I So Don't Do Mysteries Read online

  “I’m going to drop you at the entrance,” Sue says. “Thomas and I only have an hour for lunch.”

  A devious plot hatches in my detective brain.

  The nanosecond the pickup pulls out of view, I’m off. I run out of the Park, down the drive, along the soft shoulder until I reach a small white sign. SAN DIEGO RATITE FARM. Ratite? I guess that means “ostrich.” I take a left and huff and puff to the end of a short, potholed dirt driveway. Another small white sign hangs from a wire fence. ENTRANCE TO THE SAN DIEGO RATITE FARM BY APPOINTMENT ONLY.

  Is nothing easy in mystery solving?

  Gripping my knees, I lean over, trying to catch my raggedy breath. I can feel blisters bumping up between my toes. Why did I wear sandals?

  I hear shuffling and look. Eeks. Ikes. It’s a huge ostrich. With flat red feet and ugly, bony legs. Cocking its head, it fixes me with sad eyes.

  I gaze behind it, down a hill to where a gazillion ostriches stand or walk around. A few sit on the dirt ground. On eggs, maybe. Poor things. No trees and a blazingly hot sun.

  I look back up at the ostrich by the fence. “Hey, boy. How ya doing?” I cluck at him.

  The big bird tilts his head to the other side, his eyes on me. He lifts one long, flat foot, sets it down with a thump and then lifts the other foot. He shakes his brown tail feathers and bobs his head from side to side.

  Is he asking me to dance? I raise my right foot, then my left, and step heavily into the dirt to mimic the thumping sounds of the ostrich’s big feet.

  “I see Kevin Bacon’s got you dancing,” a gravelly voice says.

  On the other side of the locked gate stands a Weeble-like old man scratching his sticky-out belly.

  “Kevin Bacon?” I search my memory. I think he was a teenage dancer in an old movie.

  “Are you the egger I been expectin’?” The man hooks his thumb in a belt loop. “You’re half an hour late.”

  “Egger?”

  “Someone who decorates eggs,” he says. “So, if you’re not the egger, what’re ya doin’ here?”

  Um. Um. “I’m doing a report for school on ostriches.”

  He points a long, dirty nail at the sign. “Go home and phone for an appointment.”

  “I’m all the way from Arizona. Couldn’t you spare a few minutes?” I smile sweetly. “I won’t take long.” Seriously. The clock is ticking as I speak. Between Kendra and her rhino ceremony and Thomas and his lunch break, I don’t have much time.

  The farmer picks a long stem of grass and sticks it between his teeth, chewing on it for a while. “Okay,” he finally says. “But you’re out of here when the egger shows up. I don’t do double appointments.”

  “Thank you so much.”

  Kevin Bacon plods off to join his feathered friends, abandoning me to the grumpy old guy.

  The farmer reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out a rusty key. He unlocks the gate and lets me in. He gestures with his head. “You can see the birds better from over this way.” He ambles along, slow like a slug.

  I speed up in the hopes he’ll match my pace. Uh. No. Apparently not. I slow back down.

  “So, what do ya wanna know?”

  My questions are all about Thomas, but I’ll have to slide those into the conversation. “I didn’t realize ostriches were so big.”

  “ ’Cuz of me, our birds are extra healthy,” he brags. “They have more meat, hide and feathers than at other farms. And restaurants love our tender meat.”

  Meat? Hide? Feathers? “What? You kill the ostriches?”

  He looks at me like I’m a drooling idiot. “Did you think this was the Wild Animal Park?”

  Honestly, I’ve spent as much time contemplating ostrich farms as I have speaking Chinese. I certainly didn’t know people ate ostriches. Well, yuck.

  I’m walking along, pretty grossed out, when I realize something grainy is underfoot. I look down. It’s the same weird seedy-pellety mixture I found on the tennis courts!

  I bend over and let some dribble through my fingers. Definitely the same stuff. “What’s this?”

  The farmer scowls. “Our own feed.”

  “Feed? Not poison?”

  He snorts. “Definitely not poison.”

  “What’s in it?”

  “How would I know?” He spits at the ground. “It was developed by a jerk who works here. Only he and the owner know the secret recipe.”

