I So Don't Do Mysteries (18 page)

It's Wednesday morning,
and Amber is not in a
good mood. Slamming my aunt's pink Mary Kay car into drive, she scowls and mutters under
her breath about babysitting and her ruined life. Anyway, that's all I pick up from the backseat.
Junie's in front and is probably catching more of the muttering.

I ignore the tension in the car to admire my sweet new tank top. It's turquoise +
sea green and goes great with my floral skirt. If I ever score some Keflit, I will so match my aquarium.
Junie discovered the tank top on a sale rack during last night's shopping spree. Fifteen percent
off. Junie loves percentages. For herself, she found silk-trimmed Bermuda shorts. Very Gap. And yay
for parents who are pretty generous with vacay spending money.

About halfway up the highway to the Wild Animal Park, Junie decides to deal with
Amber's bad attitude. She winks at me, then pulls a small paper bag out of her purse.
“Anyone for saltwater taffy?”

Amber stops scowling. “Sure.”

Junie hands her a Harry Potter candy.

Amber thinks she's such a princess that she doesn't even say thank
you. She crumples the wrapper, drops it on the car floor and pops the candy into her mouth. She
chews. Her face scrunches up. “Ewww. Yuck. Ewww. Yuck.” She bats at her mouth.
“What is it?”

“Saltwater taffy,” Junie says, all innocent.
“Gross-out–style.” She giggles. “Barf flavor.” She grabs her stomach,
she's laughing so hard.

Amber pulls over to the shoulder. “Yuck. Disgusting. Repulsive.” She
rolls down the window and spits out the candy. “I'm doing a U-turn.”

Ack. No. I can't let a cousin squabble get in the way of saving the rhinos.
“You want a yummy one to get the taste out of your mouth?”

Swiping her hand across her mouth, Amber says, “I can't trust
you.”

“You can. I'm not the practical joker.” Which is completely
true. Despite her incredible braininess, it's Junie who loves a dumb practical joke.

In between laughs, Junie tosses me the bag, and I fish out a candy, which I hand to
Amber. “Banana cream pie.”

With the edges of her teeth, Amber mouse-nibbles the tiniest of tastes. She chews for a
sec. “This is excellent.” She chews for a minute. “What else do you
have?”

“Caramel cheesecake, chocolate chip, tropical punch.”

“I'll take them all.” Amber noses back onto the road. In the right
direction.

I saved the day.

Once inside the Park, Amber follows me and Junie on the path to the rhino exhibit. She
says, “We're not staying long.”

Hordes of visitors are tramping past us.

“Why aren't we going that way?” Amber asks.

Junie unfolds the map-and-events pamphlet. “Everyone's headed to the
bird show.”

As we're rounding the curve, I see a bunch of old people clumped around the
fence. I recognize Bald Man, in his wheelchair, and Tall Lavender Lady Vera towering over Arthur,
owner of the beautiful, sparkling Keflit. Wow. These are serious rhino gazers. I point them out.

“I knew there wouldn't be any cute guys,” Amber says.
“Total waste of my morning.”

“How many cute guys do you need?” I ask.

“Seriously,” Junie says. “You've already got Rob and
the pool-key guy here.”

“Like I only want one boyfriend at a time?” Amber rolls her eyes.
“You two are so middle school.”

By now, we're pretty close to the old people. They nudge each other, then
shuffle away from us. Must be medication time again.

“They don't act too happy to see you,” Amber says.

I'm about to respond, when who do I see trotting down the path? Gary. With
his perfect wavy hair and wide shoulders, he's even more adorable than I remembered.

His twinkling eyes land on Amber, Junie and me. Well, mostly on Amber. Her eyes are
twinkling too, enough to start a fire. And they're definitely on him.

“Sherry, right?” Gary says, walking over.

Amber flips her hair and, with huge hip action, moves toward Gary.
“I'm Amber.”

Yeesh. Could she be more obvious?

“Amber, aren't you thirsty?” Junie asks. “Maybe Gary
could show you where to get a drink?”

Gary has a dorky look on his face. “It is time for my break.”

“Perfect.” Like an octopus, Amber latches on to Gary's elbow.
“Thanks for looking out for me, little cousin.”

Out of the side of her mouth, Junie says to me, “It'll be easier to look
around without her.”

“Brilliant move, Detective Carter,” I reply under my breath.

“Gary!” Bald Man shouts grumpily. “Over here. We have
questions.”

“I'll catch you guys later,” Gary calls. Then he and Amber
leave.

The old people huddle in a circle, mumbling and grumbling. They definitely need
medication.

