I So Don't Do Mysteries Read online

  Behind the counter, a short-haired middle-aged man looks up at me. “Just a minute.” He shuffles a few more papers. “Are you looking for the free-ice-cream vouchers?”

  “No.” I draw a deep, deep breath. “I’d like to speak with Kendra Phillips.”

  He stares down his long nose. “I don’t think so.”

  I look at the gold nameplate pinned to his stiff white shirt. “Mr. Lopez, could you please tell Kendra Phillips that Sue from the Wild Animal Park is here?”

  He narrows his eyes. “Sue? From the Wild Animal Park?”

  I nod. I’m sweating buckets.

  After checking his computer monitor, he picks up the phone and jabs in some numbers. “Ms. Phillips? A Sue from the Wild Animal Park is here to see you.” He pauses. “Oh really? Yes, I’ll tell her.”

  Mr. Lopez straightens his tie. “Sue, Ms. Phillips will be right down.” He points to a couch by the elevators. “You can wait over there.”

  “Thank you.” I smile like I’m used to getting past obnoxious hotel clerks and chilling with actresses.

  I skip over to the leather couch and plop down. The coffee table in front of me gives off a whiff of furniture polish.

  My plan is working. Of course, I’m not Sue, and I’m not from the Wild Animal Park. But I haven’t crashed and burned yet.

  The elevator doors open. Kendra steps out and glances around. She’s wearing sweats and a frayed Old Navy T-shirt. Not overly Hollywoodish.

  I get up and walk toward her. “Hi, I’m Sherry Baldwin.”

  Kendra looks puzzled. “Where’s Sue?”

  “Well, she’s not exactly here.”

  Her forehead wrinkles. “Is she on her way?”

  “Well, not exactly.”

  “What’s going on?” Kendra crosses her arms.

  “I want to help with the rhinos.”

  “Okay,” she says slowly. “You can come to the Wild Animal Park tomorrow for the Save the Rhinos ceremony. And you can donate online.” Kendra pauses. “How old are you?”

  “Thirteen.”

  “Your parents can donate for you.”

  Like she’s that old. Now that I’m up close to her in a lighted place, I can see she’s probably older than Amber, but not by much. She’s maybe twenty. And not that I’ll ever mention it, but Kendra’s left eye’s a little smaller than her right one. She’s still really cute and all, just not symmetrical.

  “Nice meeting you.” Kendra heads toward the elevators.

  Ack. My best shot at getting to the Park is walking away. I gulp air like a fish out of water. “I know about the extra bananas left for the rhinos.”

  She stops and turns back to me. “How? That info was never released to the public.”

  “A guy who knows a guy who knows a snitch. Typical informer situation.”

  “What?” she says, looking all confused. “What’s your name again?”

  “Sherry Baldwin.” I start talking a mile a minute. “I really am worried about the rhinos. And, like I just told you, I’m only thirteen, which means I can’t drive. I’m in San Diego for spring break, staying at my great-aunt’s. But she can’t drive me because she’s looking after a sick friend. And I desperately need a ride to the Park tomorrow. And I know you’re going because I overheard you and Damon Walker on the beach earlier.” Oops. That last part just kinda slipped out.

  Kendra goes red. “You’re right. I am going tomorrow.”

  “The rhinos need all the help they can get,” I say, “what with extinction and all.” And then I yak about the Phoenix Zoo, where I had my second-grade birthday party, where you can camp overnight, where they put up a bajillion lights over the holidays. Basically, I just babble on and on, talking fast, barely breathing. This strategy works great with my dad.

  After about five minutes, Kendra’s eyes glaze over. “Okay, okay. What does your great-aunt say about you riding with me?”

  Bingo. I whip out my phone, call my aunt and spill. She asks to talk with Kendra. I cross my fingers and ankles for good luck while she grills Kendra for about three years, practically asking for reference letters and baby pics.

  “No, I’ve never tried Mary Kay makeup,” Kendra says, then listens for a second. “That’d be great. Bye.” Kendra passes me the phone. “Your aunt says to use one of the free passes.”

  I nod in a cool way, but inside I’m pogo-sticking. It worked. My plan totally worked.

  “And she wants you to bring me some Mary Kay samples from the closet at the end of the hall.”

