Yours Truly

by Heather Vogel Frederick

  Mackenzie laughed her breezy little laugh. “Romeo! I like it.”

  He smiled.

  “Hey, did you guys talk to Franklin yet?” I asked, more by way of inserting myself into the conversation than anything else. It was becoming increasingly clear that with Mackenzie in town, I might as well be invisible. Which was kind of ironic, since for a long time after we first moved here I’d actually wished that I were invisible—“stealth mode,” I called it. I didn’t like sticking out, and stealth mode had always been my fallback position after one of our moves, which were numerous, since we were an active-duty military family until recently.

  But I didn’t like being ignored, either.

  And if I were honest with myself, I’d have to admit I particularly didn’t like being ignored by Mr. Romeo Calhoun.

  At my question, my classmates managed to drag their eyes away from Mackenzie.

  “No,” said Scooter. “Why?”

  I explained about the sap theft and how worked up Franklin had been about it.

  “Sounds like a job for the Pumpkin Falls Private Eyes,” said Calhoun, flicking me a glance.

  My mouth dropped open again. Calhoun hated that name almost as much as he hated Romeo. He was the one who’d teased me the most about how dorky it was when I made it up last month after my friends and I got involved solving a couple of mysteries.

  “Or not,” he added coolly, looking away.

  “I didn’t know we were still a thing,” I said. “The, uh, private eyes, I mean,” I added quickly, when he glanced over at me again.

  He shrugged.

  “Great idea!” said Scooter, looking at my cousin to see what she thought. “It’s pretty exciting, solving mysteries.”

  I could barely watch this. He was practically flexing his muscles for her.

  “Cha Cha and Jasmine aren’t here,” I objected. “There is no Pumpkin Falls Private Eyes without the two of them.”

  “I could help,” Mackenzie offered.

  Scooter lit up at this suggestion. “Yeah!”

  Everyone seemed to be looking to me to decide, even Calhoun. I stood there awkwardly, conscious of his gaze.

  He’s probably just eager to spend time with my cousin, I thought. Same as Scooter.

  On the other hand, did it really matter, considering what hung in the balance? A major loss of sap—and the syrup it was turned into—could spell disaster for Franklin’s family. Their farm really depended on all those maple sales. If there was something we could do to help, didn’t we owe it to our friends to try?

  “Well, okay, I guess,” I said finally.

  The four of us agreed to meet at my house the next morning after swim practice. From there we’d head to Freeman Farm to examine the scene of the crime.

  “We’ll tell Lucas on our way home,” said Scooter as we took our ice cream cones outside and headed to the rocking chairs lining the General Store’s porch.

  The sun dipped behind the trees and the wind began to pick up. Mackenzie shivered. “Y’all are nuts, eating ice cream in this weather,” she said, but I noticed she didn’t stop licking her cone.

  “Maple walnuts,” I quipped, and my friends all groaned obligingly.

  A few minutes later Scooter and Calhoun took off for Lou’s, and Mackenzie and I started up the hill for home.

  “You’re really lucky, you know, getting to live here,” she said.

  I grunted. “You told me that already. I’d still trade it for Austin in a hot second, though.”

  “Seriously? Why?”

  It was hard to explain. I didn’t hate Pumpkin Falls the way I did when we first moved here—it was growing on me, in fact—but it didn’t feel like home yet, either. And life in Austin seemed so simple in comparison, especially right now. There were no mixed-up feelings about Romeo Calhoun in Austin.

  We turned off Hill Street onto Maple, and Mackenzie suddenly stopped in her tracks. “Whoa!” she said, pointing at a tree branch overhead. “Is that what I think it is?”

  I looked up. Peering through the dusk, I stared at the large bird perched on the limb above us. It stared back, unblinking. “Uh, yeah,” I replied, stunned.

  It was an owl.

  Mackenzie whipped out her cell phone and began furiously snapping pictures. “Cameron won’t believe this! What kind of owl is it?”

  “A barred owl,” I whispered. I’d seen only about a zillion pictures of them, including one in the new book that Gramps and Lola had given me for my birthday. “Scientific name Strix varia; native to North America; also known as the hoot owl. It’s the only owl in the eastern United States whose eyes are brown, not orange or yellow.”

