I So Don't Do Mysteries (10 page)

“Grandpa,” I yell,
“tell Mom to
slow down!”

Peck. Peck. Peck.
He's going jackhammer speed on the seeds. He
doesn't pause, doesn't look up, just tightens his grip on my finger. Ouch.

The cloud's barreling closer and closer, churning out sand from the sides.

“Slow down!” I scream.

Mom's still racing. And now I can hear her too, like wind whooshing through a
tunnel.

I jump up, hold Grandpa in safe to my chest and start dancing from side to side, trying
to dodge her. But she's not traveling in a straight line. She's, like, Queen Zigzag of the
Sand Cyclones.

I stop dancing. This is totally useless. I can't outmaneuver her.

Legs apart, I turn my back, dig my toes into the sand and squeeze my eyes shut.
“Hang on for your life, Grandpa.”

I'm standing tough, knees bent and shoulders hunched. My hair and clothes
blow crazy on one side, like I'm next to the summer fan display at Home Depot.

Then all goes quiet. All goes still.

I open my eyes. A few grains of sand are popping around next to my feet.
There's a coffee smell in the air.

“Whew,” Mom says. “Sand is a tough traveling
medium.”

“You almost killed us.” I unfold my arms. “Grandpa, are you
okay?”

Balanced on my wrist, he pecks at my empty palm.

I pull the sunflower-seed package out of my backpack and dump the rest in my
hand.

He goes back to munching and crunching.

“How thoughtful of you, Sherry,” Mom says.

I shrug. “Yeah, well, I thought the seeds would help Grandpa find me. Turns
out he didn't need them; he flew to me all on his own.”

“Your grandfather's an excellent navigator. Thanks to him,
we're here and off to a successful start. What have you been up to?”

Grandpa swallows the last seed and scratches my wrist.

I reach into my backpack and glide the crystal out. “Grandma gave me
this.”

Grandpa rubs his head on it, cooing. Very cute and romantic.

Then I fill them in on Monkey Man and his weird seedy-pellety stuff; and Rob the
Reporter, who really doesn't want us to visit the Wild Animal Park; and Kendra, official rhino
spokesperson, and her beach argument with Damon.

“Good work, Sherry,” Mom says. “Let's see the seed
mixture from the tennis courts.”

With my free hand, I pull some out of my pocket.

Quicker than you can say “Don't eat the evidence,” Grandpa
leaps over to my palm and starts noshing.

“Grandpa, stop.” I close my hand. “It might be
poison.”

He shakes his head and beak-pokes my fist.

“She's got a point, Wilhelm,” Mom says. “Sherry, let
me see it.”

I open my palm flat. A warm, gentle breeze whispers over it, gently blowing the seeds
and pellets around. My throat lumps up. My mom is touching me.

The breeze stops, and my hand goes all chilly. “I'm not sure what it
is,” Mom says. “Put it in a Ziploc bag at the condo. And make sure you wash your
hands.”

Grandpa fluffs up his scraggly feathers and squawks, “Bye.”

At least, I think it was “bye.” Coulda been “pie.” Maybe
“spy.” Or “my.”

Then he spreads his wings and takes off into the night, turning into a tiny irregularly
shaped dot lit up by the condo lights.

I say, “That was abrupt.” I push the seedy-pellety stuff back into my
pocket and put the crystal away.

“Grandpa's not really himself right now,” Mom says.
“The trip tired him out. Plus, he's upset about Grandma. He didn't want to
leave her, and he's worried that's she's worried because he's suddenly
not showing up at her feeder.”

“Why didn't he tell her where he was going?”

She coughs. “Grandma's not as open to us as she'd like to
think.”

My jaw drops. “No way. I can tap into the spirit world, and Grandma
can't?” I've got a special spiritual talent that my Birkenstock-wearing,
incense-burning, crystal-dangling grandmother doesn't. I puff out my chest.

“Where'd Grandpa go?”

“He's staying at a hostel for spirit animals.”

“How about you?”

“The Whaley House, in Old Town. It's very popular with
ghosts.”

Probably the haunted house Josh mentioned. “Do you really need to stay
anywhere? I mean, you're a ghost.”

“I like the camaraderie. And for me, it's safer because I can't
just float off.”

The extreme weirdness in my life continues. “How are you gonna get
there?”

“The same way I got out here. Your grandfather”—she
pauses—“ ‘maps' the way.”

It takes me a sec to get what Mom's saying. “Ew. Ew. Ew.” I
stick out my tongue in true grossed-out-edness. “He makes you a trail of bird
poop?”

“It works.” She clears her throat, a let's-get-down-to-business
sound. “Sherry, we need to get to the Wild Animal Park ASAP. As in tomorrow.”

“It's a problem.” A chilly night wind blasts down the beach. I
button my sweater. I tell her about Junie blabbing to Amber, how they're going to a movie
shoot tomorrow and how Great-aunt Margaret can't drive me because of her sick friend.

“There must be something. . . .”

I bet she's twirling her hair around a finger, thinking away.

