The Incredible Polly McDoodle (The Polly McDoodle Mystery Series Book 4)

by Mary Woodbury

“I hope Mom will let me go.”

  “Why wouldn’t she?” Kyle asked.

  “How would I get there? Aren’t I too old for all this silly stuff?”

  “My mom and dad worry that society will forget how many women were burned at the stake for supposedly being witches. They are afraid that making light of the tragedies of past centuries may lead us as a civilization to repeat our grave mistakes,” Kyle shrugged his shoulders. “I just want to dress up as a chemistry professor and collect candy.”

  “Parents, eh. We can’t live with them and we can’t live without them.”

  “At least ours are pretty consistent,” said Kyle.

  “Consistent?” Polly moaned.

  “They always act the same. They say what we expect them to say.”

  “Oh, yeah. I guess that’s comforting.”

  “So are you,” Kyle laughed. “Consistent.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, today you were chatting with someone in the hall just outside Mr. Stone’s door.”

  “So?”

  “So you were busy telling them about your dad’s birthday and wondering how much his aunt and uncle would send him and what you could buy for him seeing as you were going to get money from Isabel in Mexico.” Kyle sighed. “What if there had been a mail thief nearby? Did you even consider that?”

  “You’re paranoid, Kyle. Nobody was listening.” Polly shook her head.

  “That’s what you think.”

  “Okay, smart-aleck, who was listening?”

  “Half the class heard you. Harvey Newhouse was making rude gestures with his hand showing everyone you were a motor mouth. Mr. Stone was leaning against the board by the door reading an essay.”

  Polly leapt up from her chair and grabbed her sketchbook, the torn envelope, and her backpack, and raced to the door. “I’m not staying around here being accused of being mouthy and stupid.”

  “I never said you were stupid.”

  “You implied it.”

  “I did not.”

  “Yes, you did.” Polly headed for the stairs.

  “I just think you ought to be more careful who you talk to and where,” Kyle shouted after her.

  She flew down the steps and over to the apartment building. Her face was flushed and her ears burned. She let herself into the quiet apartment. Her parents had already left for the movies.

  Polly threw her backpack and sketchbook on the floor.

  She flopped down on the couch and turned on the television. She stared at the sitcom on the screen. Tears welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. “The insufferable brat, the stupid prig, the super-rational wombat, I hate him.”

  So much for a lifelong friendship. So much for a detective partner.

  She was never going to talk to Kyle Clay again, not in a month of Sundays, as her dad would say. Or Mondays or anytime. George, who had been sleeping on her bed, came in, wagging his tail, and jumped up on her lap. He kissed her nose. She wiped it off. “Aren’t you glad you don’t have to figure out how to grow up, George?”

  Polly grabbed a glass of milk from the fridge and snuggled on the couch to watch the show. “What a day! I gained a friend I thought I’d lost for sure, and lost a friend I thought I had forever.” The Embattled, Embarrassed McDoodle sipped her milk.

  George curled beside her. He still had spaghetti sauce on his beard.

  15. A Crook with a Conscience

  The next morning Polly asked her dad to give her a ride to school. She didn’t tell him she was trying to avoid Kyle. She didn’t even feel like seeing Mandy because Mandy would ask about Kyle. Instead she asked her dad about the movie they had seen last night. She let him ramble on giving her a run-down on the plot.

  “Thanks for the lift,” she said as he let her off in front of the school. When her dad’s car had turned the corner she walked through the lane beside the fire station onto the next block to see the Spookarama set-up. The school and the community league were working with the neighbourhood. One man was putting up a row of grave markers. I. M. Deadly, C. Skeleton, R. I. P. Rest in Pieces, Shot to Bits. Houses were festooned with giant spider’s webs, and on the porches or lawns sat giant pumpkins, stuffed garbage bag spiders and ghosts with spooky voices, or coffins with lids that opened.

  In spite of herself Polly smiled. She loved a good party. She’d have to talk her parents into coming with her on Friday night for the official Spookarama. There were prizes for costumes and lots of goodies. They could bring one bag for the loot and one with food in it for the Food Bank.

