Leo stops mid-keystroke to look at me. “You can’t possibly know the word from a wild guess.”
“But it’s not a guess.” I tap my pencil on the paper. “This puzzle probably came from the person who stole my notebook and left the ransom note. The first word of the ransom note was look so it’s logical to find that word here too.”
“Good deduction.” Leo approves. “That means I is L and V is K.”
“The last word begins with L-O … and then there’s the number.”
“Locker 299!” Becca guesses.
After that, other words fall into place. SJ is a small word ending with O. Easy to guess it’s to, a very common small word.
So when we’re finished, the decoded message reads:
If you want to find your secrets, look in locker 299.
“What are we waiting for?” I jump up and grab my backpack.
“School’s been over for hours.” Leo frowns. “The gates will be locked. We’ll have to wait till the morning.”
“I can’t wait,” I say with a stubborn shake of my head. “I have to find the notebook.”
“If we can’t get in through the gates, we’ll find another way,” Becca says.
We lock up the Skunk Shack, then head to Helen Corning Middle School. Becca and I ride our bikes while Leo hops on his gyro-board.
All during the ride, I’m thinking of Locker 299, excited and scared of what I’ll find. Will there be another puzzle to solve? Will I finally get my notebook back? Or will there be nothing at all?
But I wonder why the thief—especially if it’s Erik—would bother to leave cryptic clues when he didn’t even want to talk to me yesterday. And he didn’t seem worried when I threatened to expose his identity—which I haven’t done yet. But I will if Locker 299 doesn’t hold my notebook.
It made sense for him to want my notebook. With nearly forty entries, the notebook gives him weeks of dramatic secrets to post. His web hits will soar to insane numbers, and people I care about will be hurt. Words are explosive weapons, striking deep into heart and soul.
But wait a minute … how can it be Erik? I found the wooden box in my locker before I threatened to expose him if he didn’t return the notebook. How is that possible?
I’ll figure it out later—once I have my notebook back.
When we reach the school, one of our fears is confirmed.
While the athletic fields are open for the public, the school buildings are padlocked for the night. There’s no way to get to the lockers—unless we break in. I have my key-spider lock pick, but I won’t break into my own school.
“Drats.” I coast my bike between Leo’s gyro-board and Becca’s bike. “I don’t want to wait until tomorrow.”
“You won’t wait a full day,” Leo points out. “According to my calculations, the school opens in only 15.3 hours.”
“There may be a way inside.” Becca shields her eyes from the setting sun and peers off to the back field where baseball, soccer, and other sports are played. In the distance I hear the rumble of a lawn mower again.
“How?” I ask.
“A smile is more effective than a key.” Becca whirls her bike around and pedals down a side road.
Leo and I look at each other, shrug, and then hurry to catch up with her.
The rumble of the lawn mower grows louder, and I recognize our groundskeeper, Mr. Thompson, riding it. Not far away, some kids practice baseball. I can’t even guess what Becca is planning until she parks her bike on the sidewalk, then runs over to Mr. Thompson.
“What is she doing?” Leo asks, stopping his gyro-board beside Becca’s bike.
I shake my head. “I don’t know. But she’s waving at Mr. Thompson.”
“He turned off the mower,” Leo says with a puzzled tilt of his head. “Should we go over there?”
“I don’t think she needs our help.” I stare as Becca’s smile widens while she talks to Mr. Thompson. I can’t see his expression beneath his thick, black beard, but he’s nodding and stepping off his mower.
“They’re coming this way!” Leo says.
Becca leads the groundskeeper over to our bikes. He smells of sweet grass as he tips back his cap to smile at us. “So I hear you have a problem,” he says in a gruff, kindly voice like he really is Hagrid come to life.
“Um … yeah, I guess we do,” I say with a questioning look at Becca.
“Not to worry,” Mr. Thompson says, and I notice the expensive watch on his tanned arm. He may not brag about his reality-show win, but that watch isn’t from a discount store.
“Mr. Thompson volunteers at Wild Oaks, weeding and gardening,” Becca explains to us.
