Yours Truly

by Heather Vogel Frederick

The rest of the afternoon was uneventful, aside from the fact that Coach Maynard was uncharacteristically quiet during afternoon swim practice. I just figured he was embarrassed about losing his temper in front of Mackenzie and Lucas and me earlier at Freeman Farm. I wanted to tell him it was okay, and that I’d seen far worse from Lieutenant Colonel Jericho T. Lovejoy, but I didn’t want to embarrass him. Plus, he didn’t look like he was in the mood to chat, so I just kept my head down and focused on the workout.

  By dinnertime, there’d been no further word from Scooter, and we were no closer to solving the sabotage mystery. Since it was Hatcher’s and Danny’s turn to do the dishes, after second helpings of my mom’s awesome mac and cheese, Mackenzie and I went up to my room and got out the German-English dictionary. We looked up “Heimweh” and “Zwetschgen” and “Schwangerschaftsübelkeit”—they meant “homesick” and “plum” and “morning sickness”—and then I sent off an e-mail to Gramps. It was the middle of the night now in Namibia, but he’d get it first thing in the morning.

  “Want me to read some more?” I asked my cousin when I was done. She was lounging on her air mattress, texting Cameron.

  “Sure.”

  As I pulled the blue-bound diary out from under my pillow, there was a scrabbling noise in my closet. I froze. Had my sister’s hamster gotten out of his cage again? The scrabbling didn’t sound Nibbles-size, though. It sounded bigger. Bilbo-size, maybe. If Lauren had snuck that ferret into our house, she was in big trouble. Setting the diary down, I got up and crossed the room to check. When I opened the closet door, however, it wasn’t Bilbo I discovered, but my sister herself.

  “You little sneak!” I said furiously. “You’re spying on us!”

  “I am not!” Lauren protested.

  “You are too!” Grabbing her arm, I yanked her from the closet and pointed to my bedroom door. “Out! Now!”

  “But I just—”

  “I am sick and tired of your stupid Nancy Drew stuff! We all are. Just quit it, would you?”

  Mackenzie shot me a warning glance. “How about we play that board game I promised you and Pippa, Lauren?”

  My sister gave her a grateful look. “That sounds good.”

  “Don’t let me catch you spying on us again!” I snapped, still seething. “Ever!”

  My cousin frowned at me as the two of them left, but I didn’t care. Lauren deserved it—she was really getting under my skin.

  I stayed in my room and fumed until it was time to head downtown to our knitting class.

  Which was when the real fireworks started.

  CHAPTER 14

  The first hint we had that something was wrong was that Coach Maynard’s wife didn’t show up for class.

  “That’s odd,” said Ella, frowning at the clock on the wall. We’d all been at A Stitch in Time for nearly half an hour, which unfortunately wasn’t long enough to miraculously transform my project. My so-called sock still looked like a droopy dishcloth. “I ran into Alice this morning at the post office, and she said she was looking forward to our gathering tonight.”

  “Her car was parked in front of the General Store when I left the library earlier,” Mr. Henry reported. “I figured she was dropping off her entry for the Bake-Off.”

  The other thing that Pumpkin Falls was all abuzz about, besides the string of sap thefts, was the Maple Madness Bake-Off. The General Store traditionally hosted the presentation table, where people could ogle the entries before the judges made their decision. Mackenzie and I had offered to drop off Aunt True’s Bookshop Blondies on our way home earlier, so we could scout the competition.

  “She’s definitely going to win,” Mackenzie had said, eyeing the assortment of muffins, bars, cookies, candy, cakes, and other assorted treats on display.

  “I don’t know,” I’d replied, my mouth starting to water. “I’ve had Mrs. Freeman’s Maple Fudge, and it’s awesome. And Mr. Henry’s Maple Walnut Cupcakes look pretty great too.”

  Everything had looked pretty great, actually. I had no idea how the judges were going to decide.

  Now, back at A Stitch in Time, the phone on Ella’s sales counter rang. She got up to answer it. And then Mrs. Freeman’s cell phone rang, and so did my mother’s, and so did just about everybody else’s in the knitting class.

  “She said what?” said Ella.

  “They’re doing what?” said my mother.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!” said Mrs. Freeman, and sprang to her feet.