  “Is the jerk named Thomas?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Um, um, I phoned here once.”

  “I’m surprised he picked up. He usually just lets it ring. He’s not much of a talker.”

  “Yeah, he does seem pretty weird.” Look at me, getting info out of this guy.

  “You don’t know the half of it.” The farmer plucks his straw hat off his head and runs his fingers through thinning, greasy hair. “Thomas’s main friends are the birds. I’ve seen them get up off their eggs for him. Almost like they’re giving him a gift.”

  “How else do you get the eggs?”

  “I go in with the dogs. The birds can get real aggressive.” He hitches up his jeans by the waistband. “The dogs are always willing to help me out ’cuz I treat them to a little raw ostrich meat mixed in with their dog food.”

  Ugh. Disgusting visual. “Why don’t you leave the eggs with the ostriches?”

  “They hatch better in an incubator.”

  My mind’s grasshoppering all over the place. If Thomas is whipping up batches of healthy feed and is trusted by ostriches, he’s probably exactly how Sue described him: an animal lover. Not an animal hater. Not a rhino killer. Although, why was he spying from the tennis courts?

  Whatever. We’re down to Damon, who needs money, and Rob, who needs a story. Or it could be someone I don’t even know about. Ack.

  “What else do ya wanna know?”

  “Nothing,” I say. Time to vamoose. I step in the direction of the front gate.

  “That’s enough information for a whole report?”

  “I’m only aiming for a C.” I take another couple of steps.

  Finally, he starts his ambling thing. After about a million years, we reach the entrance. Straw between his teeth again, the farmer jiggles the key in the lock, then creaks open the gate.

  I explode outta there.

  Junie’s waiting at the Wild Animal Park entrance for me. “Where were you?”

  “An ostrich farm. I was following a suspect, and he works there, and—”

  “Sherry. Stop.” Junie cuts me off. “Try this.” She hands me a wrapped candy. “I got a bunch of saltwater taffy from the candy store underneath the Hotel Del.”

  I slowly chew on tacky maple walnut. I know the candy is Junie’s unsubtle way of shutting down the mystery conversation. But I won’t be shut down. When I get my teeth unstuck, I say, “You know, I’ve put up with some strange stuff from you. And I was way, way more understanding.”

  “Are you referring to when I joined the chess club? ’Cause that’s a lot different than asking me to believe your mom’s a ghost, your grandfather’s a wren and the three of you are solving a mystery about rhinos.” Junie crosses her arms. “Also, for the record, you were not all that understanding.”

  I thought it was going to be better having a friend here. Maybe not. “Where’s Amber?”

  “Shopping. The only way I got her to bring me was by telling her about the mall nearby.” Junie sighs. “She actually air-kissed someone when we were leaving the set. She’s driving me insane.”

  And things are instantly improved between Junie and me.

  I look at my wrist, where there’d be a watch if I wore one. “Time to meet Kendra Phillips,” I say, just tossing it out there like it’s an everyday occurrence.

  “What?”

  “She’s how I really got up here this morning. I just told you guys I was taking a tour.” We start walking toward Nairobi Village. “Because I was worried Amber would open her big mouth to Damon about Kendra coming to the Wild Animal Park. Which, judg
ing from the argument we overheard, he’s hard-core against.”

  Junie shakes her head back and forth like she’s a shaggy dog who’s drying off after a bath. “Wait. I’m still back at ‘Time to meet Kendra Phillips.’ ”

  So I tell her about impersonating Sue and how I scored the ice cream coupons.

  “What’s she like?”

  “Into rhinos.”

  It’s not often Junie’s speechless. And I think I see a hint of respect in her eyes. Probably because I was resourceful, not because I’m solving a mystery.

  We hook up with Kendra at a grass + dirt picnic area right by Nairobi Village. Surprisingly, she decides to grab chili in sourdough bread bowls with us, even after I tell her I don’t need a ride back to the Del anymore. She must truly be hungry.

  Once we’re seated at a round plastic table, Kendra says, “So, Junie, are you as interested in rhinos as Sherry?”

  “I don’t know.” Junie fidgets with her napkin. She’s definitely uncomfortable with the rhino convo.