“I believe in giving back to my community,” the groundskeeper says modestly. “Your mother is doing so much to help animals.”
“She works hard,” Becca admits. “But she couldn’t do it without all the volunteers and donations.”
Mr. Thompson nods, and I suspect he’s also one of the people who donate.
“Always glad to help for a good cause.” He has a huge bunch of keys to every lock at the school, and he sorts through them now until he holds up a shining silver key. “I’m not just groundskeeper—I also do some of the custodian work. I’ll wait here while you run to your locker. Be quick, since I’m bending the rules.”
He leads us to the back school gate. Becca and I park our bikes, while Leo taps the remote for his gyro-board so that it follows behind him like an obedient puppy. Mr. Thompson’s keys jangle as he opens the gate for us.
Feeling Mr. Thompson’s gaze on my back, I turn to Becca. “Does he know that it isn’t our locker?”
“I told him the truth,” Becca says simply.
“Which version of the truth?” I ask.
“I said it’s urgent that I get into Locker 299.” She slowly smiles. “I can’t help it if he thinks it’s my locker.”
“We’ll find out who owns it soon.” Leo points to a bank of lockers near the gym.
“I have my key spider with me,” I add, patting my backpack. “Although I don’t think it’ll open a combination lock.”
Locker 299 is the last locker in the top row, scratched and battered like ballplayers used it for target practice.
I pull out my key spider, but Leo waves it away and presses his ear near the combination dial. “I’ve studied how to crack combination locks. You just listen for the tumblers to click.”
“Or you reach out and open the door.” I point. “The lock is broken.”
I nudge Leo aside and tug on the door handle. As I pull on it, the door falls open.
Holding my breath, I look inside …
- Chapter 20 -
Sweet Celebration
“It’s here!” I reach into the locker and hug my precious secret-filled notebook.
“Fantastique!” Becca comes over to peer inside the locker. “Nothing else inside. I was hoping for another clue or a written confession from the thief.”
“I have my notebook back!” I hug it like a mother reunited with a lost child. “It’s like a miracle.”
“According to my calculations, there was a 61 percent chance the notebook would be recovered,” Leo says. “I expected it to be here.”
I’m too happy to be annoyed by Mr. Know-It-All. I caress the smooth green cover of my notebook. I’ll never, ever take it to school again. The secrets will stay safe in my hidden drawer and will never leave my room.
Of course this doesn’t mean the secrets are still secret. The thief probably read them and copied the pages. If it’s Erik, I know his secret so he won’t reveal any more of mine. But what if someone else is guilty?
When we return to the gate, Becca flashes her sweetest smile at Mr. Thompson. “Thanks so much!” she tells him.
“Found what you needed?” the burly groundskeeper asks.
“Oh yes!” I say, still hugging my notebook.
“You’ve been so kind and we’re really grateful,” Becca adds.
“Glad to help out.” Mr. Thompson’
s massive key ring jangles as he locks the gate behind us. “Now I’ve got mowing to finish. Have a great day, kids.”
I flip through my notebook. “I’m so glad I have it back. And it’s in good shape. No rips or missing pages.”
Becca grins. “Another mystery solved by the CCSC!”
“Our combined skills make us a great team,” Leo says.
“We haven’t been much of a team lately,” I say, hurt feelings rushing up to catch in my throat. I glance down at my sneakers, noticing a blade of grass on my left toe. I reach down to brush it off, then glance uneasily at my friends.
Leo knits his brows at me. “The CCSC is very important to me.”
“Is something wrong, Kelsey?” Becca studies me. “I thought you’d be happy you got your notebook back.”
“Yeah … I am but you’ve both been busy with other friends so much lately that it’s like I’m in our club alone.” I suck in a deep breath, not wanting to complain, but holding my real feelings inside would be dishonest, like lying. So I dig deep and spit it all out. “My feelings are hurt … Like you don’t care about our club—or me—anymore.”