  Whatever. “Sure.”

  Kendra looks at me. “You impersonated a rhino keeper at the front desk so I’d come down. And you did this to see if you could ride with me to the Wild Animal Park? Are you always this resourceful?”

  I think about my low grades at school and my lack of success in beginner swimming. “No.”

  Then I think about all the research I did on Josh, finding out his classes, what sports he does and who he dated. “Sometimes.”

  Finally I think about my mother and wanting to save her afterlife by solving the mystery. “When it counts.”

  Kendra smiles. “Be here by nine o’clock.” She calls out to the front desk, “Mr. Lopez.” She winks at me. “Sue will be meeting me again tomorrow morning.” Then she goes all serious. “Don’t be late.”

  I watch the elevator doors close and the floor numbers light up. With each rising number, my spirits climb. I am so handling this mystery. And I’m going to be resourceful—love that word—one more time tonight. I walk to the reservations desk.

  “Mr. Lopez?” I ask.

  He comes over to me straightaway. “Yes, Sue.”

  “Do you have any copies of the Union-Tribune?”

  “Certainly.” He pulls out a perfectly folded newspaper from under the counter. He slides it toward me. “Do you need anything else? The New York Times? LA Times? London Times?”

  Times, Times, Times. Sounds like someone got a little lazy when coming up with a name for their newspaper. “I wouldn’t mind a couple of those free-ice-cream vouchers.”

  I think I catch a hint of a grin on his face as he hands me a bunch of coupons. “Take extra.” He pushes up a shirt cuff and glances at his watch. “The café is open for another thirty minutes.”

  “Thanks, Mr. L. Do you happen to know if they have sprinkles?”

  “You’re welcome, uh, Sue. And, yes, I believe so.” He’s definitely grinning.

  I pocket the coupons and pull out my cell. I know exactly who to invite.

  Seated next to the outdoor heater at the Hotel Del Café, I’m basking in the furnace blast of warmth. I dig into a huge double-coupon bowl of chocolate ice cream with walnuts and hurts-your-teeth fudge sauce.

  Across from me, Junie spoons up vanilla smothered in rainbow sprinkles. The two of us have been serious ice cream addicts forever. I bet we’ve eaten the equivalent of a small planet over the years.

  “Guess who’s coming to San Diego?” I say.

  Junie shrugs.

  “Josh Morton. On Thursday. And we’re getting together.”

  “Sherry!” Junie stops eating mid bite. This says a lot about Junie’s level of excitement for me. “That’s fantastic. What are you going to wear?”

  “My good-luck outfit.”

  Junie nods.

  I unfold the newspaper.

  “You’re reading the newspaper?” Junie asks.

  I raise my hands in mock horror. “Absolutely not.” I push a couple of sections of the paper toward her side of the table. “Don’t you kinda think Rob’s a poseur?”

  She doesn’t hesitate. “No.”

  That’s the thing about Junie. She pulls off beyond-awesome grades at school. I swear she knows more than most of our teachers. But when it comes to reading people, she sucks. I say, “I wonder how many articles Rob wrote in this issue.”

  Junie unfolds a section. “Why?”

  “Just to know.”

  “You’re on.” She starts reading. Junie and knowledge go together.


  “You don’t need to actually read the articles,” I say. “Just glance to see who wrote them.”

  “You mean look for the byline?”

  “Uh, yeah. The byline.”

  There’s silence except for the crinkling of newspaper. More noise comes from my side of the table because I’m turning pages faster than Junie. I think I may have a scanning talent.

  “Here’s an interesting article.” Junie looks up.

  “Is it by Rob?”

  “No, but it’s about Damon Walker and Murder on the Beach. Apparently, he’s had trouble getting financial backing, but he believes in the movie so much, he’s bankrolling a lot of it himself.”

  My mind whirs like a ceiling fan in the Phoenix summer. Damon was very down on the rhinos. Any chance he’s running out of money? I wonder how much a rhino horn goes for. I’ll quiz Kendra tomorrow about her boyfriend and money.

  I scoop up a spoonful of ice cream. “No Rob Moore bylines. You find any?”

  “None for me either,” she says. “So?”

