Shirley Link & The Black Cat

by Ben Zackheim

  They're keeping Bobby for questioning. The word from Officer Toobin is that he's cooperating. I sure hope so. I don't think Bobby's guilty of anything except being an awkward teenager. Of course, if he gets off he still has to go home to a dad he doesn't like.

  Wait a minute.

  He said that sometimes running is the best thing to do. I got the sense he was trying to tell me something. I think I get it now. He’s not planning to go home at all. At least not for long.

  Wylie is walking me home, but I need to take one more detour. I steer toward The Olivander's house.

  "Uh-oh," Wylie says.

  "I need to try one more thing."

  I knock on their door. Again, no answer.

  "Erin!" I yell. "I need to talk to you about the ring."

  Nothing. What else can I say to her? What would draw her out of the house?

  "I can help you. I don't want to get you into trouble. If you're innocent, I'd like to clear your name."

  Still nothing.

  "The police have Bobby. They're probably coming here next."

  I don't know that for sure, but it is likely. No one answers. Maybe she isn't home. I have one more arrow in my quiver.

  "I know about you and Bobby. I know you plan on running away together!"

  "Huh?" says Wylie. I gesture for him to shush.

  "YOU WHAT?" I hear from inside. It's a woman's voice. Mrs. Olivander's, I think.

  "I don't know what she's talking about, Mom!" I hear Erin screech.

  The door slams open. Both mother and daughter show every sign of wanting to take my head off.

  "What are you talking about?" Mrs. Olivander hollers at me.

  "She's a liar, Mom!" Erin yells from behind her.

  Liar is a strong word. I made an educated guess. I know she and Bobby have been boyfriend and girlfriend for a few months. I know they both feel like outcasts in their own town. Bobby can't even stand to be home. I think Erin did "borrow" the ring when Bobby showed it to her. But, as usual, she couldn't go through with it and she dropped it where it would be found. My bet is the ring held a certain romanticism for both of them, having belonged to Bobby's mom when she was alive. Maybe Erin wants it to be her wedding ring when they elope.

  And I tell her that. In front of her mother and Wylie, I put my cards on the table and hope I'm right.

  From the look on Erin's face, I'm close enough.

  At first, she doesn't say anything. Then she sits down on the porch swing and starts to cry.

  "It's Bobby who wants me to have the ring. I stole it without him knowing, but I couldn't go through with it. I didn't mean for him to get into trouble, but his dad scares me. I dropped it when I heard him come home. He barged in and found us there. He went ballistic. It was... I was scared. Bobby blocked his dad and I ran."

  "Why did you run from me and Wylie earlier?"

  "I don't know. You always have that expression on your face, like you're trying to solve something. You creep me out. I feel guilty enough all the time, without you analyzing me."

  Okay. I had no idea I creep her out. I look at Wylie, hoping he’ll defend me, but he shrugs.

  "Please, Erin. Just tell the police what happened. No one committed a crime."

  "And what about Bobby's dad? You think he's going to welcome Bobby home when he learns the truth?"

  "Bobby can stay at my place for a while," Wylie says. My surprise must be all over my face. "What? It might help him and his dad cool down."

  "No. Definitely. Great idea, Wylie," I reassure him.

  "There will be no eloping, young woman," Mrs. Olivander growls. "You are too young to run off and get married with someone like Bobby Trimble."

  "What's that supposed to mean?" Erin whines.

  "Excuse us," I say, backing away. We don't need to stick around for this conversation.

  "Thanks for nothing, Shirley!" Erin hisses.

  "Thanks for everything," Mrs. Olivander counters.

  But which one of them is right?

  It's a little awkward to go home since we're right next door to the Olivanders. I can hear them screeching at each other from my front porch. I feel bad that I blew Erin's plan. Sometimes my focus on solving a case is pretty ruthless. What if Erin and Bobby's best chance to be happy is to be together somewhere else? They'll be eighteen in a couple of months. They should be able to make their own choices.

  Wylie gives me his most reassuring smile and pats me on the shoulder.

  "That was fun," I say, pushing my hat down on my head. I feel like crawling into a cave to hide.

  "You did the right thing."

  "Maybe. Thanks for the offer to give Bobby a place to stay." I nudge him with my elbow.

  "As long as he goes along, you know my folks will be fine with it." He's right. Wylie's parents have skin as thick as stone. They adopted Wylie when he was a troubled kid. He's super lucky. But, then again, so are they. They have a spectacularly kind son.

  "So the ring wasn't stolen," Wylie says. "Could the other missing things just be lost?"

  I shake my head. We can't go down this path or I'll lose focus. "I thought the same thing. But there are too many coincidences. And Mrs. Smiley's right. It feels like something is wrong."

  "Look at you," Wylie says, grinning. It's his turn to nudge me with his elbow. "Following your feelings. Marie is getting to you!"

  "Marie gets to me like ten times a day," I say, exhausted.

  "Yeah, I know how that is."

  I lie down on the couch when I get inside. The adrenaline of the last few hours is fading and I'm starting to feel yucky again. My vision is blurred by sickly green spots from the fading fever. While I think about everything I just learned, I watch those spots dance around before my eyes.

