by Liz Czukas
“Yes.”
“And you put these twenties in how many times?”
“I’m not sure,” she says. “I think it was about twenty?”
“I estimated four hundred dollars,” Micah pipes up.
Reyes ignores him. “And there was only one twenty-dollar bill in there when you unlocked it today.”
Mr. Solomon nods. “I can show you the money.”
“Sure. Let’s take a look,” she says. She follows Solomon into the manager’s office.
I’m starting to doubt we’ll be getting out of here quickly after all.
The radio on Harper’s shoulder crackles with static, and we catch a few garbled words before he turns the volume down.
“Can you really make us get fingerprinted?” Sammi asks him.
He shifts his feet. “Not unless we arrest you.”
“Are you going to arrest us?” she asks.
“Only if you did something illegal.”
She nods. “Just checking.”
“What do you care?” Gabe whispers to her. “I thought they already have your prints.”
“You gotta know your rights,” she says solemnly. “Fight the man.”
Harper chuckles.
Kris clears his throat. “What if someone’s fingerprints are found on the box?” he asks. “I mean, couldn’t they have touched it sometime in the last two months?”
“And aren’t there, like, a million fingerprints all over money?” Sammi adds.
“Not exactly a million,” Harper says.
“Still.”
“We’ll see what happens,” he says.
The office door opens again and Reyes leads the way out. Solomon is behind her, carrying the oversized donation box.
“Miss Malak?” Reyes looks at Zaina. “Can you describe the money you put in the box?”
“What?” Tyson says softly, barely loud enough for me to hear. “It’s a twenty-dollar bill.”
Zaina swallows. “It was new,” she says. “My mother always gets them from the bank so she can put a stamp of the hamsa on it as a blessing.” She lays her hand on the table, palm up with her thumb curving out stiffly. It’s a weird gesture—very unnatural.
“Could you identify it?” Reyes gestures for Solomon to open the box. When he grabs the lock to fit the key in, my heart leaps. Now there’s no way my fingerprints will be the only ones on the casing! I want to do a victory dance.
He slips the padlock out of the clasp and lets it fall open, showing us the small collection of bills once more.
Zaina reaches out and uses one fingertip to knock a few other bills away from the crisp twenty. She coaxes it closer and, touching it as little as possible, flips it over to reveal a blue stamp in one of the emptier fields. It’s a stylized hand with the middle three fingers straight together, and the thumb and pinkie curling out to the sides. It’s beautiful, ornately decorated with flowers and scrolling lines.
“This is mine,” she says. “All of them had this stamp on them.”
“It’s illegal to mark US currency,” Micah says.
“Hush.” Sammi gives him the stink eye.
“This is yours?” Reyes repeats.
Zaina nods. “Yes. Each one of the bills I put in had this mark on it.”
“Does your mom do that with all her money?” I ask, leaning forward to look at the bill.
“Only for special reasons. Why?”
“I feel like I’ve seen this before. . . .” I squint, then close my eyes completely, willing my memory to suddenly become a perfect computer catalog of every bill I’ve ever seen. It’s not easy, considering how much cash has passed through my hands since I started working the register. Not to mention I’m not a human computer.
I rub my fingertips together, trying to imagine a marked bill between them. We check new twenties for signs of authenticity. I would have paid attention to a crisp one like Zaina’s describing.
The image tickles at the edge of my mind, but I can’t grab it. I open my eyes, frustrated.
Kris stands. “Can I use the bathroom?” he asks.
“You’re not under arrest,” Reyes says with a smirk.
“Well, then . . . excuse me. Nature calls.” He gives an embarrassed smile, and heads for the door.
Everyone is fixated on the small blue stamp before us, like it holds the secrets to the universe.
Reyes sighs. “All right. Thank you. I guess we can go ahead and get a set of fingerprints from each of you, with your permission.”
“Do we get to go home after you do that?” Gabe asks.
She nods. “Eventually.”
“Whatever. Great. Take my prints. I don’t even care.” He holds his hands out in offering.
“Mine, too.” I sigh, wishing I could have solved this before they arrived.
“You can take mine, too,” Tyson agrees.
“Mine are already on this bill,” Zaina says. “Are you going to arrest me?”
“We’ll compare them to any we find on the interior of the box and the padlock. We can’t arrest you for handling your own money.”
“Then you can take mine, too.”
Sammi sighs. “You already have mine.”
“You can take mine again. I was just a kid last time I had them done,” Micah says. “I didn’t touch the box, though.”
“Harper, why don’t you start on that end—” Reyes points to me. “Mr. Solomon, we’ll need to get a set from you, too, for elimination.”
“Absolutely. Anything you need.”
“I have to warn you, we can’t make any promises,” she says. “There might not be any useable prints on any of this stuff.”
“What if that happens?”
Reyes props her hands on her belt. “Unfortunately, a lot of crimes like this go unsolved.”
Officer Harper approaches me with a small white card in his hand. “I’m going to have you press your fingers on this—”
“Oh my God, Kris had one of your bills!” I shout, jumping to my feet. I nearly head butt the officer in the process, but I can’t stop to worry about that.
“What?” The response comes from several people at once.
