Kelsey the Spy

by Linda J Singleton

  The ground dips and drops into rocky crevices, so we have to crawl part of the way. My hands are scraped when we get through the rocky path and stand beneath the towering trees.

  “So where is he?” Becca frowns.

  “Not here.” I shrug, looking around.

  “I don’t understand.” Leo presses a button on his remote. “FRODO’s indicators say that Frankie is here. The arrow points ahead to the cliff. We’re on the cliff, but he’s nowhere in sight. There’s no way else for Frankie to go.”

  “But there is,” I say as fear slices through me.

  And I point to the cliff.

  - Chapter 24 -

  Cliffhanger

  A scraggy tree hangs at an odd angle over the edge of empty air. Soft dirt shimmers with mossy-green dew and crumbly rocks. One patch of dirt is scuffed with skid marks disappearing over the cliff—like something or someone has fallen.

  “OMG!” I cry.

  Becca grabs for my hand, horror reflecting in her dark eyes.

  “Frankie.” Leo’s gasp tumbles like a heavy rock from his gaping mouth.

  We’re frozen in what seems like forever, staring at empty sky beyond the cliff. In my mind, I see it happening: Frankie running, too upset to watch where he’s going until he’s sliding on the cliff’s edge, the mossy grass slippery. His arms flail as the ground crumples beneath him and he falls …

  “It’s too horrible!” Becca sobs and throws her arms around me. “No one was here to help … He didn’t have a chance.”

  “Poor Frankie.” My heart aches as I look over at Leo who just stands there, staring at the cliff.

  “We should do something,” Becca says.

  I nod, tears stinging my face.

  Leo is made of stone, saying nothing. Neither of us makes a move to look over the edge. Like when I went to my grandfather’s funeral and couldn’t bear to look inside his coffin.

  Did Frankie land on the rocks, or is the river his coffin?

  I walk over to Leo, touching his arm. “We … we should go for help.”

  “Help …”

  I’m staring at Leo’s face but his lips haven’t moved.

  “Help …” I hear the faint cry again.

  Leo must have heard it too, because he’s rushing to the cliff’s edge and kneeling over to look down.

  “Frankie!” he screams.

  Snapping out of my shock, I run over beside him, careful not to get too close to the edge as I peer over.

  Then I see him, a blue stripe of hair on dark black and a face so pale he could be a ghost—except that he’s alive! Frankie clings to a root with both hands, one foot perched on a tiny rock jutting from the cliff and the other dangling over a steep drop down to a ribbon of river. If he falls, he’s dead.

  “I’ll pull you up,” Leo shouts down.

  “I’ll help.” Becca leans over, twisting the end of her black ponytail.

  “We all will,” I add. “Hang on, Frankie!”

  “What do you think I’ve been doing?” Frankie calls up in a shaky voice.

  Leo bends over, stretching as far as he can. But there’s about a two-foot gap between Leo’s reaching fingers and Frankie’s grasping hands.

  When Leo turns to me, his face is ashen with terror. “We need help!”

  “I left my phone at the booth,” Becca says with a helpless gesture.

  “Leo, what about your phone?” I ask.

  He takes it from his pocket, then hangs his head in shame. “No power … So much happened last night that I forgot to charge it.”

  I don’t know if I’m more shocked that Frankie is dangling over the cliff or that organized Leo forgot to charge his phone.

  But my brain clicks into calm clarity, and I say, “I’ll run back to the fund-raiser and get help.”

  Becca shakes her head. “No, you stay here with Frankie. I’ll run to my mom’s booth and get Hank and the other volunteers to help.”

  “Tell them to bring rope,” Leo adds.

  “Leo,” Frankie calls up feebly. “Go … get … Mom.”

  “I won’t leave you,” Leo insists.

  “You … you’re the only one who … who knows Mom.” Frankie sucks in a weary breath, his knuckles white as he clutches the tree. “Get Mom … please.”

  Leo’s face is grim as he nods. Then he and Becca are running, disappearing into trees. And it’s just Frankie and me.

  I’m sweating fear but trying to stay calm as I kneel down on the dirt. I hang my head over the ledge.

