Tyrannosaurus Wrecks

by Stuart Gibbs

  “Frozen?” Brewster repeated.

  “Stolen!” I corrected. Xavier’s handwriting was atrocious. “I meant stolen.”

  “I don’t know,” Brewster said, sounding annoyed that I was poking holes in her theory. “Maybe J.J. doesn’t want Minerva for FunJungle at all. Maybe he wants a dinosaur skeleton in his living room. That’s what most people paying top dollar for dinosaur bones are doing with them.”

  “I can’t imagine J.J. having a skull stolen like that…,” I began.

  “No one can ever imagine their friends committing a crime,” Brewster told me. “And yet thousands of crimes are committed every year. Tell me, how did Summer McCracken end up coming along with you today?”

  “I invited her,” I said.

  “Are you sure about that?” Brewster inquired. “Take some time to think about it. Is it possible she already knew where you were going and asked to come along?”

  “Are you suggesting that Summer is also tied up in this?” I asked.

  “I just think it seems a little suspicious,” Brewster replied. “J.J. McCracken wants to buy the dinosaur. He’s told no. He gets upset. The dinosaur disappears. McCracken is the number one suspect. And who shows up at the top-secret crime scene the very next morning? His own daughter.”

  I felt myself growing angry at Brewster’s accusations. I was about to dismiss her entire theory as idiocy, but Dad held up an open hand, signaling me to bite my tongue.

  Take a breath, Dad mouthed.

  So I did, calming myself down. He was right; there was no point in antagonizing Officer Brewster. Instead, I realized that I should try to divert her attention to someone else. Someone who made more sense.

  “Summer definitely didn’t know about the dinosaur before I told her,” I said as pleasantly as I could. “I invited her. She didn’t invite herself.”

  “Really?” Brewster asked, like she didn’t believe me, which forced me to bite my tongue again.

  “You said Dr. Chen was the one who told you about J.J. McCracken?” I asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, what’s to say that’s the truth? Maybe Dr. Chen stole Minerva and is pointing the blame somewhere else.”

  “Dr. Chen didn’t steal the skull,” Brewster said confidently. “She has an alibi.”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  Officer Brewster explained, “There’s a bar by the motel where Dr. Chen and everyone else on the dig stayed last night. It’s out by the interstate. The bar’s called Ruby’s Taphouse. Dr. Chen and the whole crew were there all night last night.”

  Xavier started scribbling furiously again.

  “All night?” I repeated.

  “Well, not until dawn. But until last call, which was somewhere around one thirty a.m. They gathered there for dinner and ended up staying late. I called the bar and confirmed it with Ruby herself.”

  Xavier ripped off another piece of paper and handed it to me. I made sure I could read his handwriting this time and then asked, “The teenage girls were there too?”

  “Well, no,” Brewster said. “Of course not. That’d be against the law. But according to everyone—even Ruby—they were allowed in for dinner and then, once everyone started drinking, they went to their motel room and watched a movie. They were asleep in the room when the mother came back.”

  “And every other one of the people from the dig was at Ruby’s the whole time?” I asked.

  “Except for the old man who disappeared for ten hours and came back soaking wet and carrying a dinosaur skull,” Brewster said, sounding annoyed. “I’m not an idiot, Teddy. I know how to confirm an alibi. These people all have one, and it’s rock solid.”

  We arrived at a fork in the road. Dad braked to a stop and drummed his hands on the steering wheel, thinking. The left turn led back to FunJungle. But Dad seemed to be having second thoughts about going that way.

  I couldn’t ask him what he was doing without tipping off Officer Brewster that other people were eavesdropping on the call. So instead I said, “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to question your abilities.”

  Dad came to a decision and took the right fork in the road, heading away from FunJungle.

  Officer Brewster asked, “Did Summer McCracken say anything suspicious today? Did she indicate in any way that she had previous knowledge of this crime?”

