I So Don't Do Famous (21 page)

“What about me?” A flutter of panic takes flight in my chest.

With a few quick strokes, David places a stick-figure person walking a stick-figure dog on the road in front of Kira Cornish's house. “This neighborhood doesn't like strangers. You were on the tour, right? So you know they're only allowing one bus company up there. A girl walking a dog doesn't raise any red flags. You could be Kira Cornish's little cousin. You even look young for your age.”

I let the insult slide.

“I agree,” Leah says. “You could pass for ten.”

“When a curious neighbor comes out—and at least one will—you tell them you and your mom are house-sitting for Kira, and your mom noticed the automatic cleaner wasn't working in the pool and called for a repair. You're walking the dog and watching for the repairman.” David draws a van with a rectangle on
the side. “I'll throw a magnetic pool-company sign up on my van.”

“I'll keep you company,” Leah says.

“So I'm just a lookout person,” I say, secretly relieved.

“Your role is more critical than that,” David says. “You head off trouble before it starts.”

“I'll get you a glass animal, Sherry,” Lorraine says. “What kind of stuff are you into? Dogs? Cats? Horses?”

I'm about to answer fish, particularly bala sharks. And then give her a brief description so she can tell them apart from any generic glass fish that Kira Cornish might have in her collection.

“Not now, Lorraine,” David snaps, in a tone that basically calls her a moron.

Lorraine goes silent, blinking rapidly.

Like they're hypnotized, Stef and Taylor keep their eyes downcast.

“The heist will be tomorrow,” David says. “Stef will text you when we're ready to roll.”

Tomorrow? I'll have to ditch Leah and get Detective Garcia on board pronto.

Taylor clears her throat. “Why her? Why does she get to be lookout?”

“Sherry looks naive, innocent, boring. Not like the three of you,” David says. “See any piercings on her? Any brassy hair streaks? Any tattoos?”

Naive? Innocent? BORING?

Humming, David erases the whiteboard, then drops the eraser and markers into his backpack.

Then he straightens up and—
fwap!
He whacks the table hard. An inch from Taylor's elbow.

I jump.

The other girls jump too.

Leah squeals.

“What did you mess up at the last house?” David barks at Taylor.

“The key,” she mumbles.

“Speak up,” David says, “so everyone can hear. Especially our newest addition.”

“Forgot to bring you a key,” Taylor says a little louder. Her eyes glisten.

Detective Garcia was right about the key souvenir.

“Is it that difficult to grab a key? Any key?” David stands too close to Taylor, towering over her. “Lorraine and Stef managed to steal a purse in a crowded room. And guess what was in the purse?”

“A key,” Taylor whispers.

“I don't like putting you girls in dicey situations like the
Hollywood Girl
event. But I had to, didn't I, Taylor? Because of you. Because you didn't pick up a key from that job.” David crosses his arms. “You need to get with the program.”

She cowers. “It won't happen again.”

“It better not.” David still doesn't step away from
her. “If it does, some other lucky moron from your pitiful high-school drama club will have your spot.”

High-school drama club recruits. Stolen keys as souvenirs. The Beverly Hills Bandits strike again tomorrow.

And David is the scariest kind of bad guy.

Unpredictable.

A
fter David dismisses us, Taylor takes off like a flash. Lorraine, Stef and I traipse to the restroom together, because even burglary girls hit the restroom in groups.

I hang back and let them go in first to give me a few minutes in the hall with Leah. The nanosecond the door closes, I whisper, “Did you recognize David? Was he a Raccoonite?”

“He didn't look familiar to me,” Leah says. “But that doesn't mean a whole lot. Maybe he had a bit part. Maybe he changed a bunch in the last decade. Maybe he never was a Raccoonite.”

“Sherry,” Lorraine calls through the shut door, “do you have a brush?”

I'm not supposed to loan out my brush or comb or hat or hair clips. The Ruler's orders. She has a huge phobia about lice. But in the interest of the case, I'm breaking the rule.

I scrounge around in my purse for my brush, then walk in and hand it to Lorraine. She, Stef and I preen in front of the mirror.

Leah hangs next to me, her Lippy's Root Beer Gloss scent right by my face.

I pop open my eye shadow container.

“That's a cute color. Is it raspberry? That's one thing I hate about being dead.” Leah sighs. “I'm missing out on all the new makeup.”

“It's pomegranate,” I say.

“What?” Lorraine and Stef say.

Ack. I hold out my eye shadow. “Isn't this adorable? It's pomegranate.” Obviously, I need to keep on ignoring Leah.

“Sure, I'll try it.” Lorraine exchanges my brush for my eye shadow. That girl is big into borrowing.

“So, what's the deal with the drama club?” I ask.

“You haven't heard of the Hollywood High Players?” Lorraine is aghast.

“I'm from Phoenix.” I unscrew my mascara tube. “Remember?”

“Sometimes I forget,” Lorraine brushes thick streaks of pomegranate across her lids. “You seem
pretty normal for someone who doesn't live in California.”

That's so messed up. Everyone knows California is home to the nutcakes of the nation. I keep this wisdom to myself.

Stef clips on eyelash curlers. “My lashes are totally drooping today.”

“Hollywood High's a magnet school for drama.” Lorraine hands me my eye shadow. “David usually guest speaks to the theater kids a few times a year. That's how he found us.”

“What does he talk about?” I pump the plastic wand up and down, coating it heavily in mascara. “Certainly not how to get along with people.”

Lorraine laughs. Even Stef cracks a smile.

“He talks about acting.” Sucking in her cheeks, Lorraine blends in blush. “When he was a kid he was on a TV show.”

“Ask which show,” Leah says.

“Really?” The hairs on my arms prick up like mini detective antennae. “Which show?”