  “We’ll make you into a rhino lover.” Kendra’s eyes sparkle. She says to me, “According to Sue, we’ve got some new rhino fans who hang out by the fence. They met on an arthritis Web site. Let’s go say hi, and I’ll extend an official spokesperson welcome.”

  “I’m not up for a hike to the rhino exhibit. Not with the three nasty blisters I have on my right foot,” I say. Also, I’m avoiding Sue.

  “Sherry, you need to connect with the rhinos on their level, ground level.” With a plastic spoon, Kendra scrapes the last of the chili from her bread bowl. “Up close and personal.”

  Like I don’t know up close and personal with the rhinos. Not that I can tell her about it.

  Seriously, though, I’m done. My lungs practically collapsed after my superhero leap from the monorail. A buffalo almost gored me to death. I’ve covered miles in my sandals. I spent time with a creepy ostrich farmer. I’m not exactly getting along with my mom. Bottom line: I need a nap.

  I swallow a mouthful of Coke and prepare to whine.

  Squawk. Squawk.

  I squint up at the bright sky.

  It’s a raggedy shadow. It’s an elderly wren. It’s my grandpa.

  He plops to the ground by my feet and starts pecking at crumbs.

  Good. We need to talk about my mother. But in private. “Doesn’t ice cream sound good?” I push out a groan. “I’d get it if I wasn’t dealing with blisters.”

  Kendra frowns. “Actually, I could use a tea.” She pushes back her chair and stands. “Ice cream is at a different kiosk. So you’re on your own for that.”

  I look at Junie with big cow eyes.

  “Fine,” she says. “But you pay.”

  The second Junie and Kendra are out of earshot, I lean over. “Grandpa, where’s Mom?”

  With his beak, he scratches out the shape of a house in the dirt.

  “The Whaley House? She went back to the Whaley House?”

  He bobs his little head up and down.

  I am brilliant. I pinch off some of my bread bowl and toss it to him.

  He croaks, Blah, blah, bad, blah, blah.

  I say, “Bad? She feels bad?”

  Now I feel bad. Hate that mother guilt thing. “Fine.” I huff. “I’ll go talk to her later.” I wag my finger at him. “Did she even tell you what she did to my cell phone?”

  “Sherry, you are such an animal person. You’re talking to that bird, aren’t you?” Grinning, Kendra tugs on the tea bag string, swishing it around in her cup.

  Junie comes up right behind Kendra. From the stony look on her face, she must’ve heard Kendra’s question.

  Not answering, I say, “Thanks, Junie.” I reach for my soft serve.

  Kendra swings her purse over her shoulder. “Let’s hit the trail, girls.”

  I stand and take a few weak, limpy steps, then pause to lick my cone for strength.

  Grandpa hops up onto the table and sticks his head into my bread bowl. He wrestles with it till he’s got it clasped in his beak, then half-hops, half-flies behind me.

  “Looks like you picked up a new best friend.” Kendra grins again, then strides off, her purse bumping her back.

  Junie’s face goes even more closed.

  Kendra’s like a drill sergeant and forces us to march at an unhealthily fast clip. Too bad she’s not megafamous with fans mobbing her every few feet for autographs. Instead, she keeps us moving nonstop, which means I have constant weight on my blisters. There is much pain involved in detective work.

  Finally, while I still have a little feeling left in my feet, we arrive at the exhibit. Totally beat, I flop down on the grass and yank off my right sandal. Just as I suspected, one blister has ballooned to the size of a radish. The other two aren’t much smaller.

  Still dragging my bread, Grandpa bounces up next to me.

  Junie stands across the path. Her eyes jump from Grandpa to me to Grandpa to me, over and over again. Like when a computer gets stuck and keeps looping through the same stuff.

  I check out the fence. Sure enough, there’s a bunch of extremely old people. Some are even leaning on walkers or canes. Incredible how determined they are to see the rhinos.

  A bald man hunches forward in his wheelchair, binoculars glued to his face. “These animals appear to be very healthy. The Park must take excellent care of them,” he says.

  Enter Kendra with a friendly smile and an outstretched hand. “The Park does take excellent care of its rhinos.”

  Looking confused, Bald Man slowly extends his arm.

