Which brings me back to Josie. If this truly boils down to a prank, she is the absolute only one I can see who would do this. She knows how much this time capsule means to me, and right now she’s mad at me.
Yet, Josie has never pulled a prank on me before. Pranking isn’t really her thing. The silent treatment is more her thing…
“You are officially not invited to my Christmas party,” Josie tells me.
She’s taller than me, and when she’s mad, she always looks down the length of her nose. Like she’s doing now.
“Fine. I didn’t want to come anyway.” I shove the present I bought into her hands. “Here.”
She shoves the one she bought me into my hands. “Here.”
Then we both spin and march off in different directions.
I ended up going to that Christmas party because she texted me how much she loved her present. Then I texted her how much I loved mine. And then we were friends again.
Yeah, when Josie’s mad, she typically just stops talking to me. She’s not the type to do something like break into the school and steal a time capsule.
My phone twerps, and I lunge for it. I can’t wait to tell Diamond about all of this. But the twerp isn’t Diamond, it’s Aunt Grace: WHERE ARE YOU?!
I look at the message dully, not immediately remembering anything, then I spring off my bed. Crap! I’m supposed to be working the afternoon shift at the Juice Truck!
Chapter 9
It usually takes me fifteen or twenty minutes to bike from our house to where she parks the Juice Truck at the entrance to the state park. But this time I peddle so fast, I make it in sweaty, record-breaking time.
I park Lolli beside Aunt Grace’s yellow Thing and climb off, and I glance up to the Juice Truck to see her glaring at me through the sliding glass serving window. I know that glare. She’s irritated, and if the line of waiting customers says anything, her irritation has morphed into fury.
Yikes.
“Sorry,” I mumble, rushing in the back door of the Airstream.
She pushes an apron at me. “Start cutting celery.” She slides the serving window open and hands out a large melon/kale/almond butter with flax. “That’ll be seven eighty-two.”
Tightening my ponytail, I put my messenger bag under the counter, give my hands a quick wash, and then I put all my effort into cutting the celery. After that, I move onto the carrots without her asking. The blender kicks on and in my peripheral I see her eyeing me.
“Where are you flip flops?” she asks.
Torn and sitting in my closet. Why do you ask? “Um, they were making my feet sweaty. I threw these on instead.” I tell myself I’m not lying. I’m simply sparing her feelings.
“But you hate those slip-on’s.”
True, plus my flip flops are brand new. She bought them for me two weeks ago, which means I need to replace them before she knows what I’ve done. Except they’re Olukai and way out of my price range.
The blender goes off and she pours the cucumber/mint into a paper cup. “If they’re making your feet sweaty, then we’re taking them back.”
“No! I love them.” I give her my best convincing smile. “I’m just having an off day.” I need to be quicker on my feet. I should’ve said I got them dirty or something.
She opens the sliding glass window and hands out the cup and paper straw. “That’ll be three seventy-five.” The door closes, she throws the blender glass into the soapy sink, then grabs a clean one.
I start on the apples next and together we work in silence—me cutting, her blending, her serving. Neither one of us speaks, and that’s okay. I know Aunt Grace and this irritation with me will pass. I work hard at being a good niece and in the three years I’ve lived here, she’s rarely if ever been mad at me.
I want to ask her about the missing envelope from the lawyer, but I know now is not the time. I also want to ask her if I can go early so I can keep looking for the time capsule, but again, not the time.
While I’m chopping lemon, a text comes in from Diamond. I’M STILL HELPING DAD. I’M SOOOO SORRY.
I wipe my hands on my apron and quickly text back. AND I’M HELPING AUNT GRACE.
WE’RE ON FOR TOMORROW?
I’LL BE THERE!
No more texts come in and I go back to the lemons. Eventually, the line dwindles, and we work side-by-side getting caught up on cleaning and prepping for the next wave.
Aunt Grace finally speaks. “I made mini blueberry bunt cakes for later.” She scrunches her brown eyes at me. “Lucky you showed up. I might have given yours to Mr. Taylor.”
