I So Don't Do Mysteries Page 6

  Before I finish scrolling through the address book, my phone rings.

  “It better be her.” Amber scowls.

  I look at the screen. Dad. I flip open the phone. “We can’t find Great-aunt Margaret.”

  “And you won’t,” he says. “She’s at the hospital with her best friend, a sorority sister from decades ago, who fell down and broke a hip.”

  “What about us?”

  “Take a taxi to the condo. Your aunt’s going to stay at her friend’s place to help when she gets out of the hospital. Just for a few days. Just until the daughter gets into town.” Dad pauses, probably to crack his knuckles. “Margaret seems to think you three will be okay. She left her car for Amber. I don’t know, though. I could call Southwest and see about bringing you all back here today.”

  Ah. It is tempting to fly back to Phoenix, away from my woeful woes with Amber and Junie and toward blissful bliss with Josh. But, no, no, no, there’s the huge issue of my mother’s afterlife. “It’s chill, Dad.”

  “I’m not sure what I’d do with you here, anyway. Paula and I are at the airport, waiting to board,” he says. “I’m worried your grandmother’s starting to lose it. She’s obsessed about some bird that hasn’t been to her feeder today.”

  I pump the air with a victory fist. Yes, yes, yes! Who knew I’d feel such joy and relief at the thought of a plump, balding old wren flapping out to meet me?

  He goes on to give me detailed instructions about taking a taxi, paying for it with money he gave me and touching base daily with my great-aunt. Then he makes sure I have her address and tells me where the front-door key is hidden. Finally he winds up the call with how much he loves me and a reminder to use common sense.

  “Ditto,” I say. I’m just about to snap my phone closed, when he calls my name.

  “That was a really nice thing you did for Sam, giving him your mother’s afghan to take to Grandma’s.”

  “Yeah, well,” I say, “whatever. He is feeding my fish for me.” I go to hang up and Dad calls my name again. It’s like he can’t let me off the phone.

  “I almost forgot. Margaret said she left something fun for you guys on the kitchen counter.”

  “Groovy,” I say, and disconnect.

  “What’s going on?” Junie asks.

  Amber’s tapping her foot.

  I fill them in.

  “Maybe she left us party supplies,” Amber says.

  “I kind of doubt it,” I say. In an effort to remain nice, I do not call her an idiot.

  Amber spins around, doing syllable hand claps. “Par-ty, par-ty.”

  Junie herds us out of the baggage area and toward the exit, where we join the cab line. The whole time, Amber’s running off at the mouth about guys and parties. Junie and me are quiet. I don’t know where Junie’s head’s at, but I’m stressing to the max. Because now, Great-aunt Margaret won’t be giving me even one single ride to the Wild Animal Park.

  I’m totally dependent on Amber.

  “Just a sec!” I yell over my shoulder, while racing back into the arrivals building. Into the newsstand store. Over to the cash register. I know exactly what I want. Where is it? Where is it?

  Head swiveling and eyes scanning, I’m like Robocop, only way better-looking. Left, right. Up, down. Listerine strips. Certs. Altoids. Talk about your national bad-breath crisis. Still looking. Still looking. It’s gotta be here. We cannot miss our taxi turn because of me.

  Ah-ha. There it is, hanging from a silver hook. I snatch a package, throw some money on the counter, then zip back to the taxi stand.

  Amber and Junie are tossing their bags into the trunk of a waiting cab.

  Junie eyes what I’m carrying, then silently points to my suitcase, which lies like roadkill on the sidewalk.

  Amber’s eyebrows are plucked into the shape of McDonald’s arches. Now she raises them really high, practically to her hairline, and shoots me a killer look of disdain. “You rushed off for sunflower seeds?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Sherry,” Amber says as we all pile into the backseat, “quit being such a weirdo.”

  I don’t answer. There’s really no response to such rudeness.

  The cabdriver, a woman, slams down the trunk, then hops in the car and resets the meter.

  I rattle off my great-aunt’s address on Coronado Island.

  “Welcome to America’s Finest City.” The driver clicks on her signal.

  Amber takes out a thick, striped emery board and goes to work on her left hand.

  Junie stares out the window.

  I fiddle with the sunflower-seed package.

