D.C. lunged at the boy just as the matronly teller rounded the corner. Randi pulled her friend back before any damage was done, though she couldn’t help but wonder which of the two boys would have won.
“I think it’s time for you kids to head home,” said the teller. “This is a business, not a boxing ring.”
“We were just leaving,” Randi assured her, dragging D.C. out of the bank.
“That dirty, rotten, no good . . .” D.C. was still mumbling when they reached the sidewalk.
“I guess we know why Sutton doesn’t want the festival to happen,” Randi said.
“Yeah, he’s gonna foreclose on all those businesses and farms and build a resort right through our orchard! And Angus McCarthy and Pudge’s dad are helping him do it!”
“Not on our watch,” Randi said. “We have to step up the investigation. Time to initiate Phase Two. Dean Sutton wasn’t anywhere near the monument when the capsule disappeared. That means Angus McCarthy must be the one who took it. But the sheriff says she can’t get a warrant to search his house. So I think it’s time we had a look for ourselves, don’t you?”
~ ~ ~ ~
“Are you in position?” Randi asked, speaking into one of the standard police-issue radios that had come with her new detective kit.
“Affirmative,” D.C. responded.
It was eleven a.m., and Randi was hiding in the bushes across the road from Angus McCarthy’s house. D.C. was back in Deer Creek, sitting on a bench outside of the bank, watching for McCarthy to emerge.
“Give me a shout when you have a visual of the target,” Randi said.
“Copy that. I’ll keep my eyes open,” D.C. replied.
Randi clipped the radio to her belt and waited for a pickup truck to pass by. Then, as soon as she was certain no one was watching, she casually strolled across to McCarthy’s lawn. Sheriff Ogle had once mentioned that most people in Deer Creek rarely locked their doors. She hoped that Angus McCarthy was one of them.
The front door of McCarthy’s house could be seen from the road. So Randi made her way around the building and tried the back door instead. It opened soundlessly. Country bumpkins, Randi thought. In Brooklyn, no one left the house without locking the doors. Once inside, she stopped to sniff the air. Her nose picked up a hint of a foul odor—one that seemed strangely familiar, though she couldn’t quite place it. The room she’d entered was quiet and dark. The window shades in the house were drawn, and the drapes were closed. A sense of uneasiness washed over Randi. She suddenly felt like she was being watched. Don’t be silly! No one’s here, she tried to convince herself. She clicked on the flashlight and guided the beam around the room. And then she heard something . . . breathing.
“McCarthy just left the bank.” D.C.’s voice came over the radio that was clipped to her belt. “He’s stopped at the Bait ’n’ Tackle. He’s jiggling the lock. Now he’s walking down Main Street. Doesn’t look like he’s headed your way, but I’ll keep you posted.”
When the transmission ended, Randi heard a low growl. She slowly turned the light in the direction of the sound and found herself face-to-face with McCarthy’s ferocious Rottweiler. The dog bared its canines, and Randi gingerly took a step backward. The dog went wild barking, bobbing its head from side to side and dripping drool onto the floor.
“Okay, okay, doggie. Don’t bite,” she pleaded, scared senseless. How could she have forgotten about Angus McCarthy’s dog?
“He’s stopped at the Country Mart. He’s buying an apple. He’s . . .”
The sound of D.C.’s voice made the dog even angrier. Randi slowly dialed the radio’s volume down and looked around the room, searching for a way to escape. The dog followed her gaze, then took a few steps in her direction, still barking feverishly the whole time. Randi caught a strong whiff of the nasty odor she’d detected when she first entered the house. As the beast drew closer, she finally recognized the smell—it was skunk. The dog reeked of it. But that wasn’t what had upset the creature. Randi could tell by the bloody footprints it had left behind on the linoleum floor that one of its hind paws was injured.
“It’s okay,” Randi whispered. She slowly knelt down and stroked the animal’s head. “Let me guess. You were chasing Rosebud and you stepped on something that hurt your paw?”
The dog whimpered as Randi reached for the sore paw and took it into her hands. “Sshh,” she said soothingly. A cocklebur was embedded in the soft pad of the dog’s foot. The animal yelped in pain when she pulled it out. Then it licked Randi’s face in relief.
