- Chapter 4 -
Mystery Solved
A short time later, we’re sitting on stone benches beside a stone fountain, water spilling from a big-mouthed frog. Reggie offers us glasses of root beer bubbling with scoops of vanilla ice cream.
“My cupboards are bare but I found ice cream in the fridge. Nothing better than a root beer float on a crisp spring day,” Reggie says in his lilting accent. “I’ll start my story with some family history.”
Becca, Leo, and I lean on the edge of the bench to face Reggie. A cool breeze swirls around us, as if it’s listening for secrets too.
“As a child, I didn’t see my grandparents often because I lived in England and they were here in Sun Flower,” Reggie says, clasping his frosty glass. “But a decade ago, my parents, sister, and I moved here because Granddad was ill. After he died, Grandmum moved to a senior community in Arizona. My parents stayed here because we’re quite big on tradition so it was important to keep the house in the family.” He wipes off ice cream that drips down the side of his frothy glass and licks his fingers. “Grandmum’s mobile home is much smaller than this house so she left furniture behind—including Granddad’s grandfather clock.”
Becca’s brows arch. “The one we found?”
“Yes. My father was thrilled to own the clock but couldn’t get the chimes to work. Determined to fix the clock, he spread out the pieces on the kitchen table and worked on it for days, then months. The clock became an obsession.” Reggie sighs. “Mum complained she couldn’t use her kitchen. This led to an awful row—”
“Row?” Becca interrupts.
“An argument,” Reggie explains. “Mum threatened to leave Dad and take my sister and me back to England if Dad didn’t get rid of the clock. But Dad refused.”
“Oh no,” Becca cries. “What happened?”
“Evaline—my clever, dramatic sister—came up with a plan.” He grins wickedly. “And as her loyal younger brother, I went along with her.”
Reggie sips his root beer float, then wipes away the foamy mustache. I feel moisture on my own lips and lick them.
“It was past midnight when Ev and I crept into the living room,” he continues in a hushed tone. “We gathered all the clock bits and packed them into a plastic container. We were in such a hurry that we probably tossed in the photo too. I helped Ev carry the container to her car and expected to go with her, but she wouldn’t let me. She said I couldn’t keep a secret, and I suppose by telling you this, I’ve finally proved her right,” he adds with a rueful smile. “She never told me where she hid the clock—only that my father wouldn’t find it.”
“Was he angry that you hid it?” I ask.
“No, because he never knew.” Reggie chuckles. “Evaline knocked out a window screen, and I tossed about furniture to make it look like we’d been burgled. No real damage but we made a frightful mess. When Ev let out a bloody scream, I thought my eardrums would burst. My parents came running, and Ev told them we’d interrupted a robbery. I played my role of scared kid very well—no surprise I ended up as an actor. Dad was devastated to lose his clock, but Mom couldn’t stop smiling. And there’s never been any more talk of divorce.”
“So your sister hid the clock in our shack?” Becca asks.
“Apparently,” Reggie answers with a shrug. “I think a friend helped her, probably someone who lived near your sanctuary.”
“It wasn’t a sanctuary that long ago—just a farmhouse owned by a family with lots of kids,” Becca adds. “One of the kids must have known your sister. You could ask her.”
“Ev is too tight-lipped to admit anything,” Reggie says. “But since you found the clock in your shack and this photo of Granddad, I’m sure that’s what happened.”
“Our clock mystery is solved,” I say excitedly.
“Solved for me too,” Reggie says, setting down his mug. “Do you mind if I keep the photo?”
“Of course not.” Becca smiles. “It’s yours.”
“Thank you.” He rubs his finger gently over the photo. “I thought I’d never know what happened to the old clock, but now I do. You’re quite resourceful kids.”
“Leo figured out where you lived.” Becca lifts her hand to Leo for a high five. “Way to go, Leo.”
But Leo ignores Becca’s raised hand. His shoulders slump as he turns to Reggie. “The clock belongs to you. I guess you’ll want it back.”
“After all your hard work to fix the old thing?” Reggie shakes his head firmly. “Not a chance. It’s yours now.”