  We nose into the carpool lane and head over the Coronado-Bay Bridge. “Look off in the distance,” the driver says. “See the white building with the red roof and turrets? That’s the Hotel del Coronado—the Del, to us natives. Your condo’s down the beach from it.” She brakes at a stop sign. “They’re filming a murder mystery between your condo and the Del.”

  Amber stops filing and leans forward. “Who’s in it?”

  The driver taps her fingers on the dash. “The guy from Death for Two. And—”

  “Damon Walker!” Amber squeals. “I’m still in shock he didn’t get an Oscar for Death for Two.”

  Say what? He wasn’t even nominated. Because he’s a bad, bad actor. Shoulda-stuck-with-modeling bad.

  “Who else? Who else?” Amber bounces on the seat like she just swigged a two-liter bottle of Coke. “Who else is in the movie?”

  “I can’t remember the name of the actress.” The driver switches lanes. “She hasn’t been in much. I know she did a documentary in Africa.” She looks in the rearview mirror. “Something to do with rhinos and extinction.”

  I sit up straight.

  “Kendra Phillips?” Junie asks, the resident public-TV viewer.

  The driver snaps her fingers. “Kendra Phillips. Yup. That’s the one.”

  For the rest of the ride, the driver indicates places of interest. I barely listen; all the little rhino connections are jumbled up in my mind like some bizarre dot-to-dot.

  When we get to the condo, I find the fake rock my dad described and reach inside it for the key. Bingo. In the dusk, though, I have trouble fitting the key into the lock.

  Behind me, Amber groans.

  “Let me try,” Junie says.

  I hand her the key and wait while she slides it in and turns. She pushes open the door and steps back to let me enter first.

  I feel along the wall for the light switch and flip it on.

  Gasp.

  Gasp.

  Gasp.

  That’s a gasp from each of us.

  The entryway is totally pink: ceiling, walls, tiles. We venture down the hall into the living room to discover more of the same: pink furniture, pink lamps, pink cushions. It’s like we’re trapped in a giant Dubble Bubble bubble.

  “What kinda freakin’ genius lives here?” Amber smacks her forehead.

  “The Pink Panther.” Junie flops down on the pink couch. “I feel queasy.”

  “I love it.” Amber dances around the room, oohing and ahhing. “Check this out.” She rubs a lamp. “It’s the exact shade of cotton candy. And dusty rose carpet, flamingo walls. Incredible.”

  Junie closes her eyes. Her face is Shrek green.

  Amber reads aloud from a coral wall plaque, “ ‘Pink Lady Award, Margaret Jackson of San Diego County, Most Mary Kay Sales After the Age of Seventy.’ ” She whistles. “Very cool.”

  “You love all this?” I ask Amber. “For real?” I can’t read this girl.

  “Yes.” She sighs. “What a great surprise.”

  “This isn’t the surprise. It’s supposed to be on the counter.”

  Amber and I head over to the (yes, pink) counter to find a (yes, pink) envelope with Girls written on it.

  Amber rips open the envelope. She pulls out a bunch of tickets, glances at them, then tosses them up in the air. As they feather-float to the carpet, she announces, “They’re all yours, Sherry.�
��

  I kneel to pick them up. Beige passes to the Wild Animal Park.

  “I’m starving,” Amber announces.

  “I can’t eat here,” Junie says. “Much more time in this Pepto-Bismol pit, and I’ll throw up.”

  “How about the Hotel Del?” I suggest. “They gotta have a restaurant or something.”

  So the three of us end up walking along the beach toward the hotel.

  “What a spectacular view.” Eyes wide, Junie ogles the horizon.

  Yowser. Wowser. Personally, I’m not much into nature. Well, except for boys. But the sunset is totally awesome. The sun looks like a huge golden jawbreaker hanging in a purple-and-orange-striped sky. We stand there, gazing. Then, all of a sudden, the sun dippity-dips into the ocean. And, gulp, it’s swallowed up.

  The beach is dimmer now, with only a little light spilling onto the shore from nearby hotels and condos. I breathe through my mouth to avoid the yucko smell of salt water and seaweed.

  “I’ll meet you guys there.” And Amber takes off.

