I So Don't Do Mysteries Read online

  At the front of the train, Safari Girl stands. “Good morning, folks. My name is Hannah. And I’m going to take you on an exciting safari through the wilds of Africa.”

  With a jerk, we’re off.

  Hannah drones on and on about our surroundings and the animals and their habits. She inches the train forward, stops, talks and inches forward again.

  My phone starts to ring. Ack. I slap it off quickly. It’s a text from Junie. I text her back, and we get a conversation going. Which is good, because I’m seriously tired of animal trivia.

  Junie: im so bored at this movie shoot.

  Sherry: ur kidding

  Junie: all i do is sit and fake-read a bk on the beach. Amber gets 2 walk arnd in a bikini. Shes flirting with every guy & ignoring me. Wut r u doing?

  Sherry: im on the monorail at the park. Super exciting. Ud <3 it.

  Junie: really?

  Sherry: yeah. Its gr8.

  Junie: can I meet you there? We’re almost done. Amber can drop me off.

  Sherry: Meet me at entrance. Like in 2 hrs. I’ll ride back with u guys.

  Yay. Junie’s coming to the Wild Animal Park. Everything is better when you’re with a friend.

  Monkey Man sneezes.

  “The acacia trees are in bloom,” Hannah says. “Sounds like we have an allergy sufferer on board.”

  I do a mental high five. With his sneezing, I’ll never lose him.

  “Folks, look under the palm tree on the left side of the train.” Hannah points. “See the group of female rhinos? The females are very sociable and like to hang out together in a group called a crash.”

  Hannah, puhleeze, put the pedal to the metal. I only have two hours till Kendra’s speech ends. I gotta figure out what Monkey Man is up to.

  “Look over by the water hole. It’s Frank, our Cape buffalo. An extremely aggressive animal.” She slows the train. “In fact, Fightin’ Frank is being moved to his own enclosure later today because he’s been bullying the other animals.”

  “What’s the hut for?” a woman calls out.

  I glance at the small stucco building.

  “That’s the rhino keeper’s,” Hannah answers. “The white rhino lying in the shade by the door is Ongava.” She stops the train. “He’s our youngest male calf. Until Gina’s calf arrives, that is.”

  “What’s the calf doing by the hut?” the same woman asks.

  “He probably wants to be near Sue, our head rhino keeper.” Hannah continues, “Rhinos have a terrific sense of smell, and Ongava loves Sue’s shampoo, Sassy Girl.”

  Just like mine.

  “In fact, all our rhinos love it. Sue keeps a few bottles in the hut. Then, when she wants the rhinos to change location, she dribbles Sassy Girl on the ground. They just follow the shampoo trail.”

  Obviously, Hannah could talk for centuries about animals. I drift off into my fave daydream. The one where Josh and I are slow-dancing at a school dance. I’m snuggled up against him. He’s moving in for a kiss.

  A child screams from way up front.

  I sit up straight and look around. A giraffe is loping toward the first compartment.

  The kid screams again.

  “I made it,” a familiar voice says beside me.

  I scream. My palm pressing down on my chest, I whisper, “Mom, you almost gave me a heart attack.”

  “I’m impressed I actually managed to find this place. And I successfully negotiated a monorail landing. That’s two firsts for me today.” She’s probably patting herself on the back. “The bucket of coffee was very helpful.”

  “Thank you, thank you.” I mock-bow from the waist, then point to Monkey Man. “See that guy with the long arms? He’s the one from the tennis courts. Who dropped all the weird seed.” I look around. “Where’s Grandpa?”

  “Your signal was so strong; I told him he could stop in the aviary for a bite to eat.”

  Another scream from the front of the train.

  “What’s going on up there, anyway?” I crane my neck for a clearer view.

  A giraffe’s head bobs closer and closer to a little girl. His tongue, long and skinny, wriggles through the air toward a green, leaflike barrette in the kid’s hair.

  “Don’t worry, folks.” Hannah stands. “He can’t get any nearer. What a great close-up view of a giraffe’s blue-black tongue.”

  “Gross.” I make a face. “That tongue looks like it was in a fight. And lost.”

  “Sherry, Sherry,” my mother whispers, all agitated. “He jumped down.”