  Ella ran for the door, and my mother shoved her knitting into the bag of books about the Underground Railroad that Mr. Henry had brought for her and got up to follow her.

  My cousin and I looked at each other, mystified.

  “What’s H-A-P-P-E-N-I-N-G?” asked Annie.

  My mother looked over at my cousin and me. “Come on, girls. That was your father. Your aunt needs reinforcements over at the General Store. It sounds like a riot’s about to break out.”

  By the time our entire sock class arrived, the General Store was in an uproar.

  “Absolutely no way!” I heard Mrs. Farnsworth shouting, as I peered over the crowd to try and see the cause of the commotion. Sometimes it really helps to be six feet tall.

  Mackenzie tugged on my sleeve. “What’s going on?”

  I glanced down at her, grateful for once that I wasn’t petite. The only thing my poor cousin could see was Bud Jefferson’s back. “Mrs. Farnsworth—she and her husband run the store, remember?”

  “I thought they raised cows.”

  “They do that, too,” I replied. “She’s upset about something, but I’m not sure what yet.”

  “This is ridiculous!” Aunt True was shouting back. “We can’t let this divide our town!”

  I edged my way through the crowd. My mother and Mackenzie followed, using me as a battering ram. The General Store owner was squared off against my aunt. Behind them were two long tables covered with maple leaf–printed fabric. The plates piled high with Bake-Off entries were evenly divided between the two.

  “We’ve never had two tables before—just one,” Aunt True continued. “What kind of a message does this send to our community?”

  “The message that some of us don’t agree with what’s going on,” Mrs. Farnsworth said stubbornly.

  “Surely we’re bigger than this!” my aunt protested.

  That’s when I saw the signs. One table was marked TEAM FREEMAN, and the other TEAM MAYNARD. My swim coach’s wife was standing behind the Team Maynard table with her arms folded across her chest.

  “Uh-oh,” I said.

  “What?” asked Mackenzie, tugging my sleeve again. “Uh-oh,” she said, when I pointed to the signs.

  “Hatfields and McCoys,” said my mother grimly.

  Just then my father stepped forward. “I’d like to offer a solution,” he said, his deep voice booming.

  One thing about having a father who’s ex-military, he knows how to command respect. The crowd quieted down as he turned to face them. “The Farnsworths have generously hosted the Maple Madness Bake-Off here at their store for many years—since I was a boy, in fact!”

  “Last week, you mean?” someone called. That got a laugh.

  “We all owe them our thanks,” my father continued, smiling. He clapped his good hand against his prosthetic one and a ripple of applause and nods of agreement ran through the gathered throng as people followed suit. “Perhaps it’s unfair to ask Ethel to go against what she feels is her right, since it’s her store. And so, if it’s amenable to everyone—Joyce, are you here to count the vote?” He looked around for the town clerk, who raised her hand from the back of the crowd. “If you all agree, I’d like to offer Lovejoy’s Books as host for this year’s Bake-Off.”

  You’d have thought he’d just suggested removing Paul Revere’s bell from the steeple of the church. People looked that shocked. His offer completely took the wind out of Mrs. Farnsworth’s sails. From the expression on her face it was clear that she didn’t know what to say.

&
nbsp; “What an excellent idea!” The crowd parted as Ella Bellow swept forward. “Jericho, I heartily agree.”

  Ella Bellow may be many things, including gossip central, but she’s also one of our town’s oldest residents, and people respect her.

  “I think it’s a good idea too,” said Mrs. Freeman. “And, Alice, I want to assure you again that my family had absolutely nothing to do with what has been happening on both of our farms. Can’t we rise to the occasion here, together, for the good of Pumpkin Falls?”

  Mrs. Maynard didn’t look convinced.

  “This will just be a temporary change of venue, of course,” my father hastened to explain. “I’m not trying to steal the spotlight or undermine town tradition in any way. I’m simply offering a solution during what seems to have become a stressful time for our town. Think of Lovejoy’s Books as Switzerland—neutral territory. No choosing sides, no swirl of rumors or counter rumors, just delicious baked goods being judged on their own merits.”

  “Switzerland? Are you kidding me?” murmured Mackenzie, who was having trouble keeping her face straight.

  “Don’t say it,” I warned, but it was too late.

