by Stuart Gibbs
“Li Ping,” I corrected.
“Whatever. Point is, we’re gonna find these criminals before my sister does—and we’re gonna make her look like a fool.”
“If you want to do that, that’s fine with me,” I said, edging away slowly. “But you can’t make me do it.”
“Yes I can.”
“How? By accusing me of another crime I didn’t commit? You’ve done that too many times. No one’s ever going to believe you.”
“Who said I was gonna accuse you of a crime?” Marge asked. There was a devious glint in her eyes.
I suddenly got a feeling like I was a seal in the water with the polar bears. “What are you talking about?”
“Your girlfriend isn’t as perfect as everyone thinks.”
“Summer’s not my girlfriend.”
“Yeah, right. I’ve been watching you two,” Marge told me. “You’re together every chance you get, hanging out, eating all your meals together . . . making fun of me.”
I swallowed hard, realizing Marge had probably been watching us the whole time we’d been in the Polar Pavilion, waiting for the chance to get me alone. If so, there was a good chance she’d overheard us imitating her. “Summer wasn’t making fun of you. . . .”
“It just so happens, I have recovered security footage of Miss Fancy-Pants shoplifting at the FunJungle Emporium. Multiple times.”
My stomach clenched with anxiety. I knew exactly what Marge was talking about. Because I’d seen it happen. The Emporium was an enormous store by the entry plaza that sold everything from snacks to T-shirts to athletic equipment. Quite often, when Summer was hungry, she would simply walk inside and take whatever she wanted: candy, Popsicles, sodas. She had always claimed that it wasn’t really shoplifting, because her father had paid for everything in the first place, and since the clerks all knew her, they never raised a fuss.
“It’s not stealing,” I said as confidently as I could, hoping I was right. “Not if she’s only taking things from her father.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Marge replied. “What’s important is, it’ll look like stealing to everyone else.”
“How?”
“Let’s say these security tapes happened to end up at some of those websites that post embarrassing videos of celebrities. Footage of a girl as famous as Summer shoplifting would probably get a couple million hits, easy. And those viewers won’t realize she’s only taking merchandise from her daddy. They’ll think she’s breaking the law. Suddenly, Summer won’t be America’s Sweetheart anymore. She’ll be just another spoiled rich girl with a load of skeletons in her closet.” Marge smiled cruelly as she said this, relishing the thought of it.
My jaw was clenched so tight in anger, it was almost hard to speak. “If you do that, J.J. will fire you.”
“Not if he doesn’t find out it was me.”
“I’ll tell him it was you.”
“You’ll never be able to prove it. I already have the footage. I can get it to these sites without leaving any trace I did it. All I have to do is drop it in a mailbox. In two days it’ll be all over the Web. And Summer’s reputation will be dirt.”
I didn’t reply. I didn’t know what to say. I knew Marge was probably right about how the world would respond. I was pretty sure that, in my middle school alone, there were plenty of people who would quickly turn on Summer the moment she appeared to have broken the law. Summer had often told me how cautious she was to never do anything embarrassing in public for fear of it being recorded. But it had obviously never occurred to her that she could be so easily undone by her own father’s security system.
“If you go to J.J., or your parents, or anyone else, and tell them about this—or do anything else to get me in trouble—then I’ll mail the footage,” Marge warned. Then she stepped back, letting go of me and acting nice and friendly, as though she hadn’t just threatened my girlfriend. “But we can avoid all that messiness if you just agree to help me. And I know, deep down inside, Teddy, that you want to find whoever stole that panda as bad as I do. So what do you say? Are we partners?”
Marge was wrong. While I wanted someone to find Li Ping and Doc, I didn’t feel that it had to be me. I trusted her sister and the rest of the FBI to do it, and I didn’t want to cross them up or get on their bad side.
But I also didn’t want Summer’s reputation ruined. And I was willing to do whatever it took to protect her. There might have been some way to undermine Marge’s plan, but I had no idea what it was. Until I came up with something, I was going to have to at least act like I was helping Marge.