  I peer over the side of the monorail. Ack. Eek. Awk. Monkey Man’s hoofing it across the plain.

  “Jump. Sherry, now. While everyone’s staring at the giraffe.”

  I look over the edge again. And waaaay down. Too far. “No, I’ll break my legs.”

  “Sherry, you can do it.”

  Can you believe my mother is asking me to do this? “There are wild animals down there. With teeth. And claws.”

  “I’ll be with you. I told you how well I did in my Animal Mind Control class. I’ll plant thought suggestions to keep the animals away from you.”

  “Like ‘Eat the clump of grass, not the tasty girl’?” Right. This from the woman who can only find me in the presence of coffee. The woman who crash-lands everywhere. The woman who floats off in the middle of a conversation. I squeeze as far into the corner as possible. “Nuh-uh.”

  My cell phone rings. I look at the screen. Josh! “Mom, I’ll do the detective thing when we’re back at the monorail station. Promise.”

  “You’re letting a hot trail grow cold.”

  “I’m not jumping. I don’t want to die,” I say, flipping open the phone. “I’m taking this call.”

  “Hey, Sherry,” Josh says.

  That voice, that voice, that voice. I would follow it anywhere. I’m goose bumped from head to toe, inside and out.

  “There’s a change—” he says.

  My cell is rudely ripped from my hand and tossed over the side of the train. Josh’s golden tones grow fainter and fainter. “Sherry? Sherry? Are you—” His voice cuts out.

  I watch in horror as the phone spirals down, whirling and twirling, glinting and gleaming in the air. It splats on the dirt.

  Hannah cries, “Here comes another giraffe.”

  And my right leg is up and over the side of the monorail before you can say “You’ll pay for this, Mom.” I hang on for a second with curled fingers, then belly-flop onto the hard-as-cement ground. My hat sails off my head and lands at the top of a small, prickly tree.

  My breath whooshes out. I lie still, flattened, corpselike, full of pain.

  Finally, finally, my squashed lungs manage to suck in some air. Just in time too. My head’s spinning and starry from lack of oxygen. I lick my lips. Ewwww. Spit. Spit. Spit. My mouth is caked with dirt.

  I feel a flutter.

  “Sherry, pumpkin, are you okay?”

  I wheeze, “Maybe.”

  Then I stretch out ultracarefully on the scorching-hot ground. No broken bones. Raising my head on my nearly snapped neck, I watch the train move away. A few feet in front of me, my phone sparkles in the sunlight. I commando-crawl over, grab it and stick it to my ear. No sound. I blink at it. No screen graphics. I push the On button. Nothing. My phone is completely and totally defunct.

  “Sherry, pumpkin, talk to me.”

  I pull myself up to my feet and brush off. “Go away.” I cross my arms and stick my nose in the air. “I am so not speaking to you.”

  “Sherry—”

  I slide my finger and thumb across my closed lips like I’m zipping them, then throw away the pretend key.

  My mother sighs.

  An animal bellows long and low and mean.

  The hairs on my arms stand straight up like toothpicks. I spin around to see a huge black animal squinting in the glaring sun at me. He has drooping, fringed ears and wide, curved horns. And he stinks like a barn.

  Holy cow. It’s the superaggressive Cape buffalo. Only thirty fe
et away.

  “Mom?” I squeak. “Mind thoughts?”

  “On it. I’m directing its focus to a tree across the savanna.”

  The buffalo’s small, dark eyes slit. He snorts. A line of snot dangles from his nose.

  “I have never met a more stubborn animal. His brain is really locked up.” Mom’s voice is low and forced, like she’s trying to pick up something heavy.

  The creature paws the ground with a hoofed foot.

  “Help, Mom.”

  “Let me try a different method.”

  There’s silence while she’s doing I-don’t-know-what.

  “Sherry”—her pitch jumps up—“nothing’s working.”

  Blood pounds in my ears.

  Then she’s right by me. “Run to the hut. I’ll distract him.”

  I want to run. I do. Run fast. But I can’t move. It’s my same-o lame-o problem. Faced with a scary situation, I freeze.

  “Mom, Mom, Mom.” The words come out hoarse and strangled.

  “Sherry, you can do this.” She sounds supershaky.