  Now it was my turn to get annoyed again. I didn’t like the idea of anyone questioning the honor of my girlfriend. Although it occurred to me that Officer Brewster didn’t seem to know Summer was my girlfriend. Otherwise, she never would have trusted me to rat on her. “Summer didn’t know about this until I told her about it,” I reiterated. “Plus, she is one of the most honest people I’ve ever met. If her father had anything to do with this, she didn’t know about it.”

  Dad glanced at me as I said this, and I winced. In my hurry to protect Summer’s reputation, I had suggested that J.J. McCracken still might have been responsible.

  Not that I could guarantee J.J. wasn’t involved. I liked J.J., but I knew he could be somewhat slippery where ethics were concerned. There had always been rumors that he might have broken a law or two—or more—to amass his fortune, although nothing had ever been proven.

  And yet, I still felt I needed to say something in his defense. “Not that I’m saying J.J. did do it. I don’t think he would. Have you checked to see if he has an alibi yet?”

  “Someone as rich as J.J. McCracken doesn’t need an alibi,” Brewster said dismissively. “He can pay other people to do his dirty work for him.”

  “But doesn’t that mean that any rich person might have done it?” I suggested.

  “They’d still have to know about the dinosaur first…”

  “Maybe someone else did, but we just don’t know about it yet.”

  “Do me a favor, kid. If Summer starts asking strange questions about the dinosaur—or does anything suspicious—let me know. I’ll text you my private number right now.”

  “But—” I began.

  Brewster didn’t bother to listen. I got the impression she was done talking to me and wanted to get off the call. “And one more thing: If you do come across evidence that J.J. McCracken is involved in this crime and you don’t share it with me, then you could be considered an accessory to the crime. Do you know what that means?”

  “Yes. It means I could be in trouble too.”

  “Exactly. So let me know if you hear anything.” Brewster hung up.

  “Boy oh boy,” Xavier said. “She really has it in for J.J., doesn’t she?”

  “We should let Summer know,” I said, starting to dial her number.

  “I’m sure Brewster’s counting on you doing that,” Dad said.

  I stopped dialing. “Why’s that?”

  “You’re obviously friends with her. Brewster could tell that. She could have easily kept it a secret that she suspected J.J., but she didn’t.”

  Xavier asked, “What point would there be to letting J.J. know she suspects him?”

  “I’m not sure,” Dad answered. “Maybe she wants to make him nervous. Maybe she thinks he’ll make a mistake.”

  The woods ended abruptly as we came to civilization. The road we were on dead-ended at an access road, which paralleled Interstate 35, the main route from San Antonio to Austin. I had been told that, not many years before, there hadn’t been much along this stretch of highway except for a few small towns. But as San Antonio had sprawled north and Austin had sprawled south, the highway had become one long stretch of suburbia. The access road was now lined with fast-food restaurants, cheap motels, convenience stores, and the occasional random business. Dad turned right onto the access road, passed a McDonald’s, a Taco Bell, and a swimming pool supply store, and then pulled into the parking lot of a bar.

  Ruby’s Taphouse.

  The bar looked like it had been built several decades earlier and never had a dime of improvement put into it since. The paint was peeling, the parking lot was more weeds than asphalt, and letters wer
e missing from the neon sign so that it said Rub ’s Tap use. Still, through the windows, the place seemed homey and far more inviting to spend time in than the fast-food restaurants.

  Next to Ruby’s was the motel that Officer Brewster had mentioned. It was called the Cozy Inn, and it appeared as though the same person who had built Ruby’s had built it, too; it was also a bit rundown, but not awful. A two-story L of rooms hooked around a parking lot and a fenced-off swimming pool. There was only one car in the parking lot—although it was likely that anyone staying at the motel was probably out at FunJungle or some other tourist attraction for the day.

  “Wow,” Xavier said. “This wasn’t too far from the ranch.”

  “Makes sense,” Dad told us. “If everyone from the dig needed to grab a place to spend the night in a hurry, they probably wouldn’t want to go too far. Or spend too much, given that most of them are volunteering for this as it is.” He got out of the car.