“Kris! Earlier! I saw him!” My hands jitter wildly in the air without my permission. “He had one of the things! Those! I saw it!”
“What are you saying?” Mr. Solomon asks.
I stumble over a few nonsensical syllables before spitting out, “Kris did it!”
They’re staring at me in disbelief.
“I’m telling you!” I insist. “He had one of Zaina’s twenties. In his wallet! When he paid for the food we took!”
“Who is Kris again?” Reyes asks.
“The guy who just walked out of here.” Tyson points.
We turn as one, like a cartoon, looking at the exit.
“Harper,” Reyes says, and without a word, Officer Harper jogs out. Reyes follows and we all watch the door swing shut behind her.
“Are you sure about this?” Gabe asks.
“Completely sure!” I shout. My volume control seems to be on the fritz. I’ve never been so excited in my life.
“There must be some explanation. . . .” Mr. Solomon is talking to himself, I guess, because he’s already walking out the door.
We look at one another for a second, then all scramble after him.
Out in the store, Officer Reyes is near the main entrance, talking into her radio, and Solomon stands nearby with his hand pressed to his forehead.
“Where did he go?” I whisper.
“Where’s Harper?” Tyson wonders.
“Bathroom?” Micah asks.
Gabe jogs off in that direction, and listens at the door to the men’s room for a second before opening it. Even from a distance I can see the motion sensor light go on. No one else could be inside if the lights were off. Gabe shakes his head at us.
“I bet he went out the back,” Tyson reasons. “That’s where most of the employees park.”
“That’s probably where Officer Harper
went, too,” Zaina says.
“Come on.” Gabe takes off again, this time running toward the frozen foods. The cases have gone dark again, but they flare to life as he passes them.
“Gabe!” Sammi hisses, running after him. “Don’t!”
“That idiot’s going to get himself hurt,” Tyson says, but he takes off in the same direction.
I look at Zaina and Micah. “Well?”
“Let’s go.” Micah weaves through two checkouts and breaks into an all-out sprint toward the lighted path left behind by the others.
“This is not very smart,” Zaina says as we both scurry after them.
“Nope,” I agree.
“Why are we doing this?”
I try to shrug, but it’s not very successful when you’re running. “I don’t know.”
“All right.”
We’re both a little out of breath by the time we get to the back of the store—surprise, surprise. The entrance to the warehouse area is between cottage cheese and pork, and the double silver doors are still swinging. Not hard to tell where the others went.
I push one door open, getting a face full of cold, damp air. Zaina crowds close behind me, peeping around my shoulder.
“Where are they?” she says in a barely audible voice.
“I don’t know.” I listen, but the drone of the cooling units makes it hard to zero in on anything.
“Maybe by the loading dock,” Zaina whispers.
We creep into the big, dimly lit room, close together for security. The dark shapes of dairy carts, shipping crates, and pallets make shadows and blind spots everywhere. Walking toward them feels dangerous and stupid.
“Do you really think Kris stole the money?” she asks.
“I’m pretty sure.”
“But you could be wrong,” she says.
“Then where is he?” I ask.
“Good point.”
As we round a row of carts loaded with milk, I spot Sammi’s blond hair lit against the general dimness of the room. She’s hunkered down behind a large produce crate filled with flattened boxes. I put a hand out to still Zaina and we both drop into a crouch.
I try to duckwalk forward, but in the end I have to put my fingers on the ground and creep like some kind of woodland creature just learning to walk. I’m definitely not ready for a life as a ninja. Sammi turns when she hears our footsteps and holds a finger to her lips.
Zaina and I close the distance to her. She beckons me closer still and whispers in my ear, so soft I have to strain to hear.
“Kris is in here,” she says.
I put my mouth to her ear. “Where is everyone else?”
“The cop is by the back door. The boys are—” She points in both directions away from us.
I relay the information to Zaina, her dark hair tickling my nose as I breathe the words into her ear. She goes wide-eyed.
“What are we going to do?” she asks.
Sammi shakes her head.
A movement to my right catches my eye and I get a glimpse of Tyson sliding between two pallets.
“Where exactly is Kris?” I ask.
Sammi points at the crate we’re crouched behind. Two over, she mouths. I think.
I feel strangely calm, even though my heart is racing. It’s like my vision becomes clearer, my hearing sharper.
To our left, something metallic clangs and I hear a soft curse. If I had to guess, I would say it was Gabe, but I can’t be sure. Then, straight through the crate, I hear shuffling sounds. Zaina grips my arm tightly.
“Kris?” Officer Harper calls out. His voice is nearly absorbed by the refrigeration units. They remind me of the deafening white noise on an airplane. “If you’re in here, please come forward. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
More metallic sounds from the left. I lean back, squinting into the dark for any sign of what’s causing it. The only light comes from caged fluorescents near the ceiling. They barely penetrate down by the floor.
The shuffling on the other side of the crate comes again, but this time it sounds farther away.
“Don’t make this hard on yourself, Kris,” Officer Harper calls.
“We shouldn’t be here,” Zaina breathes in my ear.
She’s totally right, of course. We should have stayed in the Break Room. But we’re here now, and it seems like we might as well help. Or try to, anyway.
