The last time I checked Walter’s, I was so sleepy that I wished I’d brought Scotch tape to stick my eyelids open. I nudged Violet and told her it was her turn to take over, although I can’t remember if she heard me.
The next thing I knew, the morning light rushed into our lean-to. The coyote yips and cricket chirps had been replaced by the coos of mourning doves. Both Noah and Violet were curled into balls, fast asleep like a couple of puppies. I glanced over at Walter’s trailer. His copper van was gone.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Missing
“We are so lame!” Violet clapped her hand over her mouth to cover her yawn after I nudged her awake. “I swear we only closed our eyes for a second.”
“It’s my fault,” I confessed. “I should have made sure you were up before I fell asleep.”
Noah groaned and held his stomach. “And I shouldn’t have fallen asleep before we figured out our shifts. Blame it on a sugar coma. Too. Much. Pie.”
“There’s no such thing.” Violet reached for the empty pie tin. She ran her finger over a tiny blob of leftover blueberry goo, and popped it in her mouth. Then she peeked out of the lean-to.
“I have an idea. Come on, guys.” She wriggled from the shelter and headed straight toward Walter’s trailer.
“I’m pretty sure he’s not home,” I said, but we followed her anyway.
“Who cares? Maybe he left the fanny pack inside.” She climbed the front steps and reached for the door handle.
My stomach tightened into a fat knot. And while I didn’t want to stomp on Violet’s idea, at least I had to tell her what I was thinking. “Breaking in is a big deal, you know.”
“Not to mention against the law,” Noah added.
“Technically it isn’t breaking in. It turns out Walter didn’t lock his door.” She pushed it wide open.
Tell that to the police, right?
“What if he just ran out to get something and he’ll be right back? We could get caught,” I said.
“Madison, don’t be a chicken, OK?” Violet disappeared inside.
I turned super sweaty from my forehead to my toes. My heart raced. I should have told her to stop right then and there because I knew what we were doing was dead wrong. I just couldn’t bring myself to put my foot down. Not to my best friend. Maybe I really was a chicken.
Noah followed her. I gave in and walked through the door.
“Let’s do this fast, please,” I whispered, even though no one was around to hear but us.
My eyes darted around the room and landed on the kitchen table. In the center was the old black-and-white photo of the prom couple. It had been pulled from its frame and its edges were cracked and dirty. I flipped it over. On the back, written in loopy blue ink, it said Walter and Betty. It was Walter in the picture? He looked so young and happy.
“Check this out,” I said.
Violet picked up the picture and stared. “Whoa. Do you think Betty was Walter’s wife?”
“What do you think happened to her?” Noah asked, and I wondered the same thing too.
Violet put the picture back, and we searched every nook and cranny in Walter’s house as I tried to ignore my stomach knot. Finally, Violet declared that we’d come up empty. The pouch was officially gone.
Now what?
That’s when we heard the distant ding of someone pulling into the gas station. I froze.
“What if it’s Walter? Let’s get out of here.” Noah scurried to the front door.
“No, the back way,” I said. “If he drives up front, we don’t want him to see us coming out of his house.” Noah gave me the thumbs up and I started for the rear screen door.
We slipped outside and crept around to the front of the trailer.
But the van was still missing in action. Over at the gas station, Mike was waiting for us by his car. We ran over to greet him.
“I had a feeling you kids might need a ride.” He opened the passenger door and gave a royal bow. “Your carriage awaits.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t leave yet,” said Violet. “We have a little unfinished business.”
“I don’t think Walter will be back any time soon,” I said. I have no idea how I knew that, except I could feel it in every pore of my body. I slid into the car while Noah ran back to retrieve the picnic basket.
On the drive back, Violet, Noah, and I sat in silence.
“Rough night?” Mike finally asked.
“You can say that again. Not only is Walter a liar fifty percent of the time, he’s a hundred percent double-dealing rat,” Violet said. “He stole the fanny pack.”
Mike let out a low whistle. “And right from under your noses? Boy, that stinks.”
“We messed up and fell asleep,” I admitted.
“Ouch. But you know, the guy has to make it into town sometime or another. Nobody stays hidden for long around here. You’ll find him.”
Mike dropped us off at Grandma Daisy’s. “Gotta open up the shop. With Fiesta tomorrow, the Wildflower’s going to be a mob scene.”
When we walked in, Leroy practically bowled me over with kisses. His tail wagged so fast it became a blur. He trotted behind us to the kitchen, where Grandma Daisy scrambled eggs with Hatch green chiles, a spicy New Mexican delicacy.
“Welcome back. Is everybody hungry?” She ladled the eggs onto four plates.
“I’m still full from last night.” Noah groaned.
“Thanks for sending the picnic,” I said.
Noah and I picked at the eggs. Violet managed to wolf down half of hers before stopping.
None of us said a word. We didn’t have to. All Grandma Daisy had to do was take a good look at our faces.
“Oh dear. I’m afraid to ask how it went.”
We confessed we’d fallen asleep on the job.
“A rookie mistake,” admitted Noah.
“I could kick myself,” I said. “I really messed up.”
“I guess that makes us the Mighty Trio of Idiots,” Violet added.