“See, isn’t that better?” she asked, carefully dialing up the volume on her radio.
“Randi! D.C. to Randi!” D.C. was shouting on the other end.
“I’m here.”
“Why didn’t you answer? I’ve lost sight of the target! Do you copy?”
“How?” Randi demanded. “I was only out of contact for a couple of minutes. What happened?”
“My mom showed up at the Country Mart and made me help her unload a delivery of apples. While I was inside, McCarthy got away!”
Randi rolled her eyes. “Well, then, you gotta go find him, D.C. He’s old and limping. It shouldn’t be that hard.”
“Roger that.”
~ ~ ~ ~
With the dog trotting along behind her, Randi started searching the house in earnest. There was no telling how much time she’d have before McCarthy came home. The kitchen was spacious and nicely decorated. The countertops were granite and the cabinets a beautiful maple. Near the sink was a dog bowl with the name BUNNY stenciled on the side. Now that she’d gotten to see the sweet side of the dog, Bunny seemed like the perfect name. She searched the cabinets and drawers, even the refrigerator, but she didn’t see anything that resembled a two-hundred-year-old time capsule.
Randi walked down the hallway and glanced into the neatly decorated bedrooms. In one room, she saw a black-and-white photo of a good-looking young McCarthy and his late wife. Beside it was a picture of an elderly man in a pith helmet. It had to be Toot the Treasure Hunter himself. Randi checked the closets and underneath the beds. Still no time capsule.
At the far end of the hall lay one last chamber. The door was open, and Randi peered inside. McCarthy’s private office looked nothing like the other areas of the house. It was a complete disaster zone. Stacked on every available surface were newspaper clippings and volumes of dusty old history books. The desk was covered with sludge-filled coffee mugs and ashtrays filled to the brim with cigar ashes.
“Ew,” Randi said, scrunching her nose.
She took out her camera and set to work documenting the scene. She was about to shoot a photo of a tiny closet space at the back of the office when a pair of boots caught her eye. Hiking boots. She moved closer to investigate. The boots’ tread seemed similar the dusty prints she and D.C. had found inside the cabin at Rock Hollow, but the boots that had left those prints had been an average size. McCarthy, on the other hand, appeared to have unusually large feet. Randi grabbed a sheet of copy paper and placed the long edge next to the boots for comparison. She knew that the paper was eleven inches long—and McCarthy’s boots were several inches longer. She snapped a quick photo, then turned her attention back to the desk.
She settled down in McCarthy’s chair and began rummaging through the pile of books and documents. She paused for a look at a few old clippings from the Deer Creek newspaper. The first article Randi examined focused on the town’s early years. Randi skimmed it quickly and found the story of Creek Walker and Running Deer, just as Sheriff Ogle had recounted it. The article was accompanied by portraits of the town’s three founders: McCarthy’s great-great-great grandfather Jed, Liam Sutton, and Sean Prufrock.
As Randi sifted through the other items on the desk, a small, tattered book fell to the floor. She picked it up and examined it more closely. A diary. She opened it to the first entry, which was dated September 18, 1985.
Paw Paw Jed always said that the treasure was buried in the heart of this town. But it w
asn’t under the . . .
Someone had spilled coffee on the page, and the rest of the words had bled together. Randi thumbed through the book until she found the next legible entry.
REMEMBER HOW IT ALL BEGAN. It began in this cabin—the first building ever built in Deer Creek. I’ve practically torn the whole place apart—and nothing. It’s time to start looking elsewhere.
Randi felt a chill course down her spine. She had to be reading Toot McCarthy’s diary! Suddenly, D.C.’s voice crackled over the radio. The signal was breaking up, so she couldn’t make out what he was saying.
“I found him! I found him! The Big . . . ish is . . . the move . . . Randi . . . ,” said D.C., followed by some words that sounded like “fishing.” Maybe Angus was in his bait and tackle shop? “Do you copy?” D.C.’s voice interrupted again.
“Negative transmission. But I’m almost done here,” Randi replied.
She flipped to the end of the diary.
I found the prints on the wall last night, but it was too late to start digging. I tried my best to map the way. As soon as the sun comes up, I’ll be back to the spot with a shovel and a pickax.
