Hannah West: Sleuth in Training (Nancy Pearl's Book Crush Rediscoveries)

by Linda Johns

  “She had to fly back to L.A. Unexpectedly,” Celeste said.

  “A hair emergency?” I asked. Lily kicked me. “Ow!”

  “We have someone to stand in for Monica, and we should be okay as long as we don’t get too close,” Celeste said.

  “Wow. Monica has a double. Who is it?” Lily asked.

  “I’d be the last to know. Remember, I’m just the lowly production assistant,” Celeste said.

  “Tsk, tsk. Don’t talk that way.” Marcus Dartmouth came up behind Celeste, who immediately turned beet-colored from head to neck. “The P.A. is the most essential person on the crew. Not counting the actors. Or the director. Or the producers, makeup people, writers, continuity director, grips, and camera crew.” If he intended a compliment, he certainly failed, as he’d named just about everybody he could possibly name, except for the lunch crew. “Oh, and the caterers. Food people are definitely way up there.” Marcus turned around and barked orders to the people setting up the scene.

  “And here’s our standin,” he announced proudly. A woman who looked remarkably similar to Monica Heathcliff smiled at everyone. There was something really eerie about her. She could pass as Monica II. Yet something was a little off, most notably the obvious wig of stiff blond hair she was wearing. Her smile went to half-mast.

  Bingo!

  “Could I take a quick picture?” I asked the new actress. I used my supersweet voice and I was trying to look wide-eyed and easily impressed. Lily looked at me, puzzled. Monica II nodded and the full smile returned to her face. I snapped a photo of Estie Bartlett dressed as Monica Heathcliff.

  “Pay attention!” Lily elbowed me back to Dockside Blues.

  “Your jobs are to act natural,” Marcus instructed us. “Act like you live here.”

  I do live here, I wanted to say.

  “We’re taking establishing shots first. We’ll set the scene with Seattle, some shots from the water, and then some shots of you doing teenage-type things,” he continued.

  Teenage-type things? Cool! He thought we were teenagers. I was interested to see how they’d stage “teenage-type things.”

  “Here, start tossing this Frisbee back and forth,” Marcus instructed us.

  No problem. Both Lily and I are ultimate Frisbee players, so a little dock tossing was supereasy for us. That is, it was supereasy if we were actually paying attention. But it gets a little dull to have people telling you when to smile and how to toss and which way to look and all that. So much for acting naturally. When Marcus instructed me to throw the Frisbee in a totally lame arm movement, I followed his orders and the disc went right over Lily’s head and into the water.

  “Mango! No!” I said. It was a halfhearted attempt to get him to stop, because truly, I was hoping the dog would do the dogly thing and chew up the Frisbee. A few gnashes with his teeth and the Frisbee wouldn’t be worthy of Dockside Blues.

  “Wait! Mango, no!” This time I really meant no. Because for Mango to get the Frisbee, he’d have to get in the water. Into the icky, scary, possibly contaminated water.

  Splash! I had to admit he looked gorgeous going in.

  “Brilliant! Simply brilliant! We have yet another shot with the dog in the water. I love it. So authentic,” Marcus was going on and on.

  “Mr. Dartmouth, I hope you have enough now, because we need to get Mango washed off after being in the lake water,” I said, using my superpolite voice.

  “Good, good. Yes, get him cleaned up and dried off and we’ll shoot it all over again. I want to re-create that last scene down to the smallest detail, but we’ll need to start with a dry dog.”

  Was he serious?

  “Actually, I need to get Mango clean and keep him clean,” I said.

  “You can clean him up, but as I outlined to you earlier, we’ll need to go through the sequence of him in the water again,” Marcus said.

  Here’s what I wanted to say next: With all due respect, sir, we cannot let this dog submerge in the lake water again because of unknown contaminants—quite possibly caused by your mother and stepfather—currently in the water. Then I’d take Mango and march confidently toward the end of the dock where I’d go into our gorgeous houseboat and slam the door.

  Here’s what I said: “Um, I’d better talk with his owner before Mango goes swimming in this water anymore. It might not be good for him.”