  Flies land on the buffalo’s head and crawl toward his nostrils. He shakes his head, rippling the muscles along his massive shoulders. His horns glint in the sun. His half-shut eyes never leave me.

  A tree drops a long, lavender blossom onto my shoulder. I don’t brush it off. I can’t even budge my arms.

  The buffalo snorts again.

  “Run!” Mom screams.

  I’m rigid. Like wood. Sweat trickles down my back. A strand of hair blows into my eye. The sizzling ground burns through the soles of my shoes.

  And then suddenly I can move.

  It’s exactly like someone flipped a switch, releasing me from frozenness. Like it’s spring in Narnia. I lift one foot, jut my elbows back, ready to dash fast like a bullet.

  “Go, Sherry.”

  Then slowly and gently, I plant my foot back down.

  “Go! Go!”

  I straighten my arms out up by my shoulders like branches.

  “Run, Sherry! Run!”

  “No,” I whisper out of the side of my mouth.

  In my mind, I see a particular paper cup from the bathroom at home. In lime-colored letters, it details the story of a safari guy who acted like a tree in the middle of a buffalo stampede. And lived to tell his tale. And have it printed on a paper cup.

  “Sherry! Run! Right this minute!”

  I imagine bark on my legs and leaves growing out of my head.

  There’s rustling to the right of me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ongava, the rhino calf, grazing. Chewing, he looks up at me. He steps toward me.

  Oh great. He’s probably attracted to my hair, washed this morning with Sassy Girl.

  Ongava takes another step in my direction.

  Yikes. Is it my destiny to be the cream in an Oreo cookie of smelly zoo animals? No, no, no. No bad thoughts. I’m a great tree. I can do this. I can do this.

  My mom’s yelling at me. She sounds all slow-motion and muffled, like she’s under water. I’m trapped in my own little time warp.

  Hopefully those Dixie-cup people check their facts.

  The buffalo paws the ground, scattering dust.

  The calf trots right up to me.

  I glimpse a grayish blur stirring under the palm tree and heading toward our little group. It’s the female crash.

  My life flashes before my eyes, a bunch of things I wish I’d done differently. I could’ve been nicer to Sam. I could’ve been nicer to The Ruler. I could’ve been less of a drag for Junie. I could’ve grabbed Josh in the nurse’s office and kissed him. I don’t want to die a squishy-stinky animal death.

  The crash approaches. They stop and face the buffalo, then grunt. The buffalo stares at the female rhinos. Then he stares at me.

  A breeze comes up, carrying a sweet flowery smell. A crow caws in the distance. The sun blazes down hot on us.

  We’re in it together. It’s me and the rhinos against the buffalo.

  The calf snorts. The female rhinos grunt again. I hold my breath in a treelike way. The buffalo paws the dirt one last time before turning and tramping away.

  The rhinos call to Ongava, then saunter back to the shade. The calf follows them. I let out my breath.

  “Sherry, thank goodness you’re okay.” Mom blows my sweaty bangs off my forehead.

  I watch the rhinos’ cute little tassely tails swing as they amble away. Their adorable leathery skin gleams in the sun. I think fondly of their kind, squinty eyes.

  I’m alive. We’re all alive—me, the female crash and Ongava. Today I shared a near-death experience with the big, beautiful rhinos. We’re forever connected. Cross my heart, I promise to find out who’s trying to hurt you. I’ll hunt him down and stop him. No more fooling around. You are my soul mates, and you can count on me. I will face challenges head-on and succeed. From this point forward, I am Sherlock Holmes Baldwin, Fearless Rhino Warrior.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Mom says.

  “Not speaking to you.”

  “Sherry, I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t purposely put you in danger.”

  “You threw my phone and my love life off the monorail.”

  The door to the hut opens. A girl in an ugly tan safari uniform leans out. “Get in here before you get yourself killed,” she orders.

  On Jell-O legs, I wobble my way toward the hut. And away from my mother.

  “Are you crazy?” The girl clutches my arm and yanks me through the door.

  Californians are so rude. Suddenly, the room is spinning.

  “Hey, are you going to faint?” She eases me into a chair, then gets me a wet paper towel. “Who are you?”

