Sink or Swim (6 page)

THINGS THAT GO BUMP IN THE NIGHT

“SO WHAT'S IT
like being on the swimming team?” Sam asks. After changing out of my swimsuit, I've just met up with Sam and Lucille next to the band shell in Ogilvie Park. “Did it live up to all your expectations?”

“Hmm . . . let's see,” I begin. “I was humiliated beyond my wildest dreams, I swallowed so much water I wanted to throw up, and Craig Dieterly poked me so hard in the chest he nearly gave me a subdural hematoma. A perfect ending to a perfect day.”

“I'm jealous,” Sam replies.

“Hey, do you think you guys could walk and be sarcastic at the same time?” Lucille seems frustrated. “In case you forgot, we're on a mission.”

“Oh yeah. Sure,” I answer. And we are off.

We head over to 63 Maple Drive, Aunt Harriet and Uncle Marvin's house. Of the three recent victims, my uncle's the only one who was actually present during his crime. We are hoping he will be able to shed some light on the perp.

So far the police haven't come up with any leads. But we are determined to solve the Great Decatur Robbery Mystery and prove I didn't do anything once and for all. Hopefully before Thursday's swimming practice.

I cock my pointy head to one side, prick up my earflaps, and listen for the unusual wailing sound we heard yesterday. But all I can hear is the wind blowing the leaves around and a flock of noisy starlings circling overhead.

“Junior Scientists of America, put on your thinking caps,” Sam announces. He looks at us to make sure we are paying our utmost attention. “For every crime, there is a perpetrator. For every perpetrator, there is a motive. It's Criminology 101.” I can practically hear the wheels turning in Sam's head. “Let's pretend you're the perp, Lucille. What would make you steal a bag of dirty old shoes? Name your motive.”

“Injustice?” Lucille says tentatively. “Maybe the shoes were mine to begin with.”

“And?”

“Maybe Charlie's uncle stole them from me, and I was just stealing them back.” Lucille bites her lip. “It could have happened.”

“Okay,” Sam replies. “Let's say it did. Then why did you steal Mr. Dieterly's salmon and all that sourdough bread from the cafeteria?”

“Hmmm.” Lucille scratches her head. “Good question. Why would the person who stole a bag of shoes also want to steal all that salmon? And then break into the cafeteria and take thirty-two loaves of sourdough bread?”

“Maybe he wasn't after the shoes, Sam,” I suggest. “Maybe the perp thought there was something valuable hidden inside of the bag.”

“Like what? Money?” Lucille asks.

“I was thinking more along the lines of stock certificates. Or maybe a deed to a house or something,” I reply.

“Exactly!” Lucille says eagerly. “The kind of thing you might actually hide in an old shoe and then forget about.”

“Now you're cooking,” Sam says. “If we can figure out a motive for the O'Connor robbery, it'll be a lot easier to narrow down our search for suspects.”

“Oh no,” I whisper, terrified. “Don't move.”

“What is it, Charlie?” Lucille asks. “Are you okay?”

“No.” I point to a clump of leaves near my flipper. “Look.”

“It's just a roach,” Sam says. “What's the big deal?”

“It's a giant water beetle. They have giant wings and fly in your face, and if I don't get out of here immediately I am going to pass out.” I start running. Sam and Lucille follow close behind. Fear number two thousand and six: insects that
look
like they could sting you.

“Is it following us?” I ask, too scared to look back.

“I don't think so,” Lucille answers. “Giant water beetles generally don't follow people. They're sort of more into not getting stepped on.”

“Thank God.” I slow down and try to catch my breath. “It almost touched me.”

“Look,” Sam announces. “We're here. 63 Maple Drive.”

“Propelled by fear,” Lucille jokes. “Fastest way to travel.”

I ring the bell with my claw, and we wait for someone to answer the door. The house is small but tidy. The lawn is in good shape, and the shutters are painted a crisp, bright green. From the looks of the place you would have no idea that my aunt and uncle are two of strangest individuals you have ever come across.

