by Mary Frame
I use the negative end of the magnet to locate the sensor in the door, sliding it in the crack of the frame until I feel the telltale tug. Then I flip it over and slip it into the crack, covering the sensor. After a final glance around, I click on the small flashlight and hold it in between my teeth, aiming it at the doorknob.
It only takes minutes to pick the lock. As soon as the tumblers fall, I swing open the door, my body tense in the darkness, and wait to make sure I haven’t triggered the alarm.
After ten full seconds pass and everything remains silent, I slip inside.
The alarm isn’t even set. It’s not even a commercial model. It’s a home model, outdated, and glowing a happy, unarmed green.
I let out a sigh and shake my head. What is wrong with these people and their trusting natures?
No time to relax. I dart to the adjoining door leading out to the shop and pause. I have to stay out of sight of the camera, but that won’t be possible if I want to actually take anything of value.
Which means I need something to cover the lens.
This part might get tricky.
Keeping my back to the wall, I slide toward the camera, staying out of the range of the lens. When I’m directly underneath, I pull the spray can out of my bag and shake it, pushing the button once to test the nozzle.
Nothing happens.
I shake it and try again.
It’s jammed.
Why didn’t I check it before I left? That’s like Robbery 101. I can hear Dad’s uncompromising bellow in my head: Check. Your. Damn. Gear.
I need something else to cover the camera. I glance through the items in my bag. Nothing helpful there. Unless . . .
Slipping my black shirt over my head, I shake it out and then toss it underhand up and over the camera. It flutters against the lens and then slips to the floor.
Crap.
I reach out and snag my shirt, and then I try again.
And again.
And again.
I’m panting and sweating by the time the shirt hooks the top of the camera and covers the lens entirely.
I do a quiet victory dance in my bra before stalking over to the display case to get the goods.
Once again, I have to pick a lock. This one is smaller than the one on the door but less sophisticated. After a minute, it gives and I grab a dozen different items—tennis bracelets, rings, necklaces, and a few large diamond earrings—and shove them into my little black bag. For the coup de grâce, I pull out the mint toothpick from the parents’ house and leave it on the ground next to the display case.
Then comes the hardest part. I have to get my shirt back down without getting in sight of the camera.
Using items at hand, I start throwing. A stapler swishes through the hanging fabric of my shirt and clatters to the ground. Then a small notebook.
I’m getting ready to throw my shoe when a light shines directly in the window, right at me.
Chapter Fourteen
Instantly, I plunge to the ground and huddle behind the counter, out of sight of the windows, praying to any and every deity in existence that I won’t get caught here like this, in my bra, with a bag full of diamonds.
My heart is thumping so loudly in my ears I can’t hear anything else.
The light is dancing on the wall behind me and then it suddenly veers off and disappears.
It was probably just someone driving by.
I’m an idiot.
Regardless, I stay in my hiding spot, waiting and listening, until the thumping of my heart subsides and everything remains dark and quiet.
Anxious to be done, I stand and move back out of sight of the camera before I continue throwing things to dislodge my shirt.
It takes longer than I want, but eventually it slips to the ground and I crawl over, out of sight of the lens, to retrieve it.
Once I have all my supplies in hand, I sneak back out the back door, making sure to retrieve the magnet as well. When I’m outside, I breathe a sigh of relief.
A cranky voice flies through the quiet night. “There’s no one out here.”
Stiffening, I press my back up against the wall, squeezing myself into the narrow shadow between the building and a Dumpster.
“I saw someone jumping around in there, I swear it.”
Oh, no. I know that voice.
Mrs. Olsen. There’s the squeaky sound of wheels against the pavement and then I see them.
They stop at the mouth to the alley underneath the illuminating cone of a streetlight. Mrs. Olsen is pushing Miss Viola in her completely unnecessary wheelchair. They’re both in pajamas—button-up shirts and cotton pants, and they both have pink curlers in their hair.
What are they doing out this late?
“You’re such a drama queen,” Miss Viola says.
“I’m the drama queen? I’m not the one jumping off of cliffs in my unmentionables.”
Miss Viola waves her hand. “That was forever ago.”
“Two weeks is forever?”
“Would you quit your whining and get us back to the car?”
“You were the one who wanted to come outside at this godforsaken time of night.” Mrs. Olsen lets go of the wheelchair to plant her hands on her hips.
“I can’t help it, I needed fresh air. I’ve been having the hot flashes.”
“Hot flashes? You went through menopause thirty years ago.”
“It wasn’t that long ago.”
“Oh really, your dive into the ocean was forever ago, but menopause was just last week? You’re deluded. It’s not menopause, it’s dementia.”
“I’m not demented.”
I cover my mouth with my hand to keep laughter from bursting out.
Mrs. Olsen jumps and lets out a startled shriek. “Did you see that? Something just moved.”
“Nothing is there.”
“I can see someone just standing there. Over by the garbage!” Mrs. Olsen flaps a hand, waving at her face. “I think I might pass out.”