  Five valuables missing from five households. No sign of breaking and entering in the two houses I've been in. The fact that no one locks their doors around here doesn't help.

  I turn on my phone and check eBay again. No sign yet of anyone local trying to sell a gold box, a presidential pin, cufflinks or an emerald bracelet I wish I knew what the Smiths were missing. Maybe I can get the answer from Mom.

  Sunglasses found in Mrs. Smiley's yard. Could be anyone's. One of Mrs. Smiley's construction guys, her son, her landscape guy. Probably not a clue.

  Argh! I've never seen such slippery crimes before. Maybe I'm too sick to see the lines come together. Or this crook is excellent at his job.

  My eyes start to close. I have a couple more hours before Mom and Dad get home.

  My cell phone rings. I glance at the screen. "Hi, Mrs. Smiley."

  "Hello Shirley. Sorry to bother you, but you asked me to call if someone came by for the sunglasses. I just got a call from a man. He says he's coming by to pick them up."

  "Who?"

  "I don't know. He was very curt, to be honest. I feel a little wary of being alone here when he arrives. Would you mind if I just left them on the front porch in an envelope."

  "Please don't, Mrs. Smiley. I'll be right over."

  No time to be sick. This may be the first break in the case.

  Chapter Eight

  The Black Cat

  Mrs. Smiley and I stare out her living room window, waiting. Finally, after a stressed silence, she asks the obvious. "Do you think the owner of the sunglasses is the crook?"

  "There's no way to tell," I say, taking a seat on her couch. "It's weird that a pair of sunglasses would be lost under a window in the back of your house. Still," I add, "there might be another explanation. It depends on who shows up." I lean back and stare at the ceiling. "Since we've never seen a series of crimes like this in town before, I think the guy is one of three types. He could be young and stealing at a large scale for the first time. Or he could be from out of t
own, and Shelburne Falls is just the latest target. Or," I add, hearing the doubt in my own voice, "he's new to town. So if the owner of those sunglasses is young, new in town or from somewhere else, then I'd consider him worth investigating."

  BAMBAM

  We both jump, the knock on the door sending a jolt through both of us. While I was going on and on, the owner of those sunglasses had walked up the path without us noticing.

  "Oh, dear," Mrs. Smiley whispers.

  "Don't worry. It'll be fine." I pat her on the hand.

  I go to the front door, take a deep breath, and open it.

  Oh, dear, indeed.

  "Hi, Officer Sparks," I say. He fills the doorway, arms crossed.

  "You have my sunglasses?" His chest is puffed out. He's trying to scare me, show me how big he is.

  "Yessir," I say. Mrs. Smiley hands the Ray Bans to me and I give them to him.

  He takes them and turns to go without a word. Without even a thank you! This guy is really rude.

  "Officer Sparks?" He turns around and sighs, as if I'm wasting his time.

  "We found those in the back yard."

  "Yeah? So?" he says. He's trying to bully me. I won't stand for that.

  "So what were you doing there, sir?"

  He puts his hands on his hips and smirks.

  "I was investigating reports of a suspicious person in the neighborhood." He shakes his head and chuckles. "I've heard about your little adventures, Link. Cute. Like I said before, leave the crime fighting to the pros. You just go watch the Disney Channel or something, okay?"

  He walks away and makes sure I hear another mean-spirited laugh.

  Mom has her work cut out for her with this guy.

  It appears he's telling the truth. But he could be a talented liar, too.

  "Who was he?" Mrs. Smiley asks, a sour look on her face. "He could use a lesson in manners."

  "His name is Sparks. He's new in..." I stop.

  "What is it, Shirley?"

  "He fits one of my profiles. He's new in town."

  "Oh dear," Mrs. Smiley says again.

  I get home just before Mom does, but I can tell she suspects I was up to something.

  We eat dinner without a word, which is a sure sign that I'm under the microscope. If I mention the robberies, she'll know I disobeyed her orders to stay home. So I stew in my thoughts.

  Could Officer Sparks be the crook? A police officer can snoop around without being suspected. He could knock on any door in town to see if someone's home, and no one would suspect a thing. Just a guy doing his job.

  Then again, maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe he dropped the glasses in Mrs. Smiley's back yard while following up on a call.

  I need to know more about him.

  "Where did Officer Sparks live before he moved here last month?" I ask.

  Mom chews her food in silence and studies me. She wasn't expecting me to mention a police officer. Now she's trying to draw the lines in her head. I'm sure she's wondering why I'd be asking about Sparks when my latest obsession is the string of small robberies. It doesn't take long for her face to show a spectacular amount of irritation.

  "Don't you even think of going there, Shirley Link," she finally says, pointing her fork at me.

  "I'm just asking!"

  "Why would you suspect Officer Sparks?"

  "What are we talking about?" asks Dad. He takes pride in not knowing half of what Mom and I talk about. But sometimes he likes to be in the loop. This time, his curiousity wins out.

  "Nothing," Mom says.

  "Okay," he responds, quickly. He knows when to back off.

  "I don't suspect him," I say, taking a small bite of my salad, hoping Mom will change the subject if she sees me talking with my mouth full. "I just... I had some assumptions that I wanted to test out."