  “Frankie, are you okay?”

  “Never better.” His laugh is more like a gasp.

  “Hold on tight.”

  “Yeah.” He’s clinging awkwardly to the branch, his face streaked with dirt. “I am … but … getting tired.”

  “You’re doing great. Help will be here soon,” I say, hoping my words are true. I worry he’s weakening. “Don’t give up.”

  “I never … never give up,” he says, then adds in a ragged voice. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry for falling off a cliff?”

  “That too … but not what I meant.” His grip on the root slips and he grabs at it, dirt tumbling like dark snow around him.

  “Save your energy,” I call out, fear clutching my heart.

  “But … but in case”—a groan—“if I can’t hold on long enough … I want you to know I never meant to hurt anyone.”

  “Is this some kind of confession? Well, forget it,” I say furiously because he’s scaring me. “Save the confession until later. Your safety is way more important than a stupid notebook.”

  “Leo said you know I took it,” Frankie chokes out.

  “That doesn’t matter now.”

  “But it does—to me. I want you to know why.”

  “I don’t care why you did it. Just hold on and save your energy.”

  “Talking helps keep … keep me from freaking out.”

  “Okay, then talk. Do not freak out. Do not fall!”

  “Not on my to-do list.” He gulps. “Besides, things I mean to do don’t always work out. I only took the notebook to impress you.”

  “There are better ways to impress me,” I say with a groan. “Stealing isn’t on the list.”

  “It was supposed to be fun. Leo said members in your club had to be”—he sucks in a raspy breath—“good at puzzles, solving mysteries, and being trustworthy.”

  “You stole my notebook so I’d trust you?” I ask in confusion.

  His grip on the branch is so fragile that I clench my hands together as if I can hold on for him. “It was a spy game,” he finally says so softly that I strain my ears to hear. “I took the notebook so you could follow clues to finding it—like the games Leo told me you did in your club.”

  “Leo told you about our spy games!” I exclaim.

  “Not much … just that you … you tested him and Becca.” He pauses to catch his breath, then talks fast as if he’s running out of time. “I thought if I did the same for you, you’d want me in your club. After Tyla shouted that you had secrets in your notebook, I followed you to your locker, spying to learn your locker combination. I took your notebook, then pieced together a ransom note from magazines.”

  “InbeTWEEN magazine was one of them,” I say.

  “Yeah.” His voice seems weaker.

  “I figured out you were guilty because of the glue.” I need to keep talking, encouraging him to hang on. “You used a stinky glue.”

  “Spirit glue. Actors use it for putting beards and hair on faces. The school buys a stinky brand because it’s cheaper.” He starts to laugh, but it turns into a cough when dirt falls into his mouth. When he can talk again, he continues. “I was so proud of my ransom note—my first ever.”

  “My first too,” I admit. “But why lead me to a closed donut shop and then not return my notebook?”

  “It wasn’t about the notebook; it was about the dog. I saw that dog in the park on the way to school … a lost pet.” He coughs. “So I left school a little early—I can
do that since drama is my last class—and caught the dog. I left him for you to find, so you could get the reward for your club.”

  “Wow” is all I can say.

  “You were supposed to find the notebook by following the puzzle-box clue.”

  “I couldn’t figure it out.”

  “Didn’t you ask Leo for help?” He moves his hands slightly and dirt tumbles down, down, down to the distant river below. I squeeze my eyes shut, terrified. When I open my eyes, I focus on Frankie’s face as he continues talking. “I thought Leo and Becca would help you solve the puzzle.”

  “I didn’t show it to them right away,” I admit.

  He doesn’t say anything, his glance shifting down toward the river below.

  “Look up at me! Hold on! Don’t you want to know why I didn’t show the box to Leo and Becca?” I speak fast and loud, desperate to keep him gazing up at me.

  “Yeah,” he says feebly. “Tell me.”

  “Leo was busy with you, and Becca had the Sparklers. So I tried to prove I didn’t need their help. But it turns out I did.” I think back. “I thought Erik Taylor stole my notebook because of the Corning Comic’s cartoon about Sophia. But you already know Erik is the Corning Comic since you read the notebook.”