My phone rings. I slide it out of my pocket and glance at the screen. Josh. And even
though I've been waiting for this call since September, I slide the phone, unanswered, back in
my pocket.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

“You don't want to get that?” Mom asks.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

“I'll call back later.” Sometimes the boy has to wait. Like when
you're working on a mystery. Like when your mother's right there, so you
wouldn't have any privacy. “About getting to the Park—maybe there's a
bus? Or a shuttle from the hotel?”

“And try Amber again,” Mom says. “Then coffee-call me
tomorrow.”

And, poof, she's gone. No more smell of coffee. No more sand activity.

No more making the boy wait.

Surf pounding on the beach, pulse pounding in my ears, I call Josh.

“Guess what?” he says. “I'm flying to San Diego on
Thursday. It's a surprise reward for doing so good on my report card.”

I squeal. Literally. Very uncool.

“I'll be staying at my cousins', but we can definitely hook
up.”

Hook up? My stomach switches places with my liver. “Sick.”

We disconnect, and I slowly return my cell to my mini-backpack. Josh is coming to
San Diego and wants to spend time with me. Awesome. But how will I juggle him and the
mystery?

A full moon has risen, a sugar cookie in the night sky. I stare at the round, glowing ball
and think. Basically, there's only one solution.

I have to wrap up the mystery really, really fast.

Dark clouds pass in front of the moon. One looks like a Popsicle. Brrrr. One looks like
a, well, a shapeless cloud. And one looks like a rhino.

I snap my fingers. I just might know how to get to the Park tomorrow.

It's around eight
o'clock at night, and
I'm standing in front of the reservations desk at the Hotel Del. I clear my throat.

Behind the counter, a short-haired middle-aged man looks up at me. “Just a
minute.” He shuffles a few more papers. “Are you looking for the free-ice-cream
vouchers?”

“No.” I draw a deep, deep breath. “I'd like to speak
with Kendra Phillips.”

He stares down his long nose. “I don't think so.”

I look at the gold nameplate pinned to his stiff white shirt. “Mr. Lopez, could
you please tell Kendra Phillips that Sue from the Wild Animal Park is here?”

He narrows his eyes. “Sue? From the Wild Animal Park?”

I nod. I'm sweating buckets.

After checking his computer monitor, he picks up the phone and jabs in some numbers.
“Ms. Phillips? A Sue from the Wild Animal Park is here to see you.” He pauses.
“Oh really? Yes, I'll tell her.”

Mr. Lopez straightens his tie. “Sue, Ms. Phillips will be right down.” He
points to a couch by the elevators. “You can wait over there.”

“Thank you.” I smile like I'm used to getting past obnoxious
hotel clerks and chilling with actresses.

I skip over to the leather couch and plop down. The coffee table in front of me gives
off a whiff of furniture polish.

My plan is working. Of course, I'm not Sue, and I'm not from the Wild
Animal Park. But I haven't crashed and burned yet.

The elevator doors open. Kendra steps out and glances around. She's wearing
sweats and a frayed Old Navy T-shirt. Not overly Hollywoodish.

I get up and walk toward her. “Hi, I'm Sherry Baldwin.”

Kendra looks puzzled. “Where's Sue?”

“Well, she's not exactly here.”

Her forehead wrinkles. “Is she on her way?”

“Well, not exactly.”

“What's going on?” Kendra crosses her arms.

“I want to help with the rhinos.”

“Okay,” she says slowly. “You can come to the Wild Animal
Park tomorrow for the Save the Rhinos ceremony. And you can donate online.” Kendra
pauses. “How old are you?”

“Thirteen.”

“Your parents can donate for you.”

Like she's that old. Now that I'm up close to her in a lighted place, I
can see she's probably older than Amber, but not by much. She's maybe twenty. And
not that I'll ever mention it, but Kendra's left eye's a little smaller than her right
one. She's still really cute and all, just not symmetrical.

“Nice meeting you.” Kendra heads toward the elevators.

Ack. My best shot at getting to the Park is walking away. I gulp air like a fish out of
water. “I know about the extra bananas left for the rhinos.”

She stops and turns back to me. “How? That info was never released to the
public.”

“A guy who knows a guy who knows a snitch. Typical informer
situation.”

“What?” she says, looking all confused. “What's your
name again?”

“Sherry Baldwin.” I start talking a mile a minute. “I really am
worried about the rhinos. And, like I just told you, I'm only thirteen, which means I
can't drive. I'm in San Diego for spring break, staying at my great-aunt's. But
she can't drive me because she's looking after a sick friend. And I desperately need a
ride to the Park tomorrow. And I know you're going because I overheard you and Damon
Walker on the beach earlier.” Oops. That last part just kinda slipped out.

Kendra goes red. “You're right. I am going tomorrow.”

“The rhinos need all the help they can get,” I say, “what with
extinction and all.” And then I yak about the Phoenix Zoo, where I had my second-grade
birthday party, where you can camp overnight, where they put up a bajillion lights over the holidays.
Basically, I just babble on and on, talking fast, barely breathing. This strategy works great with my
dad.

After about five minutes, Kendra's eyes glaze over. “Okay, okay. What
does your great-aunt say about you riding with me?”

