But waiting will only make things worse.
So I swallow the lump in my throat and tell him what happened.
I’m hoping he’ll see the humor in a zorse eating his cookies. Before he lost his job, he used to make up jokes and silly puns, and I loved laughing with him. But now he frowns and says, “I thought I could count on you.” The disappointment on his face hurts me worse than if he’d yelled.
“I’m sorry, Dad … really …”
He just shakes his head and walks away.
Mom, on the other hand, has plenty to say. “How could you be so irresponsible? Your father does so much for you but when he asks this one thing, you disappoint him. And instead of admitting you lost or broke the cookies you make up a crazy story about a weird animal no one’s ever heard of.”
“But I’m telling the—” I start to argue just as the phone rings.
Mom points to me and says, “Stand right there, young lady, and don’t move a muscle,” which is hard to do because the muscles in my face ache from trying not to cry.
When Mom returns minutes later, she’s changed. She’s still wearing the same comfy Mom jeans and blue-striped blouse. But it’s like my real mom has been replaced with a clone who looks exactly like her—except Mom.2 is smiling at me like I’m the best daughter ever. She even hugs me.
“I’m so sorry, Kelsey,” she says.
“Huh?”
“That was Mrs. Morales from the Wild Oaks Animal Sanctuary on the phone. She called to say how grateful she is that you saved her zorse. Why didn’t you tell us you were a hero?”
“I … I didn’t think I was,” I say, confused.
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry I didn’t believe your story,” she says.
“You mean … you aren’t mad about the cookies?”
“Of course not!” She hugs me again. “I’m proud of you, and your dad will be too when I explain how you saved a rare animal from being run over.”
She goes to find Dad while I sink onto the couch, trying to sort out what just happened. Becca got her mom to call my mom? Wow! Thank you, Becca!
Instead of being grounded or scrubbing toilets, after dinner Dad rewards me with a huge homemade caramel-chip cookie with the word hero in purple icing.
My brother and twin sisters, who usually ignore me because they’re older and super busy, beg me to share. So I end up with only a small bite of my hero cookie. But it’s delicious.
Later when I’m alone in my bedroom, the apartment is quiet except for the murmur from the TV in my parents’ room. My room is so small only a twin bed, a desk, and a narrow dresser fit in it. But I love my room and it’s better than sharing with my sisters (double doses of bossy, messy, and noisy).
I tiptoe over to the closet and climb on a stool to reach the highest shelf. I feel around until my fingertips touch cloth. I pull down the green backpack. Not an ordinary backpack—my spy pack.
After reading Harriet the Spy, I decided to become a spy when I grow up. But then I figured, why wait till I grow up? I can eavesdrop now to uncover all kinds of secrets. When I spy on someone, I try to guess their secret thoughts—because all thoughts are secret. Even if someone tells you what they’re thinking, you can never be sure it’s the truth. But if you watch, listen, and lip-read, you can find out interesting stuff. Like everyone thinks my algebra teacher Mr. Armstrong hates kids because he never smiles. But once, when he thought we were all busy with a quiz, I saw him mouth “Miss you” to a framed photo on his desk of two dark-haired kids—a boy and a girl—about my age. When I looked him up online, I found out his ex-wife recently moved their kids to Canada. All the other students think he’s mean, but I think he’s just sad because he misses his kids.
Secrets are collectible, like game cards or favorite books, and when I discover someone’s secret it becomes my secret too. I never gossip or hurt anyone with what I find out. I just want to know the truth, like detectives in mystery novels compelled to solve crimes. As the youngest in a busy, talented family, collecting secrets makes me feel less average and more interesting.
My spy pack is a work in progress. Last week I added a small mirror after reading a mystery where the sleuth used a mirror to collect a fingerprint.
