“When I was ten years old, I challenged a boy staying at the Crossed Palms Resort to a staring contest,” I say. “He was from Lubbock, Texas, and he swore he was the state champion in staring. The trick to staring is to not think about how long or what the person is thinking of as they are staring. The trick is to think of nothing. Zen is what Mom called it one day while we were gardening. I’m almost sure the boy is still crying over losing. He finally blinked after five long minutes.”
Scoops continues to grin. In fact, his grin might have grown even more. I go Zen until I notice the slight twitch from his bottom lip. He’s about to break and I know it.
And as predicted, Scoops looks away.
“You are good, for a kid anyway,” he says.
“I’m good, period.”
Scoops reclines in his chair and places his hands on the back of his head.
“What do you know about what happened last night after the blackout?” I ask.
Scoops’s grin turns into a glower. He rolls up his sleeves and shows me a black and blue with a few scratches.
“I became personally acquainted with the street after being kicked out of the club, if that’s what you are talking about.”
I’m sure that was Mike giving Scoops the ol’ heave-ho. Walt doesn’t believe in roughing up anyone, but sometimes Mike needs to take action with the men and women who come into the club and get aggressive. I get a tiny bit of pleasure knowing Scoops got a taste of his own medicine. He deserves it for being such a busybody and locking me up in the shed.
“Did you also forget this?” I pull out the white glove. Scoops gives me a quizzical look.
“Leather gloves are not my style, kid,” he says.
“Oh yeah? Are you sure about that? Maybe they are your partner’s.”
Scoops shakes his head. “Partner? That’s a big NO. I like to ride solo. Easier to get in and out of situations alone.”
Scoops picks up the glove. “I bet you Jim’s Emporium sells theses by the dozens. You should ask him about the gloves.”
The phone rings and Scoops answers it. “What you got for me?” he says. He scribbles on the envelope. “Uh-huh… Yup… Are you sure about that?… Got it.”
He slams down the phone.
“Can you confirm Delphine Lucerne is the one shooting at the Mermaid Club?” he asks. “We both know she’s there. My only job is to take a picture of her for the Gazette. No picture and no one really cares. At least let me know she’s there.”
As much as I hate Mr. Davenport for accusing Mom of stealing the diamond cap and for treating Delphine so coldly, I know how to keep a secret, and I’ve never been the type who squeals. I took an oath and my word is as good as gold. But perhaps I can offer a little hint, enough for Scoops to give up some information.
“I will not confirm or deny the name Delphine Lucerne,” I say. “I will say this: A big-time movie star is filming. My question to you is, how did you know about the stolen object, and do you know who stole it and why?”
Scoops ponders my question.
“Well, that’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” he says, chuckling to himself. “My sources say the stolen movie prop may just be a decoy. There are other more nefarious impending threats,” he says. “That’s all I’m going to say. Gotta go! I’ve got a hot tip I’ve got to chase down.”
“Threat? What do you mean? Who stole the Bejeweled Aqua Chapeau? Do you know?”
“Goldie, I like you. You’ve got chutzpah, and that will take you far in this business,” he says, all the while gathering his camera and pad and pencils. “Can I offer you a piece of advice? You have to look beyond the normal suspects. For this case you are going to have to dive in the deep end to uncover the truth.”
He turns off the fan and hides the typewriter underneath his desk.
“Do you know how to swim?” Scoops asks.
“Yeah.”
“Then it’ll be a cinch. Good luck.”
And like that, he escorts me out of his office and heads to his car.
Swimming? Scoops has given me a clue. It’s now on me to decipher his cryptic message into something that actually makes sense.
Chapter Twelve
THE BRAIN FOOD CAPABLE OF AIDING ME IN THIS MOST difficult time can only be found at the Deep End.
“I’ll need pork sliders, french fries, and a root beer float,” I say. “Did I mention french fries? Double up on the fries.”
“Extra fries?” Cheryl says. “This is very serious.”