  As she walked back to the school she started to hum the tunes the choir was practising for Oliver. “Food Glorious Food,” and “Consider Yourself” were two she really liked. One of the leads got to sing “I’d do Anything for You.” She didn’t want to hum that one. Not after what had happened between her and Kyle.

  She took a kleenex from her pocket and blew her nose and then took it to the nearest trash bin. When she lifted the lid she nearly flipped. Inside was a pile of flyers and junk mail. The mystery was still unsolved. She had to admit that she and Kyle hadn’t been focussing on it lately. Life in Junior High kept taking all the time.

  Polly stared up and down the lane. She could see Flora’s car sitting in the parking spot behind the pharmacy. She walked past it slowly. The back seat had a box with folded clothes.

  Across the lane close to the steps to Mr. Stone’s apartment sat an old pickup truck. She strolled past it. In the back lay a bicycle and a tool box. On the ground she spotted a parking ticket with a boot print on it. It was stamped with one of the casino names.

  She’d have to tell Kyle. Oh, no, she couldn’t. She wasn’t ever going to talk to him again. Polly sighed and made her way to the front door of the school.

  Who should she see lurking just inside the door but Kyle? She turned on her heel and headed across the grass to the other door.

  She opened the interior door and saw Kyle racing down the hall towards her.

  “Wait, Polly! I’ve got to talk to you. I think what you’ve done is absolutely brilliant, not stupid.” Kyle skidded to a stop in front of her. “You’ve just set a trap for our crooks.”

  Polly stood there staring at Kyle and shaking her head.

  “Don’t you see? If we are right and think we know who the suspects are you’ve just set the trap. If we are wrong and it is someone totally different then we’ll find that out as well.”

  Polly didn’t say anything. A small crowd was gathering around the two of them.

  “Let’s walk outside.” Kyle slowed both his speech and his agitated walk. “I’m sorry I told you off yesterday. I went in and watched that dumb TV show and thought about things. I had a glass of milk.”

  “Me, too,” said Polly. “I had milk and watched TV too. But I don’t get it. What do you mean I’ve set a trap?”

  “Bear with me, give me a minute to elucidate.”

  Polly giggled. “I wasn’t ever going to talk to you again, you bozo. But who else do I know who has a vocabulary like a walking dictionary?”

  Kyle hunched his shoulders and got a look on his face just like when he had been a little kid and they had had fights in the sandbox or over Lego pieces.

  A squirrel scolded from a tree with a ghostly sheet hanging from it. “You told half the class you and your dad were expecting money in the mail yesterday. So Tommie Lee and Mr. Stone know. Who else did you tell?”

  Polly scratched her head. She screwed up her face. The Thoughtful and Troubled McDoodle at work.

  “I told Mandy,” she said. “We were at the bus stop and she had just found the envelope. The Dell boys came along about the same time. They heard me, I’m sure.”

  “Anyone else?” Kyle’s voice was gentle.

  Polly chewed her bottom lip. Boy, she was embarrassed. She really did have a big mouth, telling everyone her business. Kyle had been right. She hated to admit it.

  “Well?”

  “I may have said something about it on the bus. I w
as talking with Flora and Tommie Lee about birthdays.”

  The first bell rang. The two of them strolled back towards the school. They could see Mr. Stone crossing the back lane with his black satchel full of papers. His sister and a thin blond guy with longish brown hair were climbing into the old truck that Polly had spotted.

  “Friends?” Kyle asked.

  Polly nodded. She didn’t say anything. She was practicing being the Silent and Self-disciplined McDoodle. She wasn’t sure how long it would last. But she could try.

  In Language Arts class Mr. Stone had their essays and stories ready to hand back. Polly had written an essay about loss. She had admitted that she hated losing friends. She talked about how everyone dealt with loss differently and that she liked to draw. Her sketchbook helped her record important things, and she could make sketches of all the people who were important to her.

  Mandy passed her paper to her. She had gotten a B. That was good.

  Polly sat in the classroom quietly as the rest of the work was distributed.