“You’re fine. No one is there. It’s your old eyes playing tricks. Why would anyone be skulking about the garbage in the middle of the night?”
“I don’t know, maybe it’s a robber.”
“A robber of trash?”
“Maybe they’re looking for something specific that people throw away, like underwear. I saw it on the news. There was a man in New York stealing people’s used underwear.”
“That didn’t happen. And it’s not stealing if it’s in the garbage. Now let’s go home and leave the panty thief to his own devices.”
Mrs. Olsen grumbles, “So now you believe me about seeing someone stealing panties?” She starts walking again, so I don’t hear Miss Viola’s response. They head back down the street and I hold my breath until they’re out of sight.
I wait a few extra minutes before leaving my hiding place.
I wish I could go home, but I’m not done yet.
It takes me about thirty minutes to walk to where the parents are staying. I ease a wedge into the top corner of the Mercedes’s door to hold it open and then use a slender piece of crooked metal to click the release on the door lock without triggering the alarm. I’ve done this more than a few times and can break into a car faster than AAA. I click the trunk open and stash the little bag of jewels in the hidden compartment with the spare tire.
Slinking back home in the dark, I smile at my victory. Now it’s just a matter of waiting for the robbery to be reported.
~*~
The next afternoon, I’m nearly dying of anticipation by the time Jared pops in with lunch.
And a surprise.
“What is that?”
“It’s a bike for Paige.” He rolls the bicycle into the shop. It’s a nice, comfy-looking beach cruiser in pale blue with little skulls painted on it. “You were saying she’s been bored since Naomi left so I thought this might cheer her up.”
I can only shake my head at him. He’s too much.
“Where is she?”
“She went
to the park with Mr. Bingel and the boys. They should be back soon.”
He leans the bike against the wall and walks over to me. He leans across the register for a quick kiss. “I brought her a sandwich, too.”
“I can put it in the fridge. She ate some cereal before she left for the park.”
He pulls our lunch out of the plastic bag in his hand. “You know I really should teach you how to cook.”
“I can cook.”
“I mean something more than a bowl of cereal,” he says, handing me my turkey sub.
“I’m an excellent mac ’n’ cheese chef. And grilled cheese. And toast.”
He rolls his eyes. “I stand corrected. When the zombie apocalypse hits, I’m immediately coming to your place.”
“Because I’m awesome?”
“And because you have all the foods with the extra preservatives.”
“Ha ha. I guess you can teach me some survival skills. I do like shocking Paige with handy new abilities.” I unwrap my food and set it on the counter in front of me.
“What’s her favorite food? One that doesn’t come in a box,” he clarifies.
I shrug. “Probably spaghetti.”
“Good. That’s easy enough. We’ll start there.”
We smile and give each other googly eyes, a move that would have made me sick a few months ago if I had witnessed it, but now it makes my stomach warm and fuzzy.
“How’s your day going so far?” I ask, taking a bite of sandwich.
“Good. Same as always.”
I try to school my features to remain neutral. But.
Same as always?
Really?
“Oh, there was one thing. I had an interesting call from Mrs. Olsen this morning.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. She and Miss Viola saw some guy in an alley spying on them. They seemed to think he was going to steal their unmentionables. And he was all in black, just like Mrs. Newsome’s ninja at the park the other night.”
“Strange. Do you think they really saw someone?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s weird two different people saw someone matching the same description creeping around. But Mrs. Olsen said the guy they saw was at least seven feet tall and looked like a pervert, even though they never saw his face. Also no crimes have been reported, so it might be nothing. What do you think? Do you know anything about this man in black? Have any gut feelings?”
My mouth opens, ready to give a negative reply, but then I pause. The robbery obviously hasn’t been discovered yet; Jared would have said something if it had. I don’t understand why, but I need to get it moving. The sooner the parents fall under some kind of suspicion, the better. Mother said she would buy me “a few more days,” but that’s vague, which means they could be showing up any day now.
“What is it?” he asks when I don’t say anything right away.
“Where did Mrs. Olsen see this ninja guy?”
“Over behind the Main Street shops.”
“Maybe you should check with the businesses over there. Maybe something is missing, but it hasn’t been called in or noticed yet.”
“You think so?”
I shut my eyes, making sure to furrow my brow with thought before I relax my face and then nod. “Yes.”
It’s weird that this time I’m the cause of the latest mystery in Castle Cove. One more thing to add to the guilt pile. Pretty soon, it’s going to be big enough to crush me.
“Okay, I’ll check it out.”
We eat in companionable silence for a few minutes before Jared speaks again. “So Tabby and Troy’s birthday party is Tuesday, did she tell you?”
“She did mention something about a bonfire on the beach.”
“Yep. We’ve done the same thing every year since we were teens. There’s music and drinks and lots of reminiscing about the good old days.”
I wrinkle my nose. “The good old days? That makes you sound old.”
He nudges me with a shoulder. “I am way older than you. And as your elder, I am demanding you come with me to the party. We’ll bring tents and camp out on the beach afterward.”
“Sounds fun. Can Paige come?”
“Of course. I have an extra one-person pop-up tent she can use.”