“But it’s a valuable antique and part of your family traditions,” Leo points out. “Your father will want it.”
“He well might, but Mum would kill him if he tried to get it back.” Reggie pats Leo on the shoulder. “I’m all for family traditions. But sometimes a tradition is like playing the same tune over and over. After a while you hate the song so it’s time for a new one. I don’t want or need the clock. Keep it—but my parents must never find out. I’d rather they stay happily married.”
“We won’t divulge your secret,” Leo says with a widening smile.
Becca stands from the bench. “We shouldn’t take any more of your time. Thanks so much for the root beer floats and sharing your story. Come visit anytime at Wild Oaks Sanctuary and you can talk to Mom about volunteering.”
“I’d love that.” He flashes a pearly grin. “But before you go, there’s something I want to show you.”
Becca, Leo, and I exchange curious glances, then follow Reggie into his backyard. He courteously opens the gate for us. We enter a spacious yard with a covered patio attached to the house and a large fenced-off area in the back around a sturdy shed. There’s an odd smell to the air that reminds of me the bird pond in Wild Oaks Sanctuary.
“This way,” Reggie says as he goes to the back gate and unlatches it. “Watch where you step. It could be muddy.”
“Do you raise birds?” Becca sniffs and looks around curiously.
“No.” He shakes his head, his smile bright with mystery.
The gate bangs behind us as we enter an enclosure with a shallow pond and a muddy island and wild grass. In the center of the island is a large, dark rock.
The “rock” moves and a long, rubbery neck peeks out of a domed shell.
“Meet Albert.” Reggie makes a sweeping gesture with his hand. “My granddad’s giant Aldabra tortoise.”
- Chapter 5 -
Albert
I thought Albert looked big in the photo, but he’s even bigger up close.
“He’s like a dinosaur.” Becca carefully avoids mud puddles as she walks to the edge of the small pond.
“Tortoises and turtles are the longest living reptiles,” Leo spouts off. “They’ve been around for over 250 million years.”
Reggie nods. “Many tortoise species are extinct like dinosaurs. But Albert’s been in my family for over a century.”
“Wow!” Becca exclaims.
I stare in amazement. “Do you know how old he is?”
“Not exactly—about 130 years old. My great-grandmother chose St. Patrick’s Day for his birthday, and every year my family throws him a grand birthday party with veggie cake and carrots instead of candles.”
“Coolness!” Becca’s dark eyes shine. “I love birthday parties.”
“Me too.” I turn to look at Leo. “What about you?”
Leo shrugs. “Age isn’t a cause for celebration. I’m more impressed with this magnificent reptile. Is he friendly?”
Reggie nods. “He loves attention.”
Becca and I come over to admire Albert too. He’s huge with a really long neck and a bumpy shell that’s gray with tan specks.
“May I touch him?” I ask a bit timidly.
“Have a go at it,” Reggie says cheerfully.
The armor-like domed shell looks hard as rock and is smooth to touch. Reggie tells us it’s called a carapace.
“Hello, Albert,” I say as I slide my fingers across his domed shell.
“What gor
geous color patterns,” Becca says with a thoughtful expression. “The specks, bumps, and squares would make a beautiful fabric design.” Becca traces her finger over dark patterns on the shell. “Do you mind if I take his picture?”
“Not at all,” Reggie says. “Albert is quite an attention seeker. He’s been photographed often when people come to see him.”
Becca snaps lots of photos, bending close to get Albert’s shell at different angles. She designs animal-print fabric for clothes and accessories like the oversized leopard scarf belted around her waist. I predict a tortoise-print outfit in her future.
Albert is friendly and stretches out his neck to be scratched. His wrinkly face reminds me of the alien in that old movie ET. And I fall a little in love with him. His dark eyes shine with curiosity as if he understands what we’re saying. We pet and talk to Albert until Reggie leads us out of the enclosure.
“I’m going to read up on tortoises when I get home,” Leo says excitedly as Reggie locks the gate behind us. “I want to know more about them.”