Toot found the treasure! And he must have made a map! Randi thought. The final pages of the diary had been ripped out. If one of them had ever contained a map, it was now gone for good.
“Get out!” D.C. cried into the radio, abandoning radio protocol. “Get out now! He’s coming home!”
Randi hurriedly snapped photos of the diary; then she placed the book back where she’d found it on the desk. On her way out of the office, she tripped over a chew toy that Bunny had carried into the room. She bumped into a pile of old documents on the side of McCarthy’s desk, and they fluttered to the floor. Randi picked herself up, quickly restacked the papers, and ran down the hall.
“He’s at . . . front . . . or!” D.C.’s voice screamed from Randi’s radio.
Randi swung around to face the front door just as someone on the other side began to turn the knob. She flew back down the hall in a panic, ducked into one of the bedrooms, and slid behind the door. From where she was hiding, she could hear McCarthy’s heavy footsteps coming toward her down the entrance hall.
* * *
Go to Appendix G to complete the Ninja Task!
* * *
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
* * *
STUCK
Randi stood paralyzed behind the bedroom door and listened as McCarthy’s keys hit a table with a jingly thud.
“Crooks!” McCarthy muttered to himself. “Think they got me right where they want me. Well, I’ll show them!”
Randi heard Bunny pad into the living room.
“There’s my girl!” McCarthy sounded as if his mood had suddenly lightened.
He whistled as he walked toward the kitchen. “Is my pretty wittle Bunny ready for her lunch?” he asked, speaking baby talk to the dog.
Randi could hear the hum of an electric can opener and the refrigerator door open and close. Then she detected the unmistakable sounds of Bunny wolfing down her lunch—and McCarthy stomping back down the hall.
Randi’s heart pounded wildly in her ears, growing louder with every second. KATHUMP . . . KATHUMP . . . KATHUMP . . . KATHUMP . . . How am I going to get out of here? she thought, her brow misting with sweat. Fear stabbed at her insides.
KA-THUMP . . . KA-THUMP, KA-THUMP. Her heartbeat kept time with the approaching footsteps. KA-THUMP, KA-THUMP, KA-THUMP!
At the very last moment, right before McCarthy entered the room where she was hiding, Randi crawled under the bed, barely squeezing herself between dusty old hatboxes and suitcases. It felt like her heart was about to thump right out of her chest when the bedroom door swung open. Bunny bounded into the room, sniffing the floor where Randi had been standing. McCarthy sat on the bed and took off his shoes.
“Oh, sweet Virginia,” he moaned. “I do wish you were still here. These sure are troubled times. I never knew there could be such mendacity in this world.” At first Randi wondered if someone else had come into the room. Then she realized he was talking to the photo of his dead wife on the nightstand.
Bunny hopped up on the bed to offer some comfort, but McCarthy pushed her back off again.
“Whew, Bunny, you smell plum awful! Why do I have to keep tellin’ you not to tangle with that skunk? Rosebud gets the better of you every time.” And then the unthinkable happened. McCarthy stretched, yawned, and lay across the bed for a nap. “Terrible day. And it’s gonna be another long night. My old body can’t take much more of this punishment,” he grumbled, and then he was still.
Bunny trotted over to the door and lay down against it. With her face buried in her paws, she too fell asleep.
You’ve gotta be kidding me, Randi thought. That dog’s never going to let me leave without waking up the old man.
She waited until McCarthy’s breathing became rhythmic; then she started to crawl out from beneath the bed.
“STOP RIGHT THERE, TRESSPASSERS!” McCarthy yelled.
Randi froze. The mattress springs creaked as he shifted his weight in the bed above. Somehow she’d been caught. Then . . .
“ZZZZZZZZZZ . . . ZZZZZZZZZZ,” McCarthy snored. “THIEVES!” he yelled in his sleep, then went right back to snoring.
Randi sighed with relief and tried again to crawl out of her hiding place. Unfortunately, this time she couldn’t move. The mattress had sagged under McCarthy’s weight and pinned her to the floor. She was stuck. The only thing she could do was wait as the minutes slowly ticked by on her watch. Hoping for a little more breathing space, Randi pushed an old box to the side. The bottom of the mattress swept a layer of dust off the top of the box—and right into Randi’s face.
