by Barrie Summy
“Lots of famous people used to eat here. Such as the writers Ernest Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald,” Junie continues. “Even now, movie stars come to this restaurant.”
My dad is still a little pale from his hot-dog overindulgence. He hasn’t told a joke, good or bad, for hours.
“You okay?” I ask him.
“Comme ci, comme ça. I’ll live.” It’s Céline’s influence.
“Il ne faut pas nous accompagner,” Junie spouts off.
“Pardon,” my dad says in a bad French accent.
“Enough.” I am not filled with patience right now. First, my mom and the bus driver were all over me about stepping on Kira Cornish’s property. Then, I learn that Josh is seeing an older girl and my love life is a train wreck.
“You don’t have to come with us,” Junie says.
“I needed to get out of that hotel room,” my dad says. “Especially with those walls the color of hot-dog buns. Bad memories.”
He opens the door to the restaurant, and we take a major step back in time. It reminds me of the restaurants you see in old Hollywood movies. The lighting is dim. The furniture is dark and heavy. The tables are covered with white tablecloths. It’s comforting, like mashed potatoes.
A short maitre d’ glides over to us. “Table for three?” he asks in a hushed tone.
He leads us to a corner booth. The seats are dark red leather. I open my long menu.
“Sherry, guess what I see?” Junie says in a singsong voice, like I’m two years old and she’s trying to convince me to eat my smushed peas. “They have ravioli.”
She’s aware of my love of ravioli and is trying to be really nice. Back at the room, we had a long powwow about the texts from Brianna. Junie promised to talk to Nick about Josh, to see if Nick has any idea what’s going on. But the bottom line is, Josh is moving on. It doesn’t matter what Nick knows or doesn’t know.
My dad orders a chef’s salad with dressing on the side.
“Smart thinking, Dad,” I say. “Take it easy on the old stomach.”
“That tasty, unhealthy rich food.” Dad smacks his lips. “It was good while it lasted.”
I end up going for the ravioli and dare Junie to try a tongue sandwich.
Of course, Dad sticks out his tongue and wiggles it around. This passes for humor in my family.
“Yuck.” Junie grimaces and chooses the chicken sandwich.
We’re kicking back, waiting for our food, when Dad’s cell phone rings. It’s The Ruler. They chat for a few minutes about what’s going on at home and the touristy things we’ve done here.
“Paula wants to tell you hi.” Dad passes me his phone.
“How are you doing, Sherry?” she asks.
My chest goes tight. Strangely, I want to confide in her about Brianna and the mall and Josh. But I’m scared I’ll lose it. And that would be majorly awkward in a public place, like a restaurant. “I’m okay.” I swallow. “Basically.”
“You’ve been on my mind,” she says. “This is such a tough time for you.”
For a math and computer teacher, The Ruler can be amazingly perceptive.
“It is,” I choke out.
My dad’s focused on a roll, intent on spreading the butter thin and evenly and tuned out of the conversation.
Junie’s watching me carefully.
“Sam and I will definitely be ready to have you home. The house is too quiet without you and your dad.”
We talk a little more about how Grandma is recuperating nicely. Then The Ruler switches topics. “Your fish are exhibiting some strange behavior. They swim fast at each other, crash and sometimes bump each other into the side of the aquarium.”
I close my eyes. They have never done anything like this before. And I’m not even close by to be able to calm them down.
“Do you want me to call the pet store?” The Ruler asks.
“Sure,” I say. But with the way my life is going, I don’t think there’s much point.
I’m poking my fork into a steaming bowl of ravioli when my phone pings.
Junie watches me even more carefully while I snap open my cell to read the text. I only hope it isn’t Brianna.
It’s from Stef. <11 oclock. Tomorrow. Central library. Teen room>
chapter
twenty-seven
After a late breakfast the next morning, my dad drives off to see a client. Junie and I sneak through the hotel. I poke my nose around each corner, sniffing for a clear coast. There’s a brief moment when I think I catch a whiff of root beer, but then it’s gone. Phew. We manage to avoid Leah and make it out onto the street. This burglary-ring meeting will be tricky enough without keeping track of a ghost tasting a little freedom.