Bingo. I whip out my phone, call my aunt and spill. She asks to talk with Kendra. I
cross my fingers and ankles for good luck while she grills Kendra for about three years, practically
asking for reference letters and baby pics.

“No, I've never tried Mary Kay makeup,” Kendra says, then
listens for a second. “That'd be great. Bye.” Kendra passes me the phone.
“Your aunt says to use one of the free passes.”

I nod in a cool way, but inside I'm pogo-sticking. It worked. My plan totally
worked.

“And she wants you to bring me some Mary Kay samples from the closet at the
end of the hall.”

Whatever. “Sure.”

Kendra looks at me. “You impersonated a rhino keeper at the front desk so
I'd come down. And you did this to see if you could ride with me to the Wild Animal Park?
Are you always this resourceful?”

I think about my low grades at school and my lack of success in beginner swimming.
“No.”

Then I think about all the research I did on Josh, finding out his classes, what sports he
does and who he dated. “Sometimes.”

Finally I think about my mother and wanting to save her afterlife by solving the mystery.
“When it counts.”

Kendra smiles. “Be here by nine o'clock.” She calls out to the
front desk, “Mr. Lopez.” She winks at me. “Sue will be meeting me again
tomorrow morning.” Then she goes all serious. “Don't be late.”

I watch the elevator doors close and the floor numbers light up. With each rising
number, my spirits climb. I am so handling this mystery. And I'm going to be
resourceful—love that word—one more time tonight. I walk to the reservations desk.

“Mr. Lopez?” I ask.

He comes over to me straightaway. “Yes, Sue.”

“Do you have any copies of the
Union-Tribune
?”

“Certainly.” He pulls out a perfectly folded newspaper from under the
counter. He slides it toward me. “Do you need anything else? The
New York Times
?
LA Times
?
London Times
?”

Times, Times, Times
. Sounds like someone got a little lazy when coming up
with a name for their newspaper. “I wouldn't mind a couple of those free-ice-cream
vouchers.”

I think I catch a hint of a grin on his face as he hands me a bunch of coupons.
“Take extra.” He pushes up a shirt cuff and glances at his watch. “The
café is open for another thirty minutes.”

“Thanks, Mr. L. Do you happen to know if they have sprinkles?”

“You're welcome, uh, Sue. And, yes, I believe so.”
He's definitely grinning.

I pocket the coupons and pull out my cell. I know exactly who to invite.

Seated next to the outdoor heater at the Hotel Del Café, I'm basking in
the furnace blast of warmth. I dig into a huge double-coupon bowl of chocolate ice cream with walnuts
and hurts-your-teeth fudge sauce.

Across from me, Junie spoons up vanilla smothered in rainbow sprinkles. The two of
us have been serious ice cream addicts forever. I bet we've eaten the equivalent of a small
planet over the years.

“Guess who's coming to San Diego?” I say.

Junie shrugs.

“Josh Morton. On Thursday. And we're getting together.”

“Sherry!” Junie stops eating mid bite. This says a lot about
Junie's level of excitement for me. “That's fantastic. What are you going to
wear?”

“My good-luck outfit.”

Junie nods.

I unfold the newspaper.

“
You're
reading the newspaper?” Junie asks.

I raise my hands in mock horror. “Absolutely not.” I push a couple of
sections of the paper toward her side of the table. “Don't you kinda think
Rob's a poseur?”

She doesn't hesitate. “No.”

That's the thing about Junie. She pulls off beyond-awesome grades at school. I
swear she knows more than most of our teachers. But when it comes to reading people, she sucks. I
say, “I wonder how many articles Rob wrote in this issue.”

Junie unfolds a section. “Why?”

“Just to know.”

“You're on.” She starts reading. Junie and knowledge go
together.

“You don't need to actually read the articles,” I say.
“Just glance to see who wrote them.”

“You mean look for the byline?”

“Uh, yeah. The byline.”

There's silence except for the crinkling of newspaper. More noise comes from
my side of the table because I'm turning pages faster than Junie. I think I may have a scanning
talent.

“Here's an interesting article.” Junie looks up.

“Is it by Rob?”

“No, but it's about Damon Walker and
Murder on the Beach
.
Apparently, he's had trouble getting financial backing, but he believes in the movie so much,
he's bankrolling a lot of it himself.”

My mind whirs like a ceiling fan in the Phoenix summer. Damon was very down on the
rhinos. Any chance he's running out of money? I wonder how much a rhino horn goes for.
I'll quiz Kendra tomorrow about her boyfriend and money.

I scoop up a spoonful of ice cream. “No Rob Moore bylines. You find
any?”

“None for me either,” she says. “So?”

“So? Rob totally lied about being a big-time reporter.” I pull the used
Wild Animal Park ticket out of my mini-backpack and push it toward her. “And he totally lied
about not going to the Park. This ticket fell out of his pocket. And he tried to talk us out of going
there.”

“So?”

“So, don't you think it's all just a little suspicious? Like maybe
there really is a mystery at the Park? And Rob's investigating it? Or maybe he's even
guilty of something?”

“Yeah, I think Rob's guilty of something,” Junie says.
“Guilty of trying to impress Amber.”

Hmmmm. Maybe. And maybe of something even more devious.