I So Don't Do Mysteries Read online

  One final swipe with the stick, and I’m ready to contact my mother. Hopefully her special snitch gave her beaucoup details, like the suspect’s name, photo, address, driver’s license, motive. And how about info like exactly when he plans to carry out his deadly deed?

  In the kitchen, I haul down the can of French roast and the coffeemaker from the cupboard. I set them side by side on the counter. Now what?

  A toilet flushes upstairs. Hurry. Hurry. Think. Think. I peel the lid off the can. Coffee smell wafts throughout the room, and a lump as big as a Ping-Pong ball jams my throat. I shake my head. No time for this. I partially fill the carafe with water, then dump in some grounds, which float around like dead ants in a swimming pool. Gross. Why do people drink this stuff?

  “Whatcha doin’?”

  I shriek, jump, drop the carafe. In that order. Amazingly, the carafe doesn’t break but spits water + grounds all over the tile. “Look what you did,” I say to Sam. “Get cleaning.”

  “Okay.” Rubbing his eyes, he unrolls some paper towels.

  My brother must be sleepwalking; he never follows my orders.

  “Fine,” I say. “Give me some too.”

  He tears off a bunch of sheets and hands them to me.

  I start mopping up puddles.

  “It smells like Mom in here.” His voice cracks.

  I look over at him, with his sleep-messy eyebrows and drooping SpongeBob pajamas. “Uh-huh.”

  He blinks, and a couple of tears roll down his cheeks. With a sob, he lunges at me and hangs on, like some kind of four-foot-tall munchkin-parasite.

  I rub his back. “Things’ll get better.” Especially if I help Mom so she gets to stay in the Academy. Maybe she’ll learn to contact Sam too. Mom can watch his Little League games. And if she learns to cross thresholds, she can come to our school stuff, like plays and citizen-of-the-month assemblies. We can hang together, tell her about our day, joke around, talk about what’s bugging us. It could be great.

  Sam gives a big, wet, mucusy sniff, then untangles himself. “You wanna drink coffee to help you remember Mom better?”

  “Something like that.”

  He pulls a package of filters out of the lazy Susan and pinches one off. Then he expertly taps the filter gently into place, spoons in some French roast, rinses out the carafe, refills it and pours the water into the machine. After pushing the On button, he says, “I made enough for me too. Not to drink. Just to smell.”

  Standing next to each other, close but not touching, the two of us silently watch the coffee drip down. When it’s done, I pour two mugs.

  “Scooby Doo’s on.” Sam cradles the mug between his hands and shuffles like an old man into the living room.

  I wait till he’s on the couch and zoned out in front of the TV, then shove open the sliding door. If I don’t hurry, I’ll find myself trying to explain to Dad and The Ruler why I’m up a tree with a cup of coffee.

  Once outside, I follow my routine from before. Hey, why mess with success? So I get comfortable on my branch, wave the mug around over my head, then set it above me in a hollow in the trunk and think about my mom.

  Within seconds, there’s a humongous thud, probably measurable on the Richter scale.

  “Landing, landing,” my mother says.

  Squawk. Squawk. Squawk.

  I look up. It’s the same beady-eyed wren I’ve been seeing around our yard. He’s hugging the trunk with his wings.

  “I’ve got to work on that.” Mom says from the branch right above me. “Looks like my rough landing scared your grandfather.”

  “Huh?” It’s like my brain suddenly empties of live thoughts.

  “The wren. It’s Grandpa Baldwin.” She pauses. “You hadn’t figured it out?”

  “No one figures that kind of stuff out.” I shake my head. “Why’s Grandpa a bird?”

  “He chose the animal option. Your grandparents, as you know, have always been bird lovers. Which is why he went with a wren form.”

  “Way weird.” My life is veering deeper into insanity country. What happened to normal stuff like dying and getting buried in the ground? And staying there?

  Mom’s branch creaks. “Grandpa spends most of his time in Grandma’s backyard. He likes to be near her. Plus, she keeps the bird feeder full.”

  I have many memories of Grandpa. He loved to wear hugely nerdy leather shorts and polka-dot suspenders, then belt out embarrassing German songs into a bratwurst/microphone. He often had a parrot on his shoulder. And he was always tossing back a handful of sunflower seeds. And never sharing, I might add. Well, except with my brother, who takes accordion lessons.

