Under Locker and Key

by Allison K. Hymas

  Mark nodded, and Hugo and Sean stepped to his sides, blocking my escape route. Come on, Becca.

  “I’m not giving up,” I said, “in case you were wondering.”

  “It doesn’t matter if you give up or not. Your poking around ends today. As soon as school is over.” He smiled. “Maybe earlier, if I get the chance. How’s lunchtime sound?”

  I shook my head. “Stop trying to act all mysterious. I know you’re going to put a bunch of the less-valuable stolen stuff in my locker and then go running to Principal McDuff. Your evidence against my word, and I’ll get pinned for the thefts.”

  I tried to walk away, but Sean placed an arm in my way and Hugo grabbed my shoulder. The bruised one, I might add. I turned back and leaned against the shelves, arms folded.

  Mark put one arm on either side of me, trapping me there. “What’s the matter, Wilderson? Sad that it’s all over?”

  “Sad that a simple frame job is the only thing you could come up with to end my career. You didn’t think it through. Sure, I’ll get in trouble. I’m picturing detention plus community service. But when the key never turns up, they’ll take another look at my story and come looking for you.” I rolled my eyes. “Small potatoes, Mark. That’s all you are.”

  Mark’s eyes bugged out of his skinny face. “Small potatoes?”

  “Tater tots.”

  Mark’s voice got low, and his hands on either side of me gripped the shelves until the knuckles turned white. “I’m small-time? I don’t have what it takes? I’ve pulled off the greatest crime wave in Scottsville Middle’s history without leaving a trace of evidence. Everyone’s afraid of me; I’m untouchable now. And then there’s you. You made a mess when you went through my backpack, my locker, and my room. Yes, I know you were there.” His voice grew louder and louder, almost to a shriek. “Papers everywhere, books out of place. Oh, and leaving that snarky note on the twenty-dollar bill in my locker? You might as well have put up a sign saying, ‘Jeremy Wilderson was here’!”

  The library door creaked, and several pairs of footsteps shuffled through. One pattern—a sharp, determined pace—was familiar. My heartbeat slowed. Finally. Took her long enough, but she came through.

  “Well, yeah,” I said. “That was kind of the point. How else could I scare you enough?”

  Mark drew back. “Enough for what?”

  I shrugged. “If I found the key, it would have been great. But then you wouldn’t have paid your debt to society. I didn’t need to find the key. I just needed to make sure the key was on you.”

  “Wh-what?”

  I smiled. “Fear works both ways, man.”

  “Mark Chandler?”

  The eighth-grade wannabe thief looked over and saw Principal McDuff standing where Sean used to be. The thugs—showing the strong sense of self-preservation such meatheads tend to have in place of their common sense and sense of humor—had fled the scene.

  Becca hung a little behind the principal, grinning. Next to her was Natalie, our guidance counselor and the adviser to the peer mediators.

  “Mark,” Principal McDuff said, “will you come with me, please? Into the hallway.”

  “But . . . he . . . did you hear . . . ?”

  “Now.”

  Mark knew the game was up. I could see it in the way the blood drained from his face. But he had one move left up his sleeve. Grabbing my arm, he said, “This is the guy. This is the guy who took the key. He stole everything. I found him for you.”

  I didn’t say it was a good move.

  Becca snorted and turned it into a cough. Principal McDuff frowned. “Is that so?”

  Mark nodded. “He did everything. He has the key.”

  Principal McDuff glanced at Becca, who shook her head. Then the principal nodded at me. “Turn out your pockets,” he said to me.

  Shaking Mark loose, I did so. A bit of lint fell out, instead of the lockpick set I usually carried. Good call, Becca. I wondered if she’d guessed Mark would try to throw the blame on me.

  Principal McDuff turned to Mark. “Now it’s your turn.”

  “But I didn’t do it!”

  “If you didn’t do it, you have nothing to fear,” Guidance Counselor Natalie said. “Now do what your principal says.”