  “Speaking of loss,” Mr. Stone said. “I will be leaving this Friday. Mrs. Robinson comes back on Monday.”

  Harvey Newhouse whispered, “Is that a loss or a gain, sir?”

  “Did you have something to say, Harvey?” Mr. Stone asked.

  “Are you going to another school?” Mandy asked.

  “Have you found a full time job?” another kid asked.

  Mr. Stone folded his bulk into his chair. “Not that it is any of your business but I may try something else.”

  “Don’t you like teaching?” asked Harvey.

  “One has to follow their dream. I’m not sure that teaching suits me.” He tugged at his ugly brown sweater. “I find young people less than enthusiastic about learning. I excelled at school. I won all of the math and science prizes in my class. I won scholarships. I don’t think that either the administration or the students of this school appreciate my talents. Besides there’s no money in it.”

  “Maybe you need to give it more time,” Tommie Lee said. “I didn’t like it here at first. It’s a long way from Texas. I’m mad at my dad for taking off and leaving us here while he goes exploring for gas and oil. But as I said in my essay you have to get on with your life. Loss shouldn’t stop you from moving on. If you want something you have to take it.”

  Polly glanced over at Tommie Lee. Once again she was dressed in the latest fashion. She was colour-coordinated in tones of pink with a rose scent encircling her desk. Too bad classrooms hadn’t been declared a perfume free zone. Just what did she mean when she said, “If you want something you have to take it?”

  “You have to give back to the community too,” said one of the social activist types at the back of the class. She was a vegetarian and wore ankle-length skirts and hemp shirts. “We are losing our environment. I recycle, reuse, and reduce waste. If everyone did we could save the planet. Life isn’t about taking, it’s about giving.”

  Polly chewed her bottom lip, looked down at her sketchbook. She’d doodled a squirrel and a mailbox. “We all lose things—pets, friends, things we love. We all try to hoard what we love, guard it, keep it safe—even the planet.” Polly spoke slowly and carefully. She wasn’t used to talking so seriously—not in front of the whole class. “We have choices to make. Life is about both giving and taking, loss and gain, keeping and sharing.” Polly blushed. Her ears burned.

  The bell rang. Harvey Newhouse sauntered by on his way out the door. “Good point, Polly.”

  He had used her real name.

  Polly, Kyle, and Mandy made their way to the lunchroom. Mandy unwrapped half of a cheese sandwich and carefully placed two dill pickle slices inside. Then she took a bite. “I love pickles.”

  “We never would have guessed,” Kyle laughed.

  The three kids talked their way through lunch.

  “What about the writing on that envelope, Kyle,” Polly said. “The list, not the return address?”

  “It looks familiar,” said Mandy.

  “I can’t remember where I’ve seen it before,” said Polly. “But I have.”

  They tossed their leftovers into the trash and went outside. The last of the leaves crunched under their feet. The weather was cloudy but not too cold for the end of October in Edmonton. Polly pulled her sketchbook out and a pencil. “Bring me out a Coffee Crisp bar. I want to draw this scene and that squirrel.” She pointed to a spry fellow with his cheeks full of seeds. Then she sat down on the park bench by the bus stop.

  Polly did a quick sketch of the squirrel and the nearby leafless elm tree. She turned the page and did a sketch of Mr. Stone in his weird outfit with the scowl on his face that he usually sported. He had put his overflowing briefcase on the floor by his feet. Sticking out of it she put the papers from their test, complete with written comments. There were also a couple of envelopes, one purple and the other green. She had noted them this morning when he had been handing out the papers to Tommie Lee to distribute.

  Mrs. Dobson came out of her apartment building and walked to the sidewalk in front of the building carefully. She had a new shiny rolly walker with a little grocery basket attached instead of her cane. She waved at Polly.

  Polly ran over so she wouldn’t have to come to her.

  “Great walker. How are things, Mrs. Dobson?”

  “This cooler weather is playing havoc with my arthritis, don’t you know.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” Polly asked.

