Sammy Keyes and the Hotel Thief (2 page)

THREE

I really thought it might only take a minute and that Grams wouldn't even notice I was late. I thought wrong. There were kids hanging around outside the Heavenly Hotel, peeking in the windows, but they didn't seem to know anything. And since the door was propped open, I just walked right in.

There were only adults inside, so I found a spot where I thought the policemen wouldn't notice me—right behind one of those pope-hat chairs.

Now I don't mind policemen. Actually, when I was in the fourth grade I wanted to
be
one, but that was before Lady Lana left me with Grams and I had to start worrying about someone finding out. When you're living where you're not supposed to be living, it doesn't take long to figure out that you should stay away from people who ask nosy questions, and believe me, policemen like to ask lots of nosy questions.

And you could tell they'd been asking this one lady lots and
lots
of nosy questions. The lady was wearing a dress that looked like it was made out of metal. It had tiny silver hoops all linked together that kind of shimmered when she moved. She had on pointy silver high heels and silver nylons, and she had really long fingernails that were painted black with silver moons and stars. Her hair was all swirled around on top of her head and plastered with so much hair spray that it didn't move, even though she was yelling and shaking her head back and forth so much that her long silver earrings were swinging around, practically hitting her in the cheeks.

I moved a little bit closer, behind another pope-hat chair. The policeman was telling her, “Now miss, please, calm down.”

“Quit telling me to calm down! I'll calm down when you find my money!”

There are two policemen taking the report, but I can only see the face of one. He's tall and skinny and has lots of white teeth and a stringy little mustache. He says, “You say it was four thousand dollars?”

“What are you, deaf? Yes, four thousand dollars!”

The policeman scribbles away in his notebook. “And why did you say you were carrying this much cash around?”

Those earrings start flying again. “I
didn't
say, and it's none of your business! Your business is to find out who stole it from me!”

Tall 'n' Skinny just scribbles some more in his notebook, then tugs on a corner of his mustache and says, “We'll do our best.”

She throws her hands up in the air. “That's
it?
That's all you're gonna do? What about fingerprints? Aren't you at least going to look for fingerprints?”

Before I can stop myself, I step out from behind the pope-hat chair and say, “You won't find any fingerprints.”

For a second, everything's quiet. Tall 'n' Skinny quits playing with his mustache, and the lady's earrings come in for a landing. Then everyone—and I mean
everyone
—turns around and stares at me. All of a sudden my throat's feeling kind of ticklish, so it only comes out as a whisper when I say, “He was wearing gloves.”

The second policeman turns around to look at me, and I just want to disappear.

It's Officer Borsch, the man behind my one and only experience with the law. See, he gave me a ticket once. For jaywalking. And it's not like it's so bad, getting a ticket for jaywalking, it's just that I thought it was stupid. So I gave him the wrong name. The wrong name, and the wrong everything else.

So there I am, staring at him, trying like mad to remember the name I gave him when I got caught jaywalking. And I'm thinking that maybe I
shouldn't
remember it, because he's staring at me like he's trying to remember who I am, and if I give him the name I made up maybe he
will
remember, and then I'll be in some major trouble, when the lady croaks out, “What did you say?”

I mumble, “He was wearing gloves.”

Officer Borsch says, “
Who
was wearing gloves?”

I try to shrink a few inches. “The man I saw on the fourth floor taking money out of a purse.”

The lady yells, “See!”

Officer Borsch squints at me. “And how did you happen to see someone on the fourth floor stealing money out of a purse?”

Now you have to understand, Officer Borsch isn't the kind of man it's easy to lie to. He's big. He's Mikey, all grown up and in a very bad mood. His hair's done with Crisco, and his shirt is so tight it looks like he's trying to press it from the inside out. On top of that he's nosy. Very nosy. When he gave me that ticket for jaywalking, he must've asked me a hundred questions that didn't have a thing to do with jaywalking. And I thought I was so smart, answering every single one of them with a lie. I remember throwing the ticket away in a Dumpster, feeling like I'd just hit a home run, and now here I was—face to face with the Borsch-man, on the verge of getting thrown into Juvenile Hall.

