by Barrie Summy
A couple of fence sections later, I say, “Mom, my knees are getting seriously dented, and I’m finding zip.”
“Nothing for me yet either.” Her voice fades as she drifts back toward her end of the fence.
Junie’s way far from me but looks like she’s searching the way she does everything else in life. With intensity.
A breeze whistles down the savanna and lifts my hair. And my skirt. I tug down on the hem. What was I thinking, wearing a skirt for detecting? And the sandals yesterday? I have got to get organized in the detective-attire department. Something practical yet chic.
The breeze whips by again, this time stronger. It carries animal and flower smells and the old people’s voices.
“He wants the meat? And the horn?” Vera sounds totally pissed.
I go all rigid, like a hunting dog when he flushes a flock of birds.
“You can’t trust a Frenchman.” Bald Man taps the armrest of his wheelchair. “I’ve said it from the beginning. The entire country’s dishonest.”
“Mom!” I whisper-call.
“I’m phoning him.” Arthur hands his cell to Vera, who pokes in numbers with her index finger. “We don’t want to overreact on something this serious. Could be just a misunderstanding.”
“Make it clear he’s not doing that to our precious rhinos.” Vera’s lavender do bobs with each word.
His knuckles chalk white, Arthur presses the phone to his ear. “He’s not picking up.”
“Chef L’Oeuf’s avoiding us,” Vera says. “On purpose.”
I think of the meringue bubbling and boogying. “Mom! Get over here!” I say as loud as I dare. I look around wildly. Junie’s miles off.
“I vote we move to plan B.” Bald Man is still tapping away. “We’ll use the gun store on Coronado. Kearny’s Gun Exchange. I hear they have a hefty senior-citizen discount.” Bald Man slaps his armrest. “We’ll take him down tomorrow.”
All the old people look around at each other, nodding.
Ack. Eek. They’re planning to kill the chef.
The old people trundle, hobble, roll away from the rhino exhibit.
“Mom! Where are you?” I sniff. Nothing but animals and plants and dirt. My mother has flown the coop.
I text Junie. Get over here quick.
“What’s going on?” Junie’s all breathless from running.
I tell her. All breathless from panic. “This is so bad, Junie. I can’t smell my mom anywhere. The wind must’ve blown her away before I could tell her what I overheard—that a bunch of crazy old people are planning to murder a chef who’s planning to murder a rhino for its meat and horn.” I put a hand on my chest and force myself to breathe evenly.
Junie’s cell rings. “What’s up, Amber?” She frowns. “No, we don’t want to meet you in the parking lot in one minute.” She listens some more before snapping her phone shut. “Sherry, the studio called, and this afternoon’s shoot starts early. I gotta go. I promised.” Closing her eyes, she leans her head back. “You’re right. This is bad.”
My mind’s racing. My heart’s racing. My feet are racing.
I’m ditching my mother.
A detective’s gotta do what a detective’s gotta do.
And I know what I have to do next.
Amber drives to the condo like a crazed wannabe movie star. Then she dashes around her bedroom like a crazed wannabe movie star, scooping up all her new clothes and accessories.
Meanwhile, like crazed rhino protectors, me and Junie are scrambling to brew up a cup of coffee, which I plunk on the patio table with a note that says Kearny’s Gun Exchange. Hoping against hope my mom makes it this far. Then we’re madly leafing through the phone book, hunting for the address of the gun store.
“Junie, we’re leaving. As in now.” Amber tugs on Junie’s arm.
Junie shakes loose. “It’s on Third.” She chews on her tongue, thinking. “That’s only a couple of miles away.”
“I can’t walk it.” I lift my foot. “Any more blisters, and I’ll be on crutches. Like, till we’re in high school.”
“Let’s go.” Amber jangles the car keys in Junie’s face. “We’re driving so I don’t sweat.”
“I’m thinking bicycle.” Junie bobs her head, dodging the keys, and says to me, “There’s a bike-rental place at the Del.”
She is seriously the smartest friend I have.
“Rent it for a couple of days,” Junie says, “in case you don’t get it back before closing today.”
See what I mean?