Junie hitches her laptop bag over her shoulder, and we head to the Metro, where we buy tickets for the Red Line to the Pershing Square station. We disembark and walk along West Fifth to the Los Angeles Central Library.
And the teen burglary-ring meeting.
The Los Angeles Central Library is tall and echoey.
“Look at the incredible architecture,” Junie says. “This would make a fascinating article for the school paper.”
“Not so much,” I say. Admittedly, I’m on edge with the upcoming rendezvous. But I haven’t lost my common sense.
“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Junie says. “The painted ceiling, the chandeliers, the lanterns. It’s amazing.”
I roll my eyes.
We ride the escalator up to Teen ’Scape, the teen area.
“Amazing,” Junie repeats. “The elevator ride alone is worth a trip here.”
At Teen ’Scape, I peer through the glass, waving Junie behind me. Lorraine and Stef didn’t want her to even know about the meeting. They probably don’t want her anywhere near the library.
“Are they there?” Junie asks. “How many of them are in the group?”
“It looks like a big video-game challenge.” I squint. “Lots of kids, with controllers, sprawled on beanbag chairs.” A hand to my forehead, I cover up against the glare. “I don’t see Lorraine or Stef anywhere.”
The door opens. A librarian, her badge swinging around her neck, pokes out her head. “Come on in, girls. We’re starting up a new game of Alien Invaders in a few minutes.”
“Alien Invaders!” I say. “I rock at that.” So does Josh. But I am so not going there. I’m at a huge library in L.A., seconds away from going undercover, if I can find the gang. I push Josh out of my mind. Which is exactly what he did to me.
“You’ll be up against some stiff competition.” The librarian smiles.
“Actually, I’m meeting people, but I don’t see them,” I say.
“Oh, you’re the new book club member.” The librarian claps. “What did you think of Fahrenheit Four Fifty-One?”
Fahrenheit Four Fifty-What? It sounds like a science textbook. I open my mouth. “Well—”
“Censorship is such a timely theme,” Junie jumps in.
Censorship? That doesn’t sound very scientific.
“I agree.” The librarian flutters her hands with excitement. “And the way Granger referred to mankind rising up again like a phoenix? I like that message.”
The librarian and Junie are nodding like a couple of best-friend bobbleheads.
“The book club?” I prompt.
“Of course!” The librarian gazes at Junie like she’s the next shining star of the club. “You too?”
Junie shakes her head.
“The video challenge?” The librarian’s shoulders slump.
“Definitely not,” Junie says.
“We have to do what we can to get them into the library,” the librarian says apologetically.
“Come find me when you’re done, Sherry.” Junie slaps her laptop bag. “I’ll be working on the school newspaper.”
“For free wireless, you’ll want the computer center in the Bradley Wing on lower level three.” The librarian pats Junie’s back. “You’ve made my day, dear. You have no idea.”
I follow the librarian past the gamers to a small seminar room. She taps on the closed door, then cracks it and sticks in her head. “I found your newest member.” She steps to the side, presses a couple of fingers into the small of my back and gently pushes me forward.
“Hi, Sherry,” Lorraine says in a subdued voice.
Stef gives me the smallest of waves.
Another teen girl, with purple-streaked long hair, is sitting on her hands and staring at a blank wall. Blue and pink heart tattoos dance up and down her arms. She doesn’t even acknowledge me.
The air is thick and tense and sticky with electricity. A balloon would automatically cling to the wall without me rubbing it on my head. Just entering the room, my mouth dries up with nerves. I unzip my purse to pull a hard candy from my emergency stash.
The scent of root beer fills the room. Leah!
I freeze, my eyes round like I’m at a horror movie.