  “So? Rob totally lied about being a big-time reporter.” I pull the used Wild Animal Park ticket out of my mini-backpack and push it toward her. “And he totally lied about not going to the Park. This ticket fell out of his pocket. And he tried to talk us out of going there.”

  “So?”

  “So, don’t you think it’s all just a little suspicious? Like maybe there really is a mystery at the Park? And Rob’s investigating it? Or maybe he’s even guilty of something?”

  “Yeah, I think Rob’s guilty of something,” Junie says. “Guilty of trying to impress Amber.”

  Hmmmm. Maybe. And maybe of something even more devious.

  It’s nine a.m. Monday morning, my first full day in San Diego. Kendra and I are in her rental Jeep Wrangler, zooming north. The wind is whistling and whipping in through the half doors, attacking the many plastic grocery bags on the backseat. Because I wasn’t sure which Mary Kay products Kendra would use, I grabbed a few of everything.

  Junie and Amber left crazy early for their big debut as extras. I told them I was going to the Wild Animal Park with a tour group from the Hotel Del. I didn’t want to lie, but I was worried Amber would spill the beans to Damon about Kendra going to the Park. Besides, Junie’s made it clear she doesn’t want to hear anything even remotely mystery related. Because she’s so convinced there isn’t a mystery.

  I’m cutely outfitted for detecting in navy shorty shorts and a white blouse with teeny cornflowers around an elastic scoop neck. I’m carrying a large, floppy denim hat. Sadly, Kendra’s dressed only slightly better than last night. She’s wearing old-lady clothes: a tan safari-shorts-and-button-down combo with a thick masculine belt. She’d definitely earn a Fashion Ewwww.

  Both sides of the highway are blanketed with blindingly bright red, orange and yellow plants. Miles off in the distance, green hills are dotted with rocks that look like huge Pippi Longstocking freckles. It’s like I’m in a high-def Nickelodeon cartoon.

  “Sherry,” Kendra asks, “how’d you know about the unauthorized rhino treats?”

  I won’t answer. I can’t tell her about my mom because of Academy rules. Plus, I don’t want to. I don’t need even more people thinking I’m whacked. Cupping my ear, I say, “Huh? Huh? Can’t hear you.”

  She raises her voice. “How’d you know about the unauthorized rhino treats?”

  After pasting on a puzzled look, I mouth, Can’t hear you.

  Jaws open wide like a whale’s, Kendra screams each word individually. “How. Did. You. Know. About. The. Rhino. Treats!”

  Help. She’ll never give up. After drawing an X across my chest with my index finger, I answer in a normal voice, “I promised I wouldn’t tell.”

  She picks up her sports bottle and squirts water down her throat. Then she slings a slit-eyed look at me.

  “I can’t break a promise, Kendra. Sorry—really—but I have my integrity to consider.”

  Before I can pop off a question about Damon’s finances, she asks, “How’d you get so interested in helping the rhinos?”

  Kendra, stop already. She’s like Nancy Drew’s obnoxious big sister. “My mother.”

  “Your mother?” Her eyes widen, even the smaller one. “Does she work with rhinos?”

  “Not that I know of. She’s just, uh, you know, interested in them.”

  There’s only the sound of the wind zipping around the Jeep, rattling the plastic bags while Kendra digests this.

  I get straight to the point. “So, I read in the paper that Damon’s having a hard time getting money for his movie. Is it true?”

  Kendra brushes me off like I’m a nerdy thirteen-year-old. “Want to hear the speech I’m giving at the ceremony?”

  Eventually we exit the highway and drive along a two-lane road. We pass wooden fruit-and-vegetable stands and signs for an ostrich farm. The closer we get to the Park, the more all-business Kendra gets. She practices parts of her speech out loud. I learn that rhino horns are worth a lot on the black market. People buy them for dagger horns and quack medicines. Kendra’s emotional and angry when she says this part.

  She’s very single-minded when it comes to the rhinos. Seems like Damon’s very single-minded about his movie. Too bad they aren’t single-minded about the same thing.

  We turn up the drive to the Park, and Kendra pulls into a spot in the parking lot. Then we hurry up the hill to the entrance, where she flashes her ID and I hand over one of the free passes. Next we hustle along until we reach what looks like a small African village with a little picnic area and a bunch of grass-roofed buildings. By the wooden signs I can tell they’re restaurants and gift shops.