  Mark put his hands in his pockets and glared at me. “That kid is a thief. He’s been stealing things all year. Everyone knows it. You’re just going to let a crook like that go?”

  “Jeremy’s innocent,” Becca said. “What about you?”

  “Thanks for that endorsement,” I said. “Really means a lot.”

  “Mark,” Principal McDuff said. “If you please.”

  “But—”

  Principal McDuff looked at him sternly. The silence felt as thick and heavy as a wool sweater. Just as uncomfortable, too.

  Mark had nowhere to turn. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the master key.

  Principal McDuff put out his hand and Mark dropped the key in his palm. “I’m very disappointed in you, Mark,” the principal said.

  “But Jeremy’s the one who stole it! Ask him.”

  “How can that be?” Becca said. “You had it. Why would a thief give you a key that can open every locker in the school when he could keep it and use it himself?”

  Again, thank you, Becca.

  Principal McDuff leveled Mark with a stern look somewhere between disapproval and silently furious. “I think you should come with me. We have to call your parents.”

  The principal turned and left, Mark following in his wake. Natalie stayed behind a moment. “Thank you, Becca.”

  “Happy to help,” Becca said.

  “Will you give your statement? It could help us understand how best to deal with Mark.”

  “Soon,” Becca said. “Let me just finish up here.”

  The guidance counselor nodded.

  “Natalie?” Principal McDuff called. He was waiting by the door with Mark. “I’d like you to be there when we call his parents.”

  “I look forward to hearing your side of the story,” Natalie said to Becca. She smiled at me and left.

  The library had huge windows overlooking the hallway. I guess that was supposed to be enticing to us students, showing us all the pretty books we could read, but all they ever did was make me think how easy it would be for someone to smash the glass and run off with the books. Not me, of course, but someone.

  But now the windows were my friend. They gave me a great view of Mark being led away in handcuffs.

  Well, there were no handcuffs, obviously, but you know what I mean.

  “Yes!” I allowed myself a discreet double fist pump. Becca smiled.

  She put out a hand, and I slapped it, just as Mark looked through the window back at me. His face turned from misery to shock and then anger as he saw who my partner had been this whole time. But what could he do?

  “I have to hand it to you. That was a great plan,” Becca said.

  “He could have hidden it anywhere,” I said. “But if he thought I was after him—”

  “That you were looking for the key—”

  “He’d keep it close. He knows I’m better at this than him. All I had to do was eliminate the easy places and force him to keep it in his pocket.”

  Becca leaned against the shelf. “And all I had to do was bring in the authorities as soon as he was on school grounds.” She laughed. “His whole plan to frame you backfired. He’d need the key on hand to get into your locker, and he’ll have all the stolen goods in his own locker right now, waiting to be moved.”

  “It’s like he set himself up!” I laughed. It felt great to be off the hook. Well, off the hook with Mark. With Becca I had unfinished business.

  “Okay, I guess it’s my turn.”

  Becca eyed me. “Your turn for what?”

  “You know, our deal. After Mark was taken care of, it was my turn.” Becca didn’t move or speak, so I continued. “Remember? Tate’s still in trouble. How much do you need to make sure she gets off free? I can gi
ve you everything. On Friday I—”

  “Stop.” Becca’s hand was on my mouth. When had that happened? “Tate’s free.”

  It was a trap. It had to be. “What?” I mumbled through her fingers.

  “This morning, new evidence appeared that made it clear that Tate wasn’t responsible for the fire alarm. Her parents were told the truth, and apologies were made all over the place. She’s fine.”

  “Oh.” A sudden, scary thought gripped me. “Then who do they think did it?” I didn’t want another innocent person blamed for what I did.

  “You.”

  “Then why didn’t Principal McDuff take me down to the office too?”

  “I’m sure he’ll call you down later to get your statement. But right now you’re a lower priority because he’s dealing with Mark. Plus, everyone understands why you did it.”

  To rifle through someone else’s belongings undisturbed? I was confused.