  “No.” He starts to shake his head, but that makes his fingers slip so he goes still. “I know now … but didn’t.” His words come out in ragged gasps. “I didn’t read … your notebook.”

  “But you must have! All those secrets—how could you resist?”

  “I glanced … but I didn’t read … well … until I saw Leo’s name … couldn’t believe he’s only eleven.”

  “Almost twelve,” I point out.

  “In three weeks,” Frankie whispers. “He doesn’t want a party.”

  “He’s embarrassed about his age.” I frown. “Does he know you know?”

  “No … Age doesn’t matter … He’s the best friend I ever had.” He sucks in a ragged breath, then continues. “He said you’d let me join the club if I could solve mysteries, help animals, and earn your trust. The puzzle box was a mystery, and I found the lost dog. I didn’t read your secrets—except Leo’s—so I’m trustworthy.” He breathes in and out slowly. “And I left a new secret … never even told Leo. Can I … I be in your club?”

  I really feel low, like a slimy bug that deserves to be squished. So what if he stole my notebook? He didn’t do it out of meanness, but to prove himself to the CCSC. And I was too suspicious and unforgiving to give him a chance.

  Frankie makes a choking sound. There’s a horrible sound of dirt falling.

  “Hold on!” I lean over the edge, desperately looking for a way to reach him. But he’s too far down … and slipping. His foot gives way. He dangles in midair, held up only by a sagging tree root that showers a dirt waterfall.

  “Can’t … hold on … much longer …” Frankie gasps.

  I look around desperately. I have to help him! But what can I do? I can’t risk leaning over any further because the rocky dirt I’m kneeling on isn’t very firm. I can’t reach him.

  Ohmygod! What if he falls and all I can do is watch?

  My heart pounds as if it’s trying to escape from my chest. I stare down at Frankie, no longer seeing a boy who can’t be trusted … but a friend I may lose.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “Just hang on, and when you’re safe, we’ll take a vote on letting you into the CCSC. You have my vote. I promise.”

  “Really?” Hope shines from his mud-streaked face.

  “Yeah.” I nod. “Your ransom note was cool. The puzzle box really clever. And catching a fast dog like Bobbsey proves you’re good at helping animals. You’ll make a great addition to the CCSC.”

  He smiles feebly. “What … what does CCSC stand for?”

  “Leo didn’t tell you?”

  “No … A … a … club secret.” His voice is so weak I can barely hear him.

  “It’s the Curious Cat—”

  I don’t get any further because there’s a shout from behind me.

  When I turn, I see Leo, Becca, her mother, Hank, and a stocky man wearing a red bolo tie.

  Help is here!

  - Chapter 25 -

  Tortoise Tom

  A heavy rope dangles from Hank’s callused hands, and he offers the end of it to the man wearing a bolo tie. Bolo Tie Man ties the rope on a tree trunk, his thick fingers twisting the rope into a complicated knot.

  “Hold on, son!” Hank calls out as he carries the loose end of the rope to the cliff.

  I stand on wobbly legs, reluctant to lift my gaze from Frankie as if I’m holding him up by sheer will. But I move away from the cliff to give the strong men plenty of room for the rescue. I squeeze between Becca and her mother.

  Mrs. Morales shouts down to Frankie, “We’ll get you out.”

  “You’re going to be okay,” Becca adds.

  Frankie opens his mouth to reply, but I hear nothing except the terrified pounding of my own heart.

  Hank tosses the rope down to Frankie. “Grab hold of it,” he says gently.

  “I’m … I’m afraid to let go,” Frankie sobs.

  “You can do it,” Becca encourages.

  “Take the rope!” I cry.

  “I don’t wanna fall …” His voice cracks. “Where’s my mom?”

  “She’s coming,” Becca answers. “Leo is bringing her. But you need to focus on getting up here. Take the rope, Frankie.”

  “I’ll loop it so you can let it drop over your head,” Hank calls out. “Once it’s on your waist it’ll tighten, and you can grab hold of the rope while I pull you up.”

  Frankie sobs, but he doesn’t argue.

