As I’m pushing my phone away, a text comes in from Rocco: WHERE ARE YOU?
Me: IN MY KITCHEN.
Rocco: I’M HUNGRY. GOT ANY FOOD?
Me: WHERE ARE YOU?
Rocco: IN YOUR PLAYHOUSE.
BE RIGHT THERE, I text back.
Opening the ‘fridge, I grab the first thing I see—half a veggie sub from yesterday, or maybe the day before—and then I open the back door. Clover trots behind me as we follow the brick path over to the playhouse shaded by several tall and floppy banana palms.
I haven’t used this playhouse in months. Aunt Grace goes and gives me this great house, and I don’t even use it. Yeah, I’m a horrible niece.
All the windows are open, and I walk right in to find Rocco sitting in my turquoise hanging chair flipping through a picture book. He glances up at me and smiles, and despite my crappy mood, my stomach still flitter-flatters.
I hand him the sandwich, and while he unwraps it and begins munching, I move over to sit at the tiny yellow table where I used to have tea parties with Clover and my dolls. I pick up one of the dolls sitting in the chair at the right, and I straighten her checkered dress. I need to start having tea parties again if anything, so Aunt Grace knows I appreciate this playhouse.
“What’s with the long face?” Rocco asks.
“Nothing,” I mumble.
I keep looking at the doll, idly fiddling with her fluffy collar as I listen to Rocco eat and swallow.
“Cute little house,” he says.
“Yeah.” I sigh. “Aunt Grace put it together for me when I first came to live here.” I put the doll back in her chair and pat her little head.
In my peripheral, I see Rocco lean down and pick up Clover. He feeds her a tiny chunk of vegan cheese and she licks his entire hand. “Seriously,” Rocco says. “What’s wrong?”
“Aunt Grace is mad at me. Vail came here.”
Rocco pauses in feeding Clover. “Are you okay? What did he want?”
“He wanted to know why I was spreading rumors about him and Josie.”
“Because they’re true?”
“Well, anyway, I peppered him. Actually, I peppered his crotch.”
Rocco busts out laughing. “You did what?”
Despite being in a bummed mood, I smile. “It was pretty funny.”
“I bet.”
“But then this morning…” I tell Rocco about the dog poo. “I watched the footage from the camera you put out, but it was too grainy.”
“Hence the reason why your aunt is mad?”
“Yeah.” I shrug. “Guess all my running around is working, though.”
Rocco finishes off the last bite and wads up the wrapper. “How so?”
“Well, I now know there is someone else involved, this kid with a mohawk. I’ve managed to stir up enough trouble that there is now a hundred and fifty-dollar reward being offered. I’m making people mad, and when people get mad, they do stupid things.” At least that’s what my mom told me.
“And stupid things lead to us finding out who took the capsule?” Rocco asks.
I nod. “Yeah, but I’ve also been bullied by an MMA fighter not once, but multiple times. Clover has been threatened. My aunt has suffered explosive poo. Now I’m grounded and out of time.”
Rocco slides out of the hanging chair. “Never thought I’d say this, but I’m kinda wishing you were the dog-with-bone version of yourself right now.”
I look up at him. I kinda wish I was that version too.
“Either way,” he says. “Full speed ahead for me and Diamond today. We’re going to find this thing.”
“But, what about me?”
“What about you?”
I’m grounded, I want to remind him, and this is my thing, the capsule. They can’t go on without me. But, then I think, grounded-shmounded, right? I can avoid the Juice Truck and Aunt Grace. This is my first time being grounded. If she catches me, a second grounding will be worse. But, probably not too much worse.
No, what am I thinking? Wasn’t I just worried about making Aunt Grace madder?
Even as I think this, my brain starts strategizing exactly how to avoid Aunt Grace. This isn’t good. This isn’t how I should be thinking right now.
Rocco holds up his hands. “Up to you, but I’m definitely meeting up with Diamond.”
I don’t want them meeting up without me. We’re this close to figuring this out. Am I really going to let a little grounding stop me?
I’m a bad influence on my own self. Yet, still, my brain continues to spin. Yeah, I can totally leave for the day and Aunt Grace will never know.