“I asked you a question!”

“Huh? Oh! Ummmmmm...” I look around and can tell—everyone knows I'm trying to think up a lie. So I blurt out, “I saw him through binoculars.”

“Binoculars?” he says. “From where?”

I try to sound real calm. “From across the street.”

Officer Borsch squints even harder. “You want to tell me you could see someone clear up on the fourth floor from across the street?”

I nod and he blows air out of his mouth like a deflating balloon.

“Leave her alone!” The lady moves in a little closer to me. “Go ahead, honey, tell me what you saw.”

I look at her for a minute, thinking that four thousand dollars is an awful lot of money and that if it were mine, I sure would want it back. Finally I say, “I was visiting my grandmother in the Senior Highrise. I was bored, so I started looking around with binoculars and I saw some guy taking money out of a purse.”

She grabs me by the shoulders and I can feel her little fingernail galaxies digging into my back. “When? When did you see this?”

“About an hour ago.”

She yells at Tall 'n' Skinny, “What did I tell you?” then turns back to me. “And honey, what did this man look like?”

“He had brown hair and a brown beard, and he was wearing black gloves and a black jacket.”

Officer Borsch pushes the lady aside. “Was he tall, was he short?”

“Kind of medium.”

“What kind of jacket was it?”

“It was straight with big pockets.”

“What do you mean, ‘straight'?” he asks.

“You know—it wasn't puffy, it was straight.”

“Heavy?”

“Kind of medium.”

He shakes his head. “‘Kind of medium'—oh that's a real good description.”

Well, let me tell you, I didn't like the way he was rolling his eyes and talking down to me. He was treating me like a stupid little kid, and I'm not a stupid little kid. So when he sighs and says, “Could you at least tell me, was he skinny or fat?” I point to Tall 'n' Skinny and say, “Well, he wasn't as skinny as him...” then I point to the Borsch-man, “...and he sure wasn't as fat as you.”

The lady just busts up, but Officer Borsch doesn't think it's too funny. His neck gets kind of red and he puts his face right next to mine. “Look, little girl, we've had five burglaries in this vicinity in the past two weeks. We don't have time for your wisecracks. If you know something, tell us. If you don't, or if you're just making all this up, then go home to your mommy and let us do our work.”

The lady steps in. “Honey, how old do you think he was?”

Now I'm okay at guessing some things, but age is not one of them. “I don't know, maybe...forty?”

Officer Borsch mumbles, “Kind of medium, huh?” and then laughs like he's the funniest guy in the building. He clears his throat. “Look, we'll get your name and number and if we have any further questions we'll just call you.”

There goes my heart again, knocking away in my chest. “I've told you everything I can think of.” Except, I'm thinking, the fact that it feels like I've seen the guy somewhere before.

Tall 'n' Skinny flips open his notebook. “Well, just in case, let's get your name and address.”

Great. And I'm thinking, How do I get myself into these things? when out of my mouth pops, “Samantha Keyes, six three seven five East Jasmine.”

Now if they were thinking at all, they would've taken one look at me and known—there's no way I live on East Jasmine. East Jasmine is where they have two houses to a block. East Jasmine is where they have gates in front of their driveways and riding mowers for their lawns. East Jasmine is where people from out of town go just to gawk.

And 6375 East Jasmine is where Marissa lives.

Tall 'n' Skinny doesn't even blink. He just scribbles it down and says, “Very good. We'll contact you if we need you.”

So I say to the lady, “I hope you get your money back,” and then head out the door.

One of the kids outside calls, “Hey, what's going on in there?”

I shrug, “Just a burglary.” And I'm about to jaywalk across the street when I glance back at the Heavenly and see Officer Borsch watching me through the doorway.

I stop and head down to the intersection, because I can tell—Officer Borsch is not going to sleep well until he remembers just exactly where he's run into me before.

FOUR

Grams was mad all right. She made me eat cold fish and rice, and wouldn't let me get up from the table until I'd eaten every single cold pea rolling around on my plate. Normally I would've just slipped Dorito some of the fish and shoved the peas in my napkin, but Grams sat right across from me and I knew from the way she wasn't saying anything that it was a bad time to get caught using Dorito as a garbage disposal. On top of that, while I was choking down cold food she ate every last crumb of a big piece of pound cake. When I finished my dinner and asked for some, all she said was, “It's time for you to go to bed.”

