“That’s higher than an earl but lower than a duke, correct?” said Mr. Ortega behind the camera.
“Quite so.” His Lordship went on to tell the camera, “I am terribly ashamed of my previous comments regarding Mrs. Clara Rodriguez, whom I falsely accused of stealing our priceless family heirloom.”
In fact, he found about five very different, very British ways to say he was sorry.
Finally, he turned to Clara and said, “I hope that one day, Mrs. Rodriguez, you will find it in your heart to forgive me.”
“I will,” said Clara, smiling next to Mom. “One day. Probably tomorrow.”
Mom had called Clara the instant I let her know we’d found the tiara and discovered that our sand sculptors were the real thieves.
“Thank you, P.T.!” Clara said. She hugged me.
“You’re welcome,” I told her, even though it was kind of hard to speak; she was hugging me so hard.
“Now,” said Clara when she released me from her vise grip, “let’s have a fiesta!”
“Woo-hoo!” I shouted.
Clara hugged Gloria. And Grandpa. And Gloria’s dad. What can I say? The lady’s a hugger.
“Can we stay for burgers, too?” asked Jack.
“You bet,” I said. “Plus, I still owe you guys some fries and a pair of Cherry Sprokes.”
We all headed up the beach toward the motel.
That was when Travis shouted, “Wait!”
“If I’m going to jail,” said Travis, his hands cuffed behind his back, “I’m not going alone.”
“I know,” said Darryl. “I’m going with you.”
“I’m not talking about you,” said Travis. “I’m talking about him!” He bobbed his head sort of southward, toward the towering Conch Reef Resort building. “Conch!”
Okay. He definitely had my attention. The sheriff’s deputies’, too.
“What do you mean?” asked one.
Mr. Ortega switched on his camcorder.
“Mind if I record this?” he asked.
“Not at all,” said Travis. “How’s my hair?”
Mr. Ortega shot him a thumbs-up. “Hey, hey, Tampa Bay. Let’s get to it!”
Travis cleared his throat.
“I have a confession to make,” he said to the lens. “Edward Conch, the real estate tycoon, hired us to ruin his neighbors’ business. He said he’d pay us fifty thousand dollars to stir up trouble at Walt Wilkie’s Wonderland Motel.”
“Said he’d give us free spa credits, too,” added Darryl. “He has a sweet resort down near Fort Myers. Me and Travis did a gig there once.”
“Where you stole stuff from hotel rooms!” I said, remembering that story we had found.
“Not from Conch’s resort,” said Travis. “Well, we did. But we put it all back.”
“Because he caught us,” said Darryl. “Twelve years ago, the man was definitely on the cutting edge of security-camera technology. Recorded everything from every angle.”
“He’s the one who told us to leave Florida and never come back,” said Travis. “So imagine my surprise when he called me up. Offered us this gig. Said all we had to do was make it look like your motel was seedy. That your maids had sticky fingers.”
He turned to Clara, who was glaring at him.
“Sorry about that, ma’am.”
Travis was trying to be charming again.
It wasn’t working.
“Usted es un hombre horrible,” said Clara.
I couldn’t wait to ask my Spanish teacher what that meant, because it sure didn’t sound pretty.
“And then,” Travis continued, “we hit the jackpot. The royal jewels rolled into the very motel we were hired to burglarize. Conch said we could keep whatever we stole—even your tiara.”
“It was so easy to boost, too,” added Darryl. “Travis was on his binoculars and saw Lady Lilly prancing around in the butler’s room, wearing the tiara. So he went upstairs to pick the lock while I set up a fireworks display to attract her attention.”
“If the fireworks didn’t work,” said Travis, “we probably would’ve blasted the soundtrack to Beach Party Surf Monkey.”
“Oh, I love that music!” gushed Lady Lilly.
“We know,” said Travis. “You told every newspaper and TV reporter in Florida how ‘thrilled’ you were to be staying in the ‘very same’ motel where they filmed your favorite movie. Quick tip? Next time you leave jewelry sitting on a couch, close the curtains and the door.”
Lady Lilly sniffed a little. “Point taken.”
“Once we had the tiara,” Travis continued, “Conch was so happy, he gave us a bonus. He also told us to butter up you two junior detectives.” He nodded at Gloria and me. “Said we should pretend to be your friends. Throw you off the scent.”