  So did Xavier and I. The blackest rain clouds had moved on, but the day was still blustery.

  “How’d you know this was here?” I asked.

  “I am allowed to go out on occasion,” Dad teased. “And sometimes it’s nice to go someplace that isn’t part of FunJungle.” He led the way to the front door of Ruby’s.

  “What’s wrong with FunJungle?” Xavier asked, slightly confused. Xavier revered FunJungle so much, he seemed surprised that anyone might have a problem with it.

  “Everything there is themed,” Dad explained. “It’s all pretend. Fake safari lodge. Fake outback camp. Fake Caribbean resort. It can be fun, but… it can also be a bit too much. This place just is what it is.”

  A sign on the door of Ruby’s listed the hours, Noon–2:00 a.m., along with a note saying, No Minors Allowed after 10:00 p.m. There was also a boot scraper by the door, which we put to good work, knocking all the mud off our shoes.

  Our clothes were damp and dirty, but we were still presentable. The mud in my pants had dried up so that it was only moderately annoying rather than terribly uncomfortable. I was eager for a shower, but even more eager to find out whether the alibi for Dr. Chen and all the other diggers was legitimate. Xavier seemed to feel the same way, so once our shoes were clean, we followed my father inside.

  Ruby’s was a U-shaped dining area arrayed around a smaller U of a bar. The booths along the walls had red fake leather seats. The decor was all neon beer signs and mounted deer heads. Xavier grimaced at the sight of them.

  Although it was lunchtime, only two of the booths were taken. A family sat at one: two harried-looking parents, two young children, and a toddler in a high chair. They had the look of tourists who had just finished a long road trip; I guessed maybe it was their car parked at the motel.

  The other booth had three old men who looked like they might have sat in the exact same places for lunch every day for the past thirty years.

  A teenage girl was manning the hostess stand, idly looking at her phone. “Yes?” she asked curtly, as if we were imposing on her personal time.

  “Three for lunch,” Dad said.

  The girl grabbed three menus and led us through the restaurant.

  “By any chance, were you working here last night?” Dad asked.

  “Can’t,” the girl said. “I’m not old enough to be here after ten. Ask Gladys, your server. I think she was on last night.” She plunked the menus on a table and slouched back to the hostess stand.

  Dad, Xavier, and I made a beeline for the restroom, where we used the facilities and thoroughly washed all the mud off our hands. When we returned to our table, Gladys was waiting for us. She looked to be in her seventies, if not older, but was spry and far friendlier than the hostess had been. “How are you gentlemen doing today?” she asked.

  “Doing fine.” Dad gave Gladys his most charming smile as we took our seats. “How are you?”

  “Better, now that three handsome men like you are here,” Gladys said teasingly. “Looks like you got caught in that storm.”

  “We did,” Dad agreed. “The hostess said you might have been working here last night.”

  “You got that many words out of her?” Gladys asked. “Congratulations. That might be a record.”

  We looked back at the hostess, who was riveted to her phone again.

  Dad went on. “The three of us are here to join up with a paleontology dig. We were supposed to get in last night, but our plane was delayed due to the weather. I think we’re at the right motel, though. Do you know if there’s a paleontology group staying there?”

  “They definitely were last night,” Gladys answered. “In fact, they were practically staying here. They didn’t head home until closing time. And I thought construction workers could drink.”

  “Oh,” Dad said, like this was news to him. “It was a big group? Nine people?”

  “Nine exactly,” Gladys said. “I served them myself. Though we had to send the two girls home after a while due to bar hours.”

  I jumped in then, so it wouldn’t look like Dad was being nosy. “And they were here all night?”

  “Just about. They came in around eight, right before the storm started, had dinner, then dessert, and then kept right on going. But enough about them. Can I get you folks anything to drink? The lemonade’s delicious. Fresh-squeezed today.”

  Xavier and I took her advice and ordered lemonades while Dad asked for an iced tea.