Seconds later, Amber, Junie and me’re out the door and piling into my aunt’s car. Then, we’re there, at the Del. The engine’s barely off and we’re racing in our separate directions. Amber and Junie to the movie set by the pool. Me to the bike-rental place, Bells and Horns.
I barrel into Bells and Horns, skidding to a stop at the counter.
There’s a blond cutie-pie with a Lance Armstrong bracelet. His badge reads: ZACH, CYCLE CONSULTANT. He winks at me but doesn’t get off his cell. “Break up with her, dude,” he says into the phone.
I tap on the glass countertop.
Zach catches my eye and holds up a finger. “Seriously, she’s way needy. Who wants a girlfriend you have to see every day?”
I hop up and down, hoping he’ll get the hint and disconnect.
“Dude, she’ll still cheer for you at football games. She has to. She’s a cheerleader.”
“Excuse me,” I interrupt. “I need a bike. Desperately.”
“I gotta go, man. Customer.” Zach glances at me. “Yeah, I’m at work.” He pushes a piece of paper and a pen across the counter. “I know. I can’t believe my dad made me get a job. So lame.”
Faster than a superhero, I fill out the paperwork, pay and grab a bike and helmet. As a result, I end up with a pumpkin-colored bicycle that clashes horribly with my new tank top, and a Dora the Explorer helmet that squishes my ears and earrings into my skull.
I vault onto the bike seat and zoom off.
Behind me, Zach calls, “You training for the Tour de France?”
I’d roll my eyes, but the helmet’s clamped too tightly to my head.
I pedal crazy fast, swerve into the parking lot with the Kearny’s Gun Exchange sign, spring off my bike and toss it near the bike rack.
I look around, then do a double take. Kearny’s is so not what I was expecting. Where’s the whole western theme? Like a bunch of scraggly cacti next to a faded wooden building with a post to tie up your horse to?
Instead I’m standing in front of a strip mall. Kearny’s is sandwiched between Juanita’s Beauty Salon and Kragen Auto. Farther along the sidewalk, there’s an In-N-Out Burger and a dentist. You can, like, get your teeth cleaned and your nails filled, then grab a cheeseburger, a set of rims and a gun. One-stop shopping.
I hit the burger joint for a coffee.
In the parking lot, there’s a burgundy van with a handicapped sticker on the license plate. Must be my old people.
I spy through Kearny’s security screen door. A man with short hair and an eagle tattoo on his forearm is spraying Windex on a glass counter. I wait till he’s out of sight before setting the coffee next to the wall. More Mom insurance.
I slowly open the door, tiptoe in, peeking carefully around for Tattoo Man. For all I know there’s an age requirement for gun stores. I’m a couple of steps into the store when a buzzer goes off, screaming my arrival.
“You looking for your grandparents?” Tattoo Man jack-in-the-boxes up from behind the counter.
“Uh, sure.”
With a head jerk, he indicates the rear of the store.
When I get to the back counter, I spot them: Arthur, Tall Lavender Lady Vera and Bald Man, in his wheelchair. Waiting on them is a middle-aged man with floppy Dumbo ears and greased-down hair. They’re all drooling over some weapon of future chef destruction.
I crouch down behind a big cardboard display of ammunition. Small plastic bags of bullets dangle from hooks and brush against my spine. Creep
y.
“Earl, why aren’t you showing us something we recognize from a cop show? Like a Glock or a SIG Sauer?” Bald Man demands. “Something with oomph.”
Something with oomph?
Earl rubs an ear. “A semiautomatic isn’t your smartest choice. They screw up. They jam.”
“Might be a complication we should avoid,” Vera says.
“Hmpf.” Bald Man points a crooked finger at the display. “Which one of these two-inch-barrel revolvers is the lightest?”
Earl rubs his other ear. “Ya don’t want the lightest—”
“I already explained to you about our arthritis.” Bald Man is pushy.
“Ya gotta squeeze off two shots. That’ll stop your garden-variety intruder.” Earl shrugs. “Two shots is tough with major recoil.”
Arthur and Vera take small steps away from the counter, tottering toward my hiding spot. Her purple cane taps the floor.
I curl up little like a cheese puff.