“Until we didn’t need to no more,” added Darryl.
Yep. Travis played me. Then again, he was the one in handcuffs, so I guess I played him, too.
One of the deputies took off his hat to scratch his head.
“Wait a second,” he said. “If what you’re saying about Mr. Conch is true…”
“Oh, it is true, and I can prove it,” said Travis. “See, I learned a thing or two from Conch all those years ago in Fort Myers. Now, for security purposes, I record everything, too. Every phone call, every text message, every email. I have enough evidence to send our co-conspirator away for ten, maybe fifteen years.”
The sheriff’s deputy pulled the radio microphone off his shoulder board.
“Carolyn? This is Josh. We’re gonna need another squad car and an extra set of handcuffs. We need to arrest Edward Conch.”
Jimbo pumped some party music out of the Banana Shack speakers and tossed a bag of coconut-crusted popcorn shrimp into the deep fryer.
“Everything’s on the house!” Grandpa announced.
Mom and Clara sat at the bar, sipping Sprokes.
“This is delicious,” said Clara.
“Mine’s a Dr. Sproker!” joked Mom.
She and Clara laughed—the kind of big, hearty laugh I hadn’t heard from either of them since, well, the previous week. Before Mr. Conch hatched his sleazy scheme to shut down the Wonderland. Before Travis and Darryl stole the Twittleham Tiara out of our Cassie McGinty Suite.
Well, guess what? It didn’t work.
We heard the patrol cars come to take Mr. Conch away.
“He’ll probably lawyer up,” I said, because, as you know, I watch way too many cop shows on TV.
“He’ll also probably go out of business,” said Gloria. “Dad cut together Travis’s confession footage and raced it down to WTSP, where they’re already interrupting the regular programming to run it under a ‘breaking news’ banner. Conch stock will plummet.”
Lord Pettybone felt so bad for what he had (almost) done to Clara’s reputation that he quickly worked out a deal with Disney World and announced that the Twittleham Tiara would be “on exclusive display at the Wonderland Motel for two weeks before heading to the Magic Kingdom.”
That’s right. Disney would have to wait.
I don’t think I’d ever seen Grandpa look so happy.
“We’ll display it with our mouse!” he announced. “We can put it on top of Morty. That’ll show ’em!”
“What about security?” I asked.
“Mr. Digby can chain Morty to his wrist!”
While the party rocked on, I slipped behind the counter to help Jimbo serve the second course: fresh peel-and-eat shrimp and oysters, the kind that wouldn’t make people puke.
“Thanks again for everything,” I told him.
“You’re welcome, little man. Hey, I had, like, an idea. If Mr. Conch really does go out of business, maybe you guys could buy his property next door and put in that fourteen-story-tall waterslide you were talking about the other day.”
“Nah. That’s okay. We don’t need the Conch Reef Resort. The Wonderland is pretty great the way it is. So, did you and Mom really fool people into thinking quarter pounders from a burg
er joint were chopped sirloin?”
“What can I say, P.T.? Guess I’m a little like you. I can spin a good story when I need to.”
I perked up.
“When exactly was this?”
“I don’t know. Maybe like twelve, thirteen years ago.”
“Where were you guys working? Here in St. Pete?”
“Nah. We were both over in Orlando. Steak joint outside Disney World called the Happy Ox. It was your mom’s second job. She’s always been a hard worker.”
He looked at Grandpa, who was chatting with our Canadian guest, Ms. Nelson. “Her day job was at Disney World.” He put a finger to his lips.
“It’s okay,” I said. “Grandpa already knows.”
“And he forgave her?”
“Yeah. I think she said she was sorry about a billion times.”
Jimbo grinned. “Guess it runs in the family, huh?”
I ate some popcorn shrimp, gobbled down a bowl of Freddy the Frog’s Green Pond Scum ice cream, and tried to learn all the words to “Cheeseburger in Paradise” so Gloria and I could karaoke to it.
When I finally went to bed, I stared out the window at the stars, making up another story in my head, all about a young cook and a waitress, goofing around at a place in Orlando called the Happy Ox. Having each other’s backs. Sharing secrets. Becoming family, even though they had different last names. It sounded like a lot of fun.
Almost as much fun as living in a motel.
