“If Starr didn’t send those flowers, Gabriel did. He already stood Miss Retzyl up once. He called her here, to tell her. Remember? If Gabriel steals Miss Retzyl’s heart, he’ll take her away. Which means we’ll get a substitute. Maybe Mrs. Little—for the rest of our lives.”
“Mrs. Little? Yeeow,” Harm muttered. “But Dale . . .”
“I want Miss Retzyl here until we finish middle school,” Dale said. “Miss Lana, I got to propose Starr to Miss Retzyl. They can live at her place. What’s the rules of love?”
“The rules of love?” she said as the Colonel shoved the jukebox into place. “Well, flowers. Poems. Candy . . . But Dale, I don’t think Priscilla even likes Gabriel Archer. And when it comes to romance, Joe Starr’s hopeless.”
What Dale said next made every hair on my body stand up like it wanted to run. “Don’t worry about Starr romancing Miss Retzyl,” he said. “I’ve got a plan.”
Chapter Twenty-two
Another Robbery!
The next morning, Harm and Dale practiced songs for the Valentine’s Extravaganza as we rolled silverware for the breakfast rush. They sounded good. Really good.
“I can suggest love songs,” Miss Lana said.
“Thanks, but we’re going with the classics,” I said.
“That means songs we already know,” Dale explained as Detective Joe Starr’s Impala blazed past the café, blue light swirling and siren blaring.
“What on earth?” Miss Lana gasped as we blasted out the door.
We’d just made the edge of town when we saw a red light swirling too. “That’s Grandmother Miss Lacy’s neighborhood,” I said, panic spinning through me. I stood on my pedals and flew past the Piggly Wiggly.
“It’s the Littles’ house,” Harm said. “And that’s an ambulance!”
* * *
“Desperados, thank heavens!” the mayor cried as we shot inside.
“What’s happened? Where’s Mrs. Little?”
“We’ve been robbed,” he cried, bobbing from foot to foot like a little kid. “Mother twisted her knee trying to catch the culprit. Heavy man, slippery as all get out.” He blinked back tears. “Starr’s here and so are the medics.”
We stepped into the parlor. “Jeez,” Harm said, looking around.
Understatement.
The table drawers gaped open, books sprawled helter-skelter on the floor. Candlesticks, lamps, Mrs. Little’s black rocking chair . . . all of it topsy-turvy.
I looked at the mantel. “Tupelo Mother is gone!”
“Who?” Starr said behind me.
“Our portrait. It was on the mantel. It’s gone. And it’s worth thousands.”
Please let our other clues be here, I thought. As if he could read my mind, Harm bounded out of the room and down the hall. I heard the attic door slam.
“Gabriel Archer did this, same as he stole our riddle,” I told Starr.
Starr stood in the center of the carnage, his face still and open as he surveyed the scene. “Something’s odd here.”
Dale saw it first. “Everything’s tossed but not broke. What are the chances of that?”
“Zero,” Starr said. “Somebody was looking for something. He was quiet. If Mrs. Little hadn’t come down for milk, he could have stayed here for hours,” he said as the mayor padded in. “Mr. Mayor, do you have anything of value in here?”
“I hope so,” the mayor said, scurrying to his safe. He tapped the hidden panel and the safe swung open. I lifted my camera. The safe was empty! Click click click.
The attic door slammed again and Harm shot in. “Attic’s safe,” he whispered.
“My oldest coins are gone,” the mayor said, his voice shaking. “I had a few doubloons and pieces of eight . . . And they stole our cash and Mother’s rings!”
“What are they worth?” Starr asked, making a note.
“A lot.” He shook his head. “Mother will simply be beside herself.”
“Is Myrt all right? What’s happened?” Grandmother Miss Lacy demanded, rushing in. “I hear the ambulance was here.”
“Mother’s in her room. She twisted her knee, but she sent the medic away, which I take as a hopeful sign,” the mayor said.