Other items in my pack are:
Black knit cap
Plastic gloves
Magnifying glass
Laser pointer
Graphite powder and brush
Lock picks
Wire and wire cutters
Mini-cam
Recording pen
Flashlight
Rain jacket
Baggies
Notepad
Energy bars
Sadly, my spy pack doesn’t get much use. Spying on my siblings is boring. All my sisters talk about is guys and my brother is too busy applying for college scholarships. Not many spy ops for a kid—but that’s going to change now thanks to the CCSC.
I pull the Dalton’s receipt from my pocket and carefully zip it into a baggie.
My first piece of crime evidence ever!
Should I sprinkle it with graphite powder to check for fingerprints? That would be fun but it would also mess up the receipt. And even if I found prints other than my own it’s not like I have a fingerprint database for comparison like a crime lab. I’ll learn more from talking to the clerk who matches the employee ID number on the receipt. Other info on the receipt is helpful too: items purchased (cat, dog, and fish food) with date, time, and prices.
A lot of clues to follow, I think as I yawn.
I tuck the baggie with the receipt inside my spy pack, return the pack to my closet, and, finally, after the most exciting day of my life, I fall asleep.
- Chapter 7 -
Secret Friends
I’m reaching into my locker for my English book Monday morning when I hear Becca’s voice. Spinning around, I start to call her name then clamp my mouth shut. Oops! Almost forgot we’re keeping the kittens and our club a secret. If other kids saw us together they’d get curious and ask questions. Like Leo said, curiosity leads to discoveries—and we don’t want our secrets discovered.
Still, a secret friendship feels lonely.
I sneak a glance as Becca heads my way, arm in arm with the Sparklers. That’s what her group of four call themselves for obvious glittery reasons. For obvious spy reasons, I am not a fan of glitter. Although I think Becca’s glittery hair looks really cute curling above the tiger design on her denim jacket.
She walks by so close I could reach out and touch her. Yet I say nothing. She doesn’t say anything either. But after she passes, she glances over her shoulder and winks at me. I wink back.
It’s not until lunch that I see Leo—sitting solo in his usual corner and eating from a bag lunch while he types on his tablet. Leo can be annoying, but he’s never boring, and I’m curious to see what he’s writing. What sort of robot is he designing? Would he show me if I asked? If we ate lunch together we could talk about the kittens and I’d offer him one of Dad’s yummy cream cakes.
But I plop down at my usual table with Ann Marie Sanchez and Tori Eye. Raven-haired Ann Marie is petite and has the whitest teeth I’ve ever seen (her mom is my dentist). Tori has long caramel-brown hair and is tall enough to be a model but she’d rather shoot basketballs. Before I moved away, we were neighbors and we still sit together for lunch at school. They’re both sporty girls with busy track-basketball-soccer schedules. They love to gossip and I love to listen, so hanging out with them is a win-win even for a nonathletic type like me.
But I can’t concentrate today. I chew my apple slowly, nodding often so they think I’m listening while my gaze drifts over to Leo. I catch him looking at me a few times too. And we both sneak peeks at Becca.
Longest. Lunch. Ever.
During my afternoon classes I fidget, doodle cats instead of taking notes, and s
tare longingly out the window. How are the kittens doing? Were they cold last night? Did they spill their water bowl or run out of cat food? Are they scared? Are they safe?
When the final bell rings, I bolt from my chair so quickly I almost forget to grab my backpack. I grab the straps and slip them over my shoulders. Then I rush past my locker without stopping toward my bike. Usually I walk the few blocks to and from school, but for CCSC reasons, from now on I’m biking.
I’m the first to arrive at our clubhouse, and when I step inside I panic.
The kitten bed is empty!
I call “Kitty, kitty” and hear mews and follow the sound to three kittens curled together beneath the broken grandfather clock. The kittens spring up, mewing as they scamper over to me.
I scoop them in my arms, trying not to play favorites. (Though of course Honey is my fur-baby.) I cuddle, kiss, and murmur sweet words. Their food dish is empty. I gently place the kittens on the floor, and I pop open a can of cat food. The kittens frisk and wiggle around my shoes like they’re dancing a happy-kitty dance. While they chow down, I refill their water dish and scoop clean the litter box.
The kittens are licking the can clean when I hear a strange humming sound.
Curious (and a little scared), I peek through the window just as Leo glides to a stop on the strangest skateboard I’ve ever seen. It’s electric with supersized wheels and lots of metal and wiring. Leo clicks a handheld remote which shuts off the motor.
“Where’d you get that?” I point as he flips up the skateboard and props it near the shack door.
“It’s a Leo Polanski original,” Leo says proudly. “I designed and built it myself. The gyroscope and accelerometer sensors keep it balanced and the all-terrain tires steer by a rocker switch.”
I have no clue what he’s talking about. “Cool skateboard,” I say.
“Gyro-board,” he corrects.
I shrug. “Looks like fancy skateboard.”
“Fancy?” He spits the word like it’s an insult. “I’ll have you know, this highly improved gyro-board is far superior to an ordinary skateboard.”
I roll my eyes and wish there was an improved version of Leo—one that came without sound.
Half an hour later, Leo is tinkering with the grandfather clock and I’m dangling a string for the kittens when Becca finally arrives.
“What took you so long?” I ask her.
She sets down a paper bag and sighs. “I had trouble getting away from Mom. She kept finding chores for me to do and when I tried to sneak cat food, she caught me so I made up a story about donating cans for a school food drive. She thought it was weird that I wanted food for pets and not people but she let me take two cans. If I take any more, she’ll get suspicious.”
“But we’ll need more—and soon.” Frowning, I sink down on a blue-flowered chair with a wobbly leg. “I only have six dollars left over from birthday money. I don’t get an allowance and I’m too young for a job.”
Becca frowns. “Mom pays me to help with the animals but I used it all and borrowed more … so now I owe her money.”
“What’d you buy?” I ask.
“Um … shoes.” Becca blushes. “Snow leopard print canvas shoes.”
“Ooh, sounds cute. Totally worth it,” I say, which wins me one of her brightest smiles.
I expect Leo to make a snarky comment but he’s staring out the window, mumbling to himself. After a moment, he turns back to us. “With the $8.70 I have, plus Kelsey’s six dollars, we can buy $14.70 of cat supplies. According to my calculations, estimating the cost of cat food and litter, that will last us five days.”
“And then what?” I pick up Honey and hold her close to my heart. “We need to make some money.”
“But how?” Becca flips a curl from her face, worry lines around her dark eyes.
We all look at each other as if hoping someone else has a great idea. But no one says anything.
I stare down at an ink stain on the table like it’s sucking me into a hopeless black hole. I hate not having money. My parents hate it too. They don’t think I hear when they talk about money troubles but at night their voices come through my bedroom walls loud and clear. Dad is getting really depressed waiting for a callback from one of his job interviews. And Mom cries sometimes when they talk about our old house. Money—or lack of it anyway—ruins everything. I need a miracle to find lots of money … fast!
We were so lucky to find the kittens, I think. If Zed hadn’t run through traffic, if I hadn’t bribed him with Dad’s cookies, if Becca hadn’t taken me through the alley to avoid Skeet, if I hadn’t heard sounds in the dumpster, and if Becca hadn’t asked Leo to help us—the kittens would have died. So many things that seemed wrong at the time happened in exactly the right way. But one wrong thing is still very wrong.
“We have five days to earn some money. But I want to find the cat dumper right now.” I whip out the Dalton’s Pet Supply receipt from my pocket. “Who wants to go with me?”
- Chapter 8 -
A Fishy Clue
Dalton’s Pet Supply is only a few miles away. Becca and I ride our bikes while Leo, the show-off, zip-zaps ahead on his gyro-board.
When we reach the store, Becca and I lock up our bikes. Leo flips up his bike and keys in a code to set an electric lock that will shriek a warning if anyone tries to steal his gyro-board. I’m a little impressed, but I don’t tell him.
As I start for the store Leo blocks me with his arm. “Kelsey, give me the receipt. I’ll do the questioning.”
“But I found the clue.” I purse my lips stubbornly.
“I’ve prepared a list of questions.” He waves two pages printed from his computer. “According to my calculations, these are the most logical questions to ask the clerk.”
I skim the pages. “Twenty-seven questions! You can’t be serious.”
“I am always serious.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“Thanks,” he says like this is a compliment, not a complaint. “I won’t ask all the questions. No more than twenty-two. I tossed in the last few for kicks and snickers.” He actually snickers. “I don’t really need to know the clerk’s IQ or his favorite poem.”
“Forget your list,” I tell him. “I’ll do the talking.”
“But you’ll mess up.”
“Will not!”
“Fine,” he says with an eye roll. “At least study my list so you don’t say anything stupid.”
I start to tell him what he can do with his list but Becca steps between us like a referee at a wrestling match. “Enough! Stop arguing and talk to the clerk together. I’ll be in the cat care aisle pretending I don’t know either of you.” She flips her dark curls over her shoulders and stomps into the store.
“Do you think she’s mad?” Leo asks, frowning.
“Nah.” I shake my head. “Just having a drama moment.”
“Is that something girls do a lot?” Leo looks genuinely confused.
“Not just girls. Boys too,” I say with a pointed look at him. But as usual he doesn’t get my sarcasm.
“Well … good. I guess,” Leo says. He actually smiles and lets me enter the store first.
With the receipt in my hand, I walk up to the check-out counter.
A plump, black-eyed girl with shiny pink braces stands behind the counter. She’s wearing a name badge but I already know her name is Felicity because she hangs out with my sisters. Like most of my sisters’ friends, she ignores me because she’s in high school and I’m a lowly mid-grader. But I’m always listening and have collected a few of her secrets.
“Can I help you?” Felicity flashes a fake smile. I can tell she doesn’t remember me.
I show her the receipt. “I’m trying to find out who this belongs to.”
“Isn’t it yours?” Felicity glances down at the paper.
“No,
” I answer honestly.
“But you have it?” She taps a green pen impatiently on the counter, her drawn-on brows arching with suspicion.
“We found it.” I consider telling her about the kittens until I remember she has a pet bird and doesn’t like cats. What can I say to convince her to help us?
I’m still thinking about this when Leo pushes me aside. “My father always saves his receipts for business reasons,” Leo says.
“Good for him,” Felicity replies in a totally bored tone.
“Well, yes.” Leo nods. “Whoever lost this receipt may need it for business records. Tell me who lost it, and I’ll return it.”
Felicity narrows her eyes at Leo. “Why do you care about someone you don’t even know?”
“I believe in paying forward acts of kindness. Someday I might lose something and I’ll expect it to be returned.”
Leo sounds so sincere I almost believe him. But Felicity isn’t buying it. I’ve heard her gripe about her “lying, cheating” ex-boyfriend so I know she doesn’t trust guys. Leo should have let me talk.
“Can’t help you,” Felicity snaps. “We don’t have a database that matches customers to receipts.”
I point to the receipt. “That’s an employee number, right? Could we talk to the clerk who made this sale?”
She flicks her gaze down at the receipt and laughs. “That’s my number. Unless you’re buying something, we’re done.” She motions for the next customer in line.
That went well—not.
“I didn’t get to ask any of my questions,” Leo gripes as we turn away from the counter.
“Let’s just get out of here,” I say, discouraged.
“Where did Becca go?” Leo asks, craning his neck to look around the aisles.
I stand on my tiptoes to see over counters and spot Becca’s dark ponytail in an aisle labeled Fish. She’s not alone. She’s smiling at a lanky guy with brown hair wearing a red Dalton’s Pet Supply shirt. When she sees us, she waves us over.
“Meet Pete,” she says, gesturing to the guy who’s probably in college and cute in a geeky way. “He’s interested in exotic animals so I was telling him about Wild Oaks Animal Sanctuary. And he might be able to help with our fish problem.”
The Curious Cat Spy Club Page 4