“You can’t be serious.” Leo tilts his head as if trying to figure me out. “I had no idea you felt that way. I’ll admit I don’t always pick up on social cues and I enjoy helping Frankie out. But I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
“Me neither.” Becca reaches over to squeeze my hand. “Don’t feel left out. Didn’t I invite you to join the Sparklers?”
“Temporarily.” I twist the Sparkler necklace between my fingers, the light chain surprisingly heavy on my neck. “I don’t care about the Sparklers, but the CCSC means a lot to me. Belonging to a club of friends who work to help animals makes me feel like I’m doing something important.”
“And it’s fun,” Becca adds. Then she leans in to whisper, “Here’s a secret for your notebook: I care more about our club than the Sparklers.”
A heavy weight inside me lightens and I realize I’m smiling.
“I apologize if I’ve injured your feelings,” Leo says with such a confused expression that I feel sorry for him. “I didn’t know you felt left out. We can keep the club the same just like you want. We don’t need to add any new members.”
He sounds so sad that I feel a little guilty. But I don’t want Frankie in our club so I nod. “Our club has been really successful,” I say in a more cheerful tone. “We’ve solved mysteries and reunited pets with their owners. And we even donated half of our reward money to the Humane Society. I vote we celebrate our success. Do I hear a second?”
“Second,” Leo says, raising his hand.
“And third. But can we wait till tomorrow?” Becca asks. “I promised Mom to help with the animals.”
“Sure. After school, let’s celebrate the Case family way.” I straddle my bike, then turn back to my friends with a big grin. “A cookie-making party at my house.”
“Irresistible invitation.” Leo smacks his lips together. “I’ll be there.”
“I never say no to cookies,” Becca says. “Eating or making them.”
We curve our fingers into a C, bump knuckles, and air-shape the letter S, then kick off and ride away.
As I pedal home, I’m thinking about the CCSC and smiling.
It’s strange how a few hours can change everything. I don’t feel alone anymore. I have my green notebook. And my club mates and I are going to have a delicious cookie celebration.
Sure, there are still troubling questions: Is Erik the notebook thief? How can we get Albert to eat? And where does my brother go when he vanishes?
I don’t expect to hear from Becca until tomorrow, so I’m surprised when I’m getting ready for bed that night and Mom comes into my room with the phone. I wait till Mom leaves the room, then ask, “What’s up, Becca?”
“Kelsey!” She squeals so loudly that I pull the phone away from my ears. “You’ll never guess what I found out!”
“What?” I sink down on the edge of my bed to brace myself.
“I just checked the Corning Comic’s website,” she says breathlessly.
“Did he post more of my secrets?” I tense and grip the phone tight.
“The opposite—all the cartoons are gone. The website has been shut down.”
“But why?” I switch the phone to my other ear as I walk over to my window and stare into darkness. “I asked him to delete the post about Sophia—not his whole site.”
“You really scared him. Way to go, Kelsey. You used your superpower wisely.”
Something doesn’t add up but I’m thrilled the site is down. I rake my fingers through my hair. “I guess this means he stole my notebook.”
“Sophia will be so happy. I’m going to call her now and convince her to come back to school and not quit the play.”
“Good luck,” I say, but I’m more confused than ever as I hang up the phone.
Before I go to sleep, I take my notebook from my backpack. I stare down at the green cover with Notebook of Secrets black-inked across the top. Writing down secrets is fun and makes me feel like Harriet the Spy 2. But it would have been horrible for my family and friends if the secrets were exposed.
So I have to quit.
No more collecting secrets.
Kneeling in front of my wooden chest, I slide the book inside. The hidden drawer closes with a soft thud. And I vow never to open it again.
The next morning, Becca isn’t waiting for me at my locker, but Leo is there with an excited expression as he waves a printout.
“I have information on Reggie,” Leo announces with the enthusiasm of a TV game-show host. He kind of looks the role too, in a shiny black vest over a starchy white shirt and formal black slacks.
“Did you talk to Reggie?” I ask eagerly.
“No—but thanks to Frankie, we’ll have his phone number soon.”
