Sammy Keyes and the Cold Hard Cash

by Wendelin Van Draanen

  “Oh. Uh…sorry.” I headed for the bedroom door. “I’ve got tons to do before the party.” I smiled and said, “I’ll be back—you be ready!”

  She laughed and waved. “All right!”

  I gave Meg and Vera the thumbs-up on the way out, then hurried home to Grams.

  “Good news!” she said from over in the kitchen, where she was unpacking a sack of groceries. “I found that hundred and twenty dollars!”

  “Really?” I asked, all surprised-like.

  “I don’t remember doing this, but I must have withdrawn it as cash. It’s hard to find a subtraction error when one doesn’t enter the transaction!” She laughed. “I hope I’m not losing my mind!”

  “You’re not losing your mind,” I said, feeling great that she was so happy. I checked inside the grocery sack and discovered something that I couldn’t believe. “A Double Dynamo?” I asked, pulling up the yummiest ice cream drumstick known to man. “Are you losing your mind?”

  She laughed again. “I always tell you no, so I decided to surprise you.”

  “Wow.”

  “But you know, I really should stop shopping at Maynard’s. It may be convenient, but T.J. has become a complete boor.”

  “What do you mean, has become? He’s been that forever.”

  “But how long have I been shopping there? He’s always curt, but today he checked my money!”

  “What do you mean, he checked your money?”

  “He held it up to the light, he marked it with one of those pens they use to see if it’s real…he was just boorish. After all the shopping I’ve done there, he treats me like a criminal!”

  My stomach suddenly bottomed out.

  Not real?

  I forced a laugh. “So I take it your money passed muster.”

  She hrmphed. “Of course it did! Like I would pass off bad bills?”

  I watched her shelve a package of shortbread cookies and tried to act all nonchalant as I asked, “Did you pay with that hundred and twenty dollars?”

  She gave me a curious look. “I didn’t spend all of it, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  I did my best to cover up, adding real quick, “’Cause I really do think Maynard’s is a rip-off.”

  So there I am, recovering from one scare, when all of a sudden there’s a knock at the door.

  Grams looks at me.

  I look at her.

  And just as she’s signaling me to head for the closet—which is where I always hide when something like this happens—the person knocks again.

  Only this time there’s a voice along with it.

  A commanding voice.

  One I recognize.

  One that has me wanting to hide somewhere much safer than the closet.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Dorito hears the voice and goes flying past us toward Grams’ bedroom.

  Smart cat.

  But as I’m shooting off in the same direction, Grams grabs me by the arm and says, “Samantha! You don’t have to hide from him anymore, remember?”

  “Oh yeah,” I say with a choppy laugh. “Right.”

  But it doesn’t feel right. Nothing about this feels right.

  Why is he here? He’s supposed to be checking on the Jackal, not me.

  Did something tip him off?

  Did he figure it all out?

  Why else would he be knocking on our door?

  “It’s okay,” Grams whispers. “You’re here ‘helping’ me.”

  So I stand there like an idiot while she whooshes open the door and says, “Sergeant Borsch, how nice to see you! Come in, come in!”

  So in he steps. He’s in uniform, all right, and he’s got a piece of paper in his hands. A piece of paper folded in half, which he’s recreasing over and over between his finger and thumbnail.

  My brain runs off in a panic.

  Is it a search warrant?

  An order to arrest?

  Why’s he standing there looking at me so funny?

  It’s like he’s nervous.

  “Glad you’re here,” he says to me with an awkward smile. “I need to ask you something.” He looks to the living room. “Can we all sit down?”

  By now my knees are like jelly, but I try to make my voice steady as I say, “Sounds serious.”

  He sits in a chair and says, “Well, actually, it is.” He’s still creasing that paper, over and over. And I’m a total basket case, wondering how in the world things fell apart so fast. I’d spent the whole night thinking up the perfect plan, and now poof, I’m busted.