  “This is Nairobi Village, where the ceremony will be. I better check in.” Kendra glances around. “Let’s get you settled in a front-row seat.”

  I don’t think staying for the ceremony is a good plan for me. No, I definitely need to poke around the Park. And buy a coffee to call my mother with. “I’m going to look around first.”

  “Well, okay, but don’t take too long, or you’ll miss the beginning of the ceremony,” Kendra says. “I’ll be done in a couple of hours. Do you need a ride back to Coronado?”

  “Definitely.”

  She flips her wrist to see her watch. “See you after the speech. Let’s meet at the picnic area.” And she takes off.

  I wait till she’s out of sight before heading over to one of the little hut places for coffee. When I get to the front of the line, I ask, “What’s your largest size?”

  The woman, decked out in the same unattractive safari outfit as Kendra, holds up a Styrofoam cup.

  I frown. I mean, we’re many miles away from downtown San Diego. I don’t see how my mother could find me from that cup. “Nothing bigger?”

  Safari Waitress frowns. “It’s a large. Twenty ounces.”

  I look at the stuff displayed around her window. “How about the bucket for the kid’s meal?”

  “You want me to fill the children’s meal container with coffee?” From her tone, you’d think I asked her to spend the night in the tiger exhibit. With hunks of raw steak as a pillow. “That’s a lot of coffee.”

  I shrug. “That’s how I roll.”

  She shakes her head like it’s all too bizarre. “I don’t have a lid that’ll fit.”

  “No problem. I’m extremely coordinated.” I smile wide. “And could ya make it strong? No milk or whipped cream or sugar.”

  Across her little ledge, Safari Waitress passes me the bucket of coffee, still shaking her head. “Be careful. It’s hot.”

  “Which way are the rhinos?” I grip the flimsy handle with both hands.

  “The rhino exhibit’s quite a walk from here. You’d be better off taking the monorail.” She frowns. “After you finish your coffee. No drinks allowed on the train.”

  “Okay.” I’m all noncommittal.

  Clutching the bucket to my stomach and trying not to slosh, I lurch in the direction she indicated. This sucker is hea
vy. I hope my mom shows up soon. Before my arms fall off.

  Suddenly, bobbing in the middle of the crowd up ahead, I spy a familiar head of orange orangutan hair.

  The familiar head of Monkey Man!

  It’s detecting time. An eye on Monkey Man, I cram on my floppy hat and grasp tight with numb fingers to the bucket of coffee.

  I fight my way through the people until only a few families separate us. Not easy while juggling a gazillion gallons of steaming caffeine. When Monkey Man joins the monorail line, I drop back and hide behind a wooden column. The sec he’s seated and looking away from me, I shuffle toward the train.

  “No food or drink on the monorail,” a girl in a safari outfit says. The Park obviously got a huge discount on ugly uniforms. She waggles a finger toward a waste bin.

  I switch directions, trying not to cause a tsunami in the bucket. When she’s not looking, I hug the bucket in close and cover it with my hat. I’m so not dumping the coffee, aka my phone line.

  Hunched over and chin tucked, I walk sideways to the end of the train. Safari Girl is boarding, her back to me. I speed up.

  Slosh. Slosh. Slosh.

  Hot. Hot. Hot.

  Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.

  Ack. A huge, ugly coffee stain spreads across my previously adorable white blouse. Not even industrial-strength stain remover is gonna help this disaster.

  I snag a spot alone in the caboose compartment a couple of rows behind Monkey Man. I set the bucket on the floor and smooth out my shirt.

  Monkey Man’s sitting by himself too. His apishly long left arm hanging outside the car, he’s tapping the metal side with his fingers and staring out at the bush.

  In case he looks back, I slump down in the seat, tugging the brim of my hat low over my eyes. Then I get my bearings. There’s a canopy roof above, and the sides of the train, open from about three feet up, give way to a panorama of the savanna. It’s brown dirt, ponds with green water and patches of grass and shrubs. Very National Geographic.

  Lots of families are on board. In front of Monkey Man, a frazzled mom jiggles a fussy baby on her lap while her toddler bugs the poor other woman in the compartment.