Uncle Marvin opens the door a crack and peers out at us. He has a long white mustache that droops over the corners of his mouth like a walrus, and a mop of unruly gray hair that looks like animals are living in it. He wears a ratty bathrobe over ancient striped yellow and blue pajamas, even though it is four thirty in the afternoon.

“Hi, Uncle Marvin.” I step onto the porch and hold out my claw. Instead of shaking it, my uncle just stands there looking quizzically at me. His mouth hangs open. It always does. That's why everyone in my family refers to him as “Marvin the Mouth Breather.”

“Does your uncle's mouth always hang down like that?” Lucille whispers.

“Only when he breathes,” I reply.

“Who is it, Marv?” Aunt Harriet's booming voice rumbles through the house like distant thunder.

“It's your mutant dinosaur nephew and some of his pals,” Uncle Marvin calls back. “He's even bigger than I remembered. Come have a look-see.” Uncle Marvin sneezes so loudly it hurts my earflaps.

“We were wondering if you would mind answering a few questions, Mr. O'Connor—” Sam begins.

Before Uncle Marvin has a chance to reply, Aunt Harriet appears behind him in the doorway. A short, round woman with a beak-like nose and tiny black eyes, she says, “If you kids came over to wish me happy birthday, you're three days early.”

“We just stopped by to ask a few questions, Aunt Harriet.”

“My, oh my!” my aunt exclaims. “Look at you, Charlie. You're getting greener and slimier every day.”

Sam and Lucille shoot me quick “what's up with your weird aunt?” looks.

“Yeah,” Uncle Marvin says unenthusiastically. “He sure is.” He sneezes again. Harriet hands him a Kleenex.

“Did anybody ever tell you that you look just like your grandmother Nana Wallabird, may she rest in peace?” Aunt Harriet shuffles onto the porch to get a closer look at me. “Same eyes. Same sloping forehead. And just look at that tail.” She shakes her head approvingly. “He's a Wallabird all right, isn't he, Marv?”

“You took the words right out of my mouth,” Uncle Marvin replies.

“Well, don't just stand there, Charlie,” Aunt Harriet orders. “Hug your old auntie.” She opens her arms and throws them around me, squeezing me so tightly I can hardly catch my breath.

“Great to see you too, Aunt Harriet.” I gasp for air as I disentangle myself from her grasp.

“Say, I remember you kids!” Aunt Harriet eyes Sam and Lucille. “You must be . . . Lucille. And of course you're Sam. I could never forget that fake nose ring! Come on in, everybody. I'll get you a nice hot cup of lemon verbena.”

“I'm afraid we can't stay very long, Aunt Harriet.” I step back on the little porch. It sags under my enormous weight. “We just wanted to ask a few questions about Uncle Marvin's robbery, if that's okay.”

“Be my guest.” Aunt Harriet cocks her head to one side and listens attentively.

“Can you describe the person who stole your bag of shoes, Mr. O'Connor?” Lucille asks.

“Like I told the police, whoever took those things went to great pains to avoid being seen. I didn't even catch a glimpse of the guy.”

“Are you absolutely sure of that, sir?” Lucille asks.

“As sure as I'm standing here,” my uncle answers.

“Marv always tells the truth, Lucille,” my aunt says. “You can depend on Marv O'Connor like you can depend on it to rain on your new shoes. If you have any.” She points at my bare flippers and chuckles.

“Can you describe the exact circumstances of the robbery, Mr. O'Connor?” Sam asks.

“Why make such a big fuss about a bunch of old shoes?” Aunt Harriet puts her hands on her stout hips. “Now if someone stole my false teeth,
that
would be worth talking about.”

“It may seem unnecessary, Mrs. O'Connor,” Lucille explains. “But sometimes even the most mundane detail can provide a critical link in breaking a difficult case.”

“Well, when you put it that way . . .” Uncle Marvin begins. “It happened yesterday morning. Seven twenty-five a.m., to be precise. I know that because I'd just finished watching the morning news with that Joe Jefferson guy who looks like his face is made out of wax. I'd cleaned out my closet and was planning to bring my entire collection of rare shoes over to my insurance company for an appraisal. I stuffed them into a garbage bag, changed out of my slippers, and put on my coat. The brown twill with the shiny leather buttons. Got it for my thirty-seventh birthday. . . . You know that coat, Harriet?”