  “The town that time forgot,” she whispered in her radio announcer voice, grinning at me. I pretended I didn’t hear her.

  The vote was taken, and everyone agreed. Well, almost everyone. Coach Maynard’s wife took her Maple Coffeecake from the Team Maynard table and swept past us without a glance. A couple of her close friends followed suit. The rest of the crowd formed a procession down Main Street as the baked goods were gathered up and transferred to our bookstore. My aunt and I ran ahead to grab a long folding table from the basement.

  “We’ll set it up back in the Annex,” Aunt True said as we wrestled the table into place. In short order it was covered with a tablecloth and the baked goods and their entry cards arranged—all mingled together, this time, with no TEAM MAYNARD and TEAM FREEMAN signs. Then everybody stood around awkwardly for a few minutes trying to pretend nothing had happened. And then they went home.

  “Well done, J. T.,” said Ella Bellow, patting my father’s good arm as the last of the crowd left.

  “That was brilliant, honey!” My mother beamed at him. “I was worried for a moment there that a few people might grab pitchforks.”

  Mrs. Freeman looked tired but relieved. “This really has been a stressful couple of days.”

  “Let’s just hope the truce holds until the judging,” said my father.

  My aunt looked up from where she was busy covering all the Bake-Off entries with plastic wrap. “It will hold for you, J. T.,” she said, smiling at him. “You’re a hero in this town.”

  My father gave her an uncharacteristically shy smile in return. He doesn’t like to think of himself as a hero, just a soldier who did his duty for his country.

  As I watched the two of them, I thought about what Aunt True had told me, back when I’d asked why she’d given up her travels to work at the bookshop. “Family is everything,” she’d said. Maybe she was right.

  “Small-town life can be tricky sometimes, but when it works, there’s nothing like it,” my mother observed.

  “Pumpkin Falls,” whispered Mackenzie in her radio announcer voice, quietly so nobody but me could hear her. This time I didn’t pretend to ignore her. Instead, I slipped my arm through hers and whispered back, “The town that time forgot.”

  CHAPTER 15

  “You keep telling me that this town is boring,” said Mackenzie, looking up from the Pumpkin Falls Patriot-Bugle. She was seated at the kitchen table, eating a bowl of cereal. “It’s not boring at all.”

  Of course it’s not boring when you’re the center of attention all the time, I thought, glancing over at the front page. My cousin had been glued to it ever since we came downstairs for breakfast.

  SABOTAGE IN PUMPKIN FALLS? blazed the headline. SAP RUSTLERS STAGE BRAZEN HEIST!

  Prominently featured beneath the headline was the picture taken yesterday of my friends and me at Freeman Farm. We were standing in front of one of the maple trees at the scene of the crime, and Mackenzie was front and center, her trademark Gifford sunflower smile on full display. I was barely visible, just a part of my head poking up behind Franklin, Scooter, Lucas, and Calhoun. Franklin and Scooter and Lucas were supposed to be examining the evidence, but the camera had caught them gawking at Mackenzie. It was hard to tell which way Calhoun was looking. Not at me, though. That much I could tell.

  Mackenzie was my cousin and my best friend. It wasn’t as if she were doing something on purpose to make me feel like I was in stealth mode. She was just being, well, Mackenzie. But I didn’t like feeling this way either. Left out. Overlooked. Ignored.

  And what she’d said about Calhoun the other day—that he was cute—bothered me too. I couldn’t figure out what she’d meant by it. Was it just a casual observation, or was she interested in him? And, more important, was he interested in her?

  I pushed back abruptly from the table. My mother held up her coffee cup wordlessly. She was engrossed in a picture book she must have pulled out of Mr. Henry’s library bag—Moses was its title, and it looked like it was about Harriet Tubman. Apparently, she’d finally settled on a topic for her term paper. I poured her a refill, then grabbed my jacket from its hook by the back door and went outside to feed the birds.

  A light breeze danced through the row of evergreens that marked the edge of my grandparents’ property. The branches swayed like swimmers’ arms. Closing my eyes, I leaned back against the door for a moment and inhaled deeply. I held my breath for a count of three, then exhaled.

  “I hear you,” I said, opening my eyes again. Judging by the excited chatter of chickadees in the trees, they knew breakfast was coming. “Be patient.”