They stop, and Vera, so much taller than Arthur, slouches over him so they can get their heads together. They do make a fine couple.
Arthur shoots a look at Bald Man, who’s bombarding Earl with ballistics questions. “Vera, are you sure about this?”
“I’m sure we shouldn’t let the chef get away with his plan.” She pats some lavender hair into place.
He sighs. “Isn’t there any other way?”
“By tomorrow night?” She raises a snowy eyebrow. “Arthur, sometimes you have to take risks for what you believe in, for the future. That’s what we’re doing. Remember Dr. Kim.”
He sighs again. They totter back to the counter.
See. They do love the rhinos. They love them so much, they’re willing to take risks so the rhinos can have a future. And Dr. Kim, whoever he is, feels the same way.
A creepy smile on his face, Bald Man’s weighing revolvers, one in each of his wrinkly palms. “I like this baby. The .357 Smith and Wesson five-shot.” He passes the firearm to Arthur.
Arthur carefully hands the gun to Vera.
She turns it over a few times, then sets it on the counter. “Passes muster with me.”
“So, what’s the senior-citizen discount?” Bald Man asks.
Earl says, “We can do five percent.”
“Five percent?” Bald Man shouts. “What if I were military? What if I hadn’t been rejected for flat feet? What would the discount be then?”
Vera squeezes Bald Man’s shoulder to calm him down. “We’ll take it.” She smiles at Earl. “Credit card okay?”
“Ya gotta take the written test first. Then there’s a ten-day wait.”
“Ten days?” Bald Man pounds the counter. “We can’t wait ten days.”
“Sorry, but that’s the law.” Earl doesn’t look sorry at all. He locks everything up and heads to the front of the store.
“I got an idea.” Bald Man’s eyes are flashing, all bloodshot and psychotic. “We’ll go into gang territory.” He hits the counter again. “Buy a piece on the street.”
Vera’s lavender head is bobbing up and down in a yes, and she clomps her cane a couple of times. She’s caught up in the maniac moment.
Even Arthur isn’t telling them it’s too dangerous.
I’ve always known grown-ups lose it in old age. I mean, look at Grandma Baldwin with her birds and her crystals. But these old people are mucho nuttier than any I’ve ever met. No way can I let them, these fellow Fearless Rhino Warriors, venture into gang country. They’d never hobble out alive. It’s up to me to save them from their wacky selves.
I bounce up, knocking a few packages of bullets down from the rack, and dust myself off. Then, a friendly hand raised in greeting, I step out from behind the display. “Hi. I’m Sherry Baldwin. I just want to let you know you can chill and stop stressing over the rhinos. You guys don’t need a gun. You don’t need to kill the chef. My mom, grandfather and me are totally on top of the situation. We’ll keep our precious rhinos safe.”
The three of them stop dead in their tracks.
I can tell by their glassy stares and dropped jaws that they don’t know whether to believe me or not. Which makes sense. I mean, I’m only a teen who popped up unexpectedly from behind an ammunition display. “Really. We can handle it. We’ve been investigating, and we’ve got it all figured out.”
Still no response from the old people. They’re like statues.
“Like, for example, we know the poacher will strike tomorrow night, Thursday, because the chef’s special dinner is Friday, and he wants everything, uh, fresh.”
I dig in my mini-backpack and pull out a used Wild Animal Park ticket and a pen. After jotting down my cell number, I hand the ticket to Arthur. “Feel free to check in on our progress. I’m happy to keep you up-to-date.”
He slowly stretches out an arm to take the number.
I beam a cupidy matchmaker’s grin at him and Vera. “I happened to overhear you two planning a country-western dancing date to practice your two-step. Go for it. Have fun. No more rhino worries.” I look at Bald Man. “You too. Go enjoy yourself with a normal retired-person activity, like watching bowling on TV.”
Vera clutches Arthur’s arm, and they navigate a huge path around me. At breakneck speed, Bald Man whips to the front door in his wheelchair.
I hear Vera say, “Who is she and where did she come from?”
Her tone of voice says, What lunatic institution did that incredibly deranged, demented psychopath escape from?
No, no, no. We’re on the same side. I’m sane and trustworthy and likable.