“Don’t be so hard on yourselves. Everyone makes mistakes. And you know why?” Grandma Daisy asked.
“Because they’re really, really stupid like us?” Violet took another bite of her eggs.
Grandma Daisy patted Violet’s hand. “No, it’s because we’re all really, really human. And if anyone here thinks they’ll never make another mistake, raise your hand.”
We all sat there—Grandma Daisy, Violet, Noah, and me—our hands resting on the table. Not even Leroy raised a paw, because sometimes I think he believes he’s human, too.
Grandma Daisy drummed her fingers on the kitchen table. “Now, what are we going to do about Walter Brinker?”
We didn’t have a second to think about it. We were interrupted by a sharp banging on the back screen door. It was Florida, mad enough to spit nails.
“Daisy.” Florida’s voice sounded bitter cold.
“Good morning, Florida. Is something wrong?” She ignored my grandmother’s nasty tone.
“Yes, something is wrong. Angela has run away. The school just called to say she didn’t show up this morning. Would you know anything about that?”
“Oh dear, I don’t. How terribly upsetting.” Grandma Daisy’s eyes clouded with worry.
Then Florida glared at Violet, Noah, and me. “Well, well. It looks like you three are playing hooky too. Is it possible you had something to do with this?”
“Uh, no, Mrs. Brown,” I squeaked.
“Honestly, not at all,” said Noah.
“If I discover you’re lying, I’ll have no problem tracking down your parents and giving them a piece of my mind.”
Good luck with that, I thought.
Violet kicked me under the table and we shared a look, which Florida saw. Her face screwed up in a sneer.
For a split-second I questioned why we were even bothering to help my grandmother. Although I knew that in the long run, Florida-of-the-future would learn how to be a little bit nicer.
“What if something bad happene
d to her?” Noah asked.
I knew that wherever my mother was, she was safe. If something really terrible had happened, she would have told me about it back when we lived on Bainbridge Island. My guess? She’d run away because she and Florida had a fight.
“Oh please. I doubt it. She’s probably sulking somewhere after picking a silly little battle with me this morning.”
See? Just as I thought.
“We can help you look for her,” I offered.
“Yep. Just call us CSI: Truth or Consequences,” Violet said.
“Excuse me? CSI?” Florida’s forehead scrunched up in confusion.
Uh-oh. The detective show, CSI, wouldn’t be on television for years.
“She only means we’ll be great sleuths,” Noah said.
“Do whatever you please. If you find her, make sure you tell her she’s going to be in a load of trouble when she gets home.”
With that, Florida slammed the door and stomped back down the steps.
Great. Walter had disappeared with the fanny pack. My mom was missing. And Florida was still lying on her deathbed in the future. I longed to talk to Rosalie Claire and ask her what to do, but I knew we were on our own.
“I’m going to look for my mom,” I said.
“We’re coming with you,” said Violet.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Searching for Mom
OK, here’s the thing. I really wanted to look for my mom by myself because I wanted to find her by myself. I longed to spend time with her with no one else around. Just my kid-mom and me. Except I didn’t want to make my friends mad since I knew how badly they wanted to help. Besides, we might have an easier time finding her if everyone searched. Then we could get back to tracking down Walter Brinker.
We left Leroy at the house. I loved my dog, but I didn’t want to have to worry about keeping an eye on him. Before we left, Grandma Daisy unzipped her newly mended fanny pack and pulled out a doggie bag. Leroy grinned, snatched it in his jaws, and trotted with it into the kitchen.
“T-Bone steak. Cooked rare. The fastest way to a dog’s heart,” she said.
The four of us left the house and took off on foot.
“Maybe while we’re looking for your mom we’ll find Walter Brinker, too,” said Violet. “Two birds with one stone.”
“That, my dear, would be a gift from the gods.” Grandma Daisy drew her hands together, palm to palm, as if in prayer.
We all agreed to head to the park. Grandma Daisy said it was the place my mom loved most. As we wound our way through town, Fiesta workers taped signs in shop windows and storeowners swept off sidewalks that would eventually be littered with confetti, empty soda cups, and balled-up napkins soaked with ketchup.
Ralph Edwards Park bubbled with even more activity. The building of all the carnival games and food booths had begun.
“Yum. Barbecue … cotton candy … tacos … funnel cakes … chili dogs. I live for this stuff. Tomorrow’s going to be a good day.” Violet licked her lips over the promise of all the junk food as the signs were nailed up one by one.
It sure wasn’t going to be a good day if my mom was still missing and we didn’t find Rosalie Claire’s fanny pack.
We followed Grandma Daisy to the pond where Rosalie Claire would teach me to fish nearly twenty years in the future. We also kept a lookout for Walter. Two older men stood on the bank, casting their lines into the water, and a mother chased her toddler, making sure she didn’t fall in.
My mom wasn’t there. Neither was Walter Brinker.
Grandma Daisy thought we should check down by the Rio Grande. We walked by two boys kicking a soccer ball past their friend who sat moping on the sidelines.
“Don’t be such a baby,” one of the boys shouted to the grumpy kid.
And that’s when I knew for a fact that my mom wasn’t down by the river.