I look at Sammi and mime pushing the shipping crate. She smiles, nods, and applies her hands to it. I do the same and we give it a little force. It doesn’t move much, but it does scuff an inch or so across the concrete floor. The shuffling sound comes back, louder this time and moving away.
“Again,” Sammi whispers. We give it another push.
“Kris, I can hear you. You might as well cooperate. This will go a lot easier.” Harper’s radio crackles, and he speaks into it. It’s too hard to hear what he’s saying.
I get back to a crouch and run, hunched, in the direction I last saw Tyson. Zaina gasps when I move, but I don’t stop until I reach the pallet where he disappeared. Then I squeeze through the same spot and nearly trip over him on the other side.
He grabs me by the arms and yanks me down. I fall into his lap with a grunt and he holds a finger to his lips. He pushes back stray hairs that have sprung loose from my ponytail, finding my ear to whisper, “What are you doing?”
I turn my head to speak into his ear, putting our cheeks together like we’re slow dancing, except it’s kind of nerdy because the temples of our glasses click together. But nerds slow dance, too, right? “We shoved a crate a little bit before, and it got Kris to move. I think we can push him toward the cop.”
“No way.”
“Why not?”
His breath is hot against my cheek in contrast to the temperature of the cooler. “We should stay out of it.”
“We’re already in it.” I ease back to look at him. We’ve never been this close before.
He licks his lips, and pulls me close to whisper once more. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
My stomach turns somersaults of a new variety. “I don’t want you to get hurt, either. But I want to get out of here, don’t you?”
“All right.” His lips brush against my ear, and I try not to shiver. “What do you want to do?”
I lean back to look him in the eyes. “I want to get this guy.”
He smiles. “So, you’re all tough now?”
And I realize that I actually do feel kind of tough. Me. I solved the mystery. I ran after the bad guy. Sure, maybe I was the last to get here, but it was me who had the idea to move the crates to flush Kris out.
Maybe I really am tough. Maybe I should get those bright blue highlights Sammi was talking about. Then I might even be approaching badass territory.
“What’s the plan?” Tyson whispers.
“We just . . . push.” I shrug. It’s not much of a plan, but it worked before, and I’m amped to see it work again. So amped, in fact, that I decide to let my runaway mouth do something useful for once. “But first—”
Before I can think any more about it, I lean into him and press my lips to his. I kiss him like I actually know what I’m doing. Like I’ve thrown myself at dozens of guys before—or, better yet, like dozens of them have thrown themselves at me. He’s startled, but only for a second, and then he responds, cupping the back of my head while his other arm tightens against my back.
With my brain still zinging around in the stratosphere, I pull back. “For luck. Now, come on. Let’s catch a bad guy!”
As I climb out of his lap, I’m amazed to realize my cheeks aren’t flaming with embarrassment. I can’t believe I just kissed him, but now that it’s done, I honestly feel more relaxed. Even with him staring at me, looking a little dazed.
We crouch together behind the giant cardboard box on top of the pallet.
“One, two, three,” Tyson counts softly, and then we push. The box must be full of something a lot heavier than the empty boxes in the one Sammi and I shoved, beca
use it barely moves. The sound doesn’t even penetrate the general din.
I frown. “Okay, that won’t work.”
“Come on.” Tyson skulks away from the box, finding a produce cart nearby. It’s empty, so I worry that it’ll be too light to make any kind of noise, but when he gives it a serious push, the wheels screech like an angry cat and it slams into another nearby pallet.
“That’ll do,” I whisper as we duck back behind another box.
“Come on out, Kris!” shouts Harper again. “We’ve already called for backup. You’re not going to get away. Why not cooperate?”
In the distance, I hear another loud crash, and grin at Tyson.
“This is nuts,” he whispers.
“Let’s go.” I sneak back the way I came from, making my way toward the back entrance as best I can. Movement on the left makes me pause, but then I see a flash of long black hair and realize Zaina is rolling one of the big towering carts filled with milk. She gets it wedged between two crates, making that particular path impassible. It’s like a barricade. Then I see Sammi doing the same a little farther down.
Then comes another loud crash from the other side of the room. Gabe’s laughter rings out.
“Kris, don’t be stupid!” Harper shouts. Does he even know we’re in the room with him? I wonder where Reyes is, and if there really is backup on the way. I hope so.
A few more thumps and crashes ring out, and suddenly I spot Kris. He’s only about ten feet away from me, but moving away, toward the back wall. The loading docks are back there, with their giant garage doors closed. I have no idea how they open, or if they’re locked in some way, but I don’t want him to get close enough to try one.
Without a second thought, I stand up, and call out as loud as I can, “He’s at the loading dock!”
I don’t know exactly what happens next, because Tyson grabs me by the arm and yanks me down hard enough to make me yelp in pain. There’s some shouting and a long chattering sound, then Harper’s voice and the static of his radio.
“Reyes, I’ve got him. In the storage area. Loading dock.”
Chapter 21
FICTIONAL CHARACTERS I NOW OFFICIALLY RESEMBLE
Velma
Nancy Drew
Veronica Mars
Sherlock Holmes
