I So Don't Do Famous Read online

  “Is it that difficult to grab a key? Any key?” David stands too close to Taylor, towering over her. “Lorraine and Stef managed to steal a purse in a crowded room. And guess what was in the purse?”

  “A key,” Taylor whispers.

  “I don’t like putting you girls in dicey situations like the Hollywood Girl event. But I had to, didn’t I, Taylor? Because of you. Because you didn’t pick up a key from that job.” David crosses his arms. “You need to get with the program.”

  She cowers. “It won’t happen again.”

  “It better not.” David still doesn’t step away from her. “If it does, some other lucky moron from your pitiful high-school drama club will have your spot.”

  High-school drama club recruits. Stolen keys as souvenirs. The Beverly Hills Bandits strike again tomorrow.

  And David is the scariest kind of bad guy.

  Unpredictable.

  chapter

  twenty-eight

  After David dismisses us, Taylor takes off like a flash. Lorraine, Stef and I traipse to the restroom together, because even burglary girls hit the restroom in groups.

  I hang back and let them go in first to give me a few minutes in the hall with Leah. The nanosecond the door closes, I whisper, “Did you recognize David? Was he a Raccoonite?”

  “He didn’t look familiar to me,” Leah says. “But that doesn’t mean a whole lot. Maybe he had a bit part. Maybe he changed a bunch in the last decade. Maybe he never was a Raccoonite.”

  “Sherry,” Lorraine calls through the shut door, “do you have a brush?”

  I’m not supposed to loan out my brush or comb or hat or hair clips. The Ruler’s orders. She has a huge phobia about lice. But in the interest of the case, I’m breaking the rule.

  I scrounge around in my purse for my brush, then walk in and hand it to Lorraine. She, Stef and I preen in front of the mirror.

  Leah hangs next to me, her Lippy’s Root Beer Gloss scent right by my face.

  I pop open my eye shadow container.

  “That’s a cute color. Is it raspberry? That’s one thing I hate about being dead.” Leah sighs. “I’m missing out on all the new makeup.”

  “It’s pomegranate,” I say.

  “What?” Lorraine and Stef say.

  Ack. I hold out my eye shadow. “Isn’t this adorable? It’s pomegranate.” Obviously, I need to keep on ignoring Leah.

  “Sure, I’ll try it.” Lorraine exchanges my brush for my eye shadow. That girl is big into borrowing.

  “So, what’s the deal with the drama club?” I ask.

  “You haven’t heard of the Hollywood High Players?” Lorraine is aghast.

  “I’m from Phoenix.” I unscrew my mascara tube. “Remember?”

  “Sometimes I forget,” Lorraine brushes thick streaks of pomegranate across her lids. “You seem pretty normal for someone who doesn’t live in California.”

  That’s so messed up. Everyone knows California is home to the nutcakes of the nation. I keep this wisdom to myself.

  Stef clips on eyelash curlers. “My lashes are totally drooping today.”

  “Hollywood High’s a magnet school for drama.” Lorraine hands me my eye shadow. “David usually guest speaks to the theater kids a few times a year. That’s how he found us.”

  “What does he talk about?” I pump the plastic wand up and down, coating it heavily in mascara. “Certainly not how to get along with people.”

  Lorraine laughs. Even Stef cracks a smile.

  “He talks about acting.” Sucking in her cheeks, Lorraine blends in blush. “When he was a kid he was on a TV show.”

  “Ask which show,” Leah says.

  “Really?” The hairs on my arms prick up like mini detective antennae. “Which show?”

  “I know he told us.…” Lorraine shrugs. “There were a bunch of kids. They sang. They danced. It sounded lame, and, anyway, he was nothing special on it.”

  “Sounds like After School with Uncle Stanley,” Leah says.

  “What about after the show ended?” I ask. “Was he still on TV?”

  Stef makes quotation marks in the air. “ ‘David Hughes Peaks at Ten Years Old.’ ” She grins. “And it’s been downhill since then.”

  Hughes? Now I have his last name. “Why does your high school want him as a guest speaker if he’s a nobody?” I ask.

