I So Don't Do Famous Page 11

  Apparently, this is the Go Fish game that never ends.

  “She does,” Leah whispers, even though no one can hear her but me. “That kid’s totally owning her mom.” She pauses, and I’m sure she’s watching the card game intently. “Sherry, I rocked at Go Fish when I was a kid.”

  “Me too.” I turn to Junie. “Not sure if you’ve thought of this, but you’re messing with your tan line by hunching over your phone so much. Your face is still as white as Wonder Bread, while your arms and legs are freckling up.”

  “Whatever,” she says, head still bowed.

  “I smuggled Leah out of the hotel. In my beach bag.”

  Junie looks up. “Very smart!”

  “Not all friends would think to help out in the tan-line area,” Leah says. “I don’t think Junie appreciates you.”

  “She appreciates me,” I say. “When she’s not texting her boyfriend.”

  “Remember, I can’t hear her,” Junie says. “But I can hear you.”

  I hop up. “I gotta walk around. You know how sometimes your legs go all twitchy, and it’s tough to sit still? Well, that’s what my whole body and my brain’s doing.” I start pacing.

  The root beer gloss scent trails along beside me. “I can really get into character. It’s one of my strengths as an actress,” Leah says.

  I hold my cell against my ear to give myself a legitimate reason for talking aloud.

  “And while I was waiting for you, I devoted the day to getting into the character of a detective.”

  “Oh yeah?” I’ll admit I’m less than enthusiastic. Leah is completely inexperienced. I don’t want to be mean to her, but I also don’t want her messing up my investigation.

  “Did the break-ins occur during the day or at night?” she asks.

  “Both,” I say. “But more at night.”

  “How about this for a strategy? We’ll hang around Beverly Hills every night and patrol the area. Because now we know you can get me out of the hotel.” Leah’s talking faster and faster. “I can fly up and down the streets while you walk them. I’ll be the Beverly Hills Security Ghost. You’ll be the Beverly Hills Security Teen. We’ll catch the thief red-handed.”

  “Leah, I’m not pounding the Beverly Hills pavement all night long. First off, my dad wouldn’t let me. Second, I’d be exhausted, so I’d sleep all day. What’s the point of coming to Los Angeles, then snoozing through the vacation? Third, I’d have blisters. Fourth, I doubt we’d catch someone. There isn’t a break-in every evening.” I’ve paced all the way around the pool and right out to the little tile fountain at the pool entrance.

  Leah blows out a long breath. “You’re absolutely right. I didn’t take all that into consideration.”

  I sit down in a metal chair by the fountain.

  “Here’s another idea,” Leah says. “It’s common knowledge that criminals make mistakes when they’re stressed. So, to stress the bad guy, or guys, take out an ad in the Los Angeles Times. A lot of people read that newspaper, even criminals. In the ad, say you know their identity and you’re watching them, just waiting for them to trip up. And that you’ll be ready with handcuffs.”

  I rub my forehead. She really is not helping. “Leah, I get less allowance than anyone else at my middle school. I could never afford an ad in the newspaper. Plus, it just wouldn’t work.”

  I stand up and meander along a path around the periphery of the hotel. It’s pretty and Californian, with palm trees and benches and recycling bins. From the root beer smell, Leah is glued to my side.

  Suddenly, I catch a whiff of coffee. I spin around. The smell is getting stronger. My mom is headed my way!

  “Leah?” I stop and face where I’m pretty sure she’s floating. “You know how parents can be difficult? They don’t understand why you’ve got to do certain things?” I’m talking quickly, the words tripping all over each other. I’ve got to get through to Leah before my mom starts chatting with her, and Leah spills about the mystery. “And they’ll be all over your case for next to nothing? And it’s easier and actually kinder to them if you leave them in the dark about your activities? Because they can’t worry about what they don’t know?”

  “What?” Leah asks.

  “My mom! My mom is almost here! And she doesn’t know I’m working on the mystery. And it’s better if she doesn’t know.”

  “Oh wow, I’ll get to meet your mom! Just like real live girlfriends!”

  “Did you hear me, Leah?” If I could, I’d grab her by the shoulders and shake her.