  He’s looking right at me, and he’s twitching here and there like a little boy who’s being forced to tattle on a good friend. I’m actually almost feeling sorry for him having to break the news to me that I’m busted. I mean, we’d come such a long way since the day he’d tried to arrest me for jaywalking. Since the time I’d called him the Borschman.

  Finally he takes a deep breath and says, “Sorry to hit you with this out of the blue, but, you know Debra?”

  I blink at him, and the first thing that zips through my mind is, Huh? followed immediately by, Debra the Dodo?

  “Our receptionist at the station?” he asks.

  That’s Debra the Dodo, all right. And it’s not that she’s dumb, it’s that she has a really big nose that she piles high with makeup, and she wears her hair in a huge nest on the top of her head.

  So I nod, and I know I’m looking like a complete dodo, but I have no idea what Debra has to do with me being busted.

  He gives that search warrant or order to arrest or whatever it is one final crease and takes a deep breath. “Well. Debra and I are getting married next month, and we’d like you to be in the wedding.”

  I blink at him.

  And blink some more.

  And finally I blurt out, “You and Debra are getting married?”

  Grams scolds, “Samantha!”

  “I didn’t mean it like that—I’m just…I guess…” I shake my head. “I had no idea.”

  He chuckles. “Let’s hope third time’s the charm.”

  Grams leans forward a little and says, “Are you saying you’d like Samantha to come to the wedding or you’d like her to be in the wedding?”

  “Well…” He looks at her, then me, then laughs and says, “Debra wanted you to be a bridesmaid, but I convinced her that would be…uh…”

  I cringe. “A disaster?”

  He laughs and says, “Besides, I can’t see you in a frilly dress and shiny shoes. But Deb and I would like for you to be in charge of the guest book and maybe do a reading?”

  “Really?” I ask, still not quite believing what I’m hearing. “You want me to be in your wedding?”

  “Unbelievable, isn’t it?” he says with a chuckle. “But it was arguments about you that got Debra and me talking to each other, and we’re both…how do I say this…fond of you.”

  “Wow.”

  He looks at me. “So…?”

  “So she’d be honored to,” Grams says, giving me a little scolding look. “And congratulations. You certainly deserve to be happy.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he says, then lets out a deep breath and slaps the paper with the back of his hand. “Now back to business.”

  And that’s when I make a huge mistake. My big mouth shoots off with, “What is that?” and when he unfolds it, what do I see?

  The picture I’d given André.

  How dense did I want to be?

  Of course that’s what it was!

  But I’d been so paranoid about him busting me, and then so shocked about him asking me to be in his wedding, that my brain was all muddled up.

  “Why, that’s Rex Randolf,” Grams says. “Has he done something wrong?”

  Now, I’m giving Grams the fingertip-slice-at-the-neck signal, but when Officer Borsch cocks his head at her and says, “You know this man?” does she zip her lips?

  No!

  She says, “Yes! He’s visited our neighbor a few times. Actually, he knocked on my door last
night.”

  I stop midslice. “He did?”

  Grams nods and tisks and rolls her eyes. “I don’t know what he wanted, really. I refused to let him in, and later Rose accused me of trying to steal her man, if you can believe that!”

  “Rex Randolf, huh?” Officer Borsch says. “Your manager says he’s never seen this man before.” He slaps the picture with the back of his hand. “And this is not someone you’d overlook. Very flashy dresser.”

  So since it was too late to keep Officer Borsch from knowing we knew the guy, I toss in, “Maybe it’s a disguise…?”

  Grams’ eyebrows shoot up at me, and Officer Borsch nods at the picture like, Hmm…maybe so. Then he says, “We do have another lead that I’ll follow up on—see if it gets us anywhere.”

  “But…,” Grams says. “Lead for what? What’s he done? Should we be concerned?” She turns to me. “A disguise?”

  Officer Borsch sucks air through his teeth, thinking. Finally he says, “It would probably be wise not to have any more interaction with him until we know more about him. I’ll do some investigating and let you know.”