  A tall, wrinkly woman with lavender hair and a matching cane says, “Who are you?”

  Kendra blasts into a whole public-relations spiel. All about how involved she is in preventing rhino extinction, the documentary she did at some preserve in Africa, her duties as the Park’s official rhino spokesperson. Her pitch rises; her volume varies; her eyes twinkle. Her body language is screaming rhino love and commitment.

  And when she’s done . . . silence. Complete silence.

  Bald Man retracted his arm somewhere between “extinction” and “documentary.”

  Kendra flushes and her shoulders go all stiff.

  Awkward, I mouth across the way to Junie.

  A male voice calls out, “Kendra!”

  We all turn to see a young, übercute security guy jogging down the path toward us. He’s like something out of a sports-car commercial with his wavy brown hair blowing back in the breeze. And he’s neat and put together in a uniform with creases and badges.

  I think I’m all of a sudden attracted to guys in uniforms. Maybe I’ll suggest to Josh that he check into a part-time security job at the mall when he turns sixteen.

  “Senior-discount cards, folks.” Mr. Security Guy waves small cards in the air.

  He has a British accent! Even cuter.

  He smiles sincerely in Kendra’s direction. “It’s great to see you.”

  “You too, Gary.” She relaxes her shoulders.

  Most of the old people hobble over to him.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Gary announces, “allow me to introduce Kendra Phillips, our rhino spokesperson.”

  The old people look around at each other, at the ground, at their discount cards. Then they go back to talking among themselves. One reminds another to take a pill. Pretty soon they’re all staring at the savanna, where Ongava’s wandered over near the fence and is pulling on a clump of grass.

  Kendra flushes again.

  “Don’t take it personally.” Gary lowers his voice. “Most of them are in constant pain from arthritis. It’s probably close to medication time.” He makes a sweeping gesture with his arm. “You’ve got to appreciate their fascination with the rhinos. They literally spend hours watching them.”

  “Amazing,” Kendra says.

  Personally, I think it’s too strange. What normal old person spends their retirement studying rhinos at the Wild Animal Park? What happened to shuffleboard and bridge and time-shares?

  One frail woman stops
rubbing a man’s humped-up shoulder to point at a female rhino who left the crash for a drink at the water trough. Whoohoo. Such excitement. Really, there’s only one logical explanation for these fanatical rhino fans: They’re old and losing it a little. Or a lot.

  Grandpa flies over by Tall Lavender Lady. He’s always liked purple.

  “Any news on Gina giving birth yet?” Kendra asks.

  “Nothing. But you can ask Sue yourself,” Gary says. “She’s coming down this way soon.”

  Ack. Eek. My sandal in my hand, I totter over to them.

  Junie follows me.

  I clear my throat. “Kendra, I’d kinda like to get going. I don’t want this blister to get infected.”

  I think she does a mini eye roll before introducing me and Junie to Gary.

  “Glad to meet you.” Gary smiles. “Any friends of Kendra’s are friends of mine.”

  “I first met Gary in South Africa,” Kendra says. “He worked at the Lapalala Reserve, keeping it safe from poachers.” She beams at him. “And he’s an expert with a dart gun. Once a year, he’d inject birth control from a helicopter into female elephants to help manage the elephant population.” She ups the beam to halogen intensity. “Very tricky, and he was the best.”

  “I read an article about that,” Junie says. She starts asking him questions about elephants.

  Boring subject, but I find I’m basking in Gary’s overall adorableness. His eyes are the exact color of Hershey’s Kisses. His voice is warm and genuine and wraps around me like a soft blanket.

  All animated about Africa, Junie leans toward Gary.

  She’s flirting! In her own little intellectual way. Junie’s definitely going through big changes this trip. Stammering around Ben, flirting with Gary. What’s next?

  I break loose from Gary’s spell to look for Grandpa, who isn’t by Tall Lavender Lady anymore. I limp past the fence and the group of old people plastered to it. I wave to the female crash, way off in the exhibit. Where’s Grandpa?

  Tall Lavender Lady and one of the old men stand close together, apart from the others. The old man is small and wrinkled. He’s wearing a straw gardening hat and a sweatshirt with ARTHUR’S LANDSCAPING screen printed on the back.