“So, we're just nosing around, looking for anything odd?” Junie
asks.

“Basically,” I say. “We really need my mother
here.”

The words are barely out of my mouth when I get a whiff of coffee.

“Hi, Mom,” I
say.

“That was close,” Mom says. “I thought I wasn't going
to find you. Grandpa's feeling a little under the weather, so I came out on my
own.”

“We better get started,” I say. “Amber won't wanna be
late for the movie thing this afternoon.”

“Sherry, you and I'll start at opposite ends of the fence, then fan
out,” Mom says. “Junie can go across the path and work back toward us. Look for
anything unusual, anything out of the ordinary. This is your basic needle-in-a-haystack
search.”

I pass the word on to Junie.

Dropping to my hands and knees, I pat the ground along the fence. I'm slowly
crawling toward the old people, pretty hidden by all the small bushes and tall grasses.

Next to me, on the other side of the fence, there's a snurgling sound and a
distinct barnyard smell. Little Ongava's scrounging up a snack. He shoots me a friendly
look.

A cell phone rings. Arthur picks up. After he disconnects, there's more
huddling and mumbling and grumbling.

A couple of fence sections later, I say, “Mom, my knees are getting seriously
dented, and I'm finding zip.”

“Nothing for me yet either.” Her voice fades as she drifts back toward
her end of the fence.

Junie's way far from me but looks like she's searching the way she
does everything else in life. With intensity.

A breeze whistles down the savanna and lifts my hair. And my skirt. I tug down on the
hem. What was I thinking, wearing a skirt for detecting? And the sandals yesterday? I have got to get
organized in the detective-attire department. Something practical yet chic.

The breeze whips by again, this time stronger. It carries animal and flower smells and
the old people's voices.

“He wants the meat? And the horn?” Vera sounds totally pissed.

I go all rigid, like a hunting dog when he flushes a flock of birds.

“You can't trust a Frenchman.” Bald Man taps the armrest of
his wheelchair. “I've said it from the beginning. The entire country's
dishonest.”

“Mom!” I whisper-call.

“I'm phoning him.” Arthur hands his cell to Vera, who pokes in
numbers with her index finger. “We don't want to overreact on something this serious.
Could be just a misunderstanding.”

“Make it clear he's not doing that to our precious rhinos.”
Vera's lavender do bobs with each word.

His knuckles chalk white, Arthur presses the phone to his ear. “He's not
picking up.”

“Chef L'Oeuf's avoiding us,” Vera says. “On
purpose.”

I think of the meringue bubbling and boogying. “Mom! Get over here!”
I say as loud as I dare. I look around wildly. Junie's miles off.

“I vote we move to plan B.” Bald Man is still tapping away.
“We'll use the gun store on Coronado. Kearny's Gun Exchange. I hear they
have a hefty senior-citizen discount.” Bald Man slaps his armrest. “We'll take
him down tomorrow.”

All the old people look around at each other, nodding.

Ack. Eek. They're planning to kill the chef.

The old people trundle, hobble, roll away from the rhino exhibit.

“Mom! Where are you?” I sniff. Nothing but animals and plants and
dirt. My mother has flown the coop.

I text Junie.
Get over here quick.

“What's going on?” Junie's all breathless from
running.

I tell her. All breathless from panic. “This is so bad, Junie. I can't smell
my mom anywhere. The wind must've blown her away before I could tell her what I
overheard—that a bunch of crazy old people are planning to murder a chef who's
planning to murder a rhino for its meat and horn.” I put a hand on my chest and force myself to
breathe evenly.

Junie's cell rings. “What's up, Amber?” She frowns.
“No, we don't want to meet you in the parking lot in one minute.” She listens
some more before snapping her phone shut. “Sherry, the studio called, and this
afternoon's shoot starts early. I gotta go. I promised.” Closing her eyes, she leans her
head back. “You're right. This
is
bad.”

My mind's racing. My heart's racing. My feet are racing.

I'm ditching my mother.

A detective's gotta do what a detective's gotta do.

And I know what I have to do next.

Amber drives to
the condo like a crazed wannabe movie
star. Then she dashes around her bedroom like a crazed wannabe movie star, scooping up all her new
clothes and accessories.

Meanwhile, like crazed rhino protectors, me and Junie are scrambling to brew up a cup
of coffee, which I plunk on the patio table with a note that says
Kearny's Gun
Exchange
. Hoping against hope my mom makes it this far. Then we're madly leafing
through the phone book, hunting for the address of the gun store.

“Junie, we're leaving. As in now.” Amber tugs on
Junie's arm.