“Thank heavens,” Grandmother Miss Lacy said, closing her eyes. “There’s nothing like an enemy to make you feel like yourself again.” She set a hideous vase upright. “Who did this?” she asked. “Was it Gabriel? I’m sorry I ever invited that scoundrel to town.”
“I’ll check,” Starr said. “The thief will probably hold on to the stolen goods awhile.”
Dale nodded. “They’re too hot to fence. He might pass them to a friend, or put them in the freezer under the frozen vegetables until later.”
It’s amazing, the things Dale knows.
“Thanks Dale,” Starr said. “Mr. Mayor, I’ll need a description of your coins and rings.”
“And I have photographs of the portrait,” I told him. “And Sal’s appraisal.”
Starr nodded, very crisp.
“How can I help?” Grandmother Miss Lacy asked, her eyes on the mayor.
“Could you speak with Mother? This insult to our home has hurt her sweet heart. I’m afraid . . .” The mayor’s face crumpled like a little kid’s. “I’m afraid my mother’s crying.”
* * *
Minutes later we skidded through the classroom door. “Joe sends his greetings,” I said. “If we’re late, which I hope we’re not, it’s because we assisted Joe on a case.”
Her eyes went chilly. “You assisted whom?”
“Detective Joe Starr, whom wrote you a note,” I said, forking it over. “By the way, I admire your flair for lower education. Have you ever considered offering middle school at night, when nothing important’s happening anyway? That would be better for us.”
“Take your seats,” she replied, tucking Starr’s note in her pocket. “How are your book reports coming along?”
Book reports? She was serious about those?
“Good,” I said, reminding myself to check out a book.
“Mine’s done,” Harm reported, unwinding his scarf.
“I’ve practically started,” Dale said. “Sal’s helping me.”
We settled into our desks. Crud.
It’s hard being an ace detective trapped in middle school.
* * *
Surprisingly, the school day wasn’t a total bust.
Sal gave her Extra Credit Pirate Report, Fashion on the High Seas. “The charming sociopath Anne Bonney was the most fashionable pirate. According to some sources, she targeted trade ships to take their cargoes of silk.
“Fashion counted, even on the high seas. Blackbeard’s ship the Queen Anne’s Revenge may have had a tailor on board. Artifacts found on his ship include handmade, brass straight pins. They were made in England.”
Like the straight pins in Mary Ormond’s calico dress, I thought, remembering Sal pricking her finger in the Littles’ attic.
“Straight pins were big bucks in the colonies. So was fashion. Rich women wore silk dresses, linen underthings from Denmark, and shoes imported from England. Blackbeard was a flashy dresser, like his friend the governor.”
As we applauded Sal to her seat, Thes marched to the front of the room and announced his title. “Swearing Like a Pirate.” Even Jake and Jimmy sat at attention.
Thes went red-faced, handed his paper in without a word, and shuffled back to his seat.
But it was Hannah Greene’s report on the Spanish treasure ships that got my blood singing. “During a single hurricane in 1715, eleven Spanish treasure ships sank off the coast of Florida, and pirates later claimed millions of dollars’ worth of the coins, jewels, and silver destined for Spain. Did Blackbeard help himself to part of that treasure?” She winked at me. “I hope so, and I hope the Desperados find it, because everybody who gives a report
gets a cut, including me. Thank you.”
“Extra credit for all three of you,” Miss Retzyl said, and Attila huffed.
“Useless information,” Attila said as the bell rang.
“You’re hooked up with a thief, Attila,” I told her. “Enemy to enemy, I’ll tell you this: Whatever you think Gabriel’s going to do for you, he ain’t.”
* * *
Dear Upstream Mother,
We got 18 no’s to our Always Man letter. But like Miss Lana says, the no’s don’t matter. We only need one yes to take me home to you.
Mo
Chapter Twenty-three
Sunday Shockers
Sunday morning Grandmother Miss Lacy wheeled across the café parking lot at eight sharp. “Thank you for letting me and Liz come on your photo shoot,” Dale said, scooting to the edge of the backseat. “Liz is still feeling puny from the quicksand. A day with flowers will do us good.”
