“Isabel doesn’t know me.”
“But Kyle and I do. We know you. We like you just the way you are. And we’re glad you’re in Edmonton.”
Mandy was staring out the window again. Her eyes were blinking fiercely as if she was fighting to hold something back.
“Look, Mandy, I know I talk a lot. I blather on, I stick my nose in other people’s business.” Polly doodled a shaky circle on the cover of her math book, digging the pencil in hard. “It’s because I care about stuff. I care about people. I want things to work out. I want life to be fair and it isn’t. But most of all I want to help.”
The bus pulled up to their stop and the girls grabbed their backpacks and hurried off.
“Mind your own business, why don’t you?” Mandy stood in front of the apartment building. She looked rigid and stiff and cold. “I’m not anorexic. I eat plenty. And it’s my life, don’t forget that. It’s my life.”
Polly opened the front door and the inside door quickly. Mandy disappeared in a blur.
Polly had said too much. Again. She raced up the stairs to her apartment and let herself in. She threw her books and bag down, grabbed the key to Isabel’s and left. George barked as soon as he heard the key in the lock.
“If you were a person, George, I wouldn’t be here. I couldn’t face a person. But seeing as you are a dumb mutt I can talk to you. You’ll listen. You’ll agree with what I say. But then you don’t speak English, you speak dog. Walk. Come. Sit. No. Good boy.” George kept glancing back trying to figure out if Polly’s commands meant anything. He must have decided she was talking to herself because he continued to pull her in the direction of his favourite pocket park. Polly trudged down the lane, kicking leaves from the birch and mountain ash trees before her, crunching them under her feet, savouring the wonderful smells of fall.
She sighed. “I’ll probably never see Mandy again. She’ll avoid me like the plague. I should mind my own business. When will I ever learn?”
14. Gain a Pound and Lose a Friend
The next evening Polly mumbled to herself as she made spaghetti sauce using her dad’s recipe. Her mother had left her a note on the fridge attached with a couple of plastic puppies with magnets on their backs. Her folks would be home from work shortly after six. By then she would have the whole supper ready. By seven-thirty she would be free to see Kyle and Brian. Talk to Kyle about any new developments, and show him the envelope Mandy had found yesterday. The question was whether that envelope had been lost by one of the mail thieves or was just a stray envelope. Maybe the Dell boys had dropped it. It might be an important clue.
George followed her around the kitchen. She nearly stepped on his paws. She finally broke down and gave him a small treat—spaghetti sauce on a Milkbone in his dish.
Polly had another concern. She was worried that Brian Beamish might have heard from Mandy all about Polly’s big mouth. He’d probably be mad at her. So would Karen. Was she the Disruptive and Disturbing McDoodle?
She reached over and turned the volume on the radio up to drown out the doubts about herself. She chopped onions, smushed garlic cloves, and sliced carrots. The Helpful and Homebody McDoodle measured olive oil into the saucepan and started adding the vegetables.
There was a knock at the door. Polly peered through the little peephole and saw Mandy standing in the hall. She gulped and opened the door. Mandy had avoided her all day at school.
“Hi!”
“Karen wants to borrow your dad’s recipe for spaghetti sauce. I told her that you knew how to make it and that I had tried it and it was good. She’s making it especially for me.” Mandy paused. “Because I said I was hungry.”
Polly stood with the door wide open, her dad’s funky barbecue apron on and a wooden spoon in her hand. Her mouth was open but no words came out.
“Can I?” Mandy asked again. “Can I borrow the recipe?”
Polly shook herself and waved her friend in. She raced back to the kitchen to turn down the heat under the bubbling sauce, gave it a stir, and threw in the tomato paste and the crushed tomatoes. The rich aromas of tomatoes, oregano, and basil filled the apartment.
“Smells good,” Mandy said.
Polly had a hard time hearing her the radio was so loud. She turned it down.
