I So Don't Do Mysteries (9 page)

Rob gazes at Amber. “Which college did you say you're
at?”

“I live in Phoenix,” Amber answers.

From the ease with which she sidesteps the
college-student-versus-only-a-high-school-student question, I'm betting Amber has navigated
these waters before. She probably even has fake ID.

She flutters her eyelashes. “You, like, got any suggestions for what we should
do while we're here?”

Rob rattles off a bunch of stuff.

With a sideways glance at me, Amber says, “Why didn't you mention
the Wild Animal Park?”

“Because it's a total drag.” Rob slurps a few sips from his hot
chocolate. “You just can't compare a couple thousand acres of dirt and boring animals
with beaches, shopping and great restaurants.”

It strikes me that Rob's forehead is too large. Almost cartoonish.

“What about the rhino baby?” I ask.

“It's a rhino”—he hikes his eyebrows up into the huge
desert of his forehead—“having a calf.” He raises them some more. “You
only have a week in San Diego. I live here, and I wouldn't waste my time at the
Park.”

Ben interrupts Rob's rhino bashing with a humongous platter of nachos.
There's silence while we all dig in.

A giant chip loaded with refried beans and cheese between my fingers, I tip back in my
plastic chair and scope out the area. Except for us, the café is empty. A few tables over, a tall,
aluminum outdoor heater blasts warmth.

I can see over the metal rail to the dark shore below. Waves are crashing, and
there's a small knot of people milling about. I shift my gaze to the tennis courts.

Flash.

Say what? I peer at the courts.

Flash.

Someone's hiding down there.

I set down
the chip and stand right next to the rail for a
better view.

“What are you doing, Sherry?” Junie turns in her chair. Her voice is
scratchy-irritated.

“Someone's on the courts. What's he holding that just
glinted?”

Amber rolls her eyes.

Rob jumps up and joins me. As he pulls his hands from his pockets to grip the rail, a
small piece of paper flutters to the floor.

I step on it.

He's totally fixated on the beach scene, his stare jumping between the courts
and the group of people.

I bend down, fake-adjust the strap on my sandal and snatch up the paper. A torn
entrance ticket to the Wild Animal Park. Huh? So, he does go to the Park. But he doesn't want
us to go. Why? Does he know what's going on up there? Is he involved? I poke the ticket into
my pocket.

Flash.

Junie pushes her glasses higher up on her nose and squints into the darkness.
“Binoculars.”

“Probably a bird-watcher.” Rob's knuckles are white.

Amber gets up and leans into Rob, her hip against his. She fluffs her hair.
“Boring.”

Birds? No way. It's either us or those people. “I'm going down
to check it out,” I say.

Junie shakes her head. She totally thinks I've lost it.

“I'll go,” Rob says.

Amber loops her arm through his. “No, you won't.”

Before he answers, I take off, zigzagging around the tables until I reach the exit. Then I
crouch and creep down the steps. When I get to the bottom, I sit, leaning into the fence and the thick
honeysuckle growing up it. What a sickly-sweet smell.

Through a gap in the green leaves and yellow flowers, I focus on a figure kneeling in the
shadow of the tennis net. He's short, with messy orange hair and freakishly long arms. All rigid,
he's holding binoculars up to his eyes. The binoculars are trained on the group on the
beach.

I turn my attention to the people standing and chatting on the sand just beyond the
cement walkway. Damon Walker's there!

What are they saying? Crawling next to the fence, I'm shaky and wobbly. Like
the first time you roll out of bed after the flu. This PI lifestyle is stressful.

A swift peek back at the courts tells me Monkey Man's still glued to his
binoculars.

Damon barks out, “Where's Kendra? Why isn't she chilling
with the rest of us?”

Silence. Everyone examines their feet.

It's at this very intense moment that my cell phone chooses to ring.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

All eyes in the group shift to me.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Yikes. Yikes. Yikes.

How long before my voice mail picks up? What did The Ruler set it at? July?

I jerk my mini-backpack off and try to unzip it to get to the phone. The zipper is stuck.
I yank and pull on it. Nada.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Then I try feeling for the phone through the canvas material so I can push the
disconnect button. My backpack is full of nothing but phonelike lumps. I jab, jab, jab on
everything.