  I took my time filling the feeders and checking the water level in my grandfather’s prized heated birdbath, pausing to listen to the twitter and jabber of the juncos, jays, and—wait, was that a song sparrow? I cocked my head. It was! Spring had definitely sprung.

  My spirits rising, I headed back to the house. I’d find a way to talk to Calhoun about Scooter and Freeman Farm, and this thing with Mackenzie would sort itself out too. One thing I knew about my cousin for sure—she was loyal. She might tease me if I confided to her that I liked Calhoun, but if her interest in him was more than casual and she knew that I liked him, she’d back right off.

  It was all so ridiculous, really—the surprise kiss, the way the boys were falling all over themselves to get Mackenzie’s attention, the showdown last night at the General Store—even the whole notion of sabotage in pokey Pumpkin Falls. Sap rustlers? Seriously? The whole idea made me want to laugh.

  The problem was, though, that people I knew and cared about were involved, which didn’t make it funny at all. The Freemans depended on a good sap run each year to help earn income for their farm, and even though Maynard’s Maple Barn was more of a hobby than a livelihood for my swim coach, he was my friend too. That scene at the General Store last night had been ugly. I really didn’t want to have to choose sides.

  The only solution to the whole mess was to get to the bottom of it quickly, before things got out of hand. Pulling my phone from my back pocket, I scrolled back through the pictures I’d taken at the scene of the crime. Nothing had changed since I’d puzzled over them last night. A bunch of trees in a forest; muddy footprints around the base of several trunks; a length of severed plastic tubing. Something had happened, that much was obvious. But exactly what was anybody’s guess.

  I scraped the mud off my boots by the back door and went inside. There was no sign of my mother or Lauren, but Mackenzie was still dawdling over the newspaper. And I could hear Pippa in the family room, singing along to Chicken Parade, her favorite morning cartoon show.

  “I’m going to check my e-mail,” I told Mackenzie. “Maybe Gramps has gotten back to us.”

  “I’ll come with you.” Dumping her empty cereal bowl in the sink, she followed me upstairs.

 
My grandfather had indeed e-mailed back. I read his response aloud: Sorry I missed you last night. Can we connect at nine a.m. your time?

  I glanced at the clock. We had fifteen minutes.

  Sure, I wrote back. Talk to you soon!

  My cell phone vibrated just then. “It’s Scooter,” I said, frowning at his text message.

  PFPE STAKEOUT TONIGHT!

  “ ‘PFPE’ means Pumpkin Falls Private Eyes, right?” said my cousin, reading over my shoulder.

  I nodded.

  “But what does he mean by ‘stakeout’?”

  WHAT DO YOU MEAN, STAKEOUT? I texted back.

  SURVEILLANCE, DUH. AT FREEMAN FARM.

  Scooter was such a pain.

  YOU MEAN US? I texted.

  DOUBLE DUH.

  I sighed, and rolled my eyes at my cousin. WHAT TIME? I texted back.

  NINE THIRTY.

  I groaned. Besides the fact that Scooter was infuriating, the last thing I wanted to do was spend Spring Break hiding in the woods, freezing my socks off while we tried to catch a sap rustler.

  FORGET IT, I texted back.

  My cell phone rang instantly. It was Scooter, of course. I put him on speaker.

  “C’mon, Truly,” he coaxed. “Calhoun’s in, and even Lucas said he’d go with us.”

  Of course he did. Lucas was hardly going to miss out on an opportunity to spend an evening with the new love of his life.

  “I borrowed some stuff from one of my dad’s colleagues,” Scooter continued.

  “What kind of stuff?” I asked suspiciously.

  “Video surveillance equipment.”

  “Seriously?” said Mackenzie. “Cool!”

  I could practically hear Scooter’s ego inflating. “Yeah, this guy’s a private eye—a real one,” he boasted. “My dad’s law firm hires him sometimes. Anyway, this is sophisticated stuff. We just need to set it up, turn on the camera, and it will relay video to my phone.”

  “Wow!” Mackenzie sounded impressed. I was too, but I wasn’t about to tell Scooter that.

  “Why can’t we set it up in the daytime, if it’s all automatic?” I asked.