“I thought you hated me.” Polly put the lid on the sauce and picked up the recipe card. She took a blank pink card from the back of the tidy box of recipes that her mother had collected. Then she dared to gaze into Mandy’s eyes. She had been crying. Polly glanced away pretending she hadn’t noticed. She led the way to the dinette table. “Do you want some juice or water?”
“I don’t hate you.” Mandy took the card and a black pen and started copying the recipe. “I was sure mad at you though.”
Polly went into the kitchen and began tidying. She wet the cloth and wiped the splatters of tomato off the stove and the counter top. She slid the debris from the marble cutting board onto her hand and put it in the bag under the sink. She lifted the lid of the spaghetti sauce and gave it another stir. She gulped and waited.
“Karen and I had a long talk.”
The room was quiet. All Polly could hear was the bubbling on the stove and the slup, slup of car tires on the road. “What about?”
“I told her what you said about me looking like a refugee.” Mandy sighed. There was another pause. Then Mandy spoke again. “We both cried. She and Brian have been worried sick. They were tempted to tell my folks that it wasn’t working out, that I didn’t like them, that they didn’t know how to be a good aunt and uncle. They were afraid I would become really anorexic.”
Polly nodded. Something inside her head told her to keep her big mouth shut.
“I told them I’d go for counselling. I don’t want my folks to have to come home.”
Polly nodded again.
“I do want to see them though. Karen is working on that. I promised I’d do my part.” Mandy tucked the recipe in her shirt pocket. “Why don’t you come for supper? To prove to you that I do actually eat.”
Polly’s insides bubbled happily like the sauce in the pot. It only took a moment for her to turn the burner on the stove down to simmer and scribble a note to her parents about being at the Beamishes. “Have a romantic Italian dinner provided by chef Polly DiMacdoodle-o, the famous Italian cook,” she wrote in neat curly writing, and decorated the edges with hearts, flowers and a small squirrel holding a nut. That reminded her she needed to study the writing on the envelope that Mandy had found by the bus shelter.
Mandy and Polly rummaged around in Karen Beamish’s closet for funky clothes they could wear for Halloween while Karen made the sauce. The whole apartment building was going to smell like an Italian village, Polly figured.
Thank goodness Mandy had given up the idea of going as a homeless bag lady. Now she wanted to wear one of the African dresses that her mother had sent to Karen. Polly wanted to go as a police officer. They discovered Brian Beamish’s old navy blue cadet uniform. With the pant legs and sleeves shortened it would fit Polly perfectly. They tried on several strange outfits from Karen’s store of funky clothes and giggled.
Polly heaved a sigh of relief. It was good to have her friend back. Even if in the long run Mandy would go away. Polly would just have to deal with that when the time came. Would she ever grow up to the point of not missing people when they moved? Maybe not.
Karen joined them while the sauce simmered on the stove and the pasta cooked. She called Brian on his cell phone and told him to get his butt up to the apartment for a celebratory supper. Told him to bring Kyle.
“When I was a kid I dressed up as a cat burglar.” Karen folded clothes and put them back in storage boxes. A slight odour of mothballs filled the bedroom.
“Did you steal any cats?” Mandy laughed. She sat on the floor folding scarves and piling them in a cardboard box.
Both Polly and Karen glanced at Mandy at the same time. Then their eyes met and they both grinned. It was so good to hear Mandy make a joke.
“Unfortunately not. All I saw was whiskers.” Karen winked at Polly.
Brian hollered from the front hall. “Where’s this supper you promised us?”
Kyle and Brian banged around in the vestibule taking off their work boots. “We’ve invented a fancy video surveillance camera to mount above the mailboxes. It only starts when someone opens the front door and shuts off three minutes later. That way we can spot anyone who doesn’t belong in the place.”
“Brian got the parts at Radio Shack.”
Kyle held the camera out for inspection. It was very small. “We put a small shelf up on the wall above the normal sight line.”
“It’s super quiet too.” Brian hung up his jacket. “Smells great in here. The whole apartment building smells like…”
“An Italian village,” Polly said.
The five of them sat around Beamishes’ maple table to eat. Polly was really pleased to see Mandy take a small helping of pasta and sauce.