“Certainly,” she said as I clicked my first photo. “This will be a day to remember.”
It was, too. But not for the reasons we expected.
As we puttered to the florist’s shop, we filled Grandmother Miss Lacy in on our cases. “Harm’s called the historic sites in our search area, but so far we got nothing. It almost feels like the clues are pushing us away instead of pulling us closer,” I said.
“Not all of them,” Dale said. “We got a yes on our Always Man letters.”
A yes? The entire universe held its breath.
I whipped around. “When? Who?”
Dale looked into Queen Elizabeth’s eyes. “That was supposed to be a surprise.” He sighed. “Harm called last night. He got a yes. But he wants to tell you, Mo. So stop giving me your Truth Serum Stare. And don’t tell him I told you.”
We got a yes!
By the time we got back to the Episcopal church with a carload of purple irises, Dale had shifted into hyper-chat and I was fighting to keep my feet on the ground. “I got to find a way to get Starr to propose to Miss Retzyl. Which reminds me, Sal and me are pre-kissing,” he told Grandmother Miss Lacy, arming up a bunch of irises and following her to the church’s tiny kitchen. “My problem is the nose. Which way . . .”
“Dale,” I said. “Photo for Sal.” He burned a look through the irises in his arms. Click.
Grandmother Miss Lacy grabbed my camera. “I want one of you too, dear.” Click.
As I shot more photos, music played soft and sweet from the steeple. “Mother’s favorite hymns,” Grandmother Miss Lacy told us. While they arranged flowers, I slipped into the sanctuary, with its tall praying windows.
I backed up to catch the windows’ crosspiece shadows on the old stone floor. The stone beneath my foot wobbled and I lurched, snapping a blur. Crud. I scuffed the stone—the same one I stumbled on the morning Elvis sang in the steeple.
It seemed like forever ago, I thought, lining up another photo.
“Here we are, dear,” Grandmother Miss Lacy called, placing a vase by the altar. “Irises were Mother’s favorites.” Click, click, click.
“This stone’s off,” I told her, taking one last photo.
“A tad,” she said. “We could fix it, but it hardly seems worth it. When will you develop your photographs, Mo?”
“Now, if you want,” I told her.
“Wonderful. The darkroom’s yours, and there’s turkey in the fridge. Invite Harm too.” She led the way to the door. “Red and I are going to church, and to lunch. Mother was . . . You would have loved her—both of you. And she would have loved you too.”
Her eyes filled with tears and I gave her a hug.
Odd, I thought, to miss your mother after all these years.
* * *
An hour later, as Grandmother Miss Lacy left with Mr. Red, Harm took her front steps two at a time. “We got a yes, Mo,” he called, tugging a letter out of his jacket pocket. “From a woman in Salisbury, North Carolina. She thinks Always Man is her lost cousin. Here’s her number if you want to call.”
If I want to call? I started for the phone and he grabbed my arm. “Mo, Gramps says you should ask Miss Lana to call with you.”
“You could even think what to say before you dial,” Dale added.
“Yeah,” Harm said, his eyes laughing. “It’s novel, but it could work.”
“Right,” I said, my heart doing handsprings. “I’ll ask Miss Lana soon as I get home.”
A lead on Always Man, I thought, heading for the darkroom. A lead to follow up on.
* * *
At lunch a couple hours later, I dealt my new photos around Grandmother Miss Lacy’s table. “These are great,” Harm said, biting into a turkey sandwich. He studied the image I’d snapped as I stumbled on the loose stone. “Is this a face?”
I studied the photo’s wild arc—a blurred face with a streak of dark hair? “Maybe,” I said, shuffling my photos and stopping on the windows’ crisscrossed shadows on the stone floor.
“What, Mo?” Dale asked. “You look like you swallowed a firefly.”
I spun the photo toward him. “Our riddle. Shadows cross over a resting stone. And a loose stone beside a still one. Cross over resting, loose beside still.”