Frankie again, I think. Frowning, I turn to my locker and grab my science book.
I slam my locker door shut and turn back to Leo. “Great work,” I say.
“Actually Frankie did all the detective work,” Leo explains. “Working in the drama club, he knows a lot about actors and says professional actors usually have an agent. He found the phone number for Reggie’s agent, Emily Shaw.”
“That’s great! Did you call her?”
Leo shakes his head. “Conversing with informants is a job for our social operative so I gave Becca the number.”
“Did I hear my name?” Becca asks, coming into our conversation. She looks chic in a tie-dyed wrap dress with a knotted front and a rainbow ribbon woven in her black ponytail. “Are you having a club meeting without me?”
Leo furrows his brow indignantly. “This is clearly not a club meeting. Our meetings are only held in the Skunk Shack.”
“Becca was just joking.” I chuckle.
“But it wasn’t funny like a pun or a knock-knock joke.”
“Not all jokes are actually jokes,” I try to explain, but I can tell by Leo’s puzzled expression that he doesn’t get it. Shrugging, I turn to Becca. “Leo was just telling me about finding Reggie’s agent. Did you call her?”
“Not yet.” Becca pushes a loose black curl from her face. “It’s too early so I’ll wait till later. Poor Albert misses Reggie so much. The sweet shelled baby is moping around and still won’t eat.”
“Albert could die without Reggie,” I say with a heavy heart.
“Once Reggie is aware of the situation, he will return,” Leo says confidently. “According to my calculations, assuming he finds out about Albert today and factoring in the speed of travel by car, Reggie will be back Saturday evening.”
But will that be soon enough for Albert?
I fall into step with Becca as we head for class through the crowded halls. Overhead lights flash on Becca’s silver crescent moon necklace, and I touch the identical necklace I’m wearing. After the fund-raiser tomorrow, I’ll return the necklace. My temporary Sparkler status will be over. And to be honest, I’m relieved.
Becca is the only one at the Sparkler table. I glance around and see Tyla and Chloe waiting in the fast food line. Sophia is absent again—probably still too upset to return to school. Dumping my backpack on the floor, I sit beside Becca.
She leans close to whisper, “I talked to the agent! I was super nervous because a Hollywood type with famous friends might not even talk to a kid. But she didn’t hang up on me!”
“Did she tell you Reggie’s number?”
“She said she can’t divulge client info.” Becca rips into a bag of chips. I’m surprised but pleased that she’s brown-bagging her lunch like me. “But after I explained about Albert, she was really sympathetic because she had a desert tortoise when she was little. She said Reggie was filming in a remote location, but she’d contact him and ask him to call me.”
“The sooner, the better for Albert.” I open my brown bag and unwrap a triple-layered honey ham sandwich on banana nut bread. “Now we just wait.”
“My phone is on vibrate so I don’t miss his call.” Becca pats her backpack.
We talk about Albert for a while. Becca saw him drinking water, but otherwise he hides in his shell.
“Speaking of tortoise shells—look what I’ve designed,” Becca says in a brighter tone and holds out a square of cotton fabric. “Does it look like a tortoise carapace?”
The fabric is fawn brown blended with a shimmering gray. “It’s gorgeous,” I say.
“I’m sewing a club vest for each of us,” she says excitedly.
“A club outfit.” I smile. “I love it.”
“Love what?” Tyla interrupts in the chilly tone she uses just for me. Chloe follows behind her, and they sit down across from us.
“Kelsey was admiring my new design.” Becca waves the square of fabric.
“Why are you wasting time with that instead of creating face-painting designs?” Tyla says with a disapproving sniff. “That’s what I spent hours doing last night.”
Tyla plops her large sketch pad between the lunch trays, and then Becca and Chloe spend the rest of lunch admiring Tyla’s drawings. I sneak peeks too, although I pretend not to care. I have to admit that she’s very talented. Her mermaids look magical with hair spilling like ocean waves, and her unicorns seem to fly and leap off the page.
Kelsey the Spy Page 12
