Big Game (6 page)

J.J. had given Marge the golf cart to soften the blow of demoting her. Marge loved it a little
too
much. She almost never got out of it, driving everywhere she could, which was a shame because if anyone could have used more exercise, it was Marge. Plus, she had turned out to be as bad a driver as she was a chief of security. She was constantly speeding around the park, nearly running people over and yelling at them for getting in her way.

Marge skidded to a stop outside the security booth and slammed into a trash can, which toppled over, spilling garbage everywhere. Ignoring this, Marge pried herself out of the golf cart, brushed some powdered sugar—most likely from the funnel cake stand—off her uniform, and marched into the booth. “Well, well, well,” she said, looking at me the way a lion looks at a baby wildebeest. “It appears the suspect has returned to the scene of the crime. Kevin, search his backpack for evidence.”

“Yes, ma'am!” Kevin saluted obediently, grabbed my pack from the X-ray scanner, and dumped everything out on the conveyor belt.

“Spread your arms and legs, Theodore,” Marge demanded.

“Why?” I asked.

“Just do it!” Marge snapped.

I did, and to my surprise, Marge began frisking me. “I didn't have anything to do with Rhonda,” I said.

“Rhonda?” Marge asked blankly.

“The rhino,” Summer told her.

“Oh, that,” Marge said dismissively. “Please. I couldn't care less about some wacko taking potshots at one of our buildings. I'm here about a far more serious crime: theft of FunJungle property.” She got right in my face as she said this, so close I could smell the chili she'd had for lunch on her breath.

I recoiled, wrinkling my nose. “What are you talking about?”

“Don't act dumb with me,” Marge warned. “I'm not buying it.”

“Yeah,” I said. “When it comes to being dumb, you're an expert.”

Marge's eyes flared in anger. She lashed a hand out to grab me, but Hondo moved like a cobra, catching her arm in midstrike.

“I don't like to see people picking on kids,” he growled. “Now, I have orders to get these two to J.J. McCracken's office ASAP, and you're holding us up. So either state your case or stop wasting our time.”

Marge glowered at Hondo, then wrested her arm away from his grasp. “Early this morning, there was a crime committed on these premises that I'm positive Teddy here was a part of: the burglarizing of Carly Cougar's Candy Corner.”

“That's what this is about?” Summer asked, incredulous. “Some stolen candy?”

“No. It's not only some stolen candy,” Marge mimicked rudely. She fished out her phone and brought up a photo on it. “There was also felony breaking and entering and wanton destruction of FunJungle property.”

She showed us the photo. It was of the Candy Corner, which was a small store near the park entrance. To my surprise, it hadn't merely been robbed; it had been trashed. The front window was shattered and the candy bins had been ripped open. The floor was covered with thousands of pieces of broken glass.

Summer gasped. “What happened there?”

“Your friend Teddy here threw a trash can through the window,” Marge replied, “and then made off with approximately twenty-five pounds of assorted chocolates, jawbreakers, and gummy bears.”

“Twenty-five pounds?”
I repeated. “You actually think I'd steal that much candy?”

“Oh, I don't
think
,” Marge sneered. “I
know
. The crime was perpetrated early this morning, when no one was near this park except for the people who live in employee housing. You're the only child who lives in employee housing—and children like candy.”

I waited for more to come, then realized there wasn't any. “That's it? That's your whole case?”

“What more do I need?” Marge demanded. “You have a history of troublemaking at this park.”

“I've only played pranks,” I replied. “This is stealing. And vandalism. I didn't have anything to do with it.”

“Sure you did,” Marge snarled.

“Do you have any proof?” Summer asked. “Like surveillance video showing Teddy destroying the candy store?”

“No,” Marge admitted sullenly. “There's no footage of the crime.”

“Really?” I asked. “Because there's, like, ten thousand security cameras in this park.”

“Those are to protect the animals,” Marge told me. “That's why they're around the exhibits. Unfortunately, no one installed them to watch the candy store. Rest assured, though. I'll get my evidence one way or another. So why don't you save both of us a lot of trouble and just own up to it?”

“Um,” Kevin said meekly. “I've, uh, completed my search of the backpack.”