I shove my pen in my backpack and zip it shut, trying to get myself together quickly to catch the old people in the parking lot.
There’s a tap on my shoulder.
I jump about a million miles into the air.
It’s Tattoo Man, and he’s standing a little too close. “Yer gonna pick up the ammo you knocked off the display, right?”
“Uh, right.”
I hang up all the packets of bullets and straighten them, then exit Kearny’s Gun Exchange in time to see the burgundy van careening out of the parking lot and onto the street.
“Sherry!”
I jump another million miles. “Mom! You gotta quit freaking me out like that.”
“Sorry, pumpkin.”
I sink down onto the curb. “So, you made it from the Park to the condo and then from the condo to here?”
“Impressive, isn’t it?” A few leaves are gusted away as Mom settles next to me.
“Very. Where’s Grandpa?”
“Resting up for tomorrow when we catch the poacher. We’ll go over those plans in a moment. But first, bring me up to speed on what happened today at the Park and where the gun store fits into everything.”
So I tell her.
There’s a long pause. Too long. Finally, my mom says, “Murder? You really think the old people were planning to murder the chef?”
“Absolutely. I heard them.”
“Sherry, they’re pretty frail. I don’t see them as a physical threat to anyone. However, I’m wondering if they’re connected to the case in a different way.”
I cross my arms. “I heard them.”
“Just listen for a second. Perhaps the old people want rhino horns for themselves. They met on an arthritis Web site. They’re in a lot of pain. Rhino horns are used in a variety of quack medicines.”
“No way.” I stamp my foot. I hate it when my mom blows me off. “Like I already said, I heard them. They’re Fearless Rhino Warriors.”
“Good police work involves keeping an open mind.” Mom clears her throat. “Let’s talk about your role in stopping the poacher tomorrow at the Park. Your grandfather and I feel strongly that we can prevent the crime and handle any actual conflict. Our paranormal powers give us a definite edge. We’ll need you to dial nine-one-one when the situation’s under control. That’s all, though. I’m assuming Junie will be with you?”
“She will.”
“Good. That makes it safer. Basicall
y, we want you and Junie hidden and out of danger.”
We figure out tomorrow’s meet time, then Mom leaves to go conspire with Grandpa.
All in all, I’m feeling superb. I’ve turned out to be a skilled detective. I rescued the old people’s butts from muggings on gang turf. I discovered they were Fearless Rhino Warriors. My mom’s afterlife will be saved. The rhinos will be safe. I’m totally on track with Junie. And sweet romance is percolating between me and Josh. Major sigh.
Biking back to the condo, I yawn. At my aunt’s, I’ll sack out and sleep uninterrupted until tomorrow morning. At which time I’ll take a long, hot shower and eat a bunch of junk food for breakfast.
Then I’m going on a secret personal errand.
Junie and Amber had already left when I finally rolled out of bed on Thursday. Junie’s note said they had to reshoot some of yesterday’s scene but that she and Amber would definitely be back in time for the Wild Animal Park jaunt later this afternoon.
I park the bike and hustle into Home Depot, filled with joy and hope. Thoughts of my darling fishies fill me with warmth. I’m here for some serious aquarium shopping.
I follow the signs hanging from the ceiling until I get to the garden center, and start poking around in the fertilizer shelves. I’m humming a happy song and feeling good.
“Can I help you?”
I look up to see an older woman, rake thin, with hair the color of yellow daisies. She’s tying a bow at the back of her orange Home Depot apron.
“Hi,” I say with a bright smile. “I’m looking for Keflit.”
She crosses her arms over her narrow chest. “What are you planning to do with Keflit?”
I launch into the story of my turquoise + sea green bedroom walls and how I invented the paint color at Home Depot, but at a Home Depot in Phoenix—why did I pick such a tough color to match?—and how I’m trying to coordinate my aquarium decor with my walls. Okay, I know I’m rambling, but it’s a pretty interesting ramble.
Arms crossed even tighter, she interrupts me with, “Do you know what Keflit is really for?”
“Planting,” I say. That’s one good thing about all this detective work. I’ve gotten really talented at remembering details. And I can totally hear Arthur saying Keflit was for planting, not aquariums.