“What do you need me to do?” I asked.
Marge smiled again, extremely pleased with herself. “Just do what you always do. Stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.” She noticed that Summer was on her way back from the bathroom, then said, “I’ll be in touch.”
With that, she slipped away, heading off toward the walruses.
I shivered as I watched her go, but it had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.
In the exhibit, one of the polar bears dove into the water. It swam with surprising grace and speed for a land animal the size of a car. The guests oohed and aahed.
Summer resumed her place beside me at the railing. “Sorry it took so long. There was only one toilet working and some gross woman was hogging it forever.” She looked down the hall and asked, “Was that Marge?”
“Yes.”
“Was she accusing you of stealing Li Ping?”
“No.”
“What, then? Plotting to murder the polar bears? Fondling penguins? Walrus trafficking?”
“She wanted me to help her investigate Li Ping’s disappearance.”
Summer stopped joking and gaped at me. “Marge O’Malley asked for your help?”
“Yes. She wants to find Li Ping and Doc before her sister can.”
Summer’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Sounds like fun. When do we start?”
EAVESDROPPING
“The best place to begin our investigation,” Summer told me as we headed out of the Polar Pavilion, “is by finding out what the FBI has learned.”
“How?” I asked.
“We spy on their investigation.”
“And how are we supposed to do that?”
“Just leave it to me.” Summer grinned proudly. “I have a plan.”
We passed through the exit doors and were walloped by the heat. It was like being transported from Antarctica to Texas in an instant.
Even though Summer was doing exactly what Marge wanted us to do, I still felt I should be the voice of caution. It was one thing to snoop around a bit to get Marge off my back. But I knew we could get in a lot of trouble by crossing the FBI.
“Molly warned us not to interfere with her investigation,” I said.
“Because she wants all the glory of solving this for herself and the FBI. Which is really selfish. She’s not thinking about Doc or Li Ping. She’s only thinking of herself.”
“So is Marge. She only wants to show up her sister.”
“At least she asked for our help. And for once, she’s right. You’re smarter than the whole FBI, Teddy.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Sure you are. You’ve solved every case you’ve ever had. If anyone can crack this case, it’s you. Man, it’s hot. Want a frozen fruit bar or something?”
FunJungle Emporium, the site of Summer’s “shoplifting,” loomed ahead. I’d allowed Summer to treat me to a snack there dozens of times, but now things had changed.
“I’ve been thinking,” I said, “maybe you shouldn’t just grab food at the Emporium whenever you want. Someone might think you’re stealing it.”
“But I’m not. Daddy already paid for everything. If some dumb security guard tries to bust me, I can just call my father.”
“I didn’t mean a security guard. I meant a tourist. What if someone recognizes you and films you grabbing food without paying for it and posts it online? That would look pretty bad.”
&nbs
p; A frown spread across Summer’s face as my point sank in. “What if we were really stealth?” she suggested. “If no one sees us, no one can film me.”
“What if we just paid for our snacks like normal people? I’m sure you can afford it.”
“Not right now,” Summer groused. “I’m not carrying any money. Are you?”
“No. Doesn’t your father have an account in the park? Could you just take the stuff to the register?”
“I could, but then I’d have to call attention to myself, and I’d get stuck taking selfies with tourists for the next twenty minutes instead of figuring out who took Doc and Li Ping. Speaking of which, we should get on that.” Summer cast a longing look at FunJungle Emporium, probably imagining the aisles of frozen treats inside, then turned her back on it and launched into a long diatribe about how spying on the FBI was really the right thing to do. The gist was that if we all really wanted to rescue Doc and Li Ping, then the more people looking for them, the better, and if Molly O’Malley couldn’t share like a decent person, then we owed it to Doc and Li Ping to find out what she knew. I realized there’d be no chance of talking Summer out of this. Once she got an idea in her head, you couldn’t dislodge it with dynamite.