Anyway, Dad, if you’re reading this, I hope you realize what you’ve been missing all these years.
We’re having a wonderful time at the Wonderland.
Wish you were here.
Or who knows—maybe you already are.
(Choose your answer and find out if you’re correct at ChrisGrabenstein.com.)
1. The world’s tallest sand castle was built in Florida, the very same state where the Wonderland is!
FACT or FICTION
2. The art of building sand castles has been around for hundreds of years.
FACT or FICTION
3. Coney Island is known for the Nathan’s Famous International Hot Dog Eating Contest. At the 2017 contest, Joey Chestnut set a new record by eating fifty-five hot dogs!
FACT or FICTION
4. Sand sculpting gained popularity after a man created a sand sculpture of a woman and a baby in 1897 in Atlantic City, New Jersey.
FACT or FICTION
5. In the 1700s, ladies’ swimsuits included jackets!
FACT or FICTION
6. Myrtle Beach, in South Carolina, is full of restaurants that host eating challenges: if you finish the food, it’s free!
FACT or FICTION
7. Beach sand can be a rainbow of different colors—white, gray, red, purple, pink, and even black!
FACT or FICTION
8. Legend says that the Nathan’s Famous competition began on July 4, 1916, when four immigrants held a hot dog eating contest to settle an argument about who was the most patriotic.
FACT or FICTION
9. Even though seagulls are always found around beaches, they can’t drink ocean water.
FACT or FICTION
10. The very first version of sunscreen was created in the 1930s.
FACT or FICTION
1. Bring Sunblock: Protecting yourself from the sun’s rays is more important than any sand castle or sculpture. So before you start to sculpt, dip yourself in sunscreen like a cookie in a glass of milk!
2. Be Prepared or Be Square: Never start working without a plan of what you want to build. And every sand architect needs some handy dandy tools to make the perfect castle! So, make sure you bring a pail, a sand scooper, and, if you’re feeling artsy, a sand sculptor brush to help you really put in some fine details.
3. Go Big or Go Home: Always start with a pile of sand that’s a bit larger than what you think you’ll need. Since sand sculptures are created by removing all the sand that’s not part of the creation, you’ve gotta make sure there’s ample sand to use from the get-go.
4. Keep the Sand Wet and Your Shorts Dry: Wet sand is happy sand! If you want your sculpture to hold its shape, then the sand has to be wet. I’m not talking drizzle wet—I’m talking thunderstorm wet. Hurricane wet. Water-balloon-fight wet. Got it? Good.
5. Pack the Sand Like It’s a Suitcase and You Only Get to Take One: The tighter you pack the sand, the better your structure will hold together. Pat it down, pound it, beat it, smack it.
6. Let’s Take It from the Top! Always build from the top down. You don’t want to ruin the details below or have to reclean completed sections.
7. Teamwork Makes the Dream Work: Sand sculpting is fun on your own, but it’s even more awesome with a friend or two! Get some buddies together and divide and conquer. A castle’s a big place; why not share it?
Acknowledgments
A big THANK-YOU (and a gallon jug of orange juice) to the behind-the-scenes crew that keeps the Wonderland humming: Barbara Bakowski, eagle-eyed copyeditor; Linda Camacho, authenticity consultant and adviser; Shana Corey, wonderful editor; Nicole de las Heras, director de la art; Maya Motayne, editorial assistant; Michelle Nagler, on-premises associate publishing director; Eric Myers, agent extraordinaire; and J. J. Myers—first reader and first love.
CHRIS GRABENSTEIN is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of Escape from Mr. Lemoncello’s Library, Mr. Lemoncello’s Library Olympics, Mr. Lemoncello’s Great Library Race, The Island of Dr. Libris, the Welcome to Wonderland series, and many other books, as well as the coauthor of numerous fun and funny page-turners with James Patterson, including the I Funny, House of Robots, and Treasure Hunters series, Word of Mouse, and Jacky Ha-Ha. Chris grew up going to St. Petersburg, Florida, every summer and loved visiting roadside attractions like Gatorland, the fabulous Tiki Gardens, Weeki Wachee Springs, and the “talking mermaids” at Webb’s City. Chris lives in New York City with his wife, J.J. You can visit him at ChrisGrabenstein.com.
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Sandapalooza Shake-Up Page 14