  "Never assume, Shirley," Dad says with a mouth full of salad.

  "Fine. I had some hypotheses, Dad."

  "What hypotheses?" Mom asks. I notice she's not fighting me as hard as she usually does. Maybe she's as stumped by this case as I am.

  I explain the missing sunglasses and how Sparks fit one of my three profiles of the crook. New to town, out-of-towner, or young.

  "That's a reach, Shirley," she says after thinking about it for a minute.

  "Yeah. But I don't have anything else to work with. Do you?"

  "Good try. I'm not telling you a thing, except go to bed and get some rest, or you'll never feel better again."

  "How will you make your mother miserable with worry if you're stuck in bed forever?" Dad says, amusing himself more than anyone else.

  I roll my eyes, ignoring him. "Mom, I know you're as confused by this case as I am. From what I've seen, it's tough to even say there's been a crime committed! I think I can help, if you give me the chance."

  "Shirley, you're going to make a very good detective one day. We all know that. But you're a teenager. I can't have you getting involved in a case that the police are aware of and are on top of. If you keep this up, you'll get in trouble, and so will I. Just drop it."

  I clear the table and let the silence speak for me. No one in this family likes to be excluded from anything interesting. It's who we are. I know Mom means well, but how do I just let something as intriguing as a serial burglar slip away?

  Oh, goody. The cat is back.

  Elvis.

  I can't believe people are calling him Elvis. Every meow is like a cry for help. Or like he stubbed his big toe. Wait, no, cats don't have toes. So this is like he's in the middle of swallowing a watermelon. Yeah, that is what he sounds like.

  I slide open my window and peek out. I've never really seen him before. He’s cute. A slim, shiny-coated black cat with big green eyes. He spots me and cocks his head in a perfect kitty pose. So he’s cute, and he knows it. Maybe Marie and I should call him Wylie instead.

  "Meow," he warbles.

  "Can you keep it down out there, please?"

  "Meow."

  "Thank you."

  "Meow."

  I close the window.

  "MeerowoweeEEEEEEeeoooooooowuh ACK!"

  I cover my head with a pillow. After ten seconds, something miraculous happens. He stops. Just like that. Silence.

  I look out the window again and notice his tail as it disappears into our bushes. He's headed toward the Olivanders' house. Curious, I keep watching to see what his plans are. I spot him sniffing around the front porch bannister. He peeks around the corner at the living room window. It's half open. He hops onto the window sill, sticks his head in the house with his butt sticking in the air, and slips inside like a black, fuzzy snake.

  That's not good. Mrs. Olivander is viciously allergic to cats.

  I slip out of my bedroom window and slide down the gutter. I sneak around the wall that separates our two houses and tiptoe up their porch's stairs.

  Looking back, I can see my mom and dad reading in our living room. All they'd have to do is glance up and they'd see me. I duck down a little bit and knock on the Olivanders' door.

  No answer. These people will do anything to avoid me. Can I blame them?

  Oh, wait, their mail slot is slightly ajar. I see that a couple of magazines didn't quite drop through. No one has used this front door since mail delivery, which is usually around one o'clock. So the lights are on, but no one's home.

  I sneak back to my house, struggle up the drain pipe, and slip into my room, winded. A Google search later, I track down Mrs. Olivander's phone numbers. I leave a message on her cell that I saw the black cat sneak in through their living room window.

  When I call their home phone, I can hear it ring from my bedroom. I glance out the window as I leave a message, and then I spot the cat frantically trying to
crawl out of the space. The phone's loud ring probably freaked him out. He dashes to the rear of the house.

  Then I hear something odd.

  "Get over here," someone hisses from nearby, though I can't tell from where. It sounds like a man, but the words were whispered more than spoken. It was probably just Mr. Howard, our neighbor two doors down, trying to catch the cat. I hope he doesn't hurt the little guy.

  That's all I can do for now. Exhausted, I push my forehead into my pillow and try to relax. I hope I have all my senses back tomorrow. It feels like the case is due for a big break.

  Chapter Nine

  Uh-oh. Jacob.

  I wake up to the sound of a woman sobbing. It's not Mom. Whoever it is, she's in the house. I shake the sleep from my head, slip on some clothes and get downstairs. Then it hits me. I'm feeling much better! Put a little toast and OJ in me and I'll be back to normal.

  Oh, I just put two socks on the same foot, so better not get cocky.

  Mrs. Olivander's voice rolls from the kitchen. She sounds miserable.

  "It was there yesterday afternoon,” she wails. “I just know she took it. I can't find her anywhere!"

  "Calm down, Sue. We'll find her. And we'll find the ring."

  Uh-oh. Another ring is missing?

  "What happened?" I ask, as I enter the kitchen. The two mothers are sitting across the table from each other, steaming coffee cups in-hand.

  "Nothing Shirley," Mom mutters.

  But my reputation precedes me, I suppose, because Mrs. Olivander opens up like a Christmas present. "Erin is gone and I can't find my husband's ring. I kept it in a shoe box in my closet. It belonged to his grandfather and it's worth a lot of money! I was depending on that ring if Erin decided to go to college."