So I tailed along after her, figuring the worst that could happen was that Molly O’Malley would get annoyed at us and tell us to beat it. (My chances of getting in trouble were always diminished when Summer was around, because no one wanted to risk J.J. McCracken’s wrath by punishing his daughter.) This way, I could at least claim to Marge that I was trying to help her out—and it gave me something to do with Summer besides going around FunJungle for the thousandth time.
We passed into the employee section and headed to the administration building. Most people needed a special ID badge to enter Admin, but Summer simply waved to the guards and breezed right through the security area. Since I was with her, no one batted an eye at me. We then rode the elevators up to the top floor, where J.J. had let the FBI set up camp in the conference room next to his office.
There was a large reception area outside J.J.’s office. Usually, lots of people were gathered there, waiting to meet with him. J.J. owned lots of companies, which did everything from making laundry detergent to building bridges, although FunJungle was now his main priority. Most of his businesses were headquartered in San Antonio, but since J.J. was the boss, any time he had to be in a meeting, everyone came to him. Today, however, the reception area was almost empty. J.J. had cancelled everything to deal with the panda crisis. The only person waiting was Juan Velasquez, the driver of the Panda Express. He was slumped in a chair, asleep, apparently worn out from the long drive.
His receptionist, Lynda Hayes, manned a desk nearby. Lynda was in her sixties and had worked for J.J. since he’d first started out. She had actually been a friend of J.J.’s mother, and she claimed to know J.J. better than he knew himself.
Lynda normally was calm as could be, but that morning, she seemed overwhelmed. She was frantically running through phone calls, switching quickly from one line to the other. “J.J. McCracken’s office. No, I’m sorry, he’s not available . . . J.J. McCracken’s office. No, he isn’t speaking to the press today, I’m sorry . . .” She gave us a quick wave as we entered, then pointed to the phone, signaling that she couldn’t talk.
As we neared her desk, we could see that she was streaming a 24-hour news channel on her computer. The reason Lynda looked so harried instantly became clear: Word of Li Ping’s disappearance had gotten out.
A banner on the screen proclaimed PANDA-MONIUM: CRISIS AT FUNJUNGLE! One of the big national news anchors, a woman named Heather Smith, was giving an update on the story. With her perfect hair and gleaming teeth, she looked like a female version of Pete Thwacker. “FunJungle has not issued any statement about the disappearance of Li Ping,” she announced. “Although sources say the Chinese government is outraged and that the FBI is now involved in the investigation.”
“Oh no,” Summer gasped. She turned to Lynda and asked, “When did this happen?”
Lynda mouthed, “About an hour ago.”
I checked my watch. It was 10:45. It surprised me that we’d missed word of this, but then, there were no TVs anywhere in the park.
“Daddy must be having a heart attack,” Summer sighed.
On the computer monitor, Heather Smith said, “Now joining us to discuss the trials and tribulations of running a business like FunJungle is Walter Ogilvy, chairman of the Nautilus Corporation.”
I instantly felt a chill go up my spine.
I had nearly died because of Walter Ogilvy.
He was J.J. McCracken’s major business rival. The two men loathed each other. They were constantly trying to one-up each other, battling for control of the marketplace in several different arenas. The difference was, Ogilvy had no morals at all. J.J. wasn’t exactly a saint, but next to Ogilvy, he seemed like one.
For example, Ogilvy had been behind sabotaging the shark tank at FunJungle. He had always claimed J.J. had stolen the idea for FunJungle from him; he’d planned to build a rival park called ZooTopia that had never gotten off the ground. Now he was determined to ruin FunJungle’s success. He’d hired a thug named Hank Duntz to collapse the pedestrian tube that went through the shark tank and make it look like an accident. Unfortunately, I’d been inside the tube when it collapsed—along with Marge O’Malley and a police officer named Bubba Stackhouse.