  “But…what’s he suspected of having done?” Grams asks.

  “That’s a good question,” he tells her. “Unfortunately, I don’t have a good answer.”

  So off he goes, and the minute he’s gone, Grams turns to me and says, “Why were you trying to hush me up? You obviously don’t trust him!”

  “Who?”

  “Rex!”

  “Well, we used to not trust the Borschman!”

  “But we do now!”

  “Mostly!”

  “How can you say ‘mostly’? He asked you to be in his wedding!”

  “His third wedding.”

  “Samantha!”

  I was heading for the bathroom.

  I couldn’t even remember who knew what anymore. My big mushy stew brain was totally bubbling over. I needed a minute to put on the lid. To turn down the heat.

  To think.

  “Why are you going in there? Are you avoiding me?”

  “What? No! I need to go!”

  So I ditched her and went inside the bathroom and locked the door. But as I paced around trying to sort things out, I just got more and more confused. Grams didn’t even know that Rex Randolf had come to Mrs. Wedgewood’s apartment supposedly to thank her for her valiant efforts in saving Buck Ritter. Grams basically knew nothing, except that I’d scared a man to death.

  But she had dozens of questions lining up—that was obvious. And if I tried to weasel out of answering them, she’d know I was lying. And then the question would be why I was lying.

  How was I ever going to get out of this?

  So there I am, pacing back and forth in the bathroom, panicking, while Grams is outside, saying, “Samantha, why are you hiding in the bathroom? What is going on with you?” My brain is spurting and spattering and totally boiling over, and really, I just can’t take it anymore—I’m ready to bust out of the bathroom and spill everything to her.

  But then, just as I’m reaching for the doorknob, I have a brainstorm.

  A wonderful, stew-busting, brilliant brainstorm.

  TWENTY-SIX

  “There’s something I have to tell you,” I said as I stepped out of the bathroom.

  Grams heaved a big sigh. “Well, hooray. I was worried you were back to keeping secrets.”

  I swatted back my fluttering conscience and said, “I actually think you’d better sit down.”

  She studied me as she sidestepped toward the living room. “What on earth have you gotten into now…?”

  “It’s not me,” I said, coaxing her along.

  “Then who? Marissa?”

  “Marissa’s fine.” Then I muttered, “As fine as you can be when your father’s got a gambling problem, anyway.”

  She gasped. “Is that what’s going on there?”

  I nodded. “But never mind about that. This isn’t about her.”

  She’d done an over-the-shoulder glancy sidestep the whole way to the living room, and now she was just standing there. “Why do you look so serious?”

  “Because you’re going to be upset.” I pointed to the sofa. “Sit.”

  “Samantha! What’s this about?”

  “Sit.”

  So she sat down and clasped her hands in her lap. “Tell me.”

  “It’s Lady Lana.”

  Her eyes went wide, and she sat up straighter and gasped. “Is she all right?”

  I rolled my eyes and plopped into the easy chair. “Oh, she’s fine.”

  Grams let out a breath and relaxed a little. “So?”

  “So she’s still in town.”

  Grams just sat there, her hands clasped, quiet.

  Waiting.

  So I took a deep breath and said, “She’s dating Casey and Heather’s dad.”

  I could see the wheels start to turn in her head. First slowly, and then as what I’d said sank in, really, really fast. And when she’d built up a nice head of angry steam, I filled in the details about what had happened at the Landmark Broiler. By the time I was done, she’d completely forgotten about Officer Borsch and Rex-the-Jackal-Randolf and was storming around the apartment calling my mother a “duplicitous diva” and swearing that she was done with her.

  I just sat back and watched, feeling hugely relieved.

  I was off the hook!

  And the money was still mine.

  Grams went to her room to lie down, and I putzed around the apartment feeling very clever. Only after a while my cleverness high kinda wore off and I started feeling a little bad.

  Actually, I started feeling really bad.

  I had totally played my grandmother.

  And I’d used my own mother to do it.