  “I’m supposed to tell your mom all about how you’re hunting down the Beverly Hills Bandits.”

  “No, no, no!”

  “Psych!” Leah says. “I got it. Really. No mystery talk. My lips are sealed.”

  Phew. I think.

  “So we’re definitely working together, right?” she says. “And you’re not going to avoid me anymore? And we’ll hang out a bunch and be best friends?”

  Leah’s more on the ball than I realized.

  “Hi, Sherry,” my mom says.

  “Mom,” I say, “this is Leah.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” my mom says.

  “I’m very pleased to meet you too,” Leah says. I can just imagine she’s jumping up and down like a little kid. “Your daughter is amazing. And thoughtful and kind. Thanks to her I finally got out of this hotel today.”

  The two of them go on to discuss crossing thresholds, Leah’s early death and other spiritual matters.

  “Sherry told me you’re trying to get to the bottom of Marilyn Monroe’s death,” Leah says. “Was it murder? Was it a suicide? Was it an accident?”

  “Have you met her?” my mother asks.

  “No, but about a month ago, I heard her calling over and over from the mirror she haunts, ‘Joe DiMaggio, Joe DiMaggio.’ ” Leah’s voice goes all breathy and squeaky.

  “Interesting.” I bet Mom’s twirling a few strands of her dark hair around an index finger, a habit she has when she’s mulling stuff over. “Rumor has it that she and DiMaggio, her second husband, were planning to remarry, but then she died.”

  “If I hear her again, I’ll definitely tell Sherry so she can inform you,” Leah says.

  “Thank you.” Mom and I make mother-daughter plans for tomorrow. She whispers how proud she is of me for befriending Leah. Then she takes off for a meeting with the Marilyn Monroe Spirit Sighting Club.

  I continue my pacing.

  “About the victims? Who are they?” Leah asks. “Is there any sort of pattern?”

  I’ll give her one thing. She’s all over this mystery like a rash.

  “Do you have a list or something I can see?” she says.

  Why not? I have nothing to lose.

  I hold open my beach bag, and a root beer gust whooshes in. The bag shivers as we cross back into the hotel. When the elevator arrives, I jump in. It’s full of people, silent and staring at the buttons.

  I pull my room key from the bag, and Leah zips out. Briefly, I press my finger against my lips. In an elevator, my goal is to quietly blend in.

  “Maybe I’ll notice something you haven’t,” Leah says by my ear. “You know, a fresh pair of eyes.”

  I give the slightest of nods.

  “I’m a fountain of movie trivia. And I’ve picked up even more this past year with all the premieres that take place at the Roosevelt.”

  Still radio silence from my end, but it’s not computing with her.

  “Like, for instance, Hannah Smyth won’t go anywhere without a teacup dog in her pocket. Which sounds sort of cute. But even teacup dogs have to do their business. Guess where she stashes the miniature poop?”

  I imitate the faces of those around me, glassy-eyed and frozen so that I look like a normal person who doesn’t chat with the dead.

  “In that gigantic potted plant by the front door. The staff can’t figure out why it’s dying.”

  “Seriously?” The word bursts out of my mouth before I can stop it.

  Everyone in t
he elevator sidles away from me.

  We hop out on the eighth floor, giggling. We giggle the whole way down the hall and into the room.

  I boot up Junie’s laptop, click straight to her photos and pull up the pictures of Detective Garcia’s file. “Here’s the list of celebrities whose homes were burglarized.”

  In like four seconds flat, as if she’s a ghost speed-reader, Leah says, “Ha! That’s not a mystery. That’s a piece of cake.”

  chapter

  twenty-one

  “Leah,” I say, “what are you talking about?”

  “The victims? The celebrities whose homes were burglarized?” The papers on the desk flutter where Leah’s swirling around. “They were all Raccoonites!”

  “What’s a Raccoonite?”

  “The Raccoonites? From After School with Uncle Stanley?”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “It was an after-school TV show. A kids’ variety show.”

  I shake my head.

  “You would’ve been too young for it,” Leah says. “You were more Sesame Street back when it was on.”

  “We’re basically the same age. You were more Sesame Street too.”