Cheryl and Rob sit opposite from me in the booth. They’re both wearing their Crossed Palms uniforms. I’m not technically working today. Dad said I could take the day off, but we both knew I would not be lounging by the pool or doing anything relaxing. I’ve been nonstop. I can’t stop thinking of Mom and jail. That alone had me pedaling all over St. Pascal in the hopes of cracking the case. But this pit stop at the Deep End is necessary. I need to refuel, and I need huddle time with my friends.
“I called this emergency meeting because you are the only two people who can help clear my thoughts,” I say.
“And your fries,” Rob adds.
“That, too,” I say. “Cheryl must have updated you on the whole ‘Dolphin and Shark Face’ thing. Correct?”
“I think so,” Rob says. “Shark Face is bad, right?”
Cheryl smacks him softly on his back. “How many times do I have to explain it?”
“Dolphin is a big movie star, and she’s been filming a big movie right here in St. Pascal,” I whisper, making sure no one at the Deep End hears me. The diner is jam-packed. Tourists, movie extras, and the regulars mingle around, creating a kaleidoscope of orchestrated mayhem. I’m used to it, but with Mom being accused of stealing the diamond swimming cap, I can’t help scrutinizing everyone and everything.
“But that’s not what is important. What’s really important is someone stole the, um, ‘Fish Bait,’ and Shark Face is blaming my mom for it,” I say. “I need to find the real thief, clear my mother’s name, and save the day. All in that order. And pronto.”
Rob whistles. “Hence the fries.”
“Exactly.”
“I’m really sorry to hear about your mom,” Cheryl says. “Walt spent most of this morning in Mr. Maple’s office. You can guess the rest.”
I sure can. Not only did Walt get chewed out by Mr. Davenport, but he got another chunk bitten off by our boss. When it rains, it pours.
“Before we move on, what in the world is the Fish Bait?” Rob asks. Walt was kind enough to slip me a picture of the dazzling cap before he went off to work, and I went out to question Scoops Malone. I show the diamond swimming cap to Rob and Cheryl.
“Yowza,” Rob says. “Someone sporting Fish Bait at their next pool party will definitely get noticed. Don’t you think?”
“If I had the Fish Bait, I would trade it for something truly valuable, like paying for college,” Cheryl says. “Something of actual value.”
Rob and Cheryl start to imagine what they would do with the swimming cap. Rob wants a really cool convertible in white with tail fins on the bumper, so when he starts the engine, tiny explosions go off. This is all very insightful, but not at all helpful, considering Mom is still up the creek and I can’t stop stuffing my mouth with fries.
“Hey! Can we concentrate for a sec?” I say. “Who would take the Fish Bait and why?”
Cheryl leans over and grabs a french fry. “What do you got, Goldie?”
I pull out my notebook, open it up, and scan the pages.
“I’ve got this white leather glove. A bunch of strange footprints and mysterious blackouts,” I say. “And no witnesses.”
Rob and I dig into the fries.
C’mon, fries, do your magic!
“Doesn’t seem like much to me,” Rob says, stating the obvious.
“That’s not true. What do you expect? A note with a picture of the person who took the Fish Bait?” Cheryl says, slightly annoyed.
“I also spoke to the repor
ter Scoops Malone. I thought he was at the top of my list of potential thieves, but after speaking to him I’m not too sure,” I say. “He swears there’s some sort of foul play afoot.”
“See. You do have clues,” Cheryl says.
I’m glad Cheryl is sticking up for me. I was starting to have doubts.
“Who would steal the Fish Bait? And why, aside from being desperate for money?” Rob asks.
“Jealousy,” Cheryl says. “I remember at school when I was in fifth grade, my nemesis, Ginger Adams, was getting perfect scores on every single one of our science quizzes, just like me. I wished more than anything in the world that she would get just one question wrong. Okay, maybe two… or three. It never happened. Anyway, what I am trying to say is maybe there’s someone who wanted to be Dolphin. A person who would have done anything.”