  I found myself sitting on the couch staring at the wall.

  My head started to feel like it was going to boil over again.

  And now I also had an awful, icky feeling brewing in my gut.

  When I finally stopped staring at the wall, I decided that I had to hide the money before I went to the pool party. I needed my backpack, and there was no way I was going to risk having it stolen at the pool party. After all, Heather was sure to be there.

  So with Grams safely in the bedroom, I unzipped a sofa cushion and lined up the stacks of cash along the back side of the foam. When I was all done, I tested it, and you could totally not tell anything was there.

  I did the same thing with the camera.

  And when I was ready to leave for the pool party, I took the sweatshirt and jeans I’d bought out of the backpack and peeked into Grams’ room. She was lying on the bed, but her eyes were open. “I’m going to get going,” I said, easing inside and casually slipping the new clothes inside my drawer of Grams’ dresser.

  “Where are you going again?” she asked, like she was in a complete daze.

  “To the pool party, remember?”

  “Oh, right.”

  “I’m picking up Holly and we’re riding over together.”

  “Yes, yes, of course.”

  I went over and kissed her on the top of her head. “Forget about her, Grams.”

  She shook her head. “Where did she get her selfish streak?”

  I snorted. “It’s not a streak, Grams. She’s covered in it.” I rubbed her shoulder. “And not from you, that’s for sure.”

  “Well, I am tired of being treated like a doormat.” She looked up at me and patted my hand. “You go and have fun. I’ll see you…When do you think you’ll be home?”

  “I don’t know…. It’ll be a while.” I started for the door, saying, “Why don’t you call Hudson? Why don’t you go talk to Hudson? He gives really good advice, you know.”

  She nodded absently. “Maybe I will. It was nice to talk to him yesterday.” Then she added, “He’s a good man, taking Mikey under his wing.”

  So I got out of there and crossed the street, but before I went over to Holly’s, I ducked into the Heavenly Hotel. “Any news?” I called out
to André.

  There were people hanging around the lobby, so he waved me over. “Your Sergeant Borsch left here very skeptical,” he said, leaning across the counter, “but returned with a whole new attitude.”

  “Yeah? What did he tell you?”

  One eyebrow arched way up and the other scrunched waaaay down while his cigar went for a little stroll to the far corner of his mouth. “The manager couldn’t ID the guy in the picture, but your secret knock worked like a charm.”

  “And?”

  “And the man in four-two-seven says he’s never seen the guy in the picture before in his life, doesn’t know any Buck Ritter, and has never been over to the Heavenly…but your Sergeant Borsch doesn’t believe him.”

  “Really.”

  André shook his head. “Said the man was nervous, un-cooperative, and definitely hiding something.”

  “So what’s he going to do now?”

  “Well, he was very curious about some things.”

  “Like…?”

  “Like how I knew about the knock, where I got the picture, and what I think was taken out of Buck’s room.” His eyebrows evened out while his cigar shot to the middle of his mouth, where it stuck out at me like a cannon.

  “So what did you tell him?”

  “I told him a whole lot of nothing.” One eyebrow started reaching for the sky again. “But your Sergeant Borsch won’t get a search warrant unless he knows what he’s searching for.”

  “Hmm. That does make sense,” I said with a shrug.

  He did his camel-lip curl. “So now what?”

  I gave a big shrug this time. “I don’t know. Whatever you want. You were the one duped….”

  His lips stayed curled back for the longest time, and I was actually starting to get a little nervous over the way he was staring at me. Finally he rolled the cigar to one side and said, “There’s something fishy about this whole situation.”

  “Yeah, I agree,” I said. But since I was feeling like it was me he was starting to get suspicious of, I said, “I don’t know how else I can help you, André. Maybe you should go over there and, you know, confront the guy in four-two-seven yourself? Or maybe you should just let it go. Whatever that guy took wasn’t yours, right?”

  “I had let it go,” he grumbled, “until you came in here and started stirring things up.”