“I darted into your purse when you were racing down the hall. With all the running, your purse was banging against your leg, so you probably didn’t notice the shaking this time. I think I felt a little less nauseated,” Leah says. “By the way, Sherry, partners look after each other. They don’t sneak off and leave one behind. You might want to remember that.”
I breathe in slowly. I lower my eyes, trying to compose myself. Leah could ruin everything. Everything. I have to block her out. Smell no Leah. Hear no Leah. Speak to no Leah.
At the head of the table is a guy. He’s all casual and leaning back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other. In a white Hard Rock Cafe Hollywood T-shirt and faded blue jeans, he looks marginally older than Amber, maybe nineteen.
“He’s the bad guy?” Leah whistles. “Who knew a bad guy could be so adorable.”
My lips are squeezed shut.
“Thanks, Mrs. Patron.” The guy beams at the librarian. “We can get going on the book in earnest now.”
She closes the door and leaves me standing in this charged, but silent, room. The kind of silence before a big storm.
“I’m David.” The guy pins me with his gaze, and it’s like the other girls magically vanish, and the small room is empty except for David and me. Grinning, he runs a hand through his messy hair. He’s somehow cute and cool and geeky all at the same time. His teeth are straight and sparkly, and a dimple dots his left cheek.
“So, you’re Sherry Holmes Baldwin, talented detective and writer of essays about true love.”
“Yeah,” I say.
“One essay,” Leah says. “You only wrote one essay on true love.”
He uncrosses his leg, pushes back his chair and stands. David’s taller and thinner than I was expecting. Walking around the table and over to me, he bounces on his Nikes, like a little boy excited to make a new friend.
David looks the opposite of a bad guy. Except for his eyes. They’re as cold as the ice dispensed by our fridge door.
He extends a hand. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”
We shake; then he gestures to the seated girls. “Of course, you already know Lorraine and Stef.” He inclines his head at the third girl. “This is Taylor.”
“Hi, Taylor,” I say.
Taylor does a half-nod thing and the metallic purple streaks in her long hair shimmer. I’ve met friendlier people.
“It’s like they’re all zombies or something,” Leah says. “Does he scare them into acting like that?”
“So, what did Lorraine and Stef tell you about me?” David asks.
“You pick houses with good stuff. And you always know when the owner is gone.” I don’t mention the moodiness.
David pulls back a chair. “Have a seat, Sherry.”
He returns to his place at the head of the table. I’m across from Lorraine and Stef. Taylor is at the end opposite from David. I can smell Leah right next to me. At least I’m the only person who can smell the root beer and knows she’s here. I want to tell her to get lost, but I can’t risk even a whisper. I have to look normal, together, reliable—like a thief you want on your team.
“Why is it you want to get involved with our operation?” David asks.
I turn so that I’m on an angle, facing him. I realize that this is a sort of job interview. He’s not letting me in just on the strength of Lorraine and Stef’s suggestion. I swallow a couple of times to get rid of the cotton-ball feeling in my mouth. “I’m crazy for everything Hollywood.” I continue with the script Junie and I worked out on the train ride from the hotel to the library, injecting perkiness and enthusiasm into my voice.
“Good answer.” Leah claps.
David’s tapping his fingers against each other. His eyes bore into me like I’m an interesting specimen he found in his garden. “And you’d do anything to get your hands on celebrity belongings?”
“No, not anything.” I blow out a breath. There are some things I just can’t lie about and still sound sincere. “What you guys are doing, yes, I can handle that, easy schmeasy. But, no, I wouldn’t do just anything. Like, nothing violent.”
“An honest thief!” He slaps the table. “That’s not something you see every day, is it, girls?”
“He likes you,” Leah says. “You are so getting this job.”
“No, David,” Lorraine, Stef and Taylor say, all monotone.
David smiles and the dimple dents his cheek again. “Tell me a little bit about detecting. What’s the secret to figuring out a mystery?”