“I’ve got news.” Karen poured wine into her glass and Brian’s. He poured grape juice into Kyle, Mandy, and Polly’s glasses. “I won a gift certificate at Sears, and a trip to the wine country in BC for two. I picked up the tickets today.”
“I never win anything,” sighed Polly.
Kyle snickered, “Except our hearts, Polly.”
“Shut up, goofus.”
“You’ll never guess who I saw in the Sears Travel Store,” Karen continued. “Your Mr. Stone and his sister and a pale thin guy with scrawny sideburns and black hair with blonde tips. I recognized them from your sketches. They were asking questions about trips to Las Vegas and casino cruises.” Karen stopped to twirl a fork with pasta and sauce. She ate it.
“I introduced myself to Mr. Stone, told him I was your aunt. He was fairly cool toward me, said he was moving on pretty soon. He said he had found more interesting work. I got the feeling that students weren’t in the picture. He told me that Mrs. Robinson is coming back right after Halloween.”
“I’m glad,” said Kyle. “Mr. Stone sure seemed distracted to me today.”
“Distracted how?” asked Polly. She wasn’t sure she knew what Kyle was talking about.
“Well, all those gambling magazines on his desk. And each time he left the room he took his cell phone.”
Mandy chewed slowly on a slice of garlic bread. “Maybe he has a girl friend.” She popped another piece of bread in her mouth. “Maybe he belongs to a Gambler’s Anonymous Club.”
“I doubt he has a girl friend,” said Polly. “He has the clothing sense of someone who is colour-blind.” She started doodling her teacher on her paper napkin. She made sure that she included the pen leaking into the pocket of his shirt just like it had been this morning. “I phoned his family when I was in Regina.”
“What did they say?” asked Mandy.
“No one was home.”
“I found out some interesting background on the Dells and the Stones. I’ll tell you later.” Kyle polished his glasses with a soft tissue.
The Beamishes were talking amongst themselves. “I brought home brochures about a cheap European holiday, Mandy.” Karen said. “There’s lots of hope for Christmas.”
“Would you and Brian come too?” asked Mandy.
“You bet we would,” said Brian.
The Beamish family tucked into their great pasta feast.
Polly nodded her head and grinned at Kyle. “Sometimes having a big mouth pays off,” she said quietly. “I’ll tell you about it later.”
“I want to take a look at that envelope.”
Polly pulled the tattered envelope from her pocket and handed it over.
They had ice cream with sliced bananas and chocolate sauce for dessert. Polly scraped the bottom of the bowl to make sure she got the last smidgen.
After supper Polly stopped by her own apartment. Her folks were sitting at the dinette table with candlelight and a colourful tablecloth. A small bottle of red wine was open and their two glasses were half-filled. They smiled sheepishly at her.
“We took you at your word,” her father said. “We’re going to run out to a movie if it’s all right with you.”
This was great. She and Kyle had some talking to do. “Sure. I’ll just run the dog to the park and back, and feed him supper.”
“Great,” her mother said. “That’s good exercise.”
“Right, Mom.” Polly headed down the hall and picked up George. Kyle had rescued Brutus from his apartment. They met in the back lane and headed toward the park.
“Do you think we should tell the police or the post office about the latest developments?” Polly asked.
Kyle bent to scoop up Brutus’s contribution to the leaf-covered green space. He dropped the bag into a garbage can with relief. “What have we got so far?”
“The envelope with its list, our suspicions about the Dell boys, Mr. Stone and his sister, and Tommie Lee and her mother.” Polly was pulled to the base of a tree where the squirrel was taunting George from a branch halfway up.
“Hardly conclusive evidence.”
“It still could be anyone in the whole neighbourhood,” Polly sighed.
“I’ve seen other mail thefts written up in the City section of the Edmonton Journal,” Kyle said. Brutus woofed at a passing truck with a dog staring out the passenger side. “We have no proof, only a few hints and clues.”