So I headed for the couch. The couch is actually pretty comfortable, and it beats sleeping on the floor or with Grams. I tried sleeping with Grams when I first moved in because I was having so many bad dreams. Trouble is, she snores so loud that I wasn't getting any sleep, so I finally started using the couch. I still get bad dreams once in a while, so sometimes I go in and listen to Grams snore, but most of the time the couch and I get along just fine.

And you might think that I'd have bad dreams after waving at the guy in the Heavenly Hotel and running into Officer Borsch, but I didn't. I slept like a log. I might even have snored.

In the morning when I woke up I thought about everything that had happened, and decided there was no way the guy at the Heavenly Hotel could know who I was. With those binoculars in front of my face and my hair pulled back in a ponytail like it was, I could've been anyone. He might even have thought I was an old person. I mean, if he knew anything about my Grams' building, that's what he'd think.

So there I was, lying on the couch, feeling pretty good, when the phone rings. Grams comes scooting out of her room in her robe and slippers and picks it up, and I can tell from the way she's talking that it's Lady Lana on the other end. So much for feeling good. After about five minutes of keeping her voice down, Grams covers up the phone and says, “Samantha, it's your mother. She'd really like to talk to you.”

Normally I would've given Grams an argument, but seeing how I'd upset her so much the night before, I just went into the kitchen and took the phone.

Lady Lana starts gushing about how much she loves me and misses me and how she can't wait to see me again, but she's
so
close to landing a part in a major motion picture and has to stay just a little while longer. And the whole time she's talking I'm thinking that it's been over a year since she dumped me with Grams and told me she'd be back “soon.” I really wanted to hang up on her like I usually do, but that upsets Grams, so I just stood there, counting the loops in the phone cord, not saying much.

When Lady Lana finally got off the phone, I went back to the couch and sat with the blanket wrapped all around me. Grams sits beside me and says real quiet, “I'm sorry about last night.”

“Me too.”

After a minute, she sighs. “You know your mother means well...”

“I just want to forget about her, okay?”

Grams is quiet for a little while, then perks up and says, “Say! It's your first day of junior high school—how about French toast for breakfast?”

I say, “Sure!” and while I'm getting ready for school Grams makes me French toast out of
pound cake
. It was the best French toast I'd ever had, and by the time I left for school I'd forgotten all about Lady Lana's phone call. Well, almost anyway.

*                  *                  *

Marissa was already waiting at the top of the school steps. I waved at her and ran up to meet her.

She pulls me aside and whispers, “This place is a zoo! I can't believe how many people are here.”

We stand there a minute, watching everyone talking and laughing and moving like they know where they're going. Finally I look at Marissa and say, “Wow...”

“I know! And I don't see anybody I recognize, do you?”

I shake my head. “Maybe we should go find our homeroom.”

We pull out our schedules and Marissa says, “B-2. I don't even remember where the B block is, do you?”

I didn't. Everything looked completely different when we'd come down to check it out on our own. There hadn't been any
people
.

So we walked around in circles for a while and finally I said, “I haven't got a clue. Let's just ask someone, okay?”

Out of all the people walking around William Rose Junior High School that day, Marissa picks a girl with hair the color of fire and says, “Let's go ask her.”

The girl looked like an eighth-grader, and from the way she was talking with the guy standing next to her, she seemed real comfortable being in a tidal wave of students. So Marissa was right—she probably knew exactly where B-2 was. I just would never have picked her because she looked, well, snotty. Partly it was the color she'd dyed her hair. Partly it was the earrings—she had five studs in each ear and a group of rings looped over the tops. Mostly, though, it was the way she looked at us when we walked over. Like we were kicking sand in her corner of the beach.

I almost grabbed Marissa and suggested we find someone else, but before I knew it she was saying, “Excuse me. Do either of you know where B-2 is?”