  “My big sister was a Raccoonite. I was the baby sister who tagged along. The invisible kid who hung around, but was never included.”

  And now she’s the invisible ghost who hangs around. My heart goes tight. “Who were the Raccoonites?”

  “Kids roughly nine to thirteen. They sang, danced, did dumb magic tricks. They’d introduce cartoons. And act out these little situations with morals at the end. Some of the Raccoonites went on to become big names, like the people on this list.”

  “Who’s your sister?”

  “Jocelyn Dixon.”

  “How did Detective Garcia miss this pattern?” I ask.

  “Well, the show’s been off the air for ten years or so,” Leah says. “Plus, it’s a little bit complicated.” I can practically hear her puffing out her chest with pride. “For example, my sister totally changed her name when our mom remarried. As a Raccoonite, Jocelyn was Lyn Jones. Hannah Smyth changed her name from Melissa Smyth. Melanie Grace used to be teeny tiny, but look how tall she is now.”

  “Where does Dear Elle fit in?”

  “She was a Raccoonite for like two minutes. Sherry, she was so bad. She couldn’t sing or dance or act. She could barely breathe right. But her dad was a bigwig at the station. Anyway, she’s completely reinvented. Cosmetic surgery like crazy. And, of course, she used to have a last name. Funkleburger. Eleanor Funkleburger.”

  “Wow, Leah. You’re incredible!”

  “Thanks! And you were right. This totally beats moping around over Michael.” She giggles. “Aka Sox Throck.”

  “How come the celebrities themselves aren’t seeing the pattern?” I ask. “Wouldn’t they remember the other Raccoonites?”

  “But it’s not like they’re all still friends or anything,” Leah says. “And there were many Raccoonites.”

  “I bet the victims don’t know the names of everyone whose homes have been broken into,” I say, thinking aloud.

  “I wonder who’ll be next?” Leah says. “Maybe Kira Cornish. She’s one of the biggest stars that came out of that show.”

  “Why would someone go after the Raccoonites like this?” I say. “Jealousy? Someone who never achieved fame?”

  “That describes a lot of Raccoonites,” Leah says.

  “Maybe it’s someone who hated After School with Uncle Stanley and wants to seriously annoy everyone who did well because of the show,” I say.

  “Or someone who hates forest animals,” Leah suggests.

  Sometimes that ghost does not even make sense. “I want to pay a visit to Taco Magnifico. See if I can figure out why Cameron Williams looked familiar to a couple of Beverly Hills residents,” I say. “You up for it?”

  “Am I up for it? Are you kidding me?” Leah says. “I’ve been stuck in this hotel for over a year. Even a trip to the Dumpster sounds exciting.”

  I call down to the front desk and read off the restaurant’s address from my notebook.

  “It’s just around the corner,” the girl says. “Stop by the concierge, and he’ll point you in the right direction.”

  I phone Junie. “You will not believe what Leah just figured out.” And I tell her about the Raccoonites stuff and how Kira Cornish might be next and why it was easy for Detective Garcia to not see the connection.

  “That’s incredible,” Junie says.

  “We’re walking to Taco Magnifico now. Just to see if there’s something there to explain why those Beverly Hills people recognized Cameron Williams.”

  “Are you okay going without me?” Junie asks. “ ’Cause I’d like to even out my tan some more. But I can work on it later if you need me.”

  “I’m totally good,” I say.

  Leah and I head down to the lobby, where she flies into my purse before I step out the door. The purse doesn’t shudder as much as the beach bag did. Maybe we’re getting the hang of this threshold-crossing thing.

  I stride right into Taco Magnifico before unzipping my purse.

  The second she’s out, Leah starts complaining. “I’m cramping up in your micro purse. Any chance of upgrading?”

  “Sorry about that,” I say. “But, uh, no. My last purse was a huge black hole, swallowing up all my stuff.”

  Taco Magnifico is like a million other taco restaurants across the Southwest. A TV blares out a Spanish soap opera; the menu hangs on the wall; you place your order at a ceramic-tiled counter; the eating area has about ten little tables and chairs; and your mouth majorly waters.

  “Don’t look now,” Leah says, “but the guy sitting at the first table is checking you out.”

