Grandpa hiccups. His eyes glisten.

“We love you too, Grandpa,” I choke out.

The cushion on the chair smushes as my mother sits back down. “Have you
heard from your dad? How's Sam doing?” Her voice catches on my brother's
name.

“I guess Sam's driving Grandma crazy. She signed him up for some
lame math camp.”

“Sam and his math,” Mom says, all proud.

I roll my eyes. I am not up for hearing about the extraordinary braininess of my little
brother. So I launch into how we should investigate Damon when we're finished at the
restaurant.

Grandpa says something long and mumbo-jumbo-ish. I don't catch a single
word of it.

“I agree,” Mom says.

“What?” I ask. “What's going on?”

“The timing is too tight for us all to stay together. And I, um, still need your
grandfather to play navigator,” Mom says. “We think you should investigate at the
restaurant while we check out Damon.”

No, no, no. I want a teamwork day. “You said before you'd come with
me,” I moan.

“It's just not working out, pumpkin,” Mom says. “You
can definitely handle the restaurant. The main thing is to lay low while you're
there.”

“I don't want to lay low all by myself.”

“Chef L'Oeuf doesn't have a police record. He has absolutely
no history of violence. He's got a high turnover of staff, so he's used to seeing new
faces,” she says. “The whole restaurant situation is completely safe.”

“Even if it's completely safe, I don't want to go by
myself.”

“Keep your eyes and ears open. Do some snooping when the coast is clear. Is
there anything indicating the type of evening planned? Like decorations? Are there any recipes for wild
game? Any suspicious receipts?

“Whatever you do,” Mom continues, “don't draw
attention to yourself. Let's keep him in the dark about his potential-suspect status. We want the
element of surprise on our side.”

“I'm not sure if I'm coming through loud and clear.” I
turn up the whine. “I'm not going to the restaurant by myself.”

“Be there at three o'clock,” Mom says.

“I really, really, really don't want—”

“I'll go with you, Sherry.” Junie's leaning against the
patio door.

When the meeting's
over, Junie and I raid my
aunt's freezer. Over waffles and a boatload of syrup, I pretty much bring her up to speed on
the mystery.

“Sherry”—she pauses—“I'm sorry about
the way I've been.” Her face goes splotchy. “Paranormal elements really
aren't my thing, you know.” Her face goes splotchier. “But I should've
trusted you, and I didn't.”

I stand there biting my bottom lip, twirling my hair around my finger. Like a court-jester
Halloween costume, I'm two different things all at the same time. I'm relieved and
resentful.

I'm relieved because Junie's my best friend, and now we can be a unit
again, and she can help me solve the mystery. I'm resentful because she's been so
mean.

I bite my lip some more and twirl my hair into a knot.

She lunges at me, enveloping me in a big hug.

I'm all stiff, like wood. I want to scream “I told you so!”
Instead, I relax and hug her back.

“I will never, ever let you down again.” Junie pinky-promises me.
“Give me an assignment, something to investigate. I'll prove it to you.”

“Well, my next problem is how I'm going to get to all the different
places this afternoon,” I say.

“Piece of cake.” Junie counts off on her fingers. “Amber can
drop you off at the amusement park, then go to her movie shoot, then pick you up and bring you back
here in time for you to give me the scoop on Josh, and then she can drive us both to the
restaurant.”

Junie has seriously lost her mind if she believes Amber's gonna go for this plan.
This thought must show on my face.

“Sherry, trust me. It'll work.” She calls out,
“Amber!”

Amber waltzes into the kitchen. She's wearing her new halter dress. “Is
my breakfast ready yet, Junie?”

“Not exactly,” Junie says. “Remember the time you spent the
night at my house? Technically, you were grounded, but you snuck out the window at midnight to hang
with Sean Franklin's older brother. The brother with the motorcycle.”

Amber crosses her arms. “Kind of.”

Junie reels off the driving itinerary.

Amber doesn't say a word. She stomps to the cupboard, clatters a cereal bowl
onto the counter and dumps in Froot Loops and milk. Her jaw jumps up and down with each savage
chew.