  “I wanted to go to the pharmacy for a couple of things. Walk with me.” The old woman shuffled slowly down the street. Birds sang in the trees and a couple of cars sped by. Flora pulled out from behind the drugstore in her big boat of a car and drove into the neighbourhood. Flora’s car was definitely on the endangered species list. No wonder they took the bus when they were going to the mall. But where was she going with the car?

  Mandy and Kyle came out of the IGA and joined Mrs. Dobson and Polly in front of the pharmacy.

  “I want to ask the girl at the post office counter if she has received any priority letters for me. I was expecting a card from my daughter in Vancouver.”

  “Could anyone have tampered with your mailbox?” asked Kyle.

  “Funny you should mention that. They just changed the lock on the main box and installed a surveillance camera. I heard the caretaker talking to the locksmith. Seems all the apartment buildings in the neighbourhood have had their locks changed.” Mrs. Dobson approached the pharmacist and ordered her pain pills. “Any news, Bob?”

  Polly, Kyle, and Mandy stared at the rack of birthday cards near the drug counter. They didn’t say a word but their ears were fine-tuned.

  “Well, the postal worker who brought the mail yesterday said he’d heard a strange story.” The pharmacist leaned over the counter and lowered his voice. Thank goodness, thought Polly, he speaks clearly. She could hear every word he said. “It seems that some of the mail that had been robbed has returned. Personal mail with no cheques or money has been showing up a week or so late. It seems we have a crook with a conscience.”

  “Flora will be glad of that,” said Mrs. Dobson. “She sent out her novel to several publishers, she told me. She’s been waiting for more rejections—or an acceptance from a small press.”

  Kyle and Polly glanced sideways at each other, a puzzled look on their faces.

  “Where is Flora?” Mrs. Dobson took a dainty white hankie out of her purple coat pocket and wiped her nose.

  “She has a new job. She’s working at the casino as a dealer. The pay is better. But she drops in most days.”

  “I really admire that woman and her daughter. They did a fine job watering my plants and checking my mail while I was away in Vancouver last month,” Mrs. Dobson sighed. “She was some upset at that first rejection. Threatened to shred all the copies of the manuscript. Destroyed some I guess.”

  So that is what Flora was getting rid of in the recycle box, her rejected novel. Polly understood how Flora felt. When people di
dn’t like her art she was tempted to throw it away.

  Mrs. Dobson continued, “Tommie Lee stopped her. She told her mom to take it easy, that Rome wasn’t built in a day. A nice girl. Too bad they dress so racy.”

  The pharmacist grinned. “That’s not racy, Mrs. Dobson, that’s just modern women for you.”

  “I’m no modern woman, I guess.” Mrs. Dobson laughed, took the vial of pills in the small white paper bag. She headed to the post office counter at the back of the store.

  Polly had picked up a birthday card for her dad. She took it to the front counter. “I couldn’t help overhearing the news about the mail thief. Do you think they are close to catching him?” She tried to sound as casual as she could.

  The pharmacist rang up her card on the cash register. Mandy and Kyle came and stood behind Polly.

  “Is this a delegation then?” he laughed.

  “No, it’s just I saw the first mailbox tipped over and I want to see the crooks brought to justice.” Polly turned and motioned the other two away. They wandered over to the magazine rack.

  “From what I have heard it sounds like they have a couple of rings running in the city. But they believe one group is operating from this neighbourhood.”

  “Because of the lost keys?” Polly asked.

  “That’s when it started. Also they seem to know when mail is dropped in the green boxes around here. So unless they have spotters, they have to live nearby.”

  “They certainly dropped enough mail and flyers.”

  “I know. I found a bunch in my own recycle bin at the back outside the store. So did the bookstore owner Mrs. Hong.”

  The bell over the front door jangled and a customer walked in.

  “Don’t you go spreading this around the school. I don’t trust those crooks. They could be anywhere. They sure wouldn’t like to think any of us helped the police to find them. Leave it to the police, my girl.” He moved behind the drug counter and took a prescription from a short old man in a black wool coat that hung to his ankles. “Mr. Michelswaite, how are you today?”

  Polly hurried to the door. Kyle and Mandy were outside sitting on the bench in front of the bookstore.