Kelsey the Spy (19 page)

Mom joins in the cookie production line. And when my sisters get home from their dance, they offer to wrap the cookies in decorative bundles. My sister Kenya—the more creative twin—does a lot of DIY (do-it-yourself) craft projects. She brings out a spool of metallic gold ribbon and ties off each bag of cookies with it. More practical than creative, but equally clever, Kiana shows us how to use the edge of the scissors to curl the ribbon into spirals.

We're all working when my brother comes in, sweaty and tired. He doesn't ask what we're doing and stomps directly into his room and closes his door.

Several hours and more than two hundred cookies later, I'm exhausted in a good way. Despite everything that went wrong today, our cookie celebration was a delicious success. After my friends leave, I sink into my bed, expecting to fall into a deep sleep.

But my brain runs like a hamster on a spinning wheel. I can't stop thinking about Albert and unsolved mysteries—like why my brother would need a lawyer. I imagine him behind bars in prison orange. I worry about Albert too. What if he dies of a broken heart? Tortoise Tom might have lots of experience with tortoises, but he's not Reggie. Albert needs his family.

Mysteries torment me too. Was it really Erik who left the ransom note and the wooden puzzle box? He never admitted it; I assumed he was guilty because the Corning Comic site was taken down.

But the wooden box with the clue to my notebook was placed in my locker
before
I talked to Erik. Why pretend he didn't know about my notebook if he'd already taken the steps to return it? And the timing of his website shutting down is weird too. He knew I'd get my notebook back and keep his secret, so why delete his website? I only asked him to take down the cartoon about Sophia.

Stop thinking and go to sleep
, I tell myself. But my hamster-wheel brain circles around and around facts and questions. Finally, I snap on my light and go over to my closet. I take down my spy pack and pull out two baggies of evidence.

Evidence A: The green disk or button or game piece. I still don't know what it is, but it's the only real clue I have to what was inside my brother's large, white box. I pick the disk up and turn it over between my fingers, feeling like I've seen one of these somewhere recently. But where?

Evidence B: The ransom note with its bits of papers from magazines. There's a photo of a half-smiling, half-frowning clown face on the back of one of the “ransom” scraps and a logo from a trendy teen magazine. Erik probably has lots of magazines since he's interested in photography, but I'm surprised he'd have a fashion magazine like
InbeTWEEN
. Was I was too quick to hang a “guilty” verdict on Erik?

But if not Erik, then who?

Studying the scraps of paper, I focus on the happy-sad clown face. It has some meaning, I'm sure. But what?

One way to find out.

I toss on a robe and go into the living room and power up the computer. I put in keywords like “clown face,” “smile,” and “frown.”

And there's the exact image on my scrap of paper.

The picture is defined as: two masks, one smiling and one frowning, generally accepted as the symbol of the two aspects of theater. The smiling mask signifies comedy, and the frowning mask signifies drama.

OMG! The drama club uses this image on their posters.

I hold the note up to my face and sniff that odd flowery-chemical scent again. I was wrong about it coming from the paper—the smell of hair spray mixed with mouthwash is coming from the glue!

The paper eyeball stares up at me, and olfactory memory (as Leo would say) takes me back a few days. I replay the sequence of events that began when I accidentally brought my notebook to school. Puzzles shift into place and I can see the big picture.

I know who's guilty.

- Chapter 22 -

Accusations

The Humane Society fund-raiser is a Case family event.

Usually we all pile into our van and go together. But since Mom is an animal control officer, she has to be there early in her animal control truck. I'm going with her since I need to be there early for the Sparkler booth.

The fund-raiser is being held at Bluff Vista Park, which has grassy acres of oaks and pines that sweep into a high bluff overlooking the Sun River. It's in an exclusive area of Sun Flower near a golf course and a fancy development of new, very large homes. When we arrive, lots of cars and official vehicles are already there, including the sheriff's patrol car and a truck and trailer from Wild Oaks Sanctuary.

Mom looks great in her uniform and beams with pride as she locks up her work truck.

“This is going to be fun,” she tells me, tucking her keys in a pocket. “I can't wait to pass out brochures on responsible pet care and spay-and-neuter clinics.”

“That's all you're going to do?” I ask. “Sounds boring.”

“Not at all! I love giving advice and answering questions.” She picks up a leather briefcase, then goes around to the back of the truck. “Also I get to run this cool machine that makes personalized pet tags.”

I almost ask Mom to make a tag for Honey, but I haven't told her about my kitten. Becca's mom is the only adult who knows Honey is mine. Someday, I'll bring Honey home—when we move out of the no-pets apartment.

Mom carries a heavy box that must contain the pet tag maker, and I stack two boxes of cookies in my arms. I scan the rows of festive booths, some still in the process of being set up and others waving banners and balloons inviting visitors. Becca told me the Sparkler booth is on the third aisle at the bluff end of the park. Trees thicken around the uphill path to the bluff, which I've heard offers a gorgeous view of Sun River and would be fun to hike.

“There's my booth.” Mom points to several long tables covered with a white canopy on metal poles. “If you need anything, come find me.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I shift my arms for a better grip on the cookie boxes.

It takes a while to find the Sparkler booth. I walk up and down aisles, admiring all the booths. While the main objective of the fund-raiser is to raise funds, the goal is also to teach people to be responsible pet owners. One booth has tables and chairs set with animal coloring books and crayons for kids. I flip through one of the books and read captions about pets that have been rescued and adopted through the Humane Society. Another booth offers free pet grooming for dogs and cats adopted during the event. There are booths just for fun too, like balloon popping. (I told the Sparklers this was a good idea, but no one would listen.)