I wonder if this is the thought process my mom goes through before committing a crime. Right-wrong-right-wrong. I mean, it’s not like I’m doing anything illegal. I’m just skipping out on being grounded.
I tighten my ponytail. “Okay, let’s go.”
Chapter 30
Rocco tells me he has to stop at his apartment, and then he’ll meet me and Diamond at the ferry, then he putters away on his step scooter.
As I’m double checking my messenger bag, I unfold the reward paper Diamond gave me, and I smooth it out. I look at the pictures of all the items—the photo of Grandma Susan signing paperwork, the tiny plastic figurine dressed as our mascot, Grandpa Jack’s hand-carved mermaid, the VCR tape, the hurricane album, and the magazine naming Piper Island a top ten destination.
Just put a new capsule together for next year. I can’t believe Principal Berger even suggested that. It took me a year to research, carefully pick, and assemble the items, all of which trace straight back to my family, the Pipers. I can’t just put a new one together.
I don’t want to. I want this one.
I trail my finger over the black and white photo of Grandma Susan, smiling, holding a pen poised above the legal documents, wearing a floral neck scarf. Aunt Grace is right, my grandparents would have been proud of what I’m doing. I wonder what they would have to say about Mom becoming a criminal. Based on what my aunt said, I have a feeling they wouldn’t have been too surprised.
I can’t believe Mom wanted to move away from this place. I can’t imagine living anywhere else now. I love living on an island named after my family.
My gaze trails over the other items, coming back to the picture of the tiny mascot. Cocking my head, I study it a bit closer, zeroing in on the plastic guy and not the shark suit. I’ve been so focused on the mascot outfit that I haven’t looked beyond it. That plastic guy, I’ve seen it somewhere before.
Mr. Taylor.
Grabbing my stuff, I leave Clover in the house and lock up.
I cross our carport, duck under the bamboo palms that separate our yard from Mr. Taylor’s and knock on his side door.
“Penny-Ann!” He calls, and I step back and look up to see him in the upstairs window. “Perfect timing. I need your help. I’m hanging a mirror and could really use a second set of hands. Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”
“And I have a question,” I tell him.
“Door’s open. Come on up.”
I let myself in the side door, cruise across his kitchen, and start up the stairs. As they always do when I come here, my eyes trail the multitude of photos taken from all over the world. Mr. Taylor used to be a travel photographer for a magazine and now he teaches at our six through twelve school. I think traveling and taking pictures sounds like such a cool job.
Not as cool as being a P. I. though.
The one at the very top catches my attention. It used to be in his kitchen. I love this one of Mr. Taylor on a camel in the desert. Behind him sets the sun, and all-around whirls the sand with the heavy wind. His dark blue eyes squint against the sandstorm, and a white scarf around his neck blows to the side in a long trail. But it’s the camel I love the most. The wind has caught his lips, forming them into a toothy grin, and as I always do, I giggle. Yeah, I love this picture.
“Hey,” I say, walking into Mr. Taylor’s bedroom.
Standing on a ladder, he gla
nces over his shoulder at me. “You are a lifesaver. Come hold this corner so I can mark where I want it.”
I come up beside him, holding the wood framed mirror, and he takes a pencil from behind his ear and makes a few marks. Together, we lower the mirror to the ground and while he hammers in a couple of hangers, I turn to look at the display case that sits in the corner of his room.
The reason why I came over.
It used to be in his office, and me and Aunt Grace helped him move it in here last year. I begin to walk toward it, and he catches my movement as he comes down off the ladder. “What’s up?” He asks.
Leaning in, I study the numerous shelves and the organized items on display, some in their original boxes and some out. It looks like he’s had them since he was my age, or younger.
I see original Star Wars figurines and Star Trek, too. There’s a Smurf on a skateboard and a Tarzan still in its box. There are Power Rangers, Buck Rogers, Batman, and Superman. I see ET, mutant turtles, Donald Duck, He-man, and Gremlins. There’s so many, it’s impossible to catalog them all. But it’s the one on the bottom right that I really zero in on.
Yep, it’s the exact same plastic figurine.
Kneeling down on his green carpet, I take a closer look at the box labeled G. I. Joe.
From my back pocket, I pull out my phone and bring up the pictures of the items inside the time capsule. I zoom in on the plastic figurine dressed as a shark and I hold it up to the display case, motioning Mr. Taylor to look.
“It’s the same doll, isn’t it?” I ask.
Smoothing his fingers down his salt and pepper beard, he leans in and gives my phone a study. “Yes, it’s the 1975 Talking Man G. I. Joe.” He clicks his tongue. “I can’t believe someone dressed it in that.”
“Danae’s father,” I say. “He was the first school mascot. He donated this. What’s it worth?”
“Well, mine is still in its original case, so roughly $4,500.” He nods to my phone. “Loose like that? I’d pay a thousand, probably.”
I gasp. “Are you serious?”
“Completely.”
Jumping up, I tuck my phone away. “I don’t think Danae’s father knows what he donated. I’ve got to go.”
Mom was right, it’s what’s inside the capsule. Whoever took it knew they could get a thousand bucks for the vintage G. I. Joe.
Chapter 31
Luckily, the ferry is only a mile or so to the west, and I don’t have to go anywhere near Aunt Grace and the Juice Truck to get there. I’m not sure if she told Mr. Taylor I was grounded. If so, then I’m already busted. Mr. Taylor saw me ride Lolli away from the house. Though I’m pretty sure Mr. Taylor would have reminded me I was grounded if he knew about it. Or maybe he texted Aunt Grace.
Either way, I keep going. I’m too close to give up now.
As I peddle I call Danae. She doesn’t answer, so I leave a message. “Danae, hey it’s Penny-Ann. I don’t know when your parents are getting in from their trucking route, but I just found out the tiny mascot your dad donated is a vintage G. I. Joe worth a thousand bucks. I’m guessing he didn’t realize that. Can you have him call me?”
I hang up and try to text Diamond and Rocco about the G. I. Joe but peddling and texting don’t exactly go together. I’ll hit them both up when I get to the ferry.
I cut down a side street, finish the last half mile, and roll Lolli to a stop at the port. The ferry is on its way back from the mainland, cutting through the channel water. Good, I timed this perfect. I’ve got a few minutes before it arrives.
I shoot off a quick text to Diamond and Rocco about the G. I. Joe.
WHERE ARE YOU? She immediately texts back.
Me: AT THE FERRY, HOPING TO SCORE INFO ON THE MOHAWK KID. WHERE ARE YOU?
Diamond: ON OUR BOAT. HEADING YOUR WAY.
Me: WAIT, DO A QUICK ONLINE SEARCH AND SEE IF ANYONE POSTED THAT G. I. JOE FOR SALE.
Diamond: GREAT IDEA! I’LL TEXT WHEN I KNOW MORE.
I head over to the fruit stand and ask the lady working it, “Hey, you see pretty much everybody that comes over from the mainland, right?”
“I’m here every day.”
“Ever see a kid with a mohawk?”
“Sorry, hon.” She nods over her shoulder. “Might try Fred.”
By Fred, I assume she means the guy with a reflective vest who directs traffic on and off the ferry. He’s sitting in a lawn chair, waiting for the ferry to dock, and when I stroll up to him, he glances at me from under a straw hat.
“Fred?” I ask.
“Yep.”
“Ever see a kid with a mohawk hanging out?”
He scrunches his face. “Can’t say I have.”
“Penny-Ann!” I hear and glance over my shoulder to see Turner, the little boy with the cat that I helped find, waving from his yard in front of the lighthouse. Returning his wave, I push Lolli across the ferry’s parking lot and over onto his lawn.
“How’s Nitzi, the cat?” I ask, laying Lolli down in the grass.
“Good, she’s inside. Where’s Clover?”
“I left her at home today.”
“Bummer.” He waves me over to his swing set, and while he climbs the ladder to the slide, I slip into one of the swings. I glance again at the ferry, getting closer. I’m definitely going to go onboard and talk to Ean’s mom, Captain Fanny. She sees everybody. Surely, she’s seen a kid with a mohawk.
Turner takes a seat at the top of the slide. “What are you doing here?”
Using my toe, I push off, giving myself a little momentum. “Waiting for the ferry to dock. I’m looking for a kid with a mohawk. Figured I ask the ferry workers and Captain Fanny.”
Tapping his finger to his chin, Turner thinks about that a moment, and I didn’t realize until this very second that he may know. He’s right here. He sees the ferry come and go every single day. He’s got the best seat on the island.
The ferry blows its horn as it begins to pull into the dock.
“Does it have to be real?” Turner asks.
I stop swinging. “What do you mean?”
Turner points, and I follow his finger all the way over to the top deck of the green and white ferry where the pilot house sits. Inside stands Captain Fanny and right beside her is Ean.
He’s wearing the same hat I’ve seen a million times before—woven black and fitted to his head with a white pirate on the side and black and white spikes running down the middle. Yes, I’ve seen it many times before, but it didn’t occur to me that the mohawk in question could be a fake one.
I scramble out of the swing, dizzy now with excitement. I think I really did just find the mystery mohawk kid, and it’s Ean of all people. He is involved in this!
I look around for Rocco. Why isn’t he here yet? What the heck is taking him so long? I grab my phone, take the best picture I can, and text it to him. EAN’S THE MOHAWK KID!
So, Josie and Ean (aka mohawk kid) were both on campus that night. They broke into the school and stole the capsule in order to get the G. I. Joe and sell it. They spin some lies, blaming both me and Rocco because they probably think that no one is going to figure out the G. I. Joe angle.
Which still leaves Vail. How does he really factor into this? Was he there that night, too, or did Josie bring him in later? Or maybe he’s not involved after all and I only thought he was.
Either way, I sure am going to find out. Plus, where do they get off blaming me and Rocco? That’s just wrong.
“What is it?” Turner asks, still sitting on the top of the slide.
I grab Lolli off the grass. “Gotta go.”
I keep my eyes planted on the pilothouse and my heart skips in my chest when I see Ean open the door and come down the stairs. He pulls his phone from his pocket and exchanges texts with someone as he strolls down the pedestrian lane of the ferry, heading toward the exit.
He’s going somewhere, and I am for sure following him.
I look around for a place to hide and end up tucking in beside the fruit stand,
giving the lady who works there a little smile. I peek around the corner and watch as Ean steps off the ferry, weaving his way through the cars that are waiting in line to get on. He makes it over to a bike rack, standing for a second to read whatever is on his phone.
I continue watching him, getting a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. This isn’t good. Ean is supposed to be Rocco’s best friend, and Josie is supposed to be mine. I can’t believe they would do this to us. What the heck did either of us do to cause this? I don’t get it. They are going to be in big trouble.
Ean unlocks his bike and the bad feeling turns to panic. I need to follow him, but he can’t know I am. I wait until he gets a couple of blocks up, and I begin to peddle in his wake. He’s got multiple gears, and I wish I had Rocco’s bike right now. Maybe when all of this is over I can broker a deal with him to borrow it on occasion.
I keep peddling as I fish inside my messenger bag and grab my phone. I dial Rocco, and he doesn’t pick up. I leave a very simple, “Where are you?”
Trailing Ean and his mohawk cap are easier than I expect, and I begin to wonder if he knows I’m behind him and is leading me into a trap. He takes a left, and I don’t follow. I keep right on going past the turn.
I jump the sidewalk, swivel around, and duck under a sable palm. From under the fronds I watch Ean go all the way to the end of the road. He doesn’t look back, he goes left.
That’s odd. Left is a dead-end that spills into a boatyard that Captain Fanny owns. Beyond that are marsh and the intra-coastal waterway. I circle through the neighborhood, taking a side road, and come upon the boatyard from a different angle. I see Ean’s bike propped against the fence.
Up above a cloud shifts and the sun beams me right in the eyes. Squinting, I keep peddling and when I emerge from the sunbeam, I spy Ean climbing a ladder up into a dry-docked sailboat.
I pull Lolli over behind a pile of lumber and grab my phone to fire off a quick text to Rocco with my location.
The sound of an engine cuts through the quiet and I watch as a blue truck comes down the road and pulls right into the boatyard. I know that blue truck. That’s Vail. He keeps going past the boat where Ean is and pulls up under a pass-through covered workspace with marsh on the backside and the boatyard on this side. Other than his truck and miscellaneous supplies, the work area sits empty.
The Case of the Bad Twin Page 15