  I press the paper towel against my forehead and close my eyes. “Sherry Baldwin.”

  “I’m Sue, the rhino keeper. This is my boyfriend, Thomas.”

  I open my eyes and gasp.

  There, sitting across the tiny room with his arms practically scraping the floor, is Monkey Man.

  Sue would definitely be grounded if she lived at my house. The rhino hut’s a disaster, junked up with things like tie wraps, duct tape, bottles of Sassy Girl shampoo, trash from McDonald’s. The place reeks of old fries and dirt and animals.

  I look over at Monkey Man. The rhino keeper’s boyfriend. Mind-boggling.

  He looks down, but not before a flash of recognition flits across his face. He remembers me from the tennis courts.

  “You’re very lucky you didn’t try to run,” Sue says. “The buffalo feels less threatened by someone standing completely still.”

  “You will not believe where I learned that technique. These bathroom cups—”

  Hands on hips, she interrupts, “Is there a reason you jumped down from the monorail?”

  “I dropped my cell phone.”

  Her eyes go jumbo round like doughnuts.

  “It’s brand-new.”

  “You entered a wild-animal enclosure because of a cell phone?” Sue says. “That’s incredibly irresponsible.”

  “Plus, I was talking to a dreamy guy.” And I suddenly remember I have no idea what Josh called about.

  “Do you even realize what a huge risk you took?” Her voice quakes with anger.

  “Obviously not, or I wouldn’t have dived for my phone.” I shrug. “I’m not a complete moron.”

  She gawks at me. “Let’s get you over to the Park office.”

  My stomach churns like a blender on low. “The Park office?”

  “They’ll get some information from you, then someone will escort you off the grounds.”

  The blender kicks up to medium. “Why?”

  “You’re a danger to yourself and the animals,” Sue says. “We can’t have you here.”

  Now the blender is blasting away at full power, chopping and grinding. If I’m banished from the Park, how am I supposed to fulfill my destiny as a Fearless Rhino Warrior and save the rhinos?

  Wait just a sec, Sue. The stomach blender slows as I realize I have some ammo.

  “I
’m not the only one who jumped off the monorail,” I say.

  Sue and Thomas exchange a look.

  “That’s different. He’s a, uh, trained professional,” Sue says in a way-less-mean voice.

  My Fearless Rhino Warrior side hooks up with my detective side to tell me something’s not right. “So Monkey—I mean, Thomas—works here?”

  “Well, not exactly.” Sue draws out the words.

  What exactly does “not exactly” mean? I decide to try the intimidating-cop routine that’s so successful on TV shows.

  I cross my arms and lean toward her. I furrow my forehead, aiming for the frightening-unibrow look. “Where does he work?”

  “At the ostrich farm down the road.”

  “And how does that make it okay for him to jump down from the monorail?” I ask, all low and bad-cop husky.

  “He totally connects with animals, which means he’s not in danger and they’re not in danger,” Sue says. “They trust him.”

  Trust him enough to eat seedy-pellety poison from him? “So he’s like Dr. Dolittle?”

  “He can tell if they’re sick or pregnant or depressed.” Her eyes flash. “And Thomas should be working here. His talents are wasted at the ostrich farm.”

  “Why isn’t he, then?”

  “He will be. He’s trying,” Sue sputters.

  I can’t really think of how poisoning the rhinos could help Thomas get a job here, but maybe I’m missing something. Or maybe he’s so peeved at not getting a job that he’s taking it out on the rhinos.

  Thomas clears his throat and taps his watch. “Lunchtime.”

  I almost fall off my chair. He speaks. What a shocker. I was starting to believe he couldn’t because he was, like, mute or French or something.

  Sue takes a deep breath. “Look, Sherry . . .”

  “Sue, I will never jump off the monorail again, and I won’t rat Thomas out.” I cross my fingers behind my back because I’ll do whatever it takes to bust him if he’s the guy after the rhinos.

  She nods.

  He nods.

  I nod.

  It’s like we all have Slinky necks.

  “Let’s get you off the savanna,” Sue says.

  The three of us leave the hut and head to a tan pickup parked nearby. Sue scoots in behind the steering wheel. I take the passenger seat. Arms swinging, Thomas climbs into the bed.