The Classy Crooks Club (9 page)

“Jo, I thought you didn't tell her about the birds,” Betty says.

“I didn't.” My grandmother turns on me, her eyes full of steel. “Why do you think these birds are stolen?”

“The Internet,” I say again.

Cookie shakes her head. “Remarkable.”

I wait for someone to tell me there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for all these animals, one that doesn't involve my grandmother's being a criminal, but nobody does. “So these birds
are
stolen,” I say, letting that sink in. I can't wait to see the look on Maddie's face when I tell her I was right. Bird babysitting service, my butt.

For the first time I can remember, Grandma Jo actually looks uncomfortable. “It depends on what you mean by ‘stolen,' ” she says.

“I mean they don't belong to you.”

“Wild creatures don't belong to anyone,” Grandma Jo says. “They belong to themselves.”

“That's your excuse? I can't believe you! You're always talking about being a respectable lady and following the rules and how actions have consequences, and this whole time you've been stealing other people's birds and snakes and jaguars? If you want me to return them for the reward money, I am
not
doing it. That's—”

“It's not a jaguar,” Edna says. “It's an ocelot. Jaguars are much larger.”

“I don't care what it is! It's not yours!”

“Sit down and listen!” snaps Grandma Jo. “There's no reward money involved. You don't understand anything that's going on here.”

“Then explain it to me!”

“Sit down, AJ,” Betty says much more gently, patting the empty chair next to her. “We'll tell you everything. We promise.”

Betty seems like the most trustworthy person in the room, and she looks like she's totally okay with everything that's going on here. Maybe it's worth hearing out my grandmother and her friends, just for a minute. I sit.

“What your grandmother has here is a sort of safe house for animals,” Cookie begins.

“The so-called animal rescue league I work for is useless at rescuing animals,” says Grandma Jo. “They're stellar at throwing galas, but when it comes to taking action, they're absolutely abysmal. There's so much red tape that nobody ever manages to
rescue
any animals, and the poor innocent creatures languish in terrible situations while those cowards drink champagne and congratulate themselves on being so noble.”

“So your grandmother has taken matters into her own hands,” Betty says. “She uses the league to locate animals who live in stifling or unsafe environments, and then we help her liberate them.”

I think about the time Maddie stole a pack of Skittles from the cafeteria by stuffing them up her sleeve and assured me that she wasn't stealing, she was
liberating
them. This seems like pretty much the same thing.

“What kinds of bad conditions?” I ask.

“Most of these birds never left their cages before they came here,” Grandma Jo says. She gestures to a gray and red parrot on a perch near Cookie. “Lorna here lived in a cage made of two shopping carts welded together. She was kept in a dark corner, and she didn't have any toys or even a water bowl. Birds are very social—they need to play and interact with people, and they need affection. Right, Lorna?” She reaches out to the parrot, who hops onto her hand eagerly and climbs up onto her shoulder. Its needle-sharp beak is inches from my grandmother's face, but Grandma Jo seems completely unconcerned.

“Let me introduce you to my trusty knife,” says Lorna.

I scoot my chair backward as far as I can without being rude. “Why does it keep saying that?”

My grandmother strokes the top of Lorna's head with one finger. “Parrots can imitate practically any sound, as long as they hear it repeatedly and find it interesting. Lorna's previous owner must've watched the same movie over and over with her in the room. She can also do a creaking door sound and a very convincing scream. Can't you, my darling?”

“Why don't you love me anymore?” demands Lorna, totally out of nowhere, and against my will, I giggle.

“Okay, so you steal them and then you . . . what, release them into the wild?”

“Of course not,” Grandma Jo scoffs. “Don't be ridiculous. These animals were born in captivity. They wouldn't have the slightest idea how to survive in the wild. I find them homes in aviaries and captive breeding programs, where they'll be cared for by professionals.”

It's not like I approve of stealing people's pets, but this isn't nearly as bad as I thought. I mean, no matter how I personally feel about Lorna, it does sound pretty awful to live in a shopping cart in the dark. “How long have you been doing this?” I ask.

“Oh, for quite some time,” Grandma Jo says.

“See that portrait over there, dear?” Betty asks, pointing to the opposite wall of the storage room. I hadn't noticed it until now, but there's a big painting of a young woman with her arms around a German shepherd. “That dog was your grandmother's first conquest.”

“
That's
Grandma Jo?” The girl in the painting does look kind of like my grandmother, but I'm totally thrown off by the fact that she's smiling and wearing a blue shirt and a white skirt instead of a black dress. “How old were you?” I ask.

“Twenty-two,” Grandma Jo says. “That's Byron, God rest his soul. Our neighbor used to beat him, so the day we moved out of that neighborhood and into this house, I removed him from harm's way. And then I thought, why stop with one?”

“Wait—I've heard stories about Byron,” I say. “Did Dad know he was stolen? Did he know about
all
your animals?”

“Certainly not,” Grandma Jo says. “I began renting a storage facility for the other animals as soon as your father was born. I couldn't possibly keep my projects a secret with a child in the house; children are so indiscreet, and they draw so much attention. Byron was the only one we kept as a house pet. He and I were inseparable.” She gazes up at his portrait, and I swear there's actual love in her eyes.

All this information is making my head spin. Not only is prim and proper Grandma Jo a huge rule-breaker, she also used to have a dog she adored, just like I do. I've never considered that we might actually have something in common, but if Snickers were being abused, I know I'd do anything to help him, including dognapping him. What she's doing isn't exactly legal, but it still kind of makes me respect her more.

“So, you guys are, like, an animal rights society?” I ask. “That's what you want me to join? 'Cause I'm okay with that.”

