The Mystery of the Zorse's Mask (9 page)

“He tripped and fell,” I say, giving the rubbery eyeball a flick with my finger to keep it wobbling. “Either of you get a good look at him?”

“When I looked for a face—” Becca sucks in a sharp breath. “There was nothing.”

“He wore a hooded cape or jacket,” Leo guesses. “He probably planned to rob the store.”

“Why steal secondhand clothes and junk?” Becca asks skeptically.

“There might be money in the cash register,” Leo replies.

“I'm glad he couldn't get in.” I gather the monster masks. “He's gone now and should we go too.”

After I return the masks to the costume table, we leave through the back door. The sun has slipped behind the trees, and the chilly air makes me shiver. I don't need to check my watch to know I'm late. I'll have to pedal fast to avoid the wrath of Dad.

But a thought occurs to me, and I point to the doorknob. “The intruder rattled the knob hard. I could dust for fingerprints.”

“Only if you want to get mine,” Leo says.

“Mine too,” Becca says, holding up her hands and wiggling her fingers. “There must be hundreds of prints on the door.”

“And the intruder may have been wearing gloves,” Leo adds.

“Drats,” I say with a sigh.

I'm disappointed about my lack of clues—until I spot something blue on the stone turtle's shell.

“Look!” I point excitedly. “The intruder dropped a pen.”

“It could belong to anyone and have been there for weeks,” Leo says.

Becca shakes her head. “It wasn't there when I lifted the turtle to get the key.”

“He must have dropped the pen when he tripped over the turtle,” I say, excitedly digging into my spy pack for my plastic gloves and a baggie. I slip on the gloves, then carefully pick up the pen and shine my cap light onto it. “See! This is a good clue. There's writing on the side.”

“What?” Becca asks, peering over my shoulder.

“I think it's a business logo.” I squint at the tiny writing. “Desert Sun Train … and another word that's faded.”

“Desert Sun Train what?” Leo puzzles, rubbing his chin.

“I can't tell,” I say, turning to Becca. “A train store?”

“We don't even have a toy store in Sun Flower.”

“I think it came from far away, somewhere where there's a desert.” I study the pen in the bright shine of my cap light. The faded word is short, only two or three letters.

“It could be from anywhere.” Becca slumps her shoulders. “But it doesn't matter. The intruder has nothing to do with the fly mask. He probably didn't even know we were inside the store. I wish we could have found the fly mask.”

“It might still be in the store,” I say. “We could come back tomorrow.”

Becca shakes her head. “That's my last full day with Zed. I'm staying with him.”

“Leo,” I turn to him. “Want to search again in the morning?”

“Negatory. My parents worked out a schedule so I spend Sundays with Dad. I don't know where we're going, but it'll be good to see Dad again,” he says wistfully.

“There's nothing we can do here anyway. The mask is gone,” Becca says. “Someone probably bought it weeks ago.”

She's right, but I hate giving up—especially when I have a cool clue.

I carefully seal the blue pen in a protective baggie and label it “Evidence A.” Not that it matters. Finding the intruder's identity won't help us find the fly mask.

Coming here was a complete waste of time.

Fly mask mission: fail.

Sunday morning, I check my email and there's an attachment from Leo with a list of local jobs for my father: a hotel concierge, postal clerk, pest exterminator, animal control officer, and mortician's assistant.

I can't wait to tell Dad about these cool jobs, so I run downstairs and find him mixing batter for berry-spice crepes. But when I show him the list, he isn't impressed. “Pest control? A mortician's assistant?” He shakes his head. “I work with food. Not bugs or animals or dead people.”

“But you need a job,” I point out.

“Thanks but no thanks, Kels.” He kisses my forehead, his eyes sad.

“At least keep the list and think about it.”

“All right.” The paper waves in his hand as he sets it aside on the counter. “But I'll find a job on my own.”

Will it be in Sun Flower? I want to ask, but if I do, then he'll know I overheard his conversation with Mom.

Dad goes back to cooking our traditional Sunday brunch, ignoring the paper. He'll probably toss it in the trash once I leave.

This did
not
go well
, I think as I slump to my room. But I'm not giving up until I find the right job for Dad.

In the meantime, I have a clue to figure out.

I shut my bedroom door and lock it because my sisters have a habit of bursting in without knocking. I set my spy pack on my bed, then unzip a narrow side pocket and take out the baggie with my blue clue.

It's important to always bag evidence. I slip on plastic gloves, then carefully take out the blue pen and place it on my desk. My fingerprinting kit and magnifying glass are ready.

The pen looks ordinary and inexpensive. It could be just a random pen, no importance at all. Or it could be the clue that leads to the intruder's identity.

I shine my desk lamp on the pen to study it. It's six inches long, with a dark-blue cap that's been chewed on. I deduce the ink is black by scribbling the word “clue” on a piece of paper. The printed logo runs from the bottom to the cap: Desert Sun Train … and a faded third word.

Lifting my magnifying glass, I try to make out the tiny writing. The first letter looks like it might be an
l
,
b
, or
d
. The second letter looks round and is most likely a vowel. I have no idea whether there's another letter or it's just a smudge.