Aunt Grace can play dirty when needed. She knows mini bunt cakes of any kind are my favorite. I make a face at her, and she laughs, and just like that, we’re okay.
Outside the Juice Truck a shadow flicks by, and a scary thought skitters through my mind. Does Vail know where I am? A loud pop cuts through the air, followed by the sound of something metal hitting the back door.
Aunt Grace and I both shriek, and for a second neither of us breathe.
Then giggling comes next, followed by the sound of running feet, and Aunt Grace scurries around me to throw open the back door. Together we peer out to see a couple of boys racing down the single-lane road that leads to the state park and the beach. I narrow in on the bigger of the two boys, noting he’s carrying a slingshot.
Aunt Grace sighs. “I don’t recognize them, do you?”
“No, probably tourists camping at the park.”
She turns to the door where the boys decided to have target practice and to the tiny pellet embedded in her hand-painted Bird of Paradise.
Using her knuckle, she pushes her glasses up her nose. “Come on, really?”
In silence, I stare at the tiny pellet, and I think about the slingshot that Diamond gave me that is currently sitting in my messenger bag with the lock picks and handcuffs. Sure, I saw Diamond use the slingshot, and sure, I practiced a little, but that sign in the water had been far away. Seeing the embedded pellet up close, though, now I really see the possibilities of owning one.
I can do some real damage with a slingshot.
Chapter 10
That night Aunt Grace goes next door to visit Mr. Taylor, and I snuggle into my oversized red and green bean bag. Up on my bed, Clover turns a few circles and smooshes down in between my pillows. With a pad of yellow paper and a purple pen, I start making a list for tomorrow. After this, I’m going to go in the backyard and practice with the things Diamond gave me.
Our doorbell rings, and I check the clock on my bedside table. It’s nine at night. That’s weird. Maybe Aunt Grace forgot her key. I push up out of the bean bag, and Clover doesn’t move. Some watchdog she is.
I make my way through the house and to the front door. I go to unlock it, and something tells me to stop. Even if Aunt Grace forgot her key, she knows where the hide-a-key is.
“Who’s there?” I call out, but no one answers.
I raise up on my tiptoes to peer through the peephole, but no one is there. That’s weird. Maybe I thought I heard the bell. I unlock the door and inch it open, and I spy a white envelope laying on our multi-colored doormat with PENNY-ANN printed across it.
Leaning down I retrieve it, and I run my thumb under the seal. Inside is a piece of notebook paper with I KNOW YOU’RE ALONE printed across the middle.
With a yelp, I jump back, and my pulse rockets to light speed as I slam and lock the door. Through the windows of our living room, I catch sight of a shadow zipping past, and my knees buckle.
I want to scream, but fear swells my throat to silence. Instead, I take off back through the house and into my bedroom. I close the door, then I check the locks on my windows and swivel shut the blinds. I run over to my nightstand to grab my phone before remembering that I left it in the kitchen on the charger.
A hysterical whine comes out of my mouth, and I clamp my hand down over my lips to keep it in, to keep as silent as possible. Clover gets up from the pillows, her tail tucked and stares at me. Even
she knows something’s up.
I look around for my messenger bag before realizing I left it in the Juice Truck. I search for anything I can use as a weapon, but we’re not really a weapon type of household. I grab Clover off the bed and disappear into the closet, huddling in the back in a tight ball.
I tell myself it won’t be long before Aunt Grace gets back.
I barely breathe as I listen for any tiny sound. Seconds tick into minutes, and nothing happens. Oh my God, did I lock the front door? I don’t remember. I don’t remember!
Things like this don’t happen to me. We live a peaceful, uneventful, non-frightening life. Who would do this? Vail? What if he tracked me here, ready to retaliate for hitting him with the paperweight? I KNOW YOU’RE ALONE. He’s right, which means he saw Aunt Grace leave. Oh my God. Oh my God!
This is all because I’m looking for the time capsule. If it wasn’t for that, I would have never gone to The Pit. I would’ve never had a run-in with Vail. Forget this P. I. thing. Forget the missing time capsule. Whoever has it can keep it.