  “Grandpa has offered to help us in San Diego,” Mom says. “If he can fly that distance. You know, given his age.”

  I groan. I don’t need an ancient wren that, in human form, never really liked me and now specializes in shooting me the evil eye. Besides, we’ve already got Junie and my mom’s study group.

  “He’s pretty smart for an old bird, and we need all the help we can get.”

  “Fine. Any new scoop from the snitch? Like the names and addresses of suspects?”

  “Police work isn’t usually that straightforward. But he did learn that the poacher is experienced. And even though the snitch hasn’t given us much, we have my study group. They are truly brilliant.”

  Mom clears her throat. I bet she asks about the wedding.

  “How did yesterday go?”

  I knew it.

  “I couldn’t find my way here,” she says. “Didn’t they serve coffee?”

  “Nope. Lemonade.”

  “That must have been tough on Mrs. Lucas. She rivaled me in the number of cups she drank a day.”

  “Yeah.”

  My mom sniffs a couple of times. “I bet you and Sam looked great.”

  “Sam looked good. I looked like a dork.”

  “Oh, Sherry, I’m sure that’s not true.” She sighs. “I really wanted to see you two dressed up.”

  I feel a tickle like a cotton ball or feather brushing my cheek. It’s Mom. She’s right by me. I close my eyes and just feel. I concentrate really hard. There’s a sensation of pressure, like she’s rubbing my shoulders. Then the light, feathery feeling again, but this time under my chin.

  “Is this a rash?”

  “Yeah. From stress, apparently.”

  “Makes sense,” she says. “The wedding, the mystery challenge, probably some school worries in there somewhere. Anything else?” She pauses, and I can imagine her narrowing her eyes the way she used to when she was thinking hard. “And you’re probably even more interested in boys now.”

  Ack. “No, no, no,” I say, “everything’s chill. I mean, other than the stuff you mentioned. Because that stuff is way stressful.” My babbling won’t stop. It’s like my mouth is on fast-forward. “Stressful wedding, stressful mystery challenge, stressful boys. Yuppers. You name it, it’s—”

  “What’s going on, Sherry?”

  I am such a lousy liar. “Nothing, nothing, nothing. Everything’s chill, chill, chi—”

  “Don’t tell me you and Junie had a fight. You two have been friends for a long time. And I count on Junie to keep you grounded.”

  “Oh, Mom.” I roll my eyes. “Junie and me are good. We’re always good.” And in my relief at not having to lie, I say too much. “She totally gets my anxiety about—” I bite my tongue. Hard.

  “Your anxiety about what?”

  “Nothing.” I swallow. Hard.

  “Your anxiety about what?” Mom asks again, her voice low and even.

  “It’s not my fault,” I wail. “You know what I’m like. It’s unfair to dump a mystery on someone who sucks at challenges.”

  “What. Does. Junie. Know.”

  “Everything. She knows everything.” My chin hits my chest. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it.”

  Silence. A colossally enormous, scary silence.

  It’s afternoon, and I’m at the airport with my dad. It’s like our school cafeteri
a: crowded and echoey-noisy, with too many different smells all jumbled together.

  I’ve already checked in and am clutching my A boarding pass. My dad explained the whole system to me. On Southwest, you don’t get assigned a seat but get herded onto the plane with everyone in your group, A, B or C. The As go first. The earlier you arrive at the airport, the more likely you are to snag an A, and then you have a better chance at snagging the seat of your choice.

  We’re waiting for Junie and Amber. Dad keeps checking his watch the way people jab repeatedly at the elevator button. He’s sweating it because he has stuff to do before his and The Ruler’s flight later this afternoon. Like chauffeuring Sam to Grandma Baldwin’s.

  People are now walking around with B passes. Yikes. Where are Junie and Amber? I absolutely, positively must sit by Junie, so that we can work on a strategy for saving the rhinos. According to my mother, I really messed up big this time.

  Apparently, now that Junie’s in on the whole ghost-Academy-mystery thing, my mom’s study group can’t help us out. Academy rules state that student ghosts are allowed only a certain number of helpers on their spiritual team, and mortal helpers count for more than ghost ones.