  “People love him. He can be pretty chill when he wants to be. You saw that,” Stef says. “And I think he does know junk about TV acting. He’s had other TV gigs, just nothing major.” Stef’s wiping under her eyes where mascara has pooled. “I’m going to have to redo my eyes.”

  “Plus, our school likes him ’cause he donates a chunk of money.” Lorraine wets a paper towel and hands it to Stef.

  “Money he gets from the break-ins?” I say incredulously.

  “Sure,” Lorraine says.

  “He’s definitely not giving our drama club money he got from acting.” Stef starts to laugh.

  “Yeah, he could donate”—Lorraine chokes out—“a whole five cents. If it were from his acting.”

  The two girls are clutching their stomachs, doubled over with laughter.

  “David’s such a bully,” Leah says, “it must feel good to make fun of him.”

  I give a slight nod while unscrewing the lid to my lip gloss. “How does he choose which houses to hit?”

  “It’s not like he confides in us.” Stef hiccups, getting herself under control.

  “Maybe based on how much expensive stuff they have?” Lorraine says. “And if the owner’s gone?”

  “What’re the keys all about?” I ask, swiping on some gloss.

  “He has one from every house we’ve robbed. He’s really into that.” Lorraine tips Stef’s chin. “Try Sherry’s eye shadow. The color’s perfect for you.”

  I hand Stef my eye shadow. I’m shocked at how little Lorraine and Stef can answer about David. I’m even more shocked at how little they care about finding out. They are very go-with-the-flow girls. “You know what else I don’t get?”

  “You know what I don’t get?” Stef says. “Why you’re asking so many questions.”

  “She’s right,” Leah says. “Quit acting like a detective and just be a normal teen.”

  Linking arms, Lorraine and Stef take one giant step back from the mirror. United against me.

  “Sorry. I’m trying to figure it all out,” I babble. “Because he’s such a jerk to you guys. I mean, do you really need him?”

  “Do not wreck this for us, Sherry,” Stef says, a steely glint in her eyes. “We want the celebrity stuff. David finds the best houses. Except for that one time with Dear Elle’s house, nothing’s ever gone wrong.”

  Even Lorraine morphs into a scary version of her former ditzy self. “Don’t make me sorry I convinced Stef and David to bring you on.” She juts her perfectly made-up face forward, frowning.

  “Seriously, this is a sweet gig. So what if David’s a jerk? We can handle it.” Stef crosses her arms. “If you can’t, get out now.”

  “Whoa,” Leah says. “These girls are hard-core.”

  I put my hands up in the air, in a sign of surrender. “I can deal. I totally want the cool stuff too. Forget I even mentioned anything about David. I’m sure he could be worse.”

  I wait in the restroom after Lorraine and Stef leave.

  “That was a close call,” Leah says. “You almost got yourself kicked out before the first heist.”

  I splash water on my face. Leah’s right.

  “We gotta find out if he really was a Raccoonite,” Leah says.

  “I agree.” I open the door and step into the hall. “I have an idea. Follow me.”

  Three thousand escalators later, I spot Junie at a table, hunched over her laptop. Earbuds in, she doesn’t hear me coming.

  I tap her shoulder.

  She turns around with a jerk, removing a bud.

  “Have you been here the whole time?” I ask.

  “I got so much done.” Her eyes are br
ight. “I can’t wait to start posting articles.” She pulls out the other earbud. “So, how did it go?”

  I give her the scoop. “You gotta find information on this guy.”

  “Tell her I’m here too,” Leah says.

  “Leah wants you to know she’s right next to me.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Junie’s already biting down on her tongue, which means she’s in concentration mode. She’s closing screens and pulling up search engines, typing fast.

  “David Hughes,” I say. “About twenty.”

  “Or nineteen,” Leah chimes in.

  “Make that nineteen or twenty,” I say.

  Junie is the queen of Internet research. If there’s even a hint of a clue out there in cyberspace, Junie will scare it up.

  The three of us are crowded around the computer screen.

  “If he changed his name, I don’t know how we’ll ever find out about him,” I say.

  “Calm down,” Junie says. “I’ve barely scratched the surface. Let me try going at this from a different angle.” She loves a challenge.