“How could I forget, Marv, sweetie?” Aunt Harriet sighs. “I gave it to you.”

“That's right! Ahh . . . ahh . . . ahh . . .
choo!!!
” Uncle Marvin holds out his hand. Aunt Harriet puts another Kleenex into it. “Thanks, hon.”

“Excuse me, guys,” I interrupt. “Was there anything out of the ordinary about those shoes?”

“There certainly was, Charlie!” Uncle Marvin exclaims. “I had some extremely unusual specimens in there, including a pair of size eleven Gucci loafers that Donald Trump wore to his daughter's wedding. They had some actual wedding cake stuck to the heel. They were real beauts. Every shoe has a story to tell if you listen carefully enough.”

“Wow. That's really . . . um . . . interesting, Mr. O'Connor,” Sam says. “Anyway. Did you maybe leave anything inside any of them?”

“Yeah,” Lucille adds. “Like a significant letter . . . or maybe a deed to a building? Or a stock certificate?”

“Nope.” Uncle Marvin shakes his head.

Lucille sighs. “Anything else either of you remembers about what happened? Think hard.”

Uncle Marvin scrunches up his forehead and shuts his eyes. “I remember taking those shoes out of my closet like it was yesterday.”

“It
was
yesterday, Marv,” Aunt Harriet whispers.

Uncle Marvin continues, undeterred. “I happen to know there was nothing inside any of those shoes because Harriet made me shake each one out to make sure I hadn't dropped any loose change in any of them. She just loves loose change. She collects it. Don't you, Harriet?”

“I collect coins of all nations that begin with the letter
B
,” Aunt Harriet answers proudly. “I'd love to show you kids sometime.” I told you my aunt was eccentric. “The Bulgarian stotinka is one of my favorites. A hundred stotinki make up one lev. I'll run in and bring you each a couple for a special treat. They're a darling little coin.”

“Maybe later, Aunt Harriet,” I say. “Isn't there anything else you remember?”

“Nope. Nothing in that garbage bag except old shoes. I'd swear on a stack of Bibles,” Uncle Marvin says. “I would bet my life on it. I have been training my mind to remember the slightest details for years, using the Silva Mind Control Method. Even an idiot can tune out the static of everyday challenges and . . . and . . . wait a minute.”

Uncle Marvin's mouth droops open a little farther, which is pretty amazing and actually sort of disturbing when you think about it. “There
was
something else in that bag. Why didn't I think of that before? I took out the garbage along with the shoes, only I was in a hurry because it looked like it was going to snow and I'm just getting over a bad cold, so I tucked the garbage inside the bag of shoes and forgot all about it. That robber didn't just make off with my rare used shoe collection, he got a jumbo portion of last night's leftovers as well.” Uncle Marvin sneezes several times loudly.

“So much for that stack of Bibles. Let's put you to bed, honey. You're not ready for company.”

“Do you remember what was in those leftovers?” I ask.

“I sure do,” my uncle replies, sniffling loudly. “Succotash, half of a baked potato, and a perfectly good noodle pudding. I dropped it on the floor and your aunt made me throw it away.”

“I certainly did,” Aunt Harriet says. “Who in their right mind would eat a noodle pudding after it fell on the floor?”

“Me,” Uncle Marvin says simply.

“Thanks a lot, Mr. and Mrs. O'Connor,” Sam says. “That was really helpful.” We turn to leave.

“There's one more thing,” Uncle Marvin adds. We freeze in our tracks. “Whoever took those things smelled kind of funny.”

“What did he smell like, Uncle Marvin?” I ask. “It's very important.”

“He smelled . . . sort of . . . sort of like . . . he smelled like old seaweed and rotting fish.”

“We'd better be on our way now, Mr. and Mrs. O'Connor,” Lucille says abruptly. She gives me an anxious look.