  Becca, her mother, and I stand back. We cling to each other, watching the two men ease the rope down to Frankie. When I hear a cry and the sound of falling dirt, I grit my teeth hard so I don’t cry out.

  There’s a scraping sound. Shouts. The rope is lifted. And when I see a blue curl over Frankie’s black hair, I whoop for joy. He’s safe!

  A woman screams Frankie’s name, and Leo appears with a woman who looks just like Frankie—same raven black hair and dark eyes. She rushes forward to Frankie, sobbing and laughing as she throws her arms around her son.

  “Mom!” he cries, hugging her.

  It gets crazy after that with more adults coming forward to help, but fortunately the danger is over. We’re a strange parade of adults and kids as we wind back down the woodsy path to the festive booths. The Humane Society fund-raiser continues, with only a small group aware of how close this fun event came to becoming a tragedy.

  Leo refuses to leave Frankie’s side, and they go with the flow of concerned adults. I turn to Becca. “I guess we should get back to the Sparkler booth.”

  “Not yet,” she says. “We need to go to my mom’s booth.”

  “Why?”

  She frowns. “He’s leaving.”

  From her sad expression, I immediately know who she’s talking about.

  Bolo-Tie Man is Tortoise Tom—and he’s come to take Albert away. All my happiness at Frankie’s rescue fades away.

  “You must be the kids who’ve been helping this fine tortoise,” Tortoise Toms greets us, smiling. “What an amazing creature! I haven’t seen an Aldabra that old and in such great shape for years. You’ve done a wonderful job caring for him.”

  “Not us,” I say softly. “His owner, Reggie, took great care of him.”

  “But didn’t keep him,” Becca’s mother puts in, her expression critical. “Albert will be happy with Thomas.”

  “That he will,” Thomas booms, the strings on his red bolo tie wiggling. “No worries about the tortoise. He’ll get the best care possible. And as a bonus, he’ll have the company of some lovely female Aldabra tortoises.”

  But he won’t be with his best friend, I think sadly.

  “You kids go say your good-byes,” Thomas tells us. “I’m in no hurry to leave. I’m going to check out the food booths. I heard there’s some award-winning chi
li that sounds delicious.”

  After he leaves, Becca and I walk over to the makeshift tortoise pen. Albert is beside a shallow tub of water. His head is tucked in like he’s sleeping. I call his name and he doesn’t move. Becca tries too, but still no response. So we call him together, and his wrinkly neck lifts toward us.

  “Let’s get closer to him,” Becca says, stepping over the gate.

  We kneel next to Albert, stroking his neck and speaking to him softly. We say encouraging things, like how cool his new home will be and how popular he’ll be with his new girlfriends. His black eyes study us, but they’re like gray clouds darkening as the skies prepare to storm.

  “So everything turned out great,” I tell Becca in a forced upbeat tone. “Frankie was rescued. Dad’s cookies are a hit. And the mystery of my missing notebook is solved—Frankie explained why he took it.”

  While we sit on each side of Albert, I tell Becca everything Frankie said. When I’m finished, her eyes practically pop out. “He did it to impress us?” She flips her ponytail over her shoulder. “Seriously, that’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “It worked though, because I am impressed. Not only did he come up with creative clues, but he was so stealth that I never suspected him.”

  “But aren’t you mad he stole your notebook? Now he knows your secrets—and one of mine.”

  “No, he doesn’t.” I say. “He didn’t read our secrets so he doesn’t know about your mo—”

  “My mother,” she finishes, biting her lip.

  “Yeah. Do you want to know her secret?” I ask as I gently stroke Albert.

  “I’ve suspected something fishy was up with her. She’s been acting weird lately, wearing perfume and fussing with her hair. She’s dating someone, isn’t she?”

  I nod. “Are you okay with that?”

  “As long as it’s not another cowboy,” she says with a wry smile.

  “It’s not.” It feels weird to talk about my secrets. I’m so used to hiding them, but I want to be honest with Becca. So I tell her about seeing her mother kissing the sheriff, and she doesn’t freak out.

  “I guess that’s not too bad,” she says, looking relieved. “I like the sheriff.”

  We’re quiet for a few minutes, and my thoughts drift back to Frankie.