  You can see my dilemma. Okay, two dilemmas. The first is that I’m a total wimp when it comes to direct confrontation. The second is that I’m a total wimp, and I didn’t want to get between Mr. Hollywood Hotshot and his Potential Polluter Parents. The only thing I had the guts to stand up for was Mango.

  “Fine, fine. I think we have enough. Celeste, take care of these girls. Everyone else, let’s break for lunch.”

  Estie looked completely disappointed that half a day of shooting was over, and she hadn’t been in one single scene.

  “Come on, Mango,” I said to the sopping wet dog. “I think you know the drill.” He followed me into the houseboat and into his now familiar bath ritual.

  After lunch, Lily, Mango, and I headed up to the bus stop. The Metro bus pulled up right on schedule. I scanned my pass and deposited $1.25 for Mango. “Does your dog need a transfer?” the driver asked, with a smile.

  “Sure, thanks.”

  Lily put her money in. “Her friend needs a transfer, too, please,” she said. “It’s not fair,” she said as she sat down beside me. “Dogs get all the attention.”

  We got off in the middle of the University of Washington by the Husky Union Building. I waited with Lily until the number 67 came by to take her home. She had to babysit her little brother for the rest of the afternoon. She’s not as experienced at riding buses as I am, and I felt kind of protective of her. I wanted to make sure she got on the right one.

  As her bus drove away, I pulled out the map I’d printed from the university Web site and headed south through campus to the research building. I started to lead Mango up the steps, and then I spotted the NO DOGS ALLOWED sign hanging on the door. I pulled out my cell phone and called the number Alpha had given me.

  “Hello, this is Hannah West. I contacted you about the water in Portage Bay,” I said.

  “Yes, of course. I’m anxious to meet you,” Alpha replied.

  “I’m actually right outside of your building, but I have my dog with me. Should I wait for you out here?”

  “Wait there and I’ll come get you. If you’re with me, it won’t be any problem to have a dog inside.”

  A few seconds later a thin woman with long black hair in a ponytail came out. She looked at us and kept looking. She looked again. Mango was, after all, the only dog around.

  “Excuse me, are you Hannah?” she asked.

  “Yes, I am.” I tried to look older than seventh grade. Who was I trying to impress? This woman was wearing a Hello Kitty T-shirt.

  “Sorry, I thought you’d be older,” she said.

  “I thought you would be, too,” I countered.

  “I’m old enough,” she said a little defensively. “I’m twenty-five.”

  “This is Mango,” I said, hoping to get on her good side with my cute dog. “He’s the reason I’m worried about the water quality in the lake.”

  She looked at us again and then sighed and said, “Come inside and we can talk.” Mango and I followed her into the brick research building, down a flight of stairs, and through a long hallway painted a garish blend of green and yellow. “I share an office with another graduate student, but he’s not here right now.” She moved a stack of papers off of a wood chair and gestured for me to sit down.

  “I brought a water sample I took yesterday,” I said. I took my Talking Rain bottle out of my messenger bag and set it down. I’d used a Sharpie to write the time and date on the bottle. I pulled out a map of Portage Bay and handed it to her, too. “I marked the spot where I got the water. Or at least the general area.”

  “Why did you choose this particular spot to take a water sample? Is this
where your dog likes to swim? It seems pretty far from shore.”

  “Um, actually, this isn’t where he swims. My mom and I were kayaking last night when we got this sample,” I started to explain.

  “Why this spot?”

  “Well, we saw a suspicious-looking boat in the area, and we wanted to see what they were up to. I thought maybe they were dumping something in the water,” I said.

  “Or they could be, like you, trying to get water samples to study.” Why was this woman challenging me on this? Maybe Alpha B. Cowlitz was not the kind of researcher who wanted to help a kid. Maybe her interest in healthy urban waterways was tied to wealthy urban donors. Maybe she’d thought I was an adult with lots of money, based on where I said I lived. I had only one more trick up my sleeve. Honesty.