“That's part of it,” Betty says at the same time as Edna says, “Not exactly.”

“This is ridiculous,” Cookie says. “The girl deserves the truth. We're not an animal rights society, AJ. We're a heist club.”

“When my daughter saw my calendar and asked why it said ‘HC' every day from three to six, I told her it stood for ‘Hobby Club,' ” Edna says. “She thinks we knit and play games and bake things.” Betty and Cookie start giggling, and Grandma Jo smiles tightly, which is the closest she ever really gets to laughing.

“Baking!” Cookie howls. “I haven't used my oven since 1975, except as a shoe rack.”

I'm having a hard time processing all of this. “So, do you steal other stuff, too, or only animals?”

“We all have our causes,” Edna says vaguely.

“We rotate being in charge,” says Cookie.

“Well,
most
of us rotate.” Betty shoots Cookie a slightly unfriendly look.

“Betty, you brought your situation on yourself, and you know it,” Cookie says.

“What situation are you—” I start to say, but Grandma Jo cuts me off.

“Enough! Right now, there's a gorgeous green-winged macaw languishing at Fran Tupperman's house, and we need to get him out. She keeps him shut up in the attic, poor darling. She thinks he makes too much noise.”

“If she doesn't even like the bird, couldn't you ask her to give it to you?” I ask.

“A bird is not an ‘it,' Annemarie,” my grandmother says. “Fran keeps Picasso because he can sing snippets of songs. She brings him out to entertain guests at dinner parties.”

“Nobody would go otherwise,” Cookie adds. “She's an unbelievable bore.”

“So, what would you need me to
do
, exactly, if I joined your . . . heist club?” Saying that feels really weird. This kind of thing only ever happens on TV.

Betty reaches out and grasps my hand. Her palm against mine is warm and soft and dry, so fragile I feel like I could break it if I squeezed too hard. “You'd be such an amazing asset to us, dear,” she says. “I used to do all the inside work—I could slip into a house and out again like a shadow, with no one ever the wiser.”

“She really was spectacular,” says Cookie.

Betty shoots her a grateful smile. “But I had to have this silly hip replaced last month, and let's just say I'm not as sneaky as I used to be.” She pats the walker sitting beside her.

“Knock it off, Tommy,” one of the birds contributes.

“So, you want me to steal the green-winged whatever? Why can't Cookie or Edna do it?” I don't even suggest Grandma Jo; there's no way she could be stealthy with her foot in that boot.

“We could certainly try,” Cookie says. “But there are so many stairs up to the attic. It would take us
ages
to climb them, and Fran would probably find us up there in the morning, still trying to catch our breath. But an athletic girl like you? You wouldn't even be winded.”

“It's an easy job,” Betty reassures me. “Edna will pick the lock on the front door and disable the alarm system. All you'd need to do is the snatch-and-grab.”

Maybe stealing a macaw would be super easy for
her 
; she doesn't have a history of birds breaking her fingers. Then again, this bird would be in a cage. If I grabbed it by the top and held it far away from my body, it wouldn't be able to attack me. “What will you guys do?” I ask Cookie and Betty.

“We're the lookouts,” Cookie says. “There's not a lot of foot traffic in Fran's neighborhood in the middle of the night, but we'll distract anyone who happens to wander by.”

As I'm waffling, my grandmother turns to me. “We could really use you, Annemarie.” She swallows hard, and I wonder if that's what people mean when they say someone swallows her pride, because the next thing she says is, “I would be very grateful for your help.”

Having power over Grandma Jo is such a weird feeling. I'm pretty sure I'm going to say yes—this really does seem like a good cause—but I can't resist being in control for a minute.

“If I agree to help you, can I have my phone back?” I ask.

Grandma Jo's mouth tightens into a thin line, but she reaches into a hidden pocket in her cavernous black skirt and pulls out my phone. It's disgustingly warm from her body when she hands it back to me, but I'm so happy to see it that I don't even care.

“And am I allowed to go over to Maddie's?”

“Joining us doesn't negate the fact that you betrayed my trust today, Annemarie,” Grandma Jo says. “What I said about leaving the house still stands. However, should you decide to join us, you will not be required to do chores, and you will begin training for the heist after your sporting rehearsals every day instead of receiving etiquette and sewing lessons.”

No more sewing? That's the best news I've heard in weeks. And if I do really well with the heist training, maybe my grandmother will actually see that my athleticism is useful, even if it's not as ladylike as sewing your name onto a pillowcase. Maybe she'll stop looking down her nose at me every time I go to soccer or mention my skateboard. Maybe, for once, I'll feel like the two of us are on the same team.

“That seems like a good compromise,” I say, trying to make my voice sound as grown-up as I can.

“Needless to say,” my grandmother continues, “should you decide to participate, we will require absolute discretion from you. If you speak of this to anyone else, I will know, and I will make you
very sorry
you let our secrets slip. Is that understood?”

Her tone sends a shiver down my back, but I look my grandmother straight in the eye and smile. “Don't worry; I can keep a secret,” I say. “Count me in.”

I
t's really late by the time Grandma Jo's friends go home, and I should be falling asleep on my feet. But I lie awake most of the night, hugging Hector the armadillo and mulling over everything I've learned tonight.

My grandmother is a crook.

All my grandmother's friends, including sweet blue-haired Betty, are crooks. Classy crooks, but still.

I
am about to become a crook.

Worst of all, I have to keep this information to myself. How am I supposed to hide it from Maddie? This is the weirdest, freakiest thing that's ever happened to me, and I can barely keep from telling my best friend what I've gotten her for her birthday every year.