I flashed back to when I was seven. I’d lost a soccer tournament I’d been sure my team would win. My frustration and sadness had rolled themselves into one giant ugly ball that sat like a lump in my belly. I wasn’t usually a temper tantrum kind of kid, but that day I blew it. I was like a hurricane. A tornado. A tropical typhoon.
That night when my mom put me to bed, she told me what she did when she was a kid and needed to cool off. She’d climb a wooden ladder, counting all twelve rungs one-by-one as she went. She’d push open a trapdoor in the ceiling and hoist herself into a dusty attic. Then she’d sit up there and think for as long as it took until she was ready to face the world.
The next morning, my mom had helped me make my own place in the attic of our house on Bainbridge Island. We hauled up a threadbare velvet chair we’d bought at Goodwill, and my old baby blanket. We set them in a corner near a small round window with a perfect view of our Japanese maple tree that had turned fiery orange that fall. We named it my “thinking corner.” I rarely went up there, although it was a comfort to know that I could.
And it’s where, after my mom died, I spent almost four days straight. Violet’s mom had stayed at our house to take care of me and she’d run food up to the attic that I barely ate. I only decided to come down because of Violet. She crawled up there on the morning of the fourth day. “You’re my best friend and I’m staying with you until you’re ready to come down,” she’d said. We played Crazy Eights till sunset, and then together we climbed down the ladder.
Where was my mom’s attic? There wasn’t one at Florida’s house on Grape Street, or at Grandma Daisy’s.
The four of us scrambled down to the river, but the image of my mom hiding in an attic crowded out every other thought from my head.
“Hey guys. Why don’t you look around here? I need to go check out another place.”
“Where?” asked Violet.
I had a feeling, although I didn’t want to say. “It’s probably nothing. Just a hunch.”
“Never underestimate hunches,” Grandma Daisy said.
“I’ll meet you back here in, I don’t know, like half an hour?”
“I hope you find her.” Noah gave a hopeful smile.
“I’ll come with you,” said Violet.
Don’t get me wrong. Violet is my best friend. She’s been with me through thick and thin. But this was something I knew I had to do by myself.
“We need to talk. In private,” I whispered in her ear.
Violet looked puzzled. She followed me back up the riverbank to the seesaw on the kiddie playground.
My mouth turned dusty dry. I hated saying anything that might hurt her feelings or make her mad. Besides, I knew exactly what Violet would do if she were in my situation. She’d have the guts to stand up for herself. She’d tell me the truth. I swore to myself that this time I wouldn’t chicken out. It was my turn to tell my best friend exactly what I needed.
“I have to do this alone,” I said.
“You’re kidding, right?” Violet gave me the dreaded eye-roll. “We do everything together. I’m coming with you.”
“Not this time.”
“You can’t stop me. It’s a free country.”
I looked away and said nothing. I felt another knot growing in my gut.
“Seriously, Madison? I thought we were best friends.”
“I never said we weren’t,” I mumbled and wished it were easier to stand up to her.
Then I turned and ran away. If I knew Violet, which I really did, I’d bet a bazillion bucks she stood there watching me with dagger darts blasting from her eyes.
I sprinted along Riverside Drive, wishing I’d been able to tell her exactly why I needed to do this. On Main Street I jogged past swarms of tourists, straight to the Wildflower Mercantile. I caught my breath and pushed open the door.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The Attic
Inside the Wildflower, dozens of customers filled their shopping baskets to the brim like it was the last store on earth. There was a growing line at the cash register, and Mike was a nervous wreck. I walked in just as a lady in a long, Indian print skirt and a b
rightly colored babushka handed him her pile of purchases.
“My prayers have been answered! Madison, I need a favor. We’re out of paper. Could you run in the back and grab a pile and wrap up these crystal balls?”
What could I say? Mike needed my help. I pushed past the colorful curtain of beads into the storeroom. Because of the clutter, I had to poke around until I finally found a stash of yellowing newspapers.
Then I saw something I hadn’t noticed before. In the far corner, a wooden ladder reached high up to a trapdoor in the ceiling. My whole body tingled with certainty. That had to be my mom’s attic.
I hurried back with an armload of newspapers and dumped them on the counter.
“Wow, where’d you dig up these relics? We have plain white wrapping paper back there somewhere.”
“Sorry. It’s all I could find.”
“No worries. Let’s use it up. Can you give me a hand for a quick second or two?”
I desperately wanted to race up that ladder, but I didn’t feel right about bailing on Mike. Besides, would it really be the end of the world if I put off looking for my mom for a couple of seconds?
I carefully wrapped the first crystal ball in thick layers of newspapers that were almost old enough to be antiques.
“Ronald Reagan Sworn in as 40th President,” read the headline. And playing at the El Cortez theater was a movie I’d actually watched a couple of years ago on video with Violet, The Empire Strikes Back. That’s when we both became obsessed with Yoda and talked like him for two months straight.
Wrap up the second crystal ball I will, I thought in Yoda speak.
I reached for more newspaper and something in The Sierra County Sentinel caught my eye. The prom picture from Walter’s house.
Hello There, Do You Still Know Me? Page 12