“They have a fascinating history. At the end of the nineteenth century, Charles Darwin worked to save endangered Aldabras by relocating them. Real events can be more exciting than an adventure novel. Do come back to visit Albert—he loves visitors,” Reggie says with a welcoming gesture.
“You can come to Wild Oaks,” Becca adds. “I’ll tell Mom you’ll make a fantabulous volunteer. You’d be great at leading tours with your acting skills and cool accent.”
“And we can show you the grandfather clock,” I say.
Reggie grins. “You’ll be hearing from me soon.”
We wave good-bye. As I unlock the chain on my bike, I smile at my club mates. “Today has been amazing—and to think it all happened because of a broken clock.”
“Not broken anymore,” Leo says with a proud lift of his chin.
“I’m inspired after meeting Albert.” Becca hops on her bike. “I have all these design ideas buzzing in my head. I’ll call them Carapace Chic.” She tilts her head toward me. “Want to come over for lunch at my house?”
“Sure,” I say with a big grin.
“Not me.” Leo shakes his blond head. “I can’t go.”
“Let me guess why.” I roll my eyes. “You’re going to the drama storage room to work on some weird techno prop because Frankie can’t survive without your help.”
“There’s nothing weird about a mechanical giraffe leg.” Leo completely misses my sarcasm. “Frankie and I have been trying different lubricating oils to stop the leg from creaking. He’s worried the noise will distract the actors on stage.”
“Is that an oil stain on your vest?” I can’t resist teasing because Leo’s clothes are usually spotless.
“What stain? Oh.” Leo touches a dark spot on his vest, then sniffs. “Yeah, it’s oil. I’ll have to be more careful.”
“Are you part of the drama club now?” Becca asks Leo.
“I’m not interested in drama.” He swats the idea away like an annoying insect. “I enjoy assembling mechanical animals. After I finish the giraffe, I’ll program the hyena headpieces to raise and lower like they’re lunging at each other.”
“You can do that?” Becca asks, impressed.
“It’s basic robotics.” Leo steps on his gyro-board, then turns back to us. “Frankie came up with the idea. He’s really smart.”
“And sneaky,” I remind Leo, my tone sharp with accusation. “Have you forgotten that he followed you to our clubhouse and spied on us?”
“We spy on people too,” Leo points out.
“Only when we’re trying to help animals,” Becca says.
“Frankie followed me because he was curious why I was going into the woods and thought I might need help. He guessed we have a club although I didn’t tell him the name or how we help animals. He loves animals too and will want to help out.”
“Help out how?” I ask with a bad feeling.
“Finding missing pets and solving mysteries.” Leo looks at us hopefully. “Can I invite him to join the CCSC?”
“No way!” I shake my head firmly. “I don’t trust him.”
“He’s 100 percent trustworthy,” Leo argues.
“We don’t need any new members. Tell him, Becca.”
Becca looks uneasily back and forth between the two of us. “I’ve never thought about more members.”
“Frankie is already too busy with the drama club.” I cross my arms firmly over my chest. “He doesn’t have time to look for lost pets or attend club meetings.”
Leo taps his chin thoughtfully. “You have a good point, Kelsey.”
“I do?” I’m always surprised when Leo agrees with me.
Leo nods. “We need requirements for potential new club members.”
“If we allow new members,” I point out. “I like CCSC with just three of us.”
“Three is the perfect number for a club.” Becca twists the end of her ponytail. “With four Sparklers we have trouble agreeing on anything.”
“But if we do invite someone,” I add, trying to be fair, “they’d have to prove they can be trusted, are dedicated to helping animals, and are good at solving puzzling mysteries. Also, it has to be a unanimous vote.”
“Unanimous?” Leo frowns at me. “Why not a majority rule?”
“Which majority do you want to rule?” My grip tightens on my handlebars. “What if Becca and I voted in someone you hated?”
“You’d do that?” Leo’s blue eyes widen.
“It could happen,” I warn.