  Becca pulled a plastic bag out of her backpack. Inside was a charred piece of what looked like a dishrag. “I went looking for evidence, in case your confession turned out to be a ploy. I found this. Nineteen student witnesses and one teacher say you did run to pull the fire alarm, but only because there was a grease fire in the cafeteria. Goodness knows there’s enough grease there to burn down a National Forest. So I guess you’re off the hook for that. Unless you started the fire?”

  “No, not me. Wow.” A real fire the day I pulled the alarm? People vouching for me?

  “Yeah. Weird coincidence, but it worked out well for you. I guess you are untouchable.”

  I pointed at the burned towel. “Can I keep that?”

  She handed it over. “Sure. It’s not like it’s part of an investigation.”

  I turned the bag over in my hands, examining it. “What about the other stuff? When are you going to take me in for that?”

  Becca frowned and touched her chin. “You know, I really should. I can’t let it get out that I let the Jeremy Wilderson get away with crimes he committed on my watch.”

  I groaned. There it was. “You’re a PI,” I said. “You have a reputation to uphold.”

  “Sure.” Becca paused, then smiled. “And so do you. Can you imagine the riots I’d have to deal with if you weren’t on the job anymore? That many kids in need, scared because you’re not there to help them . . . A girl can only manage so much.”

  “I’m sure you’d find a way.” I waved the towel around. “Why are you doing this? I thought you wanted me stopped so I couldn’t hurt anyone. I was ready to let you.”

  Becca shrugged. “Maybe I just don’t want to leave some innocent kid hanging, say, when she’s stuck on the second floor and needs to escape fast.”

  Um, what was that? I gaped at Becca, who turned away from me. I swear, though, she was smiling.

  “I knew you liked the grappling hook.”

  She looked over her shoulder. “You have skills. I’m ready to ignore your past crimes if you use those skills to help people in need. It’s not like I ever found evidence anyway.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Becca shrugged. “There’s . . . there’s a place for you. But it had better be an honest place. I won’t ignore future crimes. Consider this your warning: You’re out of the thief business.”

  Yeah, like that was going to happen. Not as long as I could help people and build my fame. I’d just be more careful about who I took jobs from and who could get caught in the crossfire if there was trouble.

  “What about Mark?” I asked.

  “Oh, that. They’ll search his locker. They’ll find the stolen goods he was going to put in your locker, and he’ll get punished. I doubt leaving for high school will wipe his slate clean. This will follow him for a while. At least everyone’s going to get their stuff back.”

  “Not everyone. Remember all that cash in his box? I’d bet a slice of three-layer chocolate-mousse cake that Mark’s already sold some of his ill-gotten gains.” I thought of Sean and Hugo. “How else could he hire thugs?”

  “That’s true. You’ve never . . . have you?”

  “What, me? Fence stolen property? Of course not! I’d have to steal something to do that.”

  “Whatever. Know anyone I should look into?”

  I thought. “I might know a few fences you could talk to. Better yet, let me talk to them. They trust me.”

  “Because you were a thief?”

  “A retrieval specialist, but actually it’s because I’ve helped them out once or twice before.”

  Becca shook her head but smiled. “ ‘Retrieval specialist.’ Okay. This once, at least. You know, with your knowledge about this school’s underground, you’d make a formidable detective. It’s a positive way for you to keep using those talents.”

  Detective work . . . nah, not my style. Too many rules. “I’ll keep that in mind. But, for what it’s worth, you’d make a decent retrieval specialist, too.”

  “Not sure what I think of that, but I guess it’s a compliment.” Becca sighed. “I’m going to be pretty busy trying to track down everything Mark sold.”

  “I always could get it back by . . . other means.”

  “No. Absolutely not. No more thieving, Jeremy. You’re honest now. Work one more job, and I swear, I will bring you down so fast your ears will pop.” She rummaged in her backpack. “But don’t worry about me. Look. I’ve got what I need to start.” Her hand emerged, carrying her slim camera.

  Oh no. “Wait, let me explain—”

  She clicked through the saved files, interrupting me. “Where are the photos? The shots of Mark’s stash?”