For more info, I'll need the computer. But when I go into the living room, my sisters are already there, their dark-brown heads bent close as they giggle over photos—all photos of shirtless guys with six-pack abs.

When my sisters finally get off the computer, Dad announces breakfast is ready. The crepes are delicious.

When I finally sit at the computer, I run a local search for “Desert Sun Train.”

No train businesses, not even a train station. And nothing called “Desert Sun.” And why would there be? Sun Flower isn't near the desert. So I spread out my search to southern California, and the results include a newspaper and nudist colony in Palm Springs (hundreds of miles south). The closest hit I find for Desert Sun is a tanning salon thirty miles away. The faded word in the pen could be “tan” but that has nothing to do with a train. Still, it can't hurt to check it out. I try the phone number but get a recording saying they're closed on Sundays. (Why can't the rest of the world realize that detectives work seven days a week?)

Frustrated enough to throw the computer out the window, I power it down and grab a Frisbee.

A short bike ride later, I roll up to my grandmother's door.

“I was hoping you'd visit,” Gran Nola says as she invites me in. She's wearing purple tights and a black exercise suit, and her hair is pulled back in a knot. She teaches yoga but not usually on the weekends.

“Did I interrupt anything?” I ask, glancing around but not seeing anyone else.

“No, just working on my Shooting Bow and Dolphin Plank pose. But I'm ready for a break. I've missed you this week—and so has Handsome.”

“Sorry, I meant to come, but I've been busy.”

“With your new friends?” she asks, opening the fridge and offering me a chilled berry drink.

“Yeah,” I answer.

“Tell me about them,” she says, leading me into the living room, where we take our usual seats (recliner for her and couch for me).

Gran Nola is so cool. I can tell her anything—except secrets. So I tell her about Becca being sad because Zed is leaving and how Leo is so smart, he designs robots, but I don't mention the kittens, clubhouse, or CCSC.

“Poor Becca,” Gran Nola says. “It's always hard to let go of a pet.”

I nod. “At least when I had to give up Handsome, he didn't move far away.”

“And you can visit him whenever you want,” Gran Nola says warmly. “Keeping Handsome is a win-win for me because he's great company and I get to see you more often.”

“I don't come just to see Handsome,” I assure her.

“I know.” She hugs me, then hands me the Frisbee I set on the coffee table. “But I know you're eager to see him, and he could use some exercise.”

Playing with Handsome is always fun. I love the echoing sound of his bark and how his big tongue tickles when he licks me. After we play with the Frisbee, I take him for a walk. He tugs and pulls, so it's exhausting keeping up with him.

As we go up and down sidewalks, I keep my eyes open for lost pets.

You'd be surprised how many animals run off or get lost. Some are stolen too, which is the worst. Becca, Leo, and I recently solved a pet-napping mystery, which reunited lots of animals with their owners. Although we did it to help people, some owners insisted on giving us rewards. Most of the money went to buy food and supplies for our kittens, some was donated to the Humane Society, and the rest went into the CCSC treasury.

I always carry a list of lost animals. There are currently only three missing pets listed: Milo, a Manx cat; an African parrot; and an elderly dachshund named Ditzy.

When I near Sunny Slope Park, I see a cocker spaniel without a collar chasing after a squirrel. The squirrel scampers up an oak, and the dog barks at the tree. The dog's apricot coat shines like he's been brushed recently. I'm just about to go over to him when a woman runs up to the dog, holding a leash with a dangling collar.

“False alarm,” I murmur as the woman hugs the runaway dog, then fastens the collar around his neck.

Handsome jerks on my leash, so I jog to keep up with him.

When I get back to my grandmother's house, she holds out her phone to me. “For you, Kelsey,” she says.

“Mom or Dad?” I guess since they like to check up on me.

“Neither.” Gram takes the dog leash from me. “I'll put Handsome in the backyard while you talk to your friend.”

Curious, I hold the phone to my ear.

“Kelsey!” Becca exclaims. “Wait till you hear!”

“Hear what?” I learn forward on the edge of the couch. “And how did you know to call me here?”

“Your mom gave me the number. I couldn't wait to tell you—Devin called me.”

“Devin?” My memory clicks. “The assistant store manager.”

“Exactly. He apologized for mixing up the keys and offered to let us into the store today, except I said we couldn't.”

I grip the phone. “I hope you didn't tell him we picked the lock.”

“No way. He thinks we couldn't get inside. But I felt I should warn him about the intruder, so I told him we scared off someone trying to break into the store.”

“What did he say?”

“That it was probably a homeless person looking for a place to sleep. He felt so bad for leaving the wrong key that he said he'd bend store rules and check the computer for the fly mask. And guess what he found?”

“What?” I ask eagerly.

“The mask was sold to someone at our school.” Becca's voice rises with excitement. “The drama club has the fly mask.”

Chapter 11

Staged

Monday morning, my alarm shocks me out of a great dream in which I'm moving into a country home with acres of fields for Handsome to run, a climbing tree for Honey, and a rope swing for me.

I slam off the alarm buzzer, then yawn and stumble out of bed. Way too early for school but Becca, Leo, and I are meeting with a seventh grader named Frankie. Becca found out from Sophia that Frankie is in charge of the drama club costumes, and he's usually backstage in the auditorium before school.