  The stupid Academy uses a stupid system like stupid Weight Watchers points. I know all about those because when my mother did Weight Watchers, we all did Weight Watchers. Basically, Junie is worth an entire bucket of KFC. Plus mashed potatoes, gravy and four biscuits. By confiding in Junie, I used up all my mother’s points. And then some. Which means no study group. Even if Junie backed out, which she obviously won’t, we can’t recoup the points.

  The only possible loophole in the whole dumb point thing is my grandfather, because birds are freebies, like water and cabbage. But can Grandpa, with his ancient old wings, make it to San Diego? If he can’t lead my mom there, how will she ever find her way?

  Yuppers. I definitely need planning time with Junie. Especially now that I’m down to her, myself, hopefully my mom and maybe my grandfather. Of the four of us, Junie’s the only one on honor roll. I’m hoping Amber tails some cute guy onto the plane and hangs out next to him. That’d leave me and Junie free to scheme without any Amber interruptions.

  Dad looks at me tap-tapping my boarding pass on my wrist. He puts his hand over mine and stops the movement. “Worried about sitting alone?”

  “Basically.”

  “They could’ve gotten their boarding passes online,” he says. He squeezes my shoulder. “It’ll work out, Sherry.” He surveys the waiting area. “And there they are.” He calls out to Junie’s mom, “Over here, May.”

  Dodging people, she heads toward us while Junie and Amber go to a huge window overlooking the runway. I wave to Junie, but she doesn’t see me and keeps on yakking to Amber. Weird. She’s not normally chatty-chatty. That’s more my role.

  And Junie’s wearing a new outfit: paisley capris and a fuchsia tie-at-the-waist blouse. Did she go shopping with Amber? I’m Junie’s shopping buddy. Have been for, like, years. My heart skips a bunch of beats.

  Dad glances at his watch for the million-and-first time. “Do you mind waiting to see the girls off, May?”

  “No problem, Bob.” She pops up her clip-on sunglasses. “It’s the least I can do for our personal travel agent.”

  Dad pulls me in for a tight hug. “Take good care of yourself, pumpkin. I need you back safe and sound.”

  I actually tear up watching the familiar, dorky way he bounces on his feet as he hurries away. Up, down. Up, down. Dorkity dork.

  Eyeing my face, May says, “From what Junie said, I was expecting much worse.”

  Thankyouverymuch, Junie. Speaking of which, where is she?

  I look around. Shoulders touching, Amber and Junie are still at the window, watching planes land and take off. They’re hanging out together? Am I in a parallel universe? My heart skips some more beats.

  “Go join the girls.” May gives me a little push.

  I plod to the window.

  They’re both holding A boarding passes.

  Phew.

  Amber is clipping Junie’s hair at the top of her head, so that they look more like sisters than cousins. Well, only from behind and only from the neck up. I’m not being mean, just honest. Their faces are totally different. Junie is freckle city, while Amber has perfect Snow White skin. And Junie outweighs Amber by about twenty pounds. Whatever. They’re looking super chummy, and it doesn’t feel good. In fact, I’m probably going to faint.

  When I get near them, I say, “Hi.” But it comes out as more of a whisper. Probably because I’m close to keeling over. Anyway, they don’t hear me, so I raise my voice in fake-o cheerfulness and say, “Hi, guys.”

  They both turn around and toss off a hi that’s definitely lacking in the enthusiasm department.

  Amber says, “I wanna hit the gift shop before we board.”

  Junie turns to follow her.

  Ack. Ack. Ack. “Uh, Junie? Can we talk?”

  “Sure.” She gestures with her head to the store aisle.

  “Uh, privately?” Duh. Has she forgotten about my mother? And how we have a mystery to solve? Plus, I need to fill her in on the latest developments, like how my grandfather is the state bird and how Junie and I may be carrying out the bulk of the investigation.

  She raises her eyebrows. Only the teeniest, tiniest fraction, but when you’ve known someone as long as I’ve known Junie, you know exactly where her eyebrows sit. She’s mad at me about something. But what? It doesn’t matter. I’ll grovel and apologize and grovel some more. I so, so, so need her help to save my mom.