“She’ll love it. We’ve never been camping.”
“Oh, and one more thing.”
“You’re really taking this bossy thing to a whole new level.”
He rolls his eyes and keeps talking. “The gala for the library.”
“Yeah, Eleanor mentioned it.”
“You want to come with me? I’ll wear a tux.”
“When is the gala?”
“Next Friday night. It’s fancy. I would buy you a dress for the event,” he starts, holding up a hand when I open my mouth to protest. “But I knew you wouldn’t like that, so I talked to Tabby and she said you could borrow one of hers. She’s going, too, by the way, and she wants you to call her so you can get in on her evil plans. Her words, not mine.”
“Okay.” I smile.
“Okay,” he repeats.
“Are you done planning the rest of our lives?” I roll my eyes and shake my head like I hate it, but inside I actually love it.
And then we do this really annoying lovebird thing where we sort of look at each other, smiling and happy, until he leans over and rubs the corner of my mouth with his thumb.
“You had some mustard.” He puts his thumb in his mouth to suck it off and my body heats.
“Are you done eating?” I ask, a bit breathless.
“Yep.” His eyes are intent and he pulls me toward him until we’re pressed together. “You might be a little late reopening after lunch.”
“A little late?” I feign disappointment.
“Maybe a lot late.”
Chapter Fifteen
The next day, the robbery still hasn’t been reported, despite someone seeing something fishy at the jewelry store, and despite the cops going to talk to Eleanor’s aunt after I gave Jared my tip.
Why didn’t she report anything missing?
I took quite a few items. Enough to notice, for sure.
Am I losing my mind? Was it all a dream? It couldn’t have been. Mrs. Olsen and Miss Viola saw me, and that part was reported.
This is unacceptable. I’ve been lucky to buy a couple days from my parent’s machinations, but they aren’t going to wait much longer.
I don’t want to go back to the scene of the crime, so instead I go to the library to dig for intel.
“Hey.” I find Eleanor restacking books in the historical fiction section.
“Hey, you.” She looks different, less buttoned-up perfection. Her hair isn’t pulled back in her normal severe style. Instead, her blond waves are flowing over her shoulders, reaching nearly to the middle of her back. I didn’t even realize her hair was so long. She’s wearing her normal prim outfit but no pearls, and she’s even got on lip gloss.
“You look nice.”
She flushes a little. “Troy likes my hair down,” she says, fingering a strand. “What brings you here?”
“Jared said we’re all going to the gala and I wanted to ask you if you had to be there way early before the event? I thought maybe we could all go out to dinner together first somewhere nice since we’ll all be dressed up.”
“That would be awesome, but yeah, I have to be there about an hour before it starts to make sure all the vendors and everything check in on time, and I think we’ve hired Ben for the bar so he’ll probably have to be there, too.” She frowns.
“Well, that’s okay, maybe some other time.”
I totally knew it wouldn’t happen, but I needed some kind of excuse to talk to Eleanor so I could casually bring up her aunt.
“Oh hey, I met your aunt the other day at the jewelry store.”
It feels so scripted to me, but Eleanor doesn’t seem to notice. “Aunt Pearl is the best. I’ve been helping her at the store when I can on the weekends, and sometimes after work.”
&n
bsp; “The store’s been that busy?”
“Not really. But, you know, she’s getting older and she keeps forgetting things.” She shakes her head with a smile. “The other month she didn’t pay the power bill and they almost shut it off. I found a whole stack of unpaid invoices in the desk drawer of her office.” She sighs. “We’re a little worried we’re going to have to shut the place down soon if she gets worse. I had to redo her entire accounting . . .”
Eleanor keeps talking, but inside I’m dying. How am I supposed to pull off a robbery if the victim can’t even recognize she’s been robbed?
“Are you going to her store anytime soon?” I ask.
She grimaces. “I wish I could, but the preparations for the gala are taking up my whole life. Mrs. Smithson—the head librarian—should be helping me more, but she’s having hip surgery in two weeks so everything has been falling to me. Although the Hamptons have been a huge help.”
“I bet they have.” I clench my jaw against a more sarcastic retort, inwardly screaming.
“The problem is they’ve been focused on obtaining the donors, not the back-end paperwork. Which just keeps growing.”
Maybe that’s why I haven’t seen them since my little visit to their house the other morning. I mean, I’ve been avoiding them for sure, but they seem to be able to find me when they want anyway. They’re probably preparing for a counterattack.
“I can help, too, if you need anything.”
“Really?” Eleanor’s face brightens. “That would be amazing. We’ll definitely need help organizing the donations and keeping records of who is pledging what and all that. You would be a lifesaver, Ruby.”
“It’s no problem. I have to balance the books all the time at the shop, so I’m good at it. Let me know when you need me and I’ll be here.”
Plus it might give me access to some of my parents’ information and this scam they’re running. There has to be a way to get the money back to the people of Castle Cove once this is over.
But my current problem is more pressing than this farce of a charity ball. Someone needs to report the theft, and it can’t be me.