  “Listen, my mom and I are house-sitting on a houseboat on Portage Bay. I’ve seen some weird things that make me wonder about the water, including some little dead fish right off our dock. I looked through newspaper archives and couldn’t find any stories about anything being dumped in the water. There haven’t been any warnings not to swim. But there’s definitely something strange going on.”

  Alpha seemed to relax and get more interested in my problem. Maybe she could see that I was serious.

  “Hannah, you said you live on a houseboat. Can you give me an exact address?”

  I gave it to her, and after she wrote it down she went to a tall metal file cabinet and pulled out a file.

  “Have you talked to any of your neighbors about this?” she asked.

  “No. Not yet.”

  “Hannah, I won’t be able to test your water sample,” she said.

  Drat! I thought I had her. But she kept talking.

  “I’ll have to get my own water samples and do it systematically and scientifically. Not that you did anything wrong. You did a great job with the general location and the date and time. But I’ll need more specific information.”

  “Does this mean you’ll help me?” I asked.

  “I will. This ties directly into my own research project.”

  “Do you think that yachts might be involved in polluting the water?” I asked.

  “I can’t tell yet. I can tell you that it’s not just a case of gasoline-powered engines and their exhaust causing the trouble. I do have a hunch that power boats are involved, however,” she said.

  Boats involved, but not because of their engines? I wished she would tell me more, but she insisted she needed to do some tests first.

  “And before we take this any further, there’s someone else I think you should talk to,” Alpha said.

  “Who?”

  “Alice Campbell.”

  CHAPTER 16

  MANGO AND I got back to the dock while the crew was still filming. I plopped down on the sidewalk by the mailboxes and tried to figure out what to do.

  “Aren’t they done yet?” Alice asked as she wandered back toward the dock. Just the person I wanted to see. Especially since Alpha had just mentioned her.

  “Nope. They’re still here,” I said, stating the obvious.

  “Well, I was planning on going home, but luckily I’m dressed for my daily walk,” Alice said, gesturing at her black tracksuit. Mango barked when he heard the word “walk.”

  “That’s right, I love to walk, don’t I?” Alice said, obviously enjoying egging Mango on. “I walk four miles every day.” He barked each time she said “walk.” Alice laughed each time he barked. “I think Mango would like to accompany me,” she said. “Would you like to join us?”

  Of course I wanted to go on a walk with her. This was the perfect chance to ask her what she’d been up to. I was going to be smooth, though, and follow her lead about the right time to start asking questions. I’d warm her up. Get her talking about other things. I’d let her set the pace.

  Alice also set the pace for walking. And what a pace. Yowza. You can never tell how hilly a place is until you’re on your feet or pedaling a bike. We had maybe two blocks of flat streets, and then we went up a supersteep hill that had ridges in the sidewalk to keep people from toppling over when they came down. Alice walked fast—and I do mean fast. It was hot, and I was hot. “Do you always walk this fast? For the whole four miles?” I asked.

  “We’ll only go a couple miles this afternoon,” she said. “But to answer your question, I like to walk fast. I ran until I was fifty-three. Arthritis in my knee slowed me down to a walk.”

  “I wouldn’t call this slow,” I said, huffing as we entered a dense, shady forest. “Wow. Where are we? Is this some kind of park?”

  “Not just any park. This is a historical section of Seattle,” Alice began. “Imagine this at the turn of the century. Make that the turn of the twentieth century, more than one hundred years ago. Bicycles and horses and buggies were favored forms of transportation then. This park was designed as a bicycle boulevard linking downtown and Capitol Hill to the shores of Lake Washington. At one time these pathways were filled with cyclists on their way to picnics or to work.”

  I could totally imagine it. Wide paths meandered up the steep face of Capitol Hill, with lush forest growth on each side of the paths, making it shady and cool. I suppose the trees could even protect bicyclists from the rain. They were that thick.

  “I can’t imagine riding up this without a twenty-four-speed bike,” I said.

  “You’d have to stand up on your pedals and work your muscles hard,” Alice said. “Of course, there’s no shame in getting off a bike and walking it uphill either. But you’d want to stay on your bike for the downhill ride. It must have been exhilarating.”