  “Maybe something’s wrong with my theory,” Leah says. “Maybe that’s why Junie can’t find a connection. Maybe it’s not all about the Raccoonites.”

  Leah’s sounding more and more like a real sleuth with the way she questions herself and tries to find the theory that fits the mystery.

  I relay Leah’s concern to Junie.

  Junie keeps typing. “Leah, can you tell me the names of some local communities around here?”

  “Walnut Park, Glendale, Commerce,” Leah tells me.

  I add in a few more as Leah feeds them to me. “Oakwood, La Cienega Heights, Cahuenga Pass.”

  Junie’s fingers fly over the keyboard. Images flash across the screen.

  I sit quietly, twisting my hair around and around my index finger. Even Leah is silent.

  And when it feels as though we’re stuck in a big black nothingness of cyberspace where we’re never moving forward and where we’ll never find the answer, Junie snaps her fingers. “Bingo!”

  Somehow, Junie manages to dig up the teeniest, tiniest online article about David Hughes and After School with Uncle Stanley. There’s a head shot of David when he was ten. In some ways, he hasn’t changed at all. He’s got that cute dimple denting his left cheek. And he’s wearing a huge Hollywood grin, which doesn’t match his cold, unfriendly eyes.

  The article quotes his mother as threatening to sue the variety show for not taking full advantage of David’s extraordinary talents. Apparently, despite rehearsing a bunch with the Raccoonites, he only appeared briefly in one episode. His mother denies allegations of David bullying the other children in the show. She maintains he was ostracized.

  Next, in her überdetailed way, Junie searches the names of all the victims. Leah provides the names that the actresses used as children. All the victims were members of the After School with Uncle Stanley cast around the time of the article. Including Kira Cornish.

  “So, the actors whose homes were broken into were all on After School with Uncle Stanley at the same time as David Hughes?” I say. “Back then, he didn’t fit in. And he really doesn’t fit in now because they’re all rich and famous.”

  “That pretty much sums it up,” Leah says.

  “Would they ever hang out with him now?” Junie asks.

  “Are you kidding me?” Leah squeals. “They are so out of his league. Plus, he’s creepy.”

  I repeat all this for Junie. Minus the squeal.

  “Wow, I’m incredible,” Leah says. “I aced my first mystery! Talk about natural talent. How many mysteries have you solved, Sherry? Ever solve one faster than me? I don’t think so. Because I’m a natural. I’m the fastest.”

  Nothing worse than a gloating ghost.

  “Sherry, let’s get going.” Junie logs off and pushes back her chair. “We don’t have much time.”

  chapter

  twenty-nine

  Leah wants to fly along next to me, but I explain we need to try that when time isn’t so of the essence. “Leah,” I say, “a gust of wind could pick you up and blow you to Kansas. Who knows how you’ll do as a ghost in the big real world?”

  “I’m not saying I don’t trust you, Sherry,” she says, “but don’t leave me locked up in your purse. It’s small and dark and there’s a smell.”

  After zipping her in, I sling the bag over my shoulder, and Junie and I trot off toward the Metro.

  We find seats at the back of the train. Across from us, a young guy sits on the dirty floor, engaged in an argument with someone in his head. This is so not Phoenix.

  Junie yanks her notebook and a pen from her backpack and writes, How exactly are we going to ditch Leah? She passes me the paper and pen.

  I don’t know, I scribble back. Now she’s had some freedom and wants to hang with us all the time.

  Hang with YOU. Junie presses hard on the YOU, and the letters are thick.

  ’Cause I can talk to her. Please tell me my best friend isn’t jealous of a ghost.

  Junie takes the notebook and pretty much writes an essay. It’s going to be tough enough convincing Detective Garcia that she needs to jump on board and take over the case the way we see it. But if Leah’s with us, you’re half paying attention to her. Then you’re listening to her comments and trying not to answer. Basically, you end up looking like a flake. She shakes her head and adds another line. We can’t take Leah to the Beverly Hills PD. Junie pauses, her pen poised above the page. Tell her we’re going for food.

  Me? Looking like a flake? I’m not even going there. I think we should tell her the truth. We owe her that much. I hitch my purse up higher. She’s been a huge help in this case.