At first Firehead just snubs us, but then she notices my shoes. And she laughs. “High-tops? What are you, straight from elementary school?”

I stare at her a minute and can feel my face getting really hot. How can someone who decorates her ears like a Christmas tree have the nerve to make fun of my high- tops? And I'm about to tell her to keep her snotty thoughts to herself when the guy she's standing next to says, “Hey...aren't you Brandon McKenze's cousin?”

Marissa smiles at him. “Yeah, I am. Who are you?”

“I'm Taylor Briggs. My brother and him are best friends. You don't remember me? I was at his pool party this summer.”

Marissa blinks a bit, then says, “Sorry, there were so many people there…”

“That's all right.” He takes her schedule and says, “What room are you looking for?”

“B-2. It's our homeroom.”

Now while Taylor's talking to Marissa, Firehead's getting real roasty around the collar. And when he's done telling us how to get to B-2, she glares at us, then throws her nose in the air and goes back to talking to Taylor.

When we're far enough away I say, “Wow! She was scary!”

Marissa laughs. “You're not kidding!” And we hurry off to find B-2.

Our homeroom teacher, Mrs. Ambler, was already in the classroom, rearranging things on her desk. The bell rings and she looks up at the clock, then smiles at us and says, “We still have one more bell. Go ahead and find yourselves seats.”

We find a couple of seats near the back, and I say to Marissa, “I've been wanting to tell you about what happened yesterday.”

Marissa checks out the people around her. “Oh yeah? What?”

Kids are piling into the classroom, and since I don't want anyone else to hear, I whisper, “You know the Heavenly Hotel?”

Just then the tardy bell rings and Mrs. Ambler calls, “Find a desk. You'll have assigned seats by the end of the week, but for now sit where you like.”

So we're looking around at everyone scrambling for a seat near the back, when who walks in the door? Firehead.

I nudge Marissa. “Look!”

At first I thought she was there to deliver a message or something, but when she sits at a desk kitty-corner from me it hits me—she's no snot-nosed eighth-grader. She's a snot-nosed seventh-grader.

I must have been staring, because she turns around and says, “What are you looking at?” Then she eyes my shoes and says, “You freak.”

Mrs. Ambler calls, “Settle down, class. Let's begin.” And as she's welcoming us to our first day of junior high school, explaining the rules for homeroom, Firehead leans back and says, “Taylor says you look like a fourth-grader.”

Now maybe I'm kind of skinny and maybe I don't wear makeup or get all decked out to go to school, but there's no way I look like I'm in the fourth grade.

Mrs. Ambler asks the class to stand so we can pledge the flag, so I stand up and say, “Bug off, would you?”

Firehead pulls a face like Oh, I'm so scared and then leans over again and says, “Whatcha gonna do? Kick me with a high-top?” She puts her hand in front of her mouth. “Ooooh…I'm petrified!”

I roll my eyes and keep on pledging, but I'm thinking, What's your
problem?

Now Firehead's not saying the Pledge. She's got her hand on her heart but her eye on me. And when we're just about done, she leans back and says, “Oh, you say the Pledge so
good
. Did you spend the summer practicing?”

Mrs. Ambler looks straight at her. “Young lady, what is your name?”

Firehead looks around a bit, then points to herself and asks, “Me?”

Mrs. Ambler snaps, “Yes, you.”

She gives her an innocent little look. “Heather. Heather Acosta.”

“Well, Miss Acosta, maybe your elementary school teachers allowed you to talk during the Pledge, but you're in junior high school now and we expect a degree of maturity from you. I'd like to try it again, only this time I'd like you to come up here and lead us.”

All of a sudden homeroom is dead quiet. And while everyone's busy thinking there's no way they're
ever
going to talk during the Pledge in Mrs. Ambler's class, Heather's eyes move from side to side like she doesn't quite believe what's happening to her.

Finally she moves to the front of the class, and by the time she's done leading the Pledge, her face is as red as her hair. And when she gets back to her chair she gives me the wickedest evil eye I've ever seen, and I can tell she's thinking that somehow this is all
my
fault.

I can also tell that Heather Acosta is going to find a way to get me back. And when she does, it'll be in spades.