  Lips turned down, Junie watches her cousin. “I guess she’s afraid we’ll cramp her style.” She walks over to a rock and sits. She wiggles her fingers in a shallow tide pool. “Brrrr. This water is frigid.”

  I perch on a boulder beside her. I kick off my sandals. In the damp sand, my fluorescent-mulberry toenails glitter like gems.

  We sit quietly, side by side. Niceness vibes are oozing out of my pores like sweat on a hundred-degree day. I’m truly the perfect example of an easy-to-get-along-with friend. The type of friend you want to solve a mystery with to save her ghost mother from being expelled from the Academy of Spirits.

  A male voice pierces my thoughts. “You can’t go to the Wild Animal Park tomorrow. I need you here, Kendra.”

  I squint into the dark. Silhouetted against the night sky, a guy and girl are meandering along. They stop about twenty feet from us.

  The girl says gently, “But, Damon, I’m the rhino spokesperson. And tomorrow is the Save the Rhinos ceremony.”

  Damon? As in Damon Walker? I squint harder. He’s even better-looking in real life. He’s tall. He’s gorgeous. He’s the kind of guy you want taped to your bedroom door. A poster of him, that is.

  Standing beside Damon is a girl who must be Kendra Phillips. I’ve never seen her in anything. She’s pretty, with shoulder-length reddish hair. But he totally, totally outshines her in the beauty department.

  The couple begins strolling again, then stops. Right in front of us. It’s like me and Junie have front-row seats to The Damon and Kendra Show. I freeze, trying to shadow-meld into a boulder.

  Kendra says, “And Gina hasn’t had her calf yet. Sue called me today, and it doesn’t look as though it’s going to happen tonight.”

  “Who’s Sue?”

  “You know. The head rhino keeper?”

  “I don’t keep track of your rhino friends.” Damon shrugs. “Quite frankly, I’m tired of always coming in second to them and those animals.”

  “That’s not fair.” She reaches out to touch him, but he steps back.

  “This movie’s very important to me,” Damon says. “I really want you on the set tomorrow when I do the stunts.”

  Kendra looks down. “I’m not in any scenes until the end of the week. It won’t affect the shoot at all if I’m at the Park.”

  “Be honest.” Damon’s arms thump to his side. “You never wanted to do this picture. You think you’re too good for it.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “Maybe we should take a break from each other when we’re finished with this flick.”

  Kendra’s face turns glow-in-the-dark white. “You mean a lot to me, Damon,” she says with a catch in her voice. “But I have a commitment to the Park too. Let’s talk later, when we’re both less emotional.” She turns and tramps away, head down and shoulders slumped.

  He watches her for a moment, kicks the sand hard, like he’s trying to toe-dig to China, then storms off in the opposite direction.

  I let out a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding.

  “What a jerk,” Junie says. “Amber’s mother was married to a guy like that for a while. He always threatened to leave when he didn’t get his own way. Then one day he did leave. It was really tough on Amber.”

  I feel bad for Kendra. For Amber too. Almost.

  We follow in Kendra’s footsteps. She’s ahead on the beach, shoulders still rounded.

  Junie glances over at me. “Your rash is gone.”

  I run my fingertips along my chin and neck. Beautifully bump-less. “Yay.”

  “Your skin looks good.”

  And then, because we’re sharing a friendly moment and because I’ve been incredibly nice and likable, I open my big, fat mouth. “Did you hear how rhino stuff came up again?”

  “Don’t start with me, Sherry.” Junie picks up the pace.

  Fine. Just poke me in the eye with a piñata stick.

  Junie and I plod along the beach, not speaking. Eventually, we meet up with a sidewalk that winds past lit tennis courts and dumps us in front of a Hotel Del Café sign. A crimson painted arrow indicates the restaurant is at the top of some wooden steps. We start climbing.

  At the landing, we’re greeted by an incredibly adorable waiter in a white apron over a charcoal T-shirt and shorts.

  “Good evening, ladies.” He smiles with big dimples. “Are you here with Amber?”

  “Y-y-yes,” Junie stammers.

  I mean, she actually stammers. What’s that all about? And she’s gawking at him. The kind of gawking she usually saves for the computer aisle at Fry’s Electronics.

  “Follow me,” he says.