Marge turned to him expectantly. “And?”

“There was no candy inside,” Kevin reported. “Although there
was
a wrapper from a granola bar, if that means anything.”

“It doesn't,” Marge said, annoyed.

I was about to argue my innocence again when a thought suddenly occurred to me. “Did the break-in happen before someone shot at the rhino this morning?”

“You know exactly when it happened,” Marge snapped. “Because you did it.”

Summer quickly reminded her, “The last time you thought Teddy committed a crime here, you were completely wrong. In fact, you were so wrong, you didn't bother looking for the real thief and he almost got away. Which is why Daddy demoted you.”

Marge swung toward Summer, livid, but she actually had enough sense not to lash into the boss's daughter. “Just because I was wrong about Teddy once doesn't mean he's not trouble,” she argued. “In fact, this would be the perfect time for him to pull off a caper like this. Because he knows no one would believe me after what happened last time. But he's not going to get away with it. I'm smarter than he is.”

“I highly doubt that,” Summer said.

Marge had to bite her lip to rein in her anger. Her eyes bugged, and she turned red as a hummingbird's throat. For a moment it looked as though her head might explode, but she somehow managed to regain control. “All right,” she said. “For your sake, let's assume Teddy is innocent.” She turned back to me. “What's the point of asking when the theft took place?”

“I was thinking, it's kind of weird that two crimes happened here this morning, so maybe they're connected somehow.”

Marge screwed up her face, trying to make sense of this. “What do you mean?”

“Maybe someone broke into the candy store to create a diversion from the fact that they were shooting at the rhino,” I said. “Or maybe they shot at the rhino to divert everyone from the candy store.”

“I don't know when the candy store was broken into,” Marge admitted. “Only that it happened this morning sometime. I know the store was intact at closing time last night—but I didn't discover the burglary until right before the park opened today.”

Summer asked, “Is it possible that one of the elephants smashed into the store during the stampede? One of them could easily have eaten twenty-five pounds of candy.”

Marge shook her head dismissively. “The stampede didn't pass the candy store. And I think I can tell the difference between the work of an elephant and a twelve-year-old boy.” She narrowed her eyes at me suspiciously once again.

“I didn't do it,” I told her. “You can search my whole house if you want. You won't find any candy there.”

“We'll see about that,” Marge said. “But wherever that candy is, I'll find it. You won't be able to hide it forever.”

She came toward me, but Hondo stepped between us. “Ma'am, I have some experience with the law myself. And right now you have no proof against Teddy—only speculation. So, if you'll excuse us, I really need to get him to J.J. McCracken's office.”

“I haven't finished my interrogation,” Marge protested.

“Yes, you have,” Hondo told her. “We've wasted enough time here.” With that, he shepherded Summer and me through the metal detector.

Kevin handed my backpack to me. “Sorry for the inconvenience.”

“Don't apologize to criminals!” Marge shouted, and Kevin cowered like a scolded puppy.

Then Marge yelled after me, “I'm warning you, Teddy! You won't get away with this! I'm going to stay on you like glue until I finally prove to everyone that you're no good!”

“What a screwball,” Hondo muttered.

“You haven't seen anything yet,” Summer told him.

I shivered as we passed outside again, though I wasn't sure if this was because of the cold air or the fact that, once again, Marge was determined to bust me for a crime I hadn't committed. Plus, the candy store theft worried me as well. I knew I hadn't done it—but who had? And why?

J.J. McCracken was currently serving as
the director of operations at FunJungle. Tracey Boyd, the previous director, had stepped down after only a few months on the job. The official story was that Tracey had decided running the park wasn't the best fit for her; the unofficial story was that, after the dual crises of a stolen koala and a collapsed shark tank, Tracey had suffered a nervous breakdown. (J.J. had come into Tracey's office one day and found her curled in the fetal position under her desk, gibbering about wombats.) J.J. owned a lot of other businesses, but FunJungle was his pride and joy, so he had put all his other work aside to take over the job until a new director of operations could be found.

Pete Thwacker was in J.J.'s office when Summer and I arrived. Both men were staring through the giant windows behind J.J.'s desk, which looked out over FunJungle. The office was on the seventