by Ben Zackheim
Okay, so where does this leave us? Nowhere. We still have zero evidence that a thief took the gold box, zero evidence of it being misplaced, and zero evidence that one of the Watleys wanted to cash it in. Is this a crime, or not?
"What are you doing back here?" comes a man's deep voice from behind me.
I turn to see a police officer glaring at me. It's the rookie, Sparks. He still has a band aid on his ear from trying to catch Elvis at my house earlier in the week.
"Hi, Officer Sparks. I'm just helping the Watleys find something that went missing."
"You're Officer Link's daughter?"
"Yes, Sir."
"You can't just walk around wherever you want. It doesn't look like the family's even home. You really think they'd want you here while they're away? Now come on." He swings one arm in a grand gesture to get me out of the yard.
As we walk, he lectures me. "Not a good time to be looking suspicious, with all these robberies going on. You just do your homework and let the pros take care of things. Go."
We get to the sidewalk and he watches me leave. When I glance over my shoulder he glares, arms crossed.
So much for making friends with the new guy. Still, I have him to thank for verifying that the police are getting a bunch of robbery reports, too.
Five knocks on the Olivander's door and I can tell someone is home, but they're not answering. The first knock startled whoever's inside. I heard a small sound, like a plate clicking against a fork.
"Erin?" I call out. "It's Shirley. I just have a couple of questions."
Silence. I peek in the window, but the shades are closed. I could go around the back, but I don't want another run-in with Officer Sparks.
I should probably get home anyway. I turn to leave, when I spot Erin on the sidewalk walking toward me. She hasn't noticed me yet.
"Hi Erin," I say, as cheerfully as possible. She stops where she is. She wants to run, but my saying hello makes it hard to do.
"What do you want?" she says.
"Why did you run away from us yesterday?"
"None of your business," she answers, sulking. "You can't be on our property anymore."
I move to the sidewalk. She walks past me and marches up her porch stairs. Somehow, I have to stop her from going inside, if I want to get any information. It's not like I have the energy to chase her around Shelburne Falls.
"Your mother is looking for her Kennedy Memorial Pin. Did you steal it?"
She opens her front door. She's about to go inside. I need to rattle her somehow...
"The police are looking for someone who broke into the Smith's place."
That got her attention. She faces me.
"So now everyone comes to me when they lose their keys?"
"Funny you should say that. All the robberies are small. Probably meant to look like the stolen stuff could just be lost." I let the silence linger. What I'm saying is sinking in. She's feeling trapped, but she's not running. Yet.
"I only said that because Bobby's dad just accused me of stealing his wedding ring," she mutters. "As if I'd take his dead wife's ring."
"Did you?" Her frown goes right through me. "I'm sorry, Erin. I have to ask."
"Big, smart 9th-grade detective Shirley Link on the case. Such a joke. Go waste someone else's time, kid."
She slams the door behind her.
I have a second wind. I think I'm feeling better. Nothing like being hated to get the adrenaline going!
As I head to Mrs. Smiley's house, I realize that the person hiding in the Olivander's house must have been the only other member of the family—Mrs. Olivander.
What's she ducking?
Is she afraid her daughter's guilty of something?
Mrs. Smiley greets me with another lemonade offer. I greet her back with a gleeful "Absolutely, yes, please." It takes about three gulps to swallow it all. Her lemonade tastes like summer.
She leads me upstairs, and shows me where she kept her bracelet.
"You keep all your daily jewelry on top of the dresser?" I ask her.
"Yes, I line it all up on the lace doily the night before I wear it. Earrings, then ring, then bracelet." She rubs her wrist, as if she can feel the jewelry on her skin.
"Tell me when you noticed it was missing."
She sighs, letting go of her wrist. "Well, I went out to a charity ball in Northampton three nights ago. While I was dancing, I realized I'd forgotten to put on the bracelet. It happens sometimes when I'm in a rush to get out the door. I was pretty sure I'd left it on the dresser, but I was determined to have it safely in my hands when I got home. I even turned down a dinner invitation that night so I could rush back here. My heart broke when I saw it was gone."
"Is it possible it dropped off your wrist earlier that day?"
"Yes, could be. Like I said before, it's just a feeling, but I believe someone stole it."
I'd usually dismiss a "feeling", but Marie has been spending a lot of her time talking me into using my gut more. It helped on my last case, so I take Mrs. Smiley's feeling as seriously as I can. There certainly is a lot of evidence that something is going on in this town!
I take a look around. As I search for clues I also marvel at the improvements Mrs. Smiley has made to the house. Before we found the pirate treasure this place was falling to pieces. She couldn't afford to keep it up and the bank was on the verge of taking everything from her. But now, with a windfall of gems and precious metals she can do what she wants. Her stairs look new, with the deep red wood shining against the freshly painted walls. A couple of alcoves in the wall (I think they call them coffin corners) hold sparkling statues of angels. I see her taste hasn't changed since she became wealthy. It's like she took everything she already owned and polished it. In fact, I think that's exactly what she did.