  “Coming right up.” Gladys started to go, then looked back to Xavier and me. “Just so you know, those teenage girls you’ll be working with are awfully cute. I’m sure they’ll be pleased to learn some handsome young gentlemen will be joining them.” She gave us a wink and headed for the kitchen.

  Xavier turned red around the ears and quickly changed the subject. “Sounds like Officer Brewster was right. Everyone from the dig was here.”

  “Nine people were here,” Dad corrected. “We’re still not sure if it was everyone from the dig or not.”

  We discussed how to go about investigating from there. Dad had taken photos of everyone from the dig with his camera, but we couldn’t show those to Gladys without revealing that we had lied to her about just arriving in town. So we figured that, for the moment, we had to assume everyone from the dig had been at the restaurant from 8:00 p.m. until closing time around 2:00 a.m. Six hours. Which made the possibility of any of them spending up to ten hours stealing the skull in the rainstorm impossible.

  Not that we had any better ideas about how the skull could have been taken. We all ended up ordering burgers, which were really good, and discussing possibilities all the way through lunch, but failed to come up with anything reasonable.

  We were polishing off our lunches when three cars pulled into the motel parking lot at once.

  The people from the dig had finally returned from the site.

  As Officer Brewster had said, they had been caught in the storm. It didn’t appear that taking cover in the trees had protected them much. They were all bedraggled and soaked to the bone. Every one of them looked miserable as they climbed out of their cars and headed for their motel rooms.

  The four older people were in a high-end luxury SUV. The ponytailed guy was driving a small camper. The mom and the two teenage girls were in a much older SUV; it had quite a collection of dings on the doors and the bumper.

  As I watched the girls climb out, I suddenly remembered what I’d seen at the dig. “One of those girls took something from the site!” I exclaimed.

  “You’re sure?” Dad asked.

  “Not a hundred percent, but close. She was definitely up to something suspicious. While Summer was out on the rocks.”

  “And you didn’t say anything to Brewster?” Xavier asked.

  “I forgot! There was a lot going on!”

  Dad dropped some money on the table to cover the bill, then snapped to his feet and headed for the door. Xavier and I followed him.

  “We need to catch her before she gets to her room,” Dad said. “If she did swipe something, it’s probably sti
ll on her.” He shoved out the door and then broke into a run, rounding the corner of Ruby’s and racing into the motel parking lot.

  I ran after him. I had managed to forget about the mud in my pants during lunch, but now I found it had congealed on my rear end, which was yet a new level of discomfort.

  “Hey!” Dad yelled to the girl I had pointed out. “I need to talk to you!”

  The members of the dig all paused on the way to their rooms and stared at Dad. Some seemed to be having trouble placing him while others seemed surprised he was there.

  However, the teenage girl’s eyes went wide with fear at the sight of him. Although she dressed a lot like her friend, I could now see marked differences between them. She had long dark hair that was dyed with streaks of blond, and she definitely resembled the mother more than the other girl. While everyone else kept looking at Dad, she turned away and hurried toward her room.

  “You!” Dad yelled at her. “Stop! You’re who I need to talk to!”

  The girl glanced back over her shoulder at us—and then ran.

  8 BITTEN

  The teenage girl darted across the motel parking lot. Her mother stared after her, surprised. “Caitlyn!” she yelled. “Come back here!”

  Dad, Xavier, and I raced after the girl. The older couples and the guy with the ponytail all watched us run past. Caitlyn’s mother and her friend fell in behind us.

  We rounded the end of the motel in pursuit. Behind the motel was a drainage culvert, a grassy ditch that was dry 99 percent of the time, but today had two feet of water churning through it.

  Caitlyn ran down into the culvert, slogged through the water, and scrambled back up the other side.

  Dad and I followed her. Behind us, Xavier slipped in the wet grass and tumbled down the steep hill, splatting into a slick of mud by the edge of the water.

  I paused to check on him.

  “I’ll be okay!” he yelled, like a downed soldier in a war movie. “Go on without me!”