  “I’m gettin’ gum.” Amber walks away.

  The minute she’s out of earshot, I start talking at freeway speed. “My grandfather, the one who died in a car accident, is actually a wren. And he’s coming to San Diego to help us. Hopefully. And—”

  Junie looks at me. “Enough. I don’t want to hear any more.”

  My jaw hits the floor.

  “Sherry, you’re delusional.”

  Okay. I’m not exactly sure what that means, but I sense it’s bad. “Huh?”

  “You’re unbalanced, not thinking clearly. I believe it would be healthiest if you didn’t talk about your mother or ghosts or, apparently, even birds.”

  “But she needs us.”

  Junie holds up her hands like stop signs. “You need professional help.”

  “I need you!”

  “Sherry.” Junie’s hands are still up. “We’ll write to Dr. Phil after spring break.”

  “I know this all seems crazy. I get that. But I’m not crazy. I am so not crazy.” Desperation makes my voice crack, so I sound like half the boys in our class. “It’s really important that you believe me, Junie.”

  Her eyes are unblinking and blank. She’s not budging.

  “It’s you! The problem is you!” I stamp my foot. “You know what you are? You are stupid. Very, very stupid.”

  She goes all still except for her nostrils, which flare. Being smart is really important to Junie.

  “You heard me. Stupid. Seriously stupid. Severely stupid. Just because the Academy of Spirits isn’t in one of your textbooks doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”

  Suddenly the loudspeaker crackles. “All passengers holding A passes may now board the plane.”

  Junie looks down at my A pass.

  I stare at her A pass.

  Her face all red and shiny and her nostrils still flaring, Junie says, “Let’s sit apart. We both need some time to cool off.”

  I am so dead in the water.

  I spend the flight across the aisle and a few rows behind Junie and Amber. Heads together, they spend the flight talking and laughing and listening to each other’s iPods. By the time our plane touches down in San Diego, I’ve figured out two important things.

  First, I have to get along with them. I need Junie’s brains, and I need Amber’s driving abilities. Plan: I will blast Amber and Junie with megadoses of Sherry niceness.

  Second, I gotta get my mo
m and grandfather out here. I might still be doomed with them, but I’m definitely doomed without them. Plan: I will blaze a caffeine trail for my mother. I will think of something to help Grandpa find me.

  Shrugging on my backpack, I follow Amber and Junie off the plane. In the terminal, Junie points to a sign showing the direction of the baggage-pickup area. By the time we get there, luggage from our flight is already riding around on the carousel.

  “I see mine.” Amber sashays toward a Silly Putty–pink suitcase. Within seconds, she’s standing, a hip jutted out, while some guy hauls her bag off the conveyor belt.

  Junie and me hang in silence, watching the carousel.

  “Isn’t that our luggage?” I say, ever the helpful friend.

  “Thanks, Sherry.” Junie’s trying to get along too.

  In a gentle arc, she glides her bag off the carousel.

  Unfortunately, it takes me several tries to wrestle my suitcase into submission. I may have seriously overpacked. Panting, I finally get it upright and on its one remaining wheel. I stick out my lower lip and puff my bangs off my forehead.

  Amber’s staring at me like I’m contagious. Finally, she says, “Where’s your aunt?”

  I look around. “She must be here somewhere.”

  Amber frowns.

  “What does she look like?” Junie asks.

  I pause for a sec, narrowing down the description. “Geriatric.”

  “Fine,” Amber says with a heavy, disgusted sigh, “let’s see if we can find her.”

  We meander through the baggage-claim area. Amber and Junie lightly tug on their suitcases, which obey like well-trained dogs by rolling behind them in perfect straight lines. I alternately yank, push, kick and drag my crippled, misbehaving case. It wobbles all lopsided, attacking the ankles of all who stray into its crazed path.

  “You have her phone number?” Junie asks.

  “Great idea.” I unzip my backpack, pull out my cell and turn it on. Stored in it is Great-aunt Margaret’s number, along with numbers for my dad, The Ruler, Grandma Baldwin, Junie, Brianna, Kristin, Margo, Sara, and, of course, Josh. I am so loving having a cell phone.