“You’re right.” Polly shrugged. “At least let me see how the video camera works. Mrs. Dobson needs one in her building.”
Kyle started humming songs from Oliver as they strolled back down the lane. “Pick a pocket or two—that would be easier to spot than a mail thief.”
“We have to catch them in the act.” Polly undid George’s leash as they stepped into the vestibule of their building. Polly glanced up. Brian had already installed the camera. She waved at it. “If you didn’t know about the camera you’d never spot it. Our mail will be safe, that’s for sure.”
“There aren’t any guarantees, Polly.” Kyle raced up the steps with Brutus at his heels. “Now let’s stare at all the evidence.” He ran upstairs to drop off Brutus while Polly put George in her apartment. She grabbed a jacket and her sketchbook.
She sprinted up the steps to the gazebo on top of the bike shed. Kyle stood at the door. “The Super Sleuths Inner Sanctum awaits.”
Soon the two of them had one of the tables covered with maps, newspaper articles, notebooks, and the dirty envelope from the bus shelter.
“First, some data you might find interesting,” said Kyle. He dug in a brown envelope and pulled out a printout of some information. “On the Stone Insurance website was a photo of the family. Sure enough Wendell J. Stone is our teacher. His sister Benita is standing beside him. She is listed as on leave, taking a diploma in business management at Grant McEwan. Wendell’s biography has him with a degree in math from the University of Saskatchewan. He is on leave doing graduate work at the U of A.” Polly listened and read at the same time. She shook her head.
“He’s not going to university. He’s teaching school.” Polly frowned.
“Do his folks know that?” asked Kyle. “And how did he end up teaching without an education degree?”
“What about the Dells?” asked Polly.
“It seems Mr. Dell, the carpenter, has been in business for years. He is as honest as the day is long. He has a nice website. I scanned back newspapers on line and discovered that his brother, Darrell and Sydney’s father, had a painting contracting business. He’d been writing bad cheques.”
“What do you mean, bad cheques?”
“I asked my dad. He said small businesses sometimes are tempted to do what we call ‘cheque kiting.’ They write a cheque on one account and deposit it in a second account in a different bank. Then before the cheque goes through the banking system, they write a cheque on that second account and put it in the first account. In the meantime, they keep writing cheques on both accounts to cover expenses. By the time the bank realizes what is happening, they can
run up thousands of dollars of debt.”
“That is probably what Mr. Dell did.”
“The Journal article said he defaulted on his income tax, too,” Kyle added.
Polly shook her head. “Sounds like the poor guy just lost it.”
“According to the newspaper he should be out of jail soon. He apologized to everyone at his trial. He even sent letters to his employees and the bank.”
“He might be the one who sent this letter.”
“One that the boys may never have received,” Kyle sighed. “Makes me really glad to be in my own peculiar family.”
“I know what you mean.”
Kyle had been working on scrubbing the return address with an art eraser and a sponge. “Look at the address on the corner here.” Kyle held out the grubby envelope. “The writing looks familiar.”
Polly took the torn envelope. The initials B. D. were written in black ink, more like calligraphy then normal cursive writing. There was a box number and Prince Albert and a postal code. All the letters and numbers had curlicues and wide pen strokes. “Remember the writing on the board ends.”
“The letter is from Saskatchewan.” Kyle was working on the detailed map of the Kirby neighbourhood. “I wonder if Darrell and Sydney’s father’s handwriting is as artistic as their uncle?”
Polly scratched her ear. “Did the Dells learn how to write that way in school?”
“Maybe they both took calligraphy.” Kyle had moved to making the map of the neighbourhood more precise. “There are too any loose threads.”
“In the map?”
“No, in the case.” Kyle shook his head and continued with his map drawing. Silence reigned as they both worked on pulling all the data together. Polly tidied her drawing of the first mail robbery.
“Did you notice that everyone on the block behind the school is setting up displays for the Spookarama?” Kyle mentioned.
The Incredible Polly McDoodle (The Polly McDoodle Mystery Series Book 4) Page 10