I think hard about the people on set. When I spoke to Delphine last, she was so keen in thanking everyone. She couldn’t think of a single person who stood out as being mean or suspicious. I can’t think of anyone, either. And yet, why was it that her swimming cap kept coming off her head? Isn’t that strange? The one important aspect of her costume couldn’t stay put. What about all that Hollywood magic? I’ve seen crazier things stay on actors’ and actresses’ heads. Hmmm.
“There was this one strange thing. The Fish Bait kept falling off her head. It was as if it had a mind of its own,” I say. “Of all the things on Dolphin, the Fish Bait was the most important.”
“Who is in charge of that?” asks Rob.
“The costume designer!”
Could Edna Blanchett possibly have anything to do with this?
“Why would a costume designer want to sabotage Dolphin?” Rob asks. “Her entire job is making sure everyone looks great. Don’t you think?”
“Envy is a green-eyed monster,” says Cheryl.
Edna Blanchett. When I first met her, she wasn’t too keen about her working environment. Perhaps she was hired away from her previous job, just like Delphine. I’ll have to find out. The only person who would know this is Delphine herself.
I look down, and the large plate of french fries is practically empty. How did that happen?
“I guess we were all really hungry.”
A girl walks past us holding the latest edition of Life magazine. On the cover is Delphine with the question IS DELPHINE HAPPY? A strange headline since the photo of Delphine shows her with the widest grin, her eyes sparkling. The press really loves to create drama. Case in point: Scoops Malone and his determination to out Delphine as the star of this new movie.
“Maybe the gloves belong to Edna Blanchett?” I say. “Dolphin might be protecting her.”
“Why do you say that?” Rob asks, searching for the last bits of fries. I’m not judging; those are the best, the crispiest.
“I don’t know. It’s like a gut thing.” I pat my full belly. “I need to speak to Dolphin.”
“The crew spent most of this morning transferring their equipment over to the beach,” Cheryl says. “I had to deal with directing at least fifty sea creatures over there, dressed in their sea creature–esque costumes. It was a thing.”
That means Delphine will be shooting the highly anticipated battle scene on the beach. I heard someone say it was going to be epic, and that it’s the scene in which Delphine leads an army of mermaids, and that there would be hundreds of extras charging the sands with her. Any other time and I would be so excited about watching such a grand movie-making experience. Right now all I can think about is Mom.
“Did either of you ever want to be a movie star?” I ask.
Rob shakes his head. “No way. I’m living my dream driving other people’s cars.”
“Don’t be silly,” Cheryl says. “Who doesn’t want to be on the big screen? Remember when Alan Shepard was on the Larry Laughs Variety Show?”
Rob drops the tiny fry he was about to pop in his mouth. Every time Cheryl mentions her astronaut crush, Alan Shepard, he almost always fumbles. It’s hard to compete for Cheryl’s affection when her eyes are set on a man whose life mission involves traveling to the moon.
“I don’t know. I mean, he didn’t seem all that talented on the show,” Rob mutters to himself.
“You can’t be serious,” Cheryl replies. “His hidden talent is playing the kazoo. The kazoo!”
Cheryl can’t contain herself. After witnessing Alan exhibit his skills, she insisted we learn how to play the kazoo. Rob agreed to but I could tell he didn’t love it.
“Hidden talents or not, being a performer is extremely hard work,” I say. “Mom may not be a big-time fish like Dolphin, but she’s a big deal in my world.”
Cheryl and Rob agree.
“You’re right,” Cheryl says. “How can we help?”
“Cheryl, I need you to find out how many extras are staying at the hotel. I know it’s a lot but we need a breakdown. Maybe someone’s name will stand out when you’re looking.”
“And what do I get to do?”
Rob has the most important part.
“I need to speak to Dolphin,” I say. “So I need you to find a way to buy me time with her.”
“And how am I supposed to do that?”
“Rob, I’m almost a hundred percent sure you have a hidden talent,” I say. “Something way cooler than the kazoo.”
Rob stands up a little straighter.
“I’m on it.”
I knew I could count on my friends. It’s go time.