Junie shakes loose. “It's on Third.” She chews on her tongue,
thinking. “That's only a couple of miles away.”

“I can't walk it.” I lift my foot. “Any more blisters, and
I'll be on crutches. Like, till we're in high school.”

“Let's go.” Amber jangles the car keys in Junie's face.
“We're driving so I don't sweat.”

“I'm thinking bicycle.” Junie bobs her head, dodging the keys,
and says to me, “There's a bike-rental place at the Del.”

She is seriously the smartest friend I have.

“Rent it for a couple of days,” Junie says, “in case you
don't get it back before closing today.”

See what I mean?

Seconds later, Amber, Junie and me're out the door and piling into my
aunt's car. Then, we're there, at the Del. The engine's barely off and
we're racing in our separate directions. Amber and Junie to the movie set by the pool. Me to
the bike-rental place, Bells and Horns.

I barrel into Bells and Horns, skidding to a stop at the counter.

There's a blond cutie-pie with a Lance Armstrong bracelet. His badge reads:
ZACH, CYCLE CONSULTANT
. He winks at me but doesn't get off his cell.
“Break up with her, dude,” he says into the phone.

I tap on the glass countertop.

Zach catches my eye and holds up a finger. “Seriously, she's way
needy. Who wants a girlfriend you have to see every day?”

I hop up and down, hoping he'll get the hint and disconnect.

“Dude, she'll still cheer for you at football games. She has to.
She's a cheerleader.”

“Excuse me,” I interrupt. “I need a bike.
Desperately.”

“I gotta go, man. Customer.” Zach glances at me. “Yeah,
I'm at work.” He pushes a piece of paper and a pen across the counter. “I
know. I can't believe my dad made me get a job. So lame.”

Faster than a superhero, I fill out the paperwork, pay and grab a bike and helmet. As a
result, I end up with a pumpkin-colored bicycle that clashes horribly with my new tank top, and a Dora
the Explorer helmet that squishes my ears and earrings into my skull.

I vault onto the bike seat and zoom off.

Behind me, Zach calls, “You training for the Tour de France?”

I'd roll my eyes, but the helmet's clamped too tightly to my head.

I pedal crazy fast, swerve into the parking lot with the Kearny's Gun Exchange
sign, spring off my bike and toss it near the bike rack.

I look around, then do a double take. Kearny's is so not what I was expecting.
Where's the whole western theme? Like a bunch of scraggly cacti next to a faded wooden
building with a post to tie up your horse to?

Instead I'm standing in front of a strip mall. Kearny's is sandwiched
between Juanita's Beauty Salon and Kragen Auto. Farther along the sidewalk, there's
an In-N-Out Burger and a dentist. You can, like, get your teeth cleaned and your nails filled, then grab a
cheeseburger, a set of rims and a gun. One-stop shopping.

I hit the burger joint for a coffee.

In the parking lot, there's a burgundy van with a handicapped sticker on the
license plate. Must be my old people.

I spy through Kearny's security screen door. A man with short hair and an
eagle tattoo on his forearm is spraying Windex on a glass counter. I wait till he's out of sight
before setting the coffee next to the wall. More Mom insurance.

I slowly open the door, tiptoe in, peeking carefully around for Tattoo Man. For all I
know there's an age requirement for gun stores. I'm a couple of steps into the store
when a buzzer goes off, screaming my arrival.

“You looking for your grandparents?” Tattoo Man jack-in-the-boxes up
from behind the counter.

“Uh, sure.”

With a head jerk, he indicates the rear of the store.

When I get to the back counter, I spot them: Arthur, Tall Lavender Lady Vera and Bald
Man, in his wheelchair. Waiting on them is a middle-aged man with floppy Dumbo ears and
greased-down hair. They're all drooling over some weapon of future chef destruction.

I crouch down behind a big cardboard display of ammunition. Small plastic bags of
bullets dangle from hooks and brush against my spine. Creepy.

“Earl, why aren't you showing us something we recognize from a cop
show? Like a Glock or a SIG Sauer?” Bald Man demands. “Something with
oomph.”

Something with oomph?

Earl rubs an ear. “A semiautomatic isn't your smartest choice. They
screw up. They jam.”

“Might be a complication we should avoid,” Vera says.

“Hmpf.” Bald Man points a crooked finger at the display.
“Which one of these two-inch-barrel revolvers is the lightest?”

Earl rubs his other ear. “Ya don't want the
lightest—”

“I already explained to you about our arthritis.” Bald Man is pushy.