Ogilvy had never admitted to the sabotage, of course. In the months since the shark tank incident, he and J.J. had been suing and counter-suing each other. Each had a huge stable of lawyers to sic on the other, and every time one got some traction, the other would bite back. Even though Hank Dunst had named Ogilvy as the man who’d hired him, that had been rejected by the courts because they felt Hank had been under duress when he confessed. (We had locked him in a room with an angry, poop-throwing chimpanzee to get him to admit the truth.) Since then, Hank hadn’t said another word to implicate Ogilvy, which both my parents suspected meant Hank had been paid off by Ogilvy to take the fall for him.
And yet, here was the national news, inviting Ogilvy to talk about FunJungle. Ogilvy wasn’t appearing on the program in person: He was simply phoning in while they displayed a photo of him. He didn’t look particularly evil. He was in his seventies but looked much younger. (Summer claimed this was due to millions of dollars’ worth of plastic surgery.) He had silver hair and wore the same kind of fancy suits that Pete Thwacker did. Even though Mom hated the man, she still admitted he was handsome.
“I can’t believe they’re letting that skunk on the air to talk about this!” Summer exclaimed. “He doesn’t know anything about pandas! He’s just going to bad-mouth my father.”
I shushed her, wanting to hear what Ogilvy had to say.
“Mr. Ogilvy, you once considered opening a theme park very much like FunJungle,” Heather Smith began, “but you ultimately chose not to, claiming the risks were too great. . . .”
“That’s exactly right,” Ogilvy said before Heather could even ask a question. “And sadly, J.J. McCracken is operating FunJungle in a way that amplifies those risks even more. He keeps trying to run that zoo like it’s any other business. But it’s not like any other business, because in a zoo, what you’re selling is alive. When my food division sells a delicious cereal like Frootie Puffs, I don’t have to worry that the Frootie Puffs are going to escape from the supermarket and maim some innocent shopper. But that’s not the case with an animal.”
“Are you implying that Li Ping escaped?” Heather Smith asked.
“I don’t know what happened to Li Ping,” Ogilvy replied. “Except that she’s gone. And the blame for that should be placed squarely on J.J. McCracken. This is merely the latest in a string of serious mishaps at FunJungle, which is evidence that this business is a recipe for disaster. Frankly, I think it’s only a matter of time before a tourist gets hurt at FunJungle, rather than a panda.”
“Cram it, you big jerk!” Summer shouted, then s
pun toward us. “See? He’s attacking Daddy, exactly like I said he would. And the anchor is just letting it happen. She doesn’t care about Li Ping! She’s only stirring up trouble to get better ratings.”
Lynda took a break from answering calls and muted the program. “Maybe you shouldn’t be watching this,” she said, although she looked equally as angry at Ogilvy as Summer did.
Since Lynda actually had a moment to talk, I took advantage of it. I pointed to Juan and asked, “What’s going on with him?”
“That woman from the FBI wants to interview him.” The tone in Lynda’s voice indicated she didn’t like Molly O’Malley one bit. “She said he couldn’t leave the premises until she’d taken his testimony. Only, she’s been grilling the other driver for over an hour. And poor Juan here’s plumb tuckered out after that drive. He drank three cups of coffee and still nodded off.”
Sure enough, when I listened, I could hear the voices of Molly O’Malley and Greg Jefferson coming from the conference room. “Molly didn’t question Marge?” I asked.
“She’s going to,” Lynda replied. “She told her not to leave the park until then. Lord have mercy, can you believe those two are sisters? They look as much alike as a pea and a poodle.”
“They’re both awfully stubborn,” Summer said. She had calmed down and now turned her attention to why we’d come there in the first place: finding out what Molly O’Malley was up to. She pointed innocently to the room next to the conference room and asked Lynda, “Is anyone using that? Teddy and I have a school project we need to finish by tomorrow.”
Lynda’s eyes narrowed, betraying the tiniest bit of suspicion. “About what?”
“The Battle of the Bulge,” Summer said without blinking an eye. “We’re studying World War Two in American History.”
She sold the lie so well, any doubts Lynda might have had vanished instantly. “Your father has some models of the amusement park set up in there, but I think if you’re careful with them, he won’t mind you using that room.”