  Brown eyes just like mine, I thought, transfixed.

  “Well, aren’t you just a fountain of information,” drawled my cousin, still snapping away.

  The owl didn’t seem in any hurry to leave. It posed obligingly as Mackenzie continued to take pictures, and then, after a minute or two, finally spread its wings. Flapping once, it swooped away over our heads.

  My heart squeezed tight with happiness as I watched its silent flight. I’d never seen anything more beautiful in my entire life.

  Mackenzie clutched my arm. “How cool was that?” she squealed as we watched the owl glide into a thicket of trees across the road and disappear.

  “Unbelievably cool!” I squealed back. Even as I said the words, though, I could feel a sour aftertaste of disappointment curdling my joy.

  Joy, because finally—finally—after so many years of trying, I’d seen an owl in the wild!

  Disappointment, because Mackenzie was the one who’d spotted it, not me.

  It shouldn’t have mattered, but somehow it did. I followed my cousin home, feeling deflated.

  This was almost worse than yesterday’s kiss.

  And being overlooked by a boy I might actually like.

  I was pretty sure I wanted to go back to being twelve again.

  CHAPTER 7

  “Directly into the shower, boys,” my mother said, pointing to the back stairs as Hatcher and Danny barged into the kitchen.

  “Something smells good!” said Danny, sniffing the air appreciatively.

  “It sure isn’t you!” I retorted, backing away. There was nothing worse than post–wrestling practice brothers.

  “I want your dirty clothes in the wash too,” my mother continued. “All of them. I was upstairs earlier today and found things lurking under your beds that could have walked to the laundry room all by themselves.”

  My brothers laughed.

  “I’m serious,” said my mother, putting her hands on her hips. But she was smiling, too. She shook the wooden spoon she was holding for emphasis. “No roast chicken unless you—and your clothes—are spotless.”

  Hearing this threat, my brothers quickly trotted off.

  “Whew!” Mackenzie held her nose as they wafted past.

  “And you keep saying you wish you had brothers,” I reminded her.

  “Truly, would you mind popping next door and feeding Bilbo?” My mother turned back to the stove. She was stirring something. Mashed potatoes, from the looks of it. Dinner couldn’t come soon enough for me, despite our recent ice cream break.

  “Who’s Bilbo?” asked my cousin.

  “A ferret,” I told her. “Our neighbors are in Bermuda for Spring Break and we’re taking care of him.”

  “That’s a funny name for a ferret,” Mackenzie said.

  “They named him after Bilbo Baggins in The Hobbit,” I explained. “Because he likes to explore.”

  Technically, my sister Lauren was the one who was supposed to be ferret-sitting. She was the big animal lover in the family. Me? If it had feathers and wings, I was all over it. Fur or scales? Not so much—although I had to admit I’d taken a shine to Miss Marple. Probably because she’d taken a shine to me. I seemed to be her favorite Lovejoy, at least while Gramps and Lola were away.

  “Where’s Lauren?” I asked my mother. “She’s the one in charge of Bilbo.”

/>   “She and Pippa are still at Belinda’s.”

  Belinda’s Spring Break camp kicked off this afternoon. My sisters both whined so much about the fact that I got to have Mackenzie come visit that Belinda offered to do something just for them. Nobody was exactly sure what—arts and crafts projects like Pippa’s glitter and Popsicle stick frame, maybe, or a little baking, maybe. A whole lot of kittens, that was for sure.

  I turned to Mackenzie. “Want to come with me?”

  She shook her head. “Mind if I skip it? I’m a little jet-lagged, and I should probably call my parents. I promised I’d check in today.”

  “No problem.”

  She headed upstairs, and I grabbed my barn jacket from its hook by the kitchen door and went back outside.

  The house next door looked a lot like my grandparents’ house, except that the shutters and front door were painted black instead of green. I was guessing it was built around the same time that Nathaniel Daniel built ours.

  The Mitchells had been Gramps and Lola’s neighbors for as long as I could remember. They both worked at Lovejoy College. They didn’t have any kids of their own, but thanks to their jobs—they were both professors—there were always lots of students hanging out at their house.