“I know he told us.…” Lorraine shrugs. “There were a bunch of kids. They sang. They danced. It sounded lame, and, anyway, he was nothing special on it.”

“Sounds like
After School with Uncle Stanley
,” Leah says.

“What about after the show ended?” I ask. “Was he still on TV?”

Stef makes quotation marks in the air. “ ‘David Hughes Peaks at Ten Years Old.' ” She grins. “And it's been downhill since then.”

Hughes? Now I have his last name. “Why does your high school want him as a guest speaker if he's a nobody?” I ask.

“People love him. He can be pretty chill when he wants to be. You saw that,” Stef says. “And I think he does know junk about TV acting. He's had other TV gigs, just nothing major.” Stef's wiping under her eyes where mascara has pooled. “I'm going to have to redo my eyes.”

“Plus, our school likes him 'cause he donates a chunk of money.” Lorraine wets a paper towel and hands it to Stef.

“Money he gets from the break-ins?” I say incredulously.

“Sure,” Lorraine says.

“He's definitely not giving our drama club money he got from acting.” Stef starts to laugh.

“Yeah, he could donate”—Lorraine chokes out—“a whole five cents. If it were from his acting.”

The two girls are clutching their stomachs, doubled over with laughter.

“David's such a bully,” Leah says, “it must feel good to make fun of him.”

I give a slight nod while unscrewing the lid to my lip gloss. “How does he choose which houses to hit?”

“It's not like he confides in us.” Stef hiccups, getting herself under control.

“Maybe based on how much expensive stuff they have?” Lorraine says. “And if the owner's gone?”

“What're the keys all about?” I ask, swiping on some gloss.

“He has one from every house we've robbed. He's really into that.” Lorraine tips Stef's chin. “Try Sherry's eye shadow. The color's perfect for you.”

I hand Stef my eye shadow. I'm shocked at how little Lorraine and Stef can answer about David. I'm even more shocked at how little they care about finding out. They are very go-with-the-flow girls. “You know what else I don't get?”

“You know what I don't get?” Stef says. “Why you're asking so many questions.”

“She's right,” Leah says. “Quit acting like a detective and just be a normal teen.”

Linking arms, Lorraine and Stef take one giant step back from the mirror. United against me.

“Sorry. I'm trying to figure it all out,” I babble. “Because he's such a jerk to you guys. I mean, do you really need him?”

“Do not wreck this for us, Sherry,” Stef says, a steely glint in her eyes. “We want the celebrity stuff. David finds the best houses. Except for that one
time with Dear Elle's house, nothing's ever gone wrong.”

Even Lorraine morphs into a scary version of her former ditzy self. “Don't make me sorry I convinced Stef and David to bring you on.” She juts her perfectly made-up face forward, frowning.

“Seriously, this is a sweet gig. So what if David's a jerk? We can handle it.” Stef crosses her arms. “If you can't, get out now.”

“Whoa,” Leah says. “These girls are hard-core.”

I put my hands up in the air, in a sign of surrender. “I can deal. I totally want the cool stuff too. Forget I even mentioned anything about David. I'm sure he could be worse.”

I wait in the restroom after Lorraine and Stef leave.

“That was a close call,” Leah says. “You almost got yourself kicked out before the first heist.”

I splash water on my face. Leah's right.

“We gotta find out if he really was a Raccoonite,” Leah says.

“I agree.” I open the door and step into the hall. “I have an idea. Follow me.”

Three thousand escalators later, I spot Junie at a table, hunched over her laptop. Earbuds in, she doesn't hear me coming.

I tap her shoulder.

She turns around with a jerk, removing a bud.

“Have you been here the whole time?” I ask.

“I got so much done.” Her eyes are bright. “I can't wait to start posting articles.” She pulls out the other earbud. “So, how did it go?”

I give her the scoop. “You gotta find information on this guy.”

“Tell her I'm here too,” Leah says.

“Leah wants you to know she's right next to me.”

“Oh, yeah.” Junie's already biting down on her tongue, which means she's in concentration mode. She's closing screens and pulling up search engines, typing fast.

“David Hughes,” I say. “About twenty.”

“Or nineteen,” Leah chimes in.

“Make that nineteen or twenty,” I say.

Junie is the queen of Internet research. If there's even a hint of a clue out there in cyberspace, Junie will scare it up.

The three of us are crowded around the computer screen.

“If he changed his name, I don't know how we'll ever find out about him,” I say.

“Calm down,” Junie says. “I've barely scratched the surface. Let me try going at this from a different angle.” She loves a challenge.

“Maybe something's wrong with my theory,” Leah says. “Maybe that's why Junie can't find a connection. Maybe it's not all about the Raccoonites.”

Leah's sounding more and more like a real sleuth
with the way she questions herself and tries to find the theory that fits the mystery.

I relay Leah's concern to Junie.

Junie keeps typing. “Leah, can you tell me the names of some local communities around here?”

“Walnut Park, Glendale, Commerce,” Leah tells me.

I add in a few more as Leah feeds them to me. “Oakwood, La Cienega Heights, Cahuenga Pass.”

Junie's fingers fly over the keyboard. Images flash across the screen.

I sit quietly, twisting my hair around and around my index finger. Even Leah is silent.

And when it feels as though we're stuck in a big black nothingness of cyberspace where we're never moving forward and where we'll never find the answer, Junie snaps her fingers. “Bingo!”

Somehow, Junie manages to dig up the teeniest, tiniest online article about David Hughes and
After School with Uncle Stanley.
There's a head shot of David when he was ten. In some ways, he hasn't changed at all. He's got that cute dimple denting his left cheek. And he's wearing a huge Hollywood grin, which doesn't match his cold, unfriendly eyes.