Chapter Thirteen
THERE IS A LARGE CONGREGATION OF SECURITY GUARDS outside of Delphine’s suite. Mr. Davenport means business today, and he is not taking any chances. I don’t recognize these security guards; they must have been hired by the studio. This means I won’t be able to talk my way inside. These burly security guards have mean faces and broad shoulders. They look like one giant wall, but there must be a small crack in there somewhere, just big enough for me to shove myself in. Now to locate the tiny break.
I walk back to Rob.
“Like I suspected. Getting inside to see Delphine is going to be a challenge,” I say. “We’ll have to move forward with the plan. Are you ready?”
Rob nervously chews on his finger.
“Rob!”
“I’m ready,” he says.
“I just need enough time to speak to her,” I say. “Ask her a couple of questions. I’m going into position. Count to five, then start.”
Rob nods. “Count to five and start,” he repeats.
I’m not asking Rob to commit a felony, but from the look of his scared face you would think I was. Rob is a pretty straight shooter. Participating in one of my schemes is a really big step for him. He’ll get used to it. I’m almost one hundred percent sure this will not be the last time I ask him for a favor.
“Rob, don’t forget. You have to be the maestro in this,” I say. “You manipulate the players into going fast or slow.”
I wave my hands around like a maestro conducting the world’s largest symphony. Rob follows my lead. He’s a bit clumsy and is not sure exactly where to position his hands. I place my hand on his shoulder. “Never mind. Count to five and begin. Got it?”
“Got it, Goldie,” he says. “I won’t fail.”
I leave Rob and stroll to a corner. I’m in uniform, and I see that the security guards eyeball me, but it doesn’t seem like they find me suspicious. Nobody ever looks at the staff. I’m just doing my job, like any normal day. I start the countdown. Cheryl is by her station waiting for her turn. Everyone is ready.
Five.
Four. Rob walks toward the security guard at a steady clip. Determined. Good face, Rob!
Three. He’s in front of them.
Two. I hold my breath. Here’s the moment of truth.
One.
“There are two guys over by the golf course!” Rob yells, and swings his arms frantically to get the security guards’ attention. “They are armed with a bunch of cameras, snapping pictures at everybody and asking all kinds of questions. Yo
u better head over there now!”
The security guards blink a couple of times. They stand stoic like statues.
“Did you hear me or not?” Rob says. “Journalists are out there causing problems.”
“Sorry, we can’t leave our positions,” one of the guards says.
Oh no. How am I supposed to speak to Delphine if this wall does not crumble? Just as I am imagining myself with a battering ram or a horse to gallop inside the suite, Rob does the most brilliant thing.
“You do understand how this ends, right? Everyone at this hotel will have a different tale to tell about the mysterious guest staying in there,” Rob says, pointing at the suite. “The reporters will start flooding the news with tons of rumors, and it will get out of control. That’s not going to be the big problem. The real problem will be when your boss, Mr. Davenport, finds out you had a chance to stop the stories from circulating, but you chose to ignore it.”
Rob shakes his head in disappointment. “Hmmm. I wonder how Mr. Davenport will feel about this? Let’s find out.” Rob turns away from the guards. The men finally dissolve their stone faces and replace them with serious concern, maybe even a little fear.
“Which way did you say you saw them?” one of the guards asks. Rob is elated and so am I! He points toward the golf course. Then he adds a little sugar to the mix:
“One went that way and the other went to the opposite side of the resort. They sure are slick.”
Half the security guards follow Rob. The other half run in the opposite direction. Those heading in the opposite direction will be met by Cheryl, and she will point them to another part of the hotel. Hopefully, the guards will become dizzy from walking around in circles.
I could hug Rob, but there’s no time for love. I walk up to Delphine’s door and knock.
“Yes?” Delphine says, and I enter.
Delphine sits at the table, puttering around with the daisies. There seem to be even more than the last time I was here. Any more and she’ll be drowning in daisies.
The Hotel Whodunit Page 11