  “Gone. But it’s okay. You don’t need them. I already returned everything that was in that stash.”

  She shook the camera at me. “When did you do it? When did you erase the pictures?”

  “I borrowed the camera at the race. I found the pictures and I guess I pressed the wrong button and deleted them.” It sounded lame even to me, but I couldn’t tell her the truth and let Case get in trouble.

  But Becca didn’t call me out on my bad lie. Her voice quiet, she said, “You stole from me?”

  “Borrowed. I put the camera back. It’s just missing a couple of pictures you don’t need.” I smiled, trying to lose the tension that had sparked up between us. “Good thing you have a retrieval specialist on your side.”

  Becca looked at the camera and then up at me. The expression on her face was strange. I couldn’t tell if she was about to laugh or throw me out of one of the library’s huge windows. “Oh no,” she said, her lips forming a wicked smile. “No, no, no. Not a retrieval specialist, not a chance. You are a thief, Wilderson.”

  “Wait, I thought I got immunity for everything I did before right now. I borrowed the camera before the job was done. It’s like sneaking into Mark’s house.”

  Becca shoved the camera in her pocket and grabbed my shirt. Once more I found myself trapped against the mystery books.

  “This is entirely different,” she hissed in my ear. “You went through my things and you took my camera while we were supposed to be partners. Even worse, those pictures were evidence, and you took them from me. You stole from me.”

  Well, at least Case will be okay, I thought. No heat for the forged hall passes, whatever happens to me.

  “I can’t bring you in for stealing the master key,” Becca said, making me sag with relief. “That would only get Mark out of the trouble he deserves. Without your confession—which I’m sure you won’t give now—I can’t bust you for anything. Twenty people swear you pulled the fire alarm because you were trying to be helpful. It’s true; I can’t do anything to you. But I will be watching you, Wilderson. I will stop your illegal activities.”

  “What happened to people needing my skills?”

  “Now that I think about it, I’m sure they can manage without you. You do more harm than good, and when I find enough evidence, I’ll prove it to everyone.”

  “After everything that happened, you still don’t understand that I d
on’t leave evidence unless I want to.”

  “Trust me, I will find it. I know what to look for now. I’ve never been more motivated.” She grinned, evil to the core, and walked away with a toss of her hair. “Watch your step.”

  I waved good-bye, but she never looked back.

  I watched her walk past the big windows toward the sixth-grade hallway. Good riddance. I was free to work alone again, no nasty gumshoe breathing down my neck. But as pleased as I was to have my life back, I felt a twinge of loss. Even with all the insults and mistrust and apparent hatred, it had been fun working with Becca. She was clever and tricky; plus, the job had been exciting. Knowing that I would never have another job like that, well, it made me feel as though the cafeteria had stopped having Pizza Friday.

  Somehow, being left unscathed had never felt so painful. I decided it was lingering guilt for almost getting someone else in trouble for pulling the fire alarm.

  Speaking of that . . . I examined the burned rag in the plastic bag. It looked so right, from the blackened cloth to the grease that soaked the rest of the rag. Either there really had been a grease fire in the cafeteria or . . .

  Or I had a friend with enough professional pride to care whether a rag looked like it had burned in a campfire or a grease fire.

  Just then Case and Hack walked into the library, arguing. Speak of the devil.

  As I watched, Hack sat down at a computer and Case, in a Seahawks T-shirt with a pencil behind his ear, said, “You’re going to get suspended.”

  “Will not. This isn’t even illegal.” Hack’s hair looked like he’d slept upside down at a power plant, evidence that the grounding was officially off.

  “I doubt that. I really do.”

  “People lie online all the time.”

  “This isn’t lying. This is forgery.”

  “Which is why I brought you along.”

  I smiled and crept—like a cat or a thief—to where my friends sat by the computer. “New job?” I said, leaning in over their heads.

  They jumped. Hack recovered quickly. “Not really. I just had this idea and I thought I could use it to extend my client base. His, too,” he said, pointing to Case.

  “How is your job going?” Case asked.