Finally, the ringing stops.

All eyes are still staring at me. Time feels stretched out like a rubber band.

On the tennis courts, Monkey Man lowers his binoculars and focuses on me like
he's memorizing my face. Then, with his apelike arms, he shoves open the gate to the courts
and bolts off down the beach, clouds of sand kicking up behind him.

Damon watches, frowning and stroking his chin. If this were a comic book, Damon
would have a question-mark bubble above his head. It looks like a thousand thoughts are fighting for
space in his brain. And I don't mean nice, pleasant thoughts.

Damon turns and aims his famous pistachio green eyes at me, probably trying to figure
out where I fit into the mysterious-guy-with-binoculars puzzle. And I know in my churning gut that I
don't want Damon to associate me with Monkey Man.

I twirl a bunch of hair around my finger. Then suddenly—and who knows where
the brilliant idea pops in from—I say, “Can I have your autograph?”

There's more silence, like he needs time to switch gears. Then, smiling with
perfect, pearly teeth, he stretches out a hand. “Sure.”

Huh? Oh, I get it. I dig in the outside pocket of my backpack and come up with a pen
and my boarding pass. I hand them over.

Damon leans against his thigh to write. He doesn't even ask my name. And in
the middle of scrawling “Walker,” he glances back at his friends. “Come on,
guys. We have a big day tomorrow.”

After they're gone, I unhook the latch on the gate to the courts. Maybe Monkey
Man left behind a clue. I shuffle over to where he was kneeling. What am I stepping on? I bend down
and grab up . . . I don't know what, exactly. Some weird mixture of seeds and pellets.
There's a small pile and then a thin trail leading to the gate. Looks like Monkey Man has a hole
in his pocket.

Is he carrying around a healthy California snack? I sniff. I cough. Yuckerama. It stinks
like cat food. No way I'm tasting that. Then a bizarre, way-out-there thought hits me. Could
this strange, smelly stuff possibly be poison? Rhino poison? I push a handful of it down into my
pocket. I'll show it to my mother. If she shows up.

I jog back up the steps. All this physical exercise must be toning me for the beach. As I
thread through the restaurant, I can see Amber and Junie wolfing down nachos.

Rob's sitting still, his eyes on me, his fingers drumming the table.

Junie asks, all critical, “What were you doing on the tennis courts?”

Rob stops drumming.

“Just looking,” I answer slowly. I don't trust Rob. He totally
lied about going to the Wild Animal Park. I have no idea why, but he did. Which makes him a liar with
a wide forehead and too much hair gel.

“What was on the ground?” Rob asks.

I shrug. “Nothing, really. Sand. Dirt. The usual.”

Amber stops inhaling food. “Did Damon Walker actually talk to you?
The
Damon Walker?”

I nod. “Here.” I slide the boarding pass across the table. Bribery for her
chauffeuring skills. “You can have his autograph.”

“Wow.” With the pad of her index finger, she traces over
Damon's signature. “Thanks, Sherry. You know, you're pretty cool,
considering you're delusional.”

My breath catches in my throat. “Delusional” is so not an Amber word.
“Delusional” is a Junie word. What exactly did Junie blab to Amber about me?

Junie concentrates on her napkin, twisting it tighter and tighter. Her gazillion freckles
pop out all 3-D.

Elbows on the table, and chin propped on the bridge formed by his hands, Rob
watches me. His eyes flick to Junie, then to Amber, then to me again.

Amber flips her hair back. “Like, about the rhinos.”

Help. I know I should do something, react somehow. Instead I totally freeze.

“Amber.” Junie glares.

“What? Like it's not whacked to be all worried someone's
trying to kill the rhinos at the Wild Animal Park?” Then, exaggerating every sound like
I'm suddenly from Russia or somewhere, Amber says, “You need help. Rob says
there's medication for people like you.”

Rob says? Double help. Amber blabbed to Rob.

“Ouch.” Amber frowns at Junie. “That was my shin. And you
know I bruise easy.” She swings a leg out from under the table and begins rubbing it.
“Sherry, I just wanna say it's pretty scary how fast you've gone
downhill.”