  High above the dim, dank beach, the restaurant is an oasis of light, heat and delish food smells. I salivate as we wend our way to Amber.

  She queen-waves at us from across the room, where she’s not sitting alone but with a dark-haired cutie-pie. That girl does not waste time.

  Junie slides into a chair next to Amber, and I sit beside Junie.

  Amber points a glittery fake nail at the waiter. “This is Ben. He’s a college student at San Diego State. He works here part-time and surfs when he gets the chance.

  “And this is Rob.” She squeezes the arm of the cutie-pie. “Rob’s a reporter. Real important at the newspaper where he works. Lives alone.”

  Excuse me. Did I make a wrong turn and wind up on the set of some tacky cable dating show?

  Amber nods in our direction. “This is my little cousin, Junie, and her little friend Sherry.”

  Major gag.

  Junie crosses her arms and zings daggerish looks at Amber.

  Ben pulls a pad and pen from the front pocket of his apron and says to me and Junie, “Something to drink?”

  “We’ll take a pitcher of Coke,” Amber says.

  I want to slap that bossy girl. Instead I contradict her. “Sprite for me.”

  “Me too,” Junie says.

  “I’ll be right back,” Ben says, then looks at Amber. “Let me check on the nachos.”

  She tilts her head to the side, her straight blond hair swaying. “Okay, Ben.” She turns to us little people. “I ordered a huge plate of deluxe nachos.”

  My stomach grumbles.

  Junie gapes at Ben like she’s stranded in the desert and he’s a bottle of sparkling water.

  Rob clears his throat. “I write for the San Diego daily paper—the Union-Tribune.” He straightens the collar of his short-sleeved white button-down. “Or the Trib, as we say in the biz.”

  He looks young to be a reporter. Like in his twenties. And, while he’s extremely gorgeous, I can’t help but notice that his thick hair is overgelled. I give a subtle sniff. A little too flowery.

  Rob gazes at Amber. “Which college did you say you’re at?”

  “I live in Phoenix,” Amber answers.

  From the ease with which she sidesteps the college-student-versus-only-a-high-school-student question, I’m betting Amber has navigated these waters before. She probably
even has fake ID.

  She flutters her eyelashes. “You, like, got any suggestions for what we should do while we’re here?”

  Rob rattles off a bunch of stuff.

  With a sideways glance at me, Amber says, “Why didn’t you mention the Wild Animal Park?”

  “Because it’s a total drag.” Rob slurps a few sips from his hot chocolate. “You just can’t compare a couple thousand acres of dirt and boring animals with beaches, shopping and great restaurants.”

  It strikes me that Rob’s forehead is too large. Almost cartoonish.

  “What about the rhino baby?” I ask.

  “It’s a rhino”—he hikes his eyebrows up into the huge desert of his forehead—“having a calf.” He raises them some more. “You only have a week in San Diego. I live here, and I wouldn’t waste my time at the Park.”

  Ben interrupts Rob’s rhino bashing with a humongous platter of nachos. There’s silence while we all dig in.

  A giant chip loaded with refried beans and cheese between my fingers, I tip back in my plastic chair and scope out the area. Except for us, the café is empty. A few tables over, a tall, aluminum outdoor heater blasts warmth.

  I can see over the metal rail to the dark shore below. Waves are crashing, and there’s a small knot of people milling about. I shift my gaze to the tennis courts.

  Flash.

  Say what? I peer at the courts.

  Flash.

  Someone’s hiding down there.

  I set down the chip and stand right next to the rail for a better view.

  “What are you doing, Sherry?” Junie turns in her chair. Her voice is scratchy-irritated.

  “Someone’s on the courts. What’s he holding that just glinted?”

  Amber rolls her eyes.

  Rob jumps up and joins me. As he pulls his hands from his pockets to grip the rail, a small piece of paper flutters to the floor.

  I step on it.

  He’s totally fixated on the beach scene, his stare jumping between the courts and the group of people.

  I bend down, fake-adjust the strap on my sandal and snatch up the paper. A torn entrance ticket to the Wild Animal Park. Huh? So, he does go to the Park. But he doesn’t want us to go. Why? Does he know what’s going on up there? Is he involved? I poke the ticket into my pocket.