I reach the entryway when I notice something: a pair of men's Ray Ban sunglasses on a small table near the door. They could belong to her son, but...
"Mrs. Smiley?" I call up the stairs.
"Yes, dear?" she emerges from the upstairs hall.
"Whose sunglasses are those?"
"Oh, I found them out back."
"When?"
"Oh, dear," she says, realizing that this might be an important clue. The thief may have dropped the glasses while he was breaking in. "I'm sorry Shirley. I found them this morning. In the yard, below a window in the back. I was going to put up a sign to find the owner."
I give that idea some serious thought for a moment. "That," I say, "is an excellent idea."
Chapter Six
Cooldown Hill
I call the Watleys on my cell phone as Mrs. Smiley and I post signs around town. I tell them that there are no leads yet, but they should probably lock their dog door because small animals are getting in. Mr. Watley seems disappointed, as if I were supposed to figure everything out by now. I try not to let it get to me. Detective work requires patience, and a thick skin. You can't let other people's opinions get in the way.
Wiley spots me tacking a sign onto a telephone pole outside the town library.
"Hey, Shirley," he calls out, riding up on his bicycle. "Find the thief yet?"
“Yeah. You did it,” I tease. “Where's Marie?”
"I dunno. What, am I supposed to keep track of her?"
"I'm just asking, Wylie. You two were going to a movie last night."
"We didn't."
He's going into huffy mode, so I leave it at that.
"Want to help me hang signs? Mrs. Smiley found some sunglasses on her lawn, so we're trying to find the owner."
"Man, people are losing their stuff all over the place today."
That gets me doubting again. With all of this talk about disappearing things, there's little sign of anyone actually taking
anything. Is it possible all of the weirdness is just a coincidence?
Maybe we're all being a little more careless than we usually are.
Maybe there is no thief to catch.
"Dad even lost some cuff links. He loves those things," Wylie says.
Okay, I'm done doubting. It's wasting time.There's a thief in our midst. Focus, Shirley.
A police car zips by, lights flashing. Wylie and I glance at each other, then I hop on his bike seat. I wrap my arms around him as he peddles.
The road winds up Main St. and into the State Park north of town. We lose sight of the car for a minute, but as we round a bend we spot it parked on the side of the road. A couple of officers are snooping around.
"What's going on?" I ask Toobin, one of Mom's favorite officers.
"Hey, Shirley. Keep back please. I can't tell you anything, you know that."
"Does it have anything to do with Bobby?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Because he's running across the road." I point behind the officers. They turn around and see Bobby sprinting away, about fifty yards up the road. He's gathering speed to jump the creek on the other side of the street.
I doubt he can make it.
Wow, nice jump.
The officers run after him but they get bogged down in the water. He's long gone by the time they reach the other side of the creek, wet as fish
"Do you want to question him about the robberies?" I ask when we catch up.
"How do you know about the robberies?" Toobin asks, shaking water from his nice hat. Moyers, his partner, smirks. "Never mind, stupid question. Yeah, it's about the robberies. We just want to question him."
"About the missing ring."
Moyer's smile disappears. It’s his turn to ask the questions now. "How could you know about that?"
"I spoke with Erin this morning. She said Bobby's dad accused her of stealing it."
"Yeah, well, now he's decided to blame his son," Officer Moyers says, as he squeezes water from his sleeve. "Said he found it in Bobby's room, under the bed. Wants him arrested."
"That would be a dumb place to hide it. Maybe his dad just dropped it."
"Could be. Now that he's running, though, it doesn't make anything better for him."
Man, Bobby's on a real roll. He can do no right.
Wylie and I watch the officers get into their car and head back to town, lights still flashing.
"They could have offered you a ride," Wylie moans.
"They're busy. I wonder where Bobby thinks he can hide."
"Cooldown Hill is the next hill over, Shirley."
"Oh, yeah."
We look at each other for a second as it dawns on us.
"Oh, no," I finish.
Cooldown Hill got its name a long time ago, when teenagers from town started using it to "run away." It's covered in huge hardwoods, craggy rocks, and cubby hole hiding places; an excellent place to disappear after an argument with the parents. An even better place to get lost. If you're not careful, you can easily get turned around and wander into the thousands of acres of parkland to the west.
Cooldown Hill hasn't been used as much since George Gunn ran into a black bear last Fall. He fell off a cliff when he ran away and almost lost his arm. He's lucky to be alive. That bear should be waking up from hibernation just about now.
"Should we go after him?"
"I need to rest a little bit, but yeah." I'm definitely on the mend after a week of being sick. That means I'm at about half my strength. If I were smart, I'd go home and get some sleep. Mom and Dad will be home from work in a few hours. If I'm not there when they arrive, I'm going to get it.