“Ya gotta squeeze off two shots. That'll stop your garden-variety
intruder.” Earl shrugs. “Two shots is tough with major recoil.”

Arthur and Vera take small steps away from the counter, tottering toward my hiding
spot. Her purple cane taps the floor.

I curl up little like a cheese puff.

They stop, and Vera, so much taller than Arthur, slouches over him so they can get
their heads together. They do make a fine couple.

Arthur shoots a look at Bald Man, who's bombarding Earl with ballistics
questions. “Vera, are you sure about this?”

“I'm sure we shouldn't let the chef get away with his
plan.” She pats some lavender hair into place.

He sighs. “Isn't there any other way?”

“By tomorrow night?” She raises a snowy eyebrow. “Arthur,
sometimes you have to take risks for what you believe in, for the future. That's what
we're doing. Remember Dr. Kim.”

He sighs again. They totter back to the counter.

See. They do love the rhinos. They love them so much, they're willing to take
risks so the rhinos can have a future. And Dr. Kim, whoever he is, feels the same way.

A creepy smile on his face, Bald Man's weighing revolvers, one in each of his
wrinkly palms. “I like this baby. The .357 Smith and Wesson five-shot.” He passes the
firearm to Arthur.

Arthur carefully hands the gun to Vera.

She turns it over a few times, then sets it on the counter. “Passes muster with
me.”

“So, what's the senior-citizen discount?” Bald Man asks.

Earl says, “We can do five percent.”

“Five percent?” Bald Man shouts. “What if I were military?
What if I hadn't been rejected for flat feet? What would the discount be then?”

Vera squeezes Bald Man's shoulder to calm him down. “We'll
take it.” She smiles at Earl. “Credit card okay?”

“Ya gotta take the written test first. Then there's a ten-day
wait.”

“Ten days?” Bald Man pounds the counter. “We can't
wait ten days.”

“Sorry, but that's the law.” Earl doesn't look sorry at
all. He locks everything up and heads to the front of the store.

“I got an idea.” Bald Man's eyes are flashing, all bloodshot and
psychotic. “We'll go into gang territory.” He hits the counter again.
“Buy a piece on the street.”

Vera's lavender head is bobbing up and down in a yes, and she clomps her
cane a couple of times. She's caught up in the maniac moment.

Even Arthur isn't telling them it's too dangerous.

I've always known grown-ups lose it in old age. I mean, look at Grandma
Baldwin with her birds and her crystals. But these old people are
mucho
nuttier than any
I've ever met. No way can I let them, these fellow Fearless Rhino Warriors, venture into gang
country. They'd never hobble out alive. It's up to me to save them from their wacky
selves.

I bounce up, knocking a few packages of bullets down from the rack, and dust myself
off. Then, a friendly hand raised in greeting, I step out from behind the display. “Hi.
I'm Sherry Baldwin. I just want to let you know you can chill and stop stressing over the
rhinos. You guys don't need a gun. You don't need to kill the chef. My mom,
grandfather and me are totally on top of the situation. We'll keep our precious rhinos
safe.”

The three of them stop dead in their tracks.

I can tell by their glassy stares and dropped jaws that they don't know whether
to believe me or not. Which makes sense. I mean, I'm only a teen who popped up
unexpectedly from behind an ammunition display. “Really. We can handle it. We've
been investigating, and we've got it all figured out.”

Still no response from the old people. They're like statues.

“Like, for example, we know the poacher will strike tomorrow night, Thursday,
because the chef's special dinner is Friday, and he wants everything, uh, fresh.”

I dig in my mini-backpack and pull out a used Wild Animal Park ticket and a pen. After
jotting down my cell number, I hand the ticket to Arthur. “Feel free to check in on our
progress. I'm happy to keep you up-to-date.”

He slowly stretches out an arm to take the number.

I beam a cupidy matchmaker's grin at him and Vera. “I happened to
overhear you two planning a country-western dancing date to practice your two-step. Go for it. Have
fun. No more rhino worries.” I look at Bald Man. “You too. Go enjoy yourself with a
normal retired-person activity, like watching bowling on TV.”

Vera clutches Arthur's arm, and they navigate a huge path around me. At
breakneck speed, Bald Man whips to the front door in his wheelchair.

I hear Vera say, “Who is she and where did she come from?”

Her tone of voice says,
What lunatic institution did that incredibly deranged,
demented psychopath escape from?

No, no, no. We're on the same side. I'm sane and trustworthy and
likable.

I shove my pen in my backpack and zip it shut, trying to get myself together quickly to
catch the old people in the parking lot.

There's a tap on my shoulder.