Leo gulps, then straightens his shoulders. “On second thought, a unanimous vote is an excellent suggestion. Being trustworthy, helping animals, and solving mysteries are good requirements. I’ll type up a membership plan, and then we can vote on Frankie at our next meeting.”
I nod, although Frankie has a lot of proving to do before he gets my vote.
We split up, Leo wheeling off to see Frankie while Becca and I ride our bikes toward her house. We’re quiet for a while, pedaling at a slow pace side-by-side.
When we wait at an intersection for little kids to cross the street, Becca smiles at me. “So when does your mother start her new job?”
“Monday.” I grin because I’m thrilled about Mom’s job as the new animal control officer. The last officer had some honesty issues and moved away. “I can’t wait to see her official uniform.”
“She’ll look amazing.” Becca flashes a grin.
“Yeah, I’m happy for her but worried about Dad.” I swerve to miss a pothole. “He still can’t find a job.”
“Ridiculous! A talented chef like him should have employers begging for him. I predict he’ll find one soon,” Becca says cheerfully. “Then you’ll move into a house—hopefully close to me—and take your kitten home.”
I cross my fingers and hope, hope, hope. I want to keep Honey so much. I haven’t even told my parents I have a kitten. What’s the use? While I live in a no-pets apartment, my kitten stays with Becca.
We coast through downtown Sun Flower, then shift into low gears to pedal up the hill to Wild Oaks Sanctuary. As we ride under the arched entrance, Becca says, “How do sandwiches sound for lunch?”
“Great.” My stomach rumbles.
“I make a great BLT.”
“Double tomato for me,” I say.
“And I’ll have a—” Becca’s pocket dings. “A text.”
“A text for lunch?”
“No, silly, a text on my phone.” She stops her bike and takes her phone from her pocket.
“From who?” I brake to a stop beside her.
Becca glances down. “Tyla.”
“What does she want?” I ask uneasily. I’m trying to like Tyla. Really, I am. But she acts like the Queen of Everyone. And she was the only Sparkler who voted against me temporarily joining the group.
Becca frowns. “Tyla says it’s urgent that I come to her house right now.”
“Urgent to Tyla can be a broken fingernail,” I say.
“Too true.” Becca groans. “I really don’t want to go.”
“So tell her no.”
Becca’s ponytail slaps her shoulders as she shakes her head. “No one says no to Tyla.”
“Start a new trend. Tell her you have better things to do than bow down to her royal commands. It’s about time someone stood up to Queen Tyla.”
“Maybe—but not me.” Her cheeks redden. “It’s easier if I just go.”
I swallow a big lump of disappointment. “So go.”
“You won’t mind?”
Of course I mind. But I don’t want Becca to feel bad.
When I nod, she exhales into a huge smile. “You’re the best, Kelsey. Come over tomorrow and we’ll do something fun, like eat lunch with the animals.”
“Yeah, that’ll be great,” I say with a forced smile.
We turn around and coast down Wild Road back into downtown Sun Flower. We ride side-by-side until we reach Pleasant Street where we split up. Becca turns left and I pedal on ahead, alone.
I have nothing else to do now except go home.
But as I near the shopping center where my brother biked this morning, I make a detour into the parking lot. I inhale a cheesy aroma from the pizza place and peer around like I’m on a stakeout looking for suspicious activity. Everything seems calm, just random people going in and out of buildings.
What was in Kyle’s white box? I think, looking around. Did he cut through the alley to lose me? Or did he go inside one of the businesses?
I stare closely at each building.
Even if the café, pawnshop, or lawyer’s office were open that early, he wouldn’t have gone into them. He’d just eaten breakfast so he wouldn’t go to Friendly’s Café. He doesn’t own anything valuable enough to pawn. And I can’t think of any reason he’d consult a lawyer. If Prehistoric Pizza had been open this morning, he would totally have gone there. The TV ads are corny—a costumed dragon flips a giant pizza on his scaly tail and says, “Prehistoric Pizza is historic!” It might not be “historic,” but their pizza is delicious.
And now my stomach is growling.
I check my pocket and find a few dollars—enough for one slice.
Kelsey the Spy Page 3