My favorite activity is the Puppy Raceway, where the first puppy race is scheduled for noon. Puppies race around obstacles and are rewarded with treats. All the puppies in the race are up for adoption. Another activity is the Furry and Fabulous Fashion Show, where a 4-H group has made glamorous outfits for older cats and dogs who are harder to adopt. I pause at this booth to wave at a cocker mix with just three legs that barks hello.

As I weave through the aisles I see lots of familiar faces from school: Erik, Ann Marie, Tori, Mr. Thompson, and Mrs. Ross. I spot Becca's mother with Wild Oak volunteers at a large booth with animal crates. Hank and a few other men are carefully unloading Albert off a wheeled cart. I head over to see Albert but stop when I hear someone call my name.

“Kelsey!” I turn to see Leo waving from the drama club's booth. It's decorated with sets and costumes from
The Lion King
. A bulletin board announces that every hour, actors in jungle costumes will perform scenes from the play. They're raffling off gorgeous wrapped baskets on display with stuffed zoo animals and play tickets.

I spot Frankie smearing yellow face makeup on a stocky kid—I think his name is Haydon—who stars as Simba in the play. The drama teacher, Mrs. Ross, and her assistant, Perrin, struggle to fit a humongous lion headpiece on Haydon. I study Perrin; his curly black hair is pulled back in a bandana, and he's wearing a medieval-looking puffy-sleeved shirt like a pirate. He struts around giving orders to other kids like he thinks he's the boss. I'll bet he already knew Sophia had the part when he accepted the theater tickets from her.

“Hey, Leo,” I say, walking over. “What are you doing here? I thought you were going to help out with cookie sales.”

“I'm waiting to talk to Frankie. But it could be a while.” He gestures to Frankie, who is gluing wild-animal hair onto Simba's arms.

“Did you notice who else is here?” Frowning, I point to Perrin. “He's the reason Sophia dropped out of the play and isn't here today. I'm tempted to go tell him off.”

“Don't waste your breath. Jerks like that don't care whom they hurt.”

“Instead of taking the tickets from Sophia, he could have told her that she would probably get the part on her own,” I say angrily. “But he's so stuck on himself, I bet he's the one who told the Corning Comic about the bribe.”

“That's what Frankie thinks too.”

I pause to think this over then shake my head. “But the Corning Comic returned my notebook and was so afraid I'd expose his identity, he even took his website down.”

“Um … he didn't.” Leo sucks in a deep breath. “I did.”

“You?” I choke out.

Leo lowers his voice, leaning closer to me. “It didn't seem right what he was doing, hurting people with cruel cartoons. I don't like bullies. So I shut him down for a few days.”

“Wow” is all I can say. I know what Leo did was wrong too, but I can't help but be impressed.

“Frankie better hurry up,” Leo says, abruptly changing the subject. “I promised to give him a demonstration of FRODO's olfactory directional ability.”

I look at Leo's empty hands. “Where is the smelly robot?”

“He's
not
smelly,” Leo says with an insulted sniff. “FRODO can identify odors better than any human. I left FRODO in Mom's car. I was going to show Frankie before I helped with the cookies, but he's too busy transforming actors into jungle animals. Isn't he great at it? He could really help the CCSC with disguises.”

“I'm sure he could,” I say with a twinge of guilt because I still don't want Frankie in our club.

“I'll walk with you to the Sparkler booth and talk to Frankie later,” Leo says.

The Sparkler booth—really just a canopy over three tables and four chairs—is half-hidden beneath a shady oak—not an easy location for customers to find. Becca is the only one there.

“Finally, some help!” Becca rushes up to us. “Chloe just texted that she won't be here for an hour—and she has the decorations and face paints.”

I frown at the two bare tables underneath a plain white canopy. No banners or colorful decorations like the other booths.

“We may not have fancy decorations to attract customers, but we have something better.” I hold out the boxes in my arms. “ChipTastic cookies!”

“Yummm. They smell amazing,” Becca says with a happy sniff.

“I'll be your first customer.” Leo pulls out a wallet from his pocket. “How much are the cookies?”

“Five tickets a bag,” Becca says. “But before any cookies are sold, we need to set up the booth.”

She shows me where I can display the cookies. I arrange them on a rectangular table while Leo hangs the Sparkler banner—the only decoration we have until Chloe shows up—over the top of the booth. Becca sets out chairs and a small table for face painting. I borrow some paper and a pen from another booth to post the price of the cookies. While I'm working, I sneak peeks at my friends, wondering if I should tell them who stole my notebook now or wait till later.

It's going to be a shock—and one of them isn't going to like it. Maybe I should wait till after the fund-raiser or tomorrow … or never.

This isn't a secret I can write down in my notebook and keep to myself. I've solved a mystery, and they both need to know. Then we need to confront the thief.

So when we finish arranging the booth and Leo starts to leave to buy tickets, I put my hand on his arm. “Wait,” I say. “Could you sit down? You too, Becca. I need to tell you something important.”

“What?” they both ask.

“I know who stole my notebook.” They stare at me with dropping jaws and widening eyes. I rush on before I lose my nerve. “My first suspect was Tyla until I figured out it couldn't be her. Next I suspected Erik, since he's the Corning Comic and posted that secret about Sophia. But I wondered why he'd shut down his own website if he had my secrets—unless he never had them” I give Leo a meaningful look. “I realized Sophia's secret going viral had nothing to do with my notebook.”

“How else did Erik find out about Sophia?” A crease deepens between Becca's brows.

“Mrs. Ross's assistant, Perrin, probably told him. I think Perrin took that information to the Corning Comic, hoping to get something in return.”

“So who did steal your notebook?” Becca says.