I gulp. Junie and I did not plan for this question. I’m quiet for a second, gathering my thoughts. The strategy for acing this interview is to be up-front when possible, I think. “There isn’t a big secret. You just have to keep working it. Like you know how when you first dump a jigsaw puzzle out of its box, there’s a thousand or whatever pieces and you can’t even imagine how you’re going to connect them all up. But you just get a little method going, like starting with the corners, and you keep poking away at it. Every time you walk past the puzzle, you try a couple of pieces. And, eventually, you’re done and you’re getting out that special glue to hold it all together.”
“You didn’t mention having a brilliant partner,” Leah says.
“In your opinion,” David says, “are the police close to finishing the jigsaw puzzle of the Beverly Hills Bandits?”
“Nope.” At least, not until they get my help.
David winks at me. “ ’Cause I’m too smart for them.” He reaches under the table and hoists up a denim backpack. From it, he pulls out a few loose dry-erase markers and an eraser. He goes to the whiteboard propped up in the corner and draws a road, a house, a shed and a fence that suddenly comes to an end. Kira Cornish’s house!
“Lorraine and Stef did an excellent job scoping out the site of our next operation.”
“Thanks,” Lorraine and Stef say in unison.
Taylor scowls.
“The artwork is in the shed at the back of the property.” David marks a red X on the shed on his map. “The door has a flimsy lock.” He draws a happy face on the shed door. “Lorraine and Stef saw a ton of electronics through the windows on the bottom floor of the house.” He sketches an old-fashioned TV with an antenna. “We’ll get a huge haul. Lorraine, Stef and Taylor, you’ll be working hard. But you’ll have time to rip off some souvenirs. Doesn’t Kira Cornish collect little glass animals?”
“What about me?” A flutter of panic takes flight in my chest.
With a few quick strokes, David places a stick-figure person walking a stick-figure dog on the road in front of Kira Cornish’s house. “This neighborhood doesn’t like strangers. You were on the tour, right? So you know they’re only allowing one bus company up there. A girl walking a dog doesn’t raise any red flags. You could be Kira Cornish’s little cousin. You even look young for your age.”
I let the insult slide.
“I agree,” Leah says. “You could pass for ten.”
“Wh
en a curious neighbor comes out—and at least one will—you tell them you and your mom are house-sitting for Kira, and your mom noticed the automatic cleaner wasn’t working in the pool and called for a repair. You’re walking the dog and watching for the repairman.” David draws a van with a rectangle on the side. “I’ll throw a magnetic pool-company sign up on my van.”
“I’ll keep you company,” Leah says.
“So I’m just a lookout person,” I say, secretly relieved.
“Your role is more critical than that,” David says. “You head off trouble before it starts.”
“I’ll get you a glass animal, Sherry,” Lorraine says. “What kind of stuff are you into? Dogs? Cats? Horses?”
I’m about to answer fish, particularly bala sharks. And then give her a brief description so she can tell them apart from any generic glass fish that Kira Cornish might have in her collection.
“Not now, Lorraine,” David snaps, in a tone that basically calls her a moron.
Lorraine goes silent, blinking rapidly.
Like they’re hypnotized, Stef and Taylor keep their eyes downcast.
“The heist will be tomorrow,” David says. “Stef will text you when we’re ready to roll.”
Tomorrow? I’ll have to ditch Leah and get Detective Garcia on board pronto.
Taylor clears her throat. “Why her? Why does she get to be lookout?”
“Sherry looks naive, innocent, boring. Not like the three of you,” David says. “See any piercings on her? Any brassy hair streaks? Any tattoos?”
Naive? Innocent? BORING?
Humming, David erases the whiteboard, then drops the eraser and markers into his backpack.
Then he straightens up and—fwap! He whacks the table hard. An inch from Taylor’s elbow.
I jump.
The other girls jump too.
Leah squeals.
“What did you mess up at the last house?” David barks at Taylor.
“The key,” she mumbles.
“Speak up,” David says, “so everyone can hear. Especially our newest addition.”
“Forgot to bring you a key,” Taylor says a little louder. Her eyes glisten.
Detective Garcia was right about the key souvenir.