She pinched her nostrils, hoping that the particles would soon settle, but the damage was done. The dust had already tickled her nose. Tears welled up in Randi’s eyes as the explosion came closer and closer to the surface. She held her breath to stifle a cough in the back of her throat. But the sneeze was coming, and it was coming fast!
“AAH . . .” She choked it back.
“AAH . . .” The sneeze was pushing its way through. What could she do?
“AACHOO!” Randi finally exploded. Her blood turned cold with fear. She’d literally blown her cover. She expected McCarthy to drag her from her hiding place. Soon it would all be over. She put her head to the floor and swallowed hard, trying not to throw up.
She had failed. She was no Glenn Street. Not even close. Now she would probably be sent to jail. Glenn Street had sent lots of people to prison for breaking and entering. And every time she locked another bad guy away, she’d whisper her catchphrase: Game Over, Loser!
Now Randi was the loser.
“Bless you, Bunny,” McCarthy mumbled just as the doorbell rang. “Dagnab it!” he growled, pulling himself up to answer the door. Finally free, Randi slid out from beneath the bed and stealthily made her way across the room toward the hall.
The doorbell rang again, and Randi froze.
“I’m coming. I’m coming,” McCarthy grumbled, and opened the door. Randi peeked out of the bedroom and saw D.C. waiting nervously on the front porch.
“Uh . . . hi, Mr. McCarthy.”
“What do you want, boy?” McCarthy demanded.
While McCarthy’s back was turned toward her, Randi stepped out into the hall and caught D.C.’s attention. He stood frozen, his mouth agape. If he’d had an excuse for ringing the bell, he seemed to have already forgotten it. So Randi did her best to help him out. First she pretended to pant like a dog, then she walked like a person with a leash in one hand.
“I said, what do you want!” McCarthy stormed.
“To go for a walk?” D.C. said, confused by Randi’s performance.
“Boy, I’ll ask you one more time. What is it you want?” McCarthy growled.
“I was, uh, wondering if you needed, uh . . .”
Randi threw up her hands in disgust. D.C. wasn’t very good at playing charades. While McCarthy’s eyes
drilled holes into the boy, Randi heard another set of footsteps coming up the front stairs. D.C. was still stammering when Pudge appeared beside him. “Wha . . . ,” he started to ask, but Pudge put a hand on his shoulder. The boy locked eyes with Randi, who repeated her pantomime performance. Pudge understood. While he talked, Randi began inching backward toward the house’s rear door.
“We’re starting our own dog-walking business, sir,” Pudge told Angus McCarthy, “and we were wondering if you might need a . . .”
“Your daddy know you’re friends with this here juvenile delinquent?” Angus asked the boy.
“He invited me to be part of his business. I think my dad will be proud when he hears.”
“Dog walking?” McCarthy harrumphed. “Likely story. Tell your friend to stay off my property and away from my dog—or he’ll be sorry he was ever born!” McCarthy slammed the front door just as Randi slipped out the back.
~ ~ ~ ~
“Whew! That was close,” Randi told the two boys as they all made their way toward the road. “Thanks, Pudge.”
“Yeah, thanks,” D.C. added. “And sorry about this morning at the bank.”
“Forget about it,” Pudge said. “What were you guys doing to McCarthy’s house?”
Randi and D.C. shared a glance. “That’s confidential,” D.C. said.
“How’d you know I needed help, anyway?” Randi asked.
“I was riding by and heard McCarthy shouting.” Pudge paused to pick up the bike he’d left on the side of the road.
“Riding?” Randi asked suspiciously. “Where were you going?”
“That’s confidential,” Pudge replied with a grin. Then he hopped on the bike and rode off in the direction of town.
“Strange kid,” D.C. said as they watched Pudge ride away.
“Yep,” Randi agreed.
“Maybe he’s not as bad as I thought,” D.C. added.
Randi nodded. “I say we investigate as soon as we’ve solved the capsule case. By the way, I owe you a thank-you, too. I was trapped under the bed before you rang the bell.”
Case of the Time-Capsule Bandit Page 9