  Not this week, though.

  I made a short detour to fill our bird feeders and top off the water in the birdbath. Gramps left me with a list of instructions for caring for his “feathered friends,” as he called them, and I’d been really good about keeping up with everything.

  Thinking about his list of instructions reminded me that I needed to add “barred owl” to my life list tonight. Mine was still pretty measly compared to my grandfather’s, but then he’d been keeping his a lot longer than I had.

  I collected the mail from the Mitchells’ mailbox, then fished the spare key out from under the welcome mat by the back door. Not the most original place to keep a key, but the fact was, hardly anybody locked their doors here in Pumpkin Falls. Gramps and Lola went to Mexico for a vacation one winter a few years ago and accidentally left their house unlocked the entire month they were away! They were also the ones who kept the bookstore cash inside a hollowed-out trigonometry textbook—I guess they figured nobody in their right mind would think of stealing that. Dad about had a fit when he found out. One of the first things he did when he took over the store was open a proper bank account.

  Inside, I plopped the mail into the basket on the kitchen counter, then crossed the room to the enormous cage where Bilbo spent most of his time. Mr. Mitchell was crazy about ferrets—“the smartest pet imaginable!” he liked to boast—and Bilbo was completely spoiled. He had all sorts of toys and plastic tubes to run around in, plus a little ferret-size hammock for sleeping.

  I tapped tentatively on his cage. “Hey, buddy.”

  Bilbo was already pacing back and forth. He knew what was coming next.

  “That’s right, it’s playtime,” I said, gingerly unlatching the cage door.

  I let out a screech and jumped back as the ferret darted past me. I watched as he ran in circles around the room, then began gleefully romping on the furniture in a way that would get us Lovejoy kids hollered at big-time if we did the same thing at home. Leaving the ferret to his fun, I changed his litter and fixed him a snack.

  “Mmm, your favorite,” I said, reaching into the container of ferret treats and holding one out to him.

  Bilbo dashed across the room and snatched it from me, then made a beeline for the basement door.

  Someone had left it open.

  “Wait, no!” I cried. My stupid sister! How could she have forgotten? Lauren was the one getting paid for this, not me. I chased after the ferret, but he was too quick for me. He slipped through the door lickety-split. I heard his little feet pattering down the stairs, and then—silence.

  I stood at the top, staring down into the darkness. Flipping on the light didn’t help. The Mitchells’ basement was just as creepy as Gramps and Lola’s. Plus, the house was deserted, which made it extra creepy.

  “Bilbo?” I called, embarrassed at how shaky my voice sounded. I descended the stairs reluctantly, every hair on the back of my neck standing at attention. Pausing at the bottom, I called the ferret’s name again.

  A moment later, something raced across my feet, and I nearly leaped out of my skin.

  “Bilbo! Get over here!” I shouted.

  There was no point trying to chase him. There were too many places in the basement to hide. I’d have to outwit him instead.

  Running back upstairs, I grabbed the container of treats and stepped behind the open basement door. “Bilbo!” I called again, rattling the container enticingly.

  Silence.

  I gave it another shake, and this time there was a tentative scrabbling at the base of the stairs.

  “Bilbo! Cookies!”

  The ferret knew that word. In a flash, he came bounding up the stairs, and the second he was through the door I slammed it shut behind him. “Gotcha!”

  Bilbo skidded to a stop and eyed me reproachfully.

  “Sorry for spoiling your fun,” I told him. “But I don’t have all night.”

  Inching backward across the room toward his cage, I placed ferret treats on the floor like bread crumbs on a trail. “Come on, buddy,” I coaxed. “This way.”

  He gave the first one a suspicious sniff, but the treats proved irresistible, and in a few moments he was back in captivity.

  “You be a good boy now,” I told him, latching the cage firmly. “Lauren will be over to play with you tomorrow.”

  My pest of a sister owed me big-time for this one. Grabbing my coat, I locked the door, then slipped the key back in its hiding place and went home.

  “There you are,” said my mother as I came through the back door. “Right in time to set the table.”