  “This is so cool! And it must smell really good, too,” I said. Mango was sniffing around like crazy.

  “I like to bring people here so that others will realize what a treasure we have in this park. We still have fifty-one acres here.”

  “Do you think we’re in danger of losing it?” I asked, feeling a bit panicky.

  “Oh, there’s always that chance. This is prime real estate. But it’s also an important part of Seattle’s history. Part of the city’s legacy. Some of our most gorgeous parks, including this one, are thanks to the Olmsted brothers, sons of the man who designed New York’s Central Park.”

  I was quiet for a while, mostly because we were going up such a steep incline.

  “Whoa! What’s that?” I asked as we approached a tall brick structure. It towered over the trees ahead of us. “I had no idea a place like this existed in Seattle.”

  “It’s now the Seattle Hebrew Academy. It was first built in 1916 as a convent. It was situated here, by Interlaken Park, to be far from the wicked ways of Seattle proper. It’s a gorgeous building, isn’t it?”

  “I wonder if the nuns liked living there,” I said.

  She stopped walking and looked directly at me.

  “I wonder if you’re wondering about something else,” Alice said.

  “Well, actually, I am.”

  “I told you earlier, if you’re wondering about something, all you have to do is ask,” she said.

  Here goes: “Who are you trying to protect?” I blurted out.

  CHAPTER 17

  ALICE STARTED WALKING again without answering me. She seemed intent on watching the pathway as we wound our way back down the steep hills of Interlaken Park.

  “It’s Marcus, isn’t it?” I prodded.

  Still no answer.

  “Marcus’s parents are doing something weird to the water. And you’re trying to cover for them. You’re not just covering for them, though. You want to make sure that Marcus isn’t hurt by what they’re doing.”

  “No, that isn’t it,” Alice said. She sounded much older and more tired than when she was giving me the historic tour of the park.

  “So you’re not trying to protect him?” We were going downhill, heading back toward Lake Washington and the Portage Bay dock.

  “It’s complicated, Hannah.”

  “If something is in the water that can kill fish, we have to stop it,
no matter how complicated it is,” I said. I couldn’t help it when an argumentative tone crept into my voice. But this was big-time stuff.

  “I agree with you completely, Hannah. We need to stop whatever is going on,” Alice said.

  “Then let’s stop it!” I said adamantly. “Mom has a friend at KOMO TV. We can call her once we get Alpha’s water test results. We can go to the city council and the newspapers.”

  “You know Alpha?” Alice asked. She’d looked so serious just moments ago, but now she smiled. “My, you do get around, don’t you?”

  “The thing is, I still don’t know what’s going into the water or why it’s going in,” I said.

  “There’s still a lot I need to sort out,” Alice said. Then she went into silent mode for the rest of our walk back to the dock.

  Alpha Cowlitz, the university researcher, was just getting off the bus when Alice and I got back down to Boyer Avenue.

  “Alpha!” Alice called. “It’s wonderful to see you. Although I can’t say I’m surprised. We were just talking about you.”

  Alice invited Alpha and me into her cottage. She put a bowl of water down for Mango, who lapped it up sloppily and then lay down on the cool kitchen floor.

  “Alice, I told Hannah that I need to do systematic testing to get any reliable readings on the water quality here,” Alpha began. “But I couldn’t resist doing some preliminary tests on the samples you gave me already.”

  “Before you go any further, I want to give Hannah a bit of background,” Alice said. “Residents on this part of Lake Washington, here in Portage Bay, have a long history of fighting for clean water.”

  Here we go again, I thought. I might as well put all questions on hold until Alice gave me another Seattle history lesson.

  “It’s almost impossible to believe,” Alice continued, “but back in the 1970s the city of Seattle used to actually dump raw sewage into the water here.”

  “Gross!” I couldn’t help interrupting.

  “Yes, it’s gross. And unconscionable. One would think that we would have learned by now to be careful what we put in the water. Still, there are people living in big houses who use toxic chemicals to clean their driveways and patios, and then hose off the cleaner, and the runoff then gets into our lakes and streams.