  “Humph.” Junie shrugs.

  “Junie,” I say, “you’ve been my best friend for forever.” I point to my purse. “Not coming between us,” I say. “But it doesn’t hurt to be nice.” I write sideways on the notebook, which is on Junie’s lap. She’s lonely. She lives miles from us. She’s out of our lives after this trip.

  Junie nods slowly.

  I look around. No one’s paying one drop of attention to us. No one’s wondering why two girls sitting side by side are passing notes back and forth. People are hooked up to earbuds or Bluetooths or the voices in their head. We’re in a group, but at the same time, we’re not. We’re in a compartment with lots of other commuters, but we’re also in our own private world.

  Same thing with David and his teen gang. With a few copies of Fahrenheit 451 as camouflage, they’re meeting in a busy public library to plan burglaries.

  In Los Angeles, they hide the secret stuff right out in the open.

  The train pulls into Hollywood Station. We exit and head to the hotel.

  “I’m going to grab some snacks from our stash in the room,” Junie says. “I’ll meet you back here.”

  “Grab the sour Gummis,” I say, unzipping my purse.

  A root beer scent rushes out. “Any chance you could invest in a backpack? Something a little roomier? And some air freshener,” Leah says. “And please turn down your phone. A text came in and about gave me a heart attack.”

  “Leah, I am so not carrying a backpack everywhere I go.” I pull out my phone. There’s a text from my dad, checking in with us. “But I’ll change my phone to vibrate next time.” I text Dad back.

  “Okay.” Leah claps, ready for action. “What’s next?”

  “The Beverly Hills PD,” I say.

  She squeals. “This is too exciting! A chance to meet up with real detectives!” She pauses. “Not that you’re not a real detective, Sherry. But at this point in my sleuthing career, I’m ready to deal with professionals.”

  “Actually, Junie and I are going to speak to the detective on the case by ourselves.”

  “What? You can’t do that! You wouldn’t be this far along without my insider knowledge!”

  “Too true. You’ve been amazing, Leah,” I say. “But you can’t exactly talk to the detective. ’Cause you’ve got that whol
e ghost thing going, right?”

  “I know I’m a ghost. I’m not a moron,” Leah snaps. “Obviously, you’ll talk for me. Tell the detective that I’m right there next to you. He can ask me anything, and you’ll pass on my answers.”

  I put my hand up like a stop sign. “Leah, we need this detective to totally believe in our whole theory. Not to decide I’m some kind of, uh, flake from Phoenix who, uh, chats with ghosts. I’m sorry, but you have to stay here.”

  The elevator doors open, and Junie’s walking over to me, a plastic grocery bag of treats clutched in her hand. “Let’s go.”

  “Just give me a sec,” I say.

  “Oh, I get it,” Leah says. “Now that I’ve shared my Hollywood knowledge, it’s all about you and Junie stealing the glory.”

  “Is she still here?” Junie asks.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Leah says. “Tell her I’m still here because this is where I live. You guys are the visitors.”

  I stick my fingers in my ears and close my eyes. I count to ten, taking slow, even breaths. I open my eyes, grab the bag from Junie, then march to the door.

  “What’re you doing, Sherry?” Junie says sharply.

  “Yeah, what’s going on?” Leah asks.

  I push on the door. “You two are stressing me out.” I step into a yellow patch of bright sunlight. “I’m going by myself.”

  Luckily, I’m in Hollywood where dreams come true and where directors make sure everyone follows the script and events fall into place just as they should.

  A checkered taxicab pulls up to the curb.

  I hop in.

  chapter

  thirty

  Last time, Dad and Junie came with me to the Beverly Hills Police Department. This time, I’m tackling it on my own. I walk up the cement ramp to the turquoise-trimmed double doors. With each step, I’m mulling over my strategy, figuring out how to talk Detective Garcia over to our side.

  I pull open the door and cross the threshold. Behind the counter and protected by bulletproof glass, Officer Mullins messes with papers in a wire basket. Very déjà vu.

  I’m starting to understand why the police haven’t solved this case. They’re caught in a time warp, never moving forward, just going through the motions.