I'm breathing through my nostrils because I can't even get my mouth
open. Forget about telling her to shut up.

Statue still, Rob's taking in the whole scene.

Amber straightens her too-tight T-shirt. “Do yourself a favor and lose the
‘I gotta help my mom, the ghost in trouble' act. You're the one who needs
help, and soon.”

“Amber, shut up,” Junie says.

Somehow Amber pairing “lose” with “my mom” is what
finally spurs me to action. I spring to my feet and race like I'm running for my life across the
restaurant, down the steps and onto the beach.

Bent in half like a pretzel and hands clamped on my knees, I suck in raggedy breaths of
salty night air.

After a while, I see Junie powering toward me.

“Sherry!” She waves her arms above her head.
“Sherry!” She huffs and puffs.

I straighten. Here it comes: the Big Apology.

“Look.” Junie toes the sand. “I didn't mean for that to
happen.”

No duh. Usually when you blab a friend's important and sensitive secrets, you
don't mean for her to find out.

“But we're, uh, all here together for a week. And we'll have
more fun if we, uh, get along.” With the back of her hand, Junie wipes sweat off her blotchy
forehead. “I think it'll work if we just don't mention the rhinos or, uh, other
stuff.” She pauses. “Okay?”

My face must show how pathetic I think she sounds, because she rushes into,
“Rob can get us on the movie set tomorrow morning as extras. We'll get to see Damon
Walker doing his own water-skiing stunt.”

Tomorrow morning? No. No. No. That's when the rhino ceremony is, at the
Park. I have to be there. And Amber has to drive me. Solving this mystery is turning into a humongous
headache.

I'm so caught up in stress and worry, I don't really hear Junie until she
taps my shoulder.

“Sherry, on the beach, why were they all staring at you?”

“My phone rang.” My phone rang. I can't believe I forgot. I
plop down on the walkway, yank off my backpack. This time the zipper whips open like it's
been greased. Whatever.

I click on Calls Missed. “Josh Morton” pops up on the screen.

Josh Morton called me!

My hand slaps over my chest to prevent my thumping heart from leaping out onto the
sand.

A quick click on the flashing envelope and I'm listening to his message.
“I got your number from Kristin. I have some news I think you'll like. At least, I hope
so. Call me.”

“Josh wants me to call him.” I swing my backpack over my shoulder.
“Catch you later.” I stand and walk away from Junie and her round-like-Frisbees
eyes.

It's dark now, with dim lights from the condo casting long shadows out to sea.
Crashing waves beat up the shore.

I find a patch of dry ground not too close to stinky seaweed and sit. Inhaling a bunch
of salty air, I flip open my phone and dial Josh.

I put the phone to my ear. With the first ring, my stomach flip-flops. With the second
ring, it flop-flips. With the third, fourth and fifth rings, it's all over the place, doing its
gymnastic thing.

Josh's voice mail picks up. My stomach stops mid flip. Voice mail? Wah.

I listen to his message, storing it in my memory right next to his phone number:
“This is Josh. Leave a message. Later, dude.”

“Hi, uh, Josh. Sorry I didn't answer. I was, uh, at the beach. By the
Hotel Del. Call me.” I snap the phone shut and put it away. Okay. I just sounded dumb.

I'm so into worrying about my lame message, then wondering what
Josh's news is, that it takes me a minute to realize a fatty cactus wren has landed on my
shoulder. He curls his feet into my sweater.

“Grandpa!” My spirits soar at the sight of him.
“Where's Mom?”

He looks down the beach, lifts one foot and holds it above his eyes.

I squint into the darkness. “Was she far behind you? Is she on her
way?”

He bobs his head.

I feel in my backpack for the package of sunflower seeds I bought at the airport. Once
my palm is full, I stick out my arm. Grandpa hops down the length of it and onto my outstretched
finger.

Peck. Peck. Peck.
He is seriously munching down.

I watch the beach for any sign of movement, sniffing for coffee. Suddenly I see a
colossal cloud of sand swirling near the waves. Swirling fast. Swirling wild. And swirling right for
me.