  Of course, now all I want to do is look.

  “Uh-oh. He stopped fiddling with the salsa bottle. He’s standing up. He’s walking toward us.”

  “How old? How cute? Just getting a soda refill?” I say.

  “Are you staying at the Roosevelt?” It’s the dark-haired, dark-eyed guy from the hotel gift shop.

  “I am,” I say. “You?”

  “Ask him if he’s available,” Leah says. “A rebound boyfriend wouldn’t be a bad thing for you right now.”

  “Me too.” He glances around the restaurant. “You eaten here before?”

  “No. This is the first time I’ve set foot in the place.” I point to the menu. “I’m getting a fish taco. It’s sort of my test dish for all Mexican restaurants.”

  “Mine too!” he says. “If I don’t like the fish taco, I’m outta there, and I won’t be back.”

  “That’s exactly my theory!” I say.

  “Moving the conversation right along,” Leah says. “ ‘Hello, Cute Boy from Hotel, do you have a girlfriend?’ ”

  Leah and I are definitely having a chat about ghost etiquette when we get back to the hotel.

  “The Mexican place directly across from the hotel? Next to the tattoo place?” I press my thumb and index finger together. “Awesome fish tacos.”

  “Thanks for the tip,” he says. “I’m Mark, by the way. Mark Peña.” Everything about him is smiley and friendly, from his chocolate eyes to his warm voice.

  “I’m Sherry Baldwin.”

  “Are you here on your own, Sherry?”

  I look around like I might actually find Leah. “I’m with a girlfriend. She’s kind of weird, though. Always disappearing.”

  “Hey,” Leah says. “That’s not nice.”

  “So, Mark, I was just wondering”—I stick a quarter in the vending machine, all nonchalant—“do you play water polo?”

  “No, I’m more of a land-sports kind of guy,” Mark says. “Why?”

  “Just curious.” I turn the knob and a handful of Mike and Ikes tumble out. I offer him some.

  “Get his cell,” Leah shouts.

  “Thanks.” He takes a couple of candies.

  “Mark, your order’s ready,” calls the girl behind the counter.

&nbs
p; “That’s me,” he says. “We didn’t realize they delivered. My parents are waiting for me back at the hotel.” He looks right into my eyes. “See you around?”

  “Sure.”

  Mark grabs his order and gives me a final wave as he shoulders open the door.

  Leah’s right in my ear. “Are you crazy? Why didn’t you get his number? Do you not want to move on from Josh?”

  But what’s echoing in my mind is a little sentence Mark said: We didn’t realize they delivered.

  chapter

  twenty-two

  Back at the hotel, I find Junie in our room. Along with a huge basket of fruit and candy.

  “It’s for you,” Junie says. “Hollywood Girl had it delivered.”

  “Wow,” I say. “What if this was actually our life?” I gesture around at the fancy room and the basket.

  “It’d be pretty cool,” Junie says. “But we might miss Arizona after a while.”

  “You’re probably right.” I hand her a brown paper bag.

  “Fish taco?” That’s how well Junie knows me.

  I tell her about Mark Peña.

  “Does it feel weird”—she looks up from opening her cardboard food box—“to be interested in someone who’s not Josh?”

  “Yeah. My heart is so confused.” I dip a chip in salsa. “It’s like our first day at Saguaro Middle School. When we didn’t know where any of the classes were, and we were in a daze, trying to find our way around.” I nibble the edges of the chip. “That’s what it’s like for my heart.”

  Junie squeezes lime on her taco. “Sounds tough.”

  “Anyway, guess what’s interesting about Taco Magnifico?” I don’t wait for a reply because Junie’s mouth is full of food. “They deliver. To Beverly Hills. I talked to the manager, and Cameron Williams does some of the deliveries. So that easily explains how he looks familiar to a few of those Beverly Hills residents.”

  “Any chance he’s scoping out their homes while he’s on delivery duty?” Junie says.

  “I don’t think so. Not unless we can come up with a way to link him to the Raccoonites.” I poke shredded cabbage back into my taco from where it fell out into the box. “Can I use your computer?”

  While I’m waiting for the laptop to boot up, I bite into my taco. “Not up to my standards.”