  “But I just—”

  “No buts, young lady. Your birthday is officially over.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said meekly.

  “I’ll help,” offered Mackenzie, reappearing in the kitchen just then.

  “How are your folks?” my mother asked.

  “Surviving without me.”

  “We’re eating in the dining room tonight, girls,” my mother continued. “I’ve cleared my books and things away. We’ll need places for ten.”

  “Ten?” I frowned. “Who else is coming?”

  “Your aunt and Professor Rusty.”

  I made a face at Mackenzie. “Prepare to be bored out of your gourd.”

  “Truly!” my mother frowned.

  “Sorry, ma’am,” I said.

  It was true, though. Professor Rusty—a.k.a. Erastus Peckinpaugh a.k.a. Professor Punkinpie, as Pippa called him—was a full-fledged nerd. He was really nice and everything, and sometimes he could be funny, so I could see why my aunt liked him, but he was totally fixated on history. I mean totally. Especially the Civil War. He felt the same way about the Civil War as I did about birds, and swimming, and sudoku.

  Last time he came to dinner, we were treated to a lecture on the Fighting Fifth, New Hampshire’s most famous Civil War regiment. Professor Rusty belonged to a group of Civil War reenactors—excuse me, “living historians” was the proper term, according to him—who were named for soldiers in the Fighting Fifth. He was all excited that we’d moved here, because Matthew Lovejoy, the original Truly’s husband, belonged to that regiment, and he was trying to talk one of my brothers into joining the group and portraying him. Danny wasn’t interested, but Hatcher, surprisingly, was seriously considering it. When I gave him a hard time about it, he just looked at me and said “life list.”

  In other words, people who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.

  I guess he had a point. Everybody has their obsessions.

  My cell phone buzzed as we were finishing up setting the table. “It’s Jasmine and Cha Cha,” I told Mackenzie. “Check it out.”

  “No fair!” she cried, peering over my shoulder to see the selfie they’d sent of the tw
o of them lounging on a beach. “Where are they again?”

  “Key West.”

  “Sweet.”

  I texted back, telling them briefly about the sap theft at Freeman Farm and the resurrection of the Pumpkin Falls Private Eyes. CHECKING OUT SCENE OF CRIME TOMORROW, I added. WILL LET YOU KNOW IF WE FIND ANYTHING.

  SAY HI TO FRANKLIN FOR ME! Jasmine texted back.

  Franklin Freeman was Jasmine’s Mr. Perfect. Except he didn’t know it yet.

  “Anything else we can do to help, Aunt Dinah?” Mackenzie asked as we returned to the kitchen.

  “That’s sweet of you to offer,” my mother replied, “but I think I have the rest of it under control.”

  Hatcher and Danny and Lauren and I had been doing a lot of the cooking these past few months since our move to Pumpkin Falls. My father was the one who came up with that plan, as a way to help Mom now that she was going back to college full-time. She’d told us we were all off the hook for Spring Break, though.

  “Y’all have been juggling a lot, and I appreciate it,” she’d said. “You’ve earned a real vacation.”

  There was a knock on the front door just then.

  “Truly, would you get that?” asked my mother, pulling the roast chicken out of the oven.

  I watched Mackenzie’s face as I introduced her to Professor Rusty. I could hardly wait to ask what she thought of him. They’re kind of an odd couple, my hippie-dippie aunt and her absentminded professor.

  Professor Rusty would almost be handsome, if it weren’t for that wild hair of his, which was dark and bushy and way too long, in an Albert Einsteiny kind of way. He’d been perpetually underfoot ever since the Valentine’s Day dance, when the Pumpkin Falls Private Eyes revealed him to be the author of some love letters that had never made their way to my aunt. In a classic case of missed connections, the two of them had gone their separate ways after high school, Aunt True to travel the world, and Professor Rusty to college and graduate school.

  If Erastus Peckinpaugh was clearly interested in rekindling the romance, it was harder to tell with Aunt True. For as long as I’d known her, my aunt had proudly classified herself as a nomad and a rolling stone. Was she ready to settle down? I honestly had no idea. Aunt True was being completely close-lipped about it, and not just with Ella Bellow.