Still, I can't let Bobby head into danger, especially since he's probably not thinking straight. Having your dad accuse you of a crime and the police on your tail is not a good frame of mind for heading into the wilderness!
After a few minutes of watching the creek water run past us, we get to our feet and try to cross without getting wet. I do well, but Wylie looks like he's been in a rainstorm by the time he catches up to me.
"Well done," I say, as he squeezes the water from his pant leg. "You should be a dancer with grace like that."
"YOU should be a dancer." Wylie is not known for his snappy comebacks. But he is good for brawn, kindness and an occasional heroic deed when criminals want to hurt me.
Within fifty steps we hit thick woods and a steep climb. I'm searching for easy paths up, but there aren't any. We're dealing with bear terrain. Humans beware.
Within five minutes, our hike takes us to a flatish area. I plop down faster than a cat in a hot spot. But just as I lean back on a super uncomfortable boulder, someone cries out nearby. It sounds like they've gone nuts. They babble and bawl. Wylie and I run toward the voice.
I'm guessing that Bobby has run into our neighborhood bear.
We come to a clearing and see Bobby standing close to the middle of it. The bear, a large black bear, is on the edge of a thicket of trees. We arrive just in time to see it charge. Luckily, it stops after a few yards. It's not going to attack yet; it's just trying to tell Bobby that he's too close.
Running into a bear in the woods is a complex thing. You need to know how they think to handle them right. Bobby might be doing the right thing by making loud noises, but this bear doesn't seem to be buying it. It would be better if Bobby changed his plan and spread his arms wide in the air, spoke in a low, calm voice and backed away without making eye contact with the bear. But Bobby doesn't seem to know that method. He keeps hollering and the bear keeps charging in small spurts.
Each time it does, it gets closer.
Luckily, Wylie, Marie and I discussed what to do in cases like this last summer. All I have to do is whisper, “It’s not working," and Wylie knows what to do.
He raises his arms in the sky and makes himself as big as he can. Then he bellows in his lowest voice, "Back up to us! Don't make eye contact with her!"
Bobby yelps, surprised. He failed to notice us, which is kind of understandable. His high-pitched scream confuses the bear. It growls. But Bobby does as Wylie instructed and backs up toward us. He raises his arms, too. The bear stands still. It's thinking.
When Bobby backs into us, the bear runs off into the woods. Three people bundled together, not backing down, looks pretty scary, even to a big bear.
We wait for a minute in complete silence. We need to be sure it's gone. Bears can look back to see if the situation has changed, and then change their minds about leaving. We hear rustling noises in the woods. At one point the sounds get closer to us. But after a few minutes we spot the bear climbing a distant hill.
"Thanks," Bobby mutters.
"That was just the way I wanted to spend my afternoon," I say.
"You got yourself in big trouble, running like that," Wylie scolds. Bobby can't meet our eyes.
"Sorry," he says. He walks back toward the road and we follow him. I glance at Wylie. He nods. He's ready to tackle Bobby if he tries to run again.
I talk to Bobby's back. "Did you steal your mom's ring?"
He stops and faces me. He points his finger in my face. "No!"
"Hey, hey." Wylie steps between us. Bobby backs off.
"My dad probably planted it there to get me out of the house. He can't wait two more months till I'm 18, I guess." He walks ahead of us again.
"So you don't know anything about the robberies?"
"What robberies?" he says over his shoulder. There’s no way to tell if he's lying when I can't even see his face. I don't answer, hoping he'll turn and look at me. He does. "What robberies?" he asks again.
He might be telling the truth. "Lots of them going on, apparently," I say.
"Yeah? Well, I don't know anything about that." He almost
starts walking again, but he frowns at me, realizing something. "And neither does Erin!"
"You can't know that, Bobby," Wylie says.
"I know Erin, and she doesn't steal. She..." He struggles for a word. "... She borrows." It's true that Erin always returns what she takes. It's an impulsive thing with her. Maybe she does it for the thrill?
"The two of you are acting weird. I'm not saying you're guilty, but it's best to be honest. You need to cooperate with the police."
"So they can arrest us for something we didn't do?"
"One way to make sure they arrest you is by running."
"Yeah? Well, sometimes running is all that's left."
The way he said that seems to be a message. I expect him to make a break for it, but he just keeps walking.
When we get to the road, Mr. Howard, a local strawberry farmer, passes by in his old, yellow Ford pickup truck. He pulls over to offer us a ride. Wylie and his bike get in the flatbed with Bobby, while I sit up front with Mr. Howard.
"How you doing, Shirley? I hear you've been sick."
"Back to normal, I guess, thanks."
"Police station?" he asks, giving me a wink.
"Wow, this is a small town."
"Yeah. Everyone's looking for Bobby," he says, smiling. "Figures you would be the one to bring him in."
It's not a happy moment, but I manage a half smile.
Chapter Seven
Shirley, the Meddler