“Seems like a long shot,” Harm said. “But let’s check it out. If you’re right, Tupelo Landing’s been walking on Blackbeard’s treasure for three hundred years.”
* * *
“Fix the church floor for free?” Grandmother Miss Lacy said that afternoon, sitting by Mr. Red. You’d never think Mr. Red would look at home in her parlor, but he does. “Why?”
“Because we’re generous,” I said.
She looked from me to Dale. “No, really,” she said. “Why?”
“We want to look under it. It’s a clue,” Dale said. “We’ll fix it back.”
“I’ll set it up if I can,” she said. She slipped closer to Mr. Red and opened our gift.
“We mixed your old photos with today’s,” I said as she turned the album’s pages. Photos of her parents, her as a baby, their family through the years. Then photos from today: the florist, the church, Dale bringing in flowers. She sniffled.
“Why is she crying?” Dale whispered. “I thought she’d like it.”
“You have a lot to learn about women,” Mr. Red told him, handing her his handkerchief.
“I know,” Dale said. “What are your top three tips on a first—”
“Hush Dale,” Grandmother Miss Lacy said, blushing. “I love this, Mo. Thank you so much, all of you.”
“You and your mother were perfect together,” I said, looking on as she turned the page.
Mr. Red laughed.
“Perfect?” she said, looking shocked. “Good glory, no. Mother and I were half too different, and half too much alike. But we loved each other dearly,” she said, running her finger across a photo of her mother’s face. “And I miss her every day I open my eyes.”
* * *
That night, in the quiet of our home, Miss Lana and me made The Call. I sat close as she dialed. The Colonel sat on his leather chair, stone-faced as a sphynx.
“Hello?” Miss Lana said, and I jumped. “Mrs. Duncan? My name’s Lana. I’m calling for my daughter, Mo LoBeau. I’m following up on a letter she sent . . . That’s right, the photo of Mo, and the good-looking man pumping gas.”
She smiled as she listened to the woman’s story. “Anthony? What a handsome name. And you last heard from him when?” Her smile wavered. “Oh my, that’s a long time ago.”
She looked at me and shook her head so slight, I barely caught it.
“Thank you so much. I’ll call you if we find him.” She hung up and sighed. “Anthony is old enough to be your great-grandfather, sugar. Somebody else will write. You’ll see.”
The Colonel stood and stretched his arms over his head. “Courage, Soldier,” he said. “That’s the first step in ev
erything that matters.”
“Yes sir,” I said, rising. My heart felt like a bad ride at the county fair—spinning, falling, no way to get off. “Excuse me,” I said. “I may or may not have homework.”
I went into my flat and closed the door. I hate it when I cry.
* * *
Dear Upstream Mother,
My lead on Always Man fizzled.
On the treasure case, we will lift the wobbly stone in the church floor if we can get permission from the Floor Committee. We also checked for footprints outside the church window, where a blurry-faced person maybe spied on us while I was shooting photos this morning.
The footprints had been swept clean, same as my heart. I miss you every day I open my eyes.
Mo
Chapter Twenty-four
A Long Shot Pays Off
Monday, Attila announced she had found an old coin for Gabriel Archer.
Harm looked at me, his eyebrows high. Was it the mayor’s? I made a note to call Starr.
Tuesday, Miss Retzyl discussed sets and subsets, and I asked to be excused with a possible future nosebleed. No luck. And still no word from the church’s Floor Committee.
Wednesday, Tinks tapped at our classroom door. He stepped inside, cradling dented roses. “Delivery for Priscilla Retzyl.”
“Tinks got those roses thrown back at him during a delivery-gone-bad,” Dale whispered. “I told you I had a plan to marry up her and Starr.”
Tinks fished a paper from his pocket and read:
POEM FOR MISS PRISCILLA RETZYL BY JOE STARR
Glads look flashy and cheap,
roses are good, not for creeps.
To avoid soon divorcement
choose Joe in law enforcement,
The Law of Finders Keepers Page 16