Music begins to softly thump the air, coming next door from Mr. Taylor’s house, and I know that means he and Aunt Grace are watching ballroom dancing on YouTube and practicing the moves. Even if I did scream, they probably wouldn’t hear me. If they’re practicing ballroom moves, then that means Aunt Grace will be another hour or so.
I could climb out my window and run across to Mr. Taylor’s. But then whoever is out there might catch me.
Clover licks my ear, and then she licks it again. She licks it one more time like she’s trying to reassure me, and I breathe out. I need to get a grip. I’m okay here. I’ve got Clover. I’m okay.
I scoot even further back into the corner of the closet where I have a pile of oversized pillows, and I burrow underneath them. First thing tomorrow I’m giving Diamond back her stuff. I’m done. I change my mind; this private investigator gig is not for me.
Now that I think about it, I did lock the front door. Every window in the house is locked, too. Aunt Grace always checks those things.
I’m okay. I’m okay.
I begin to rub the tips of Clover’s ears, repeating I’m okay.
When I was with Mom, we stayed in a lot of motels as she went from scam to scam, city to city. But every night she’d play music from an oldies playlist and I’d fall to sleep listening to it.
Closing my eyes, I begin humming one of the songs and gradually my body relaxes.
I try to stay awake so I can talk to Aunt Grace, but I’m more tired than I realize and finally, I give into sleep. I dream of Mom’s real smile, not the fake one she gave her cons, and it brings me peace.
Chapter 11
The next morning, I wake up under the covers and tucked into bed. Aunt Grace must have found me in the closet and moved me. Sometimes me and Clover read in the closet, snuggled in the back with my flashlight. It’s not odd for her to find me there. It’s happened several times over the years I’ve lived here.
Still, I wish she would have woken me up so I could tell her about the note. I will today.
When I emerge from my room, the Juice Truck is gone, and my mermaid messenger bag sits in the kitchen next to my now charged phone.
I go through my morning routine—shower, dress, and breakfast. Then I prep a crockpot full of beans, spices, and vegetable broth. After that, I do some light cleaning. Other than regular chores, my aunt doesn’t expect extra from me. But I do it anyway because I know it makes her happy, and well, I want to earn my keep. I want her to know how much it means to me that she took me in.
I’m not sure what Mom was like growing up around here, and Aunt Grace has never said, but I suspect the younger version of my mom is much like the older version—a complete disorganized slob. The fact is, I’m used to keeping things clean and kept, so it comes naturally to do it here, too.
Clover whines to go out, and I finally give in to the inventible. I go to every window and scope out the side, back, and front yards, looking for lurking shadows of big sixteen-year-old MMA fighters.
Other than the usual sunny Florida day and our colorful, decorative yard, nothing seems off.
Still, I throw the bolt on our front door and crack it open to see. Clover sticks her nose out and sniffs, and I would think she’d do one of her muffled barks if she smelled something rotten, say like Vail.
But Clover only nudges the door wider and bravely trots down the steps into our yard. I follow, my bag tight against me, creeping out onto our front porch. A moped horn beeps, and I jump back, almost falling over my own feet, but it’s just our neighbor buzzing past. With a grin, she waves, and I hesitantly wave back.
Surely the coast is clear, though. She wouldn’t have beeped if some hulking boy was hovering nearby, right?
Still, I slink off to my bike with Clover following, and as quickly as I can, I tuck her into the padded basket and get on the coastal highway. But my heart just isn’t it. I don’t feel the enthusiasm that I usually do when I start my day. Maybe I should turn around and hide under my covers instead.
I keep going, though, because that’s just who I am. I don’t give up. Or at least not easily.
By the time I’m five minutes down the road, I notice something’s not right. It’s harder than usual to peddle my bike. I find a spot to pull over where a row of sand dunes separates the highway from the beach and the ocean. I give both tires a squeeze, finding the back one low.
It’s not unusual for my tires to occasionally go low, especially if they get a sand spur stuck in them, still though my imagination gets a little wonky. Did Vail do something to it?
The convenience store where Mama Garcia works sits a quarter-mile up at the fork in the road. I wish there was someplace, any place else, but the next air machine would be at the state park and Lolli won’t make it.
Pulling into the convenience store, I don’t look toward the windows as I feed four valuable quarters into the slot and work quickly. I know Mama Garcia is watching. I can feel her witchy gaze.
As I pump, I see an elderly lady get out of her car and walk into the store, and it makes me think of a time a few years ago…
“How do you know which one?” I ask, watching people go in and out of the convenience store.
Mom eyes an elderly woman walking in. “Depends on the con. Today I’m a widow moving across the country with my child. That’ll play on the heartstrings of elderly women. Got to look at the car, too, not the way they’re dressed. That one that just walked in?”
I nod, eying the elderly lady with curly gray hair and bright red lipstick.
“She’s driving a Lexus. She’s got money.” Mom hands me the eye drops. “Get ready. This is the one.” She puts our plain Nissan Sentra in drive and rolls up a few spaces away from the shiny Lexus.
Together we climb out, and when the elderly lady emerges from the convenience store, I squirt the eye drops in my eyes and start to sob.
“Oh, it’s okay.” Mom comes down in front of me. “Not so loud,” she whispers.
I take it down a notch to more of a snivel. “What are we going to do?” I blubber, wiping my nose.
“I don’t know,” Mom says. “We’ll get money somewhere. I promise.”
The elderly lady hesitates as she begins to open her door. “Anything I can do to help?”
With her back still to the elderly lady, Mom winks at me, then works up her own set of watery eyes. She doesn’t even have to use the eye drops to do it. Maybe one day I’ll get that good at it. Slowly, she turns around. “No, it’s okay,” she says to the elderly lady.
I grip mom, hiccupping, crying more.
The elderly lady leaves her Lexus and carefully approaches. “You sure?”
Mom catches her own sob in this brave hitch of her breath. “My husband recently passed, and we’re driving across the country to move into my sister’s attic. But someone broke into our car and stole my purse. All my money was in that purse.”
Mom turns to look down at me, giving me a quick e
ye that means I need to kick in the drama. I do, blubbering my lips.
The elderly lady’s shoulders slump, right along with her expression, as she looks at us. “Oh, dear.” She pulls her purse around. “I have some money. Here, let me help.”
Within a few minutes, and just like that, we had five hundred dollars that we didn’t have before. If I could go back and undo everything we did, I would. But I can’t. All I can do is be as good as possible from here on out. Eventually, that’s got to make up for all the bad.
When I’m done with my tires, I’m careful to coil the air hose and put it back on its hook to show Mama Garcia I’m conscientious. Then me and Clover are back in motion.
I go first to the Juice Truck to talk to Aunt Grace about last night, but the line is already stretched down the sidewalk. She doesn’t have time for me. I’ll talk to her later about last night’s visitor.
From there I head straight across Piper Island, cutting through the historic downtown area, and over to the marina and Diamond. By the time me and Clover pull up to their yacht slip, my back tire’s losing air again. Crap. Between my busted flip-flops and my questionable tire, my repair expenses are mounting up.
The ocean breeze kicks in, whirling the scent of low tide and silt up my nostrils. Bleh. I grab Clover and trek it down the dock toward Diamond’s yacht. I spy her in the cockpit, kicked back in a black miniskirt, black tank top, and dark shades.
She waves me in and straightening my neck scarf, I step from the dock on board. I climb up and over and into the cockpit and put Clover down so she can inspect the area. With a sigh, I plop down on the cushion across from Diamond, and I lay my vintage bag down.
Diamond looks at me over her sunglasses. “How’d it go yesterday?”
“Horrible.” I proceed to tell her all about my visit to The Pit, Vail, and what happened at my house last night. I don’t tell her about Mama Garcia because I don’t want to explain why Mama Garcia doesn’t like me. I don’t want Diamond to know about my mom. Or that Mama Garcia sort of accused me of taking the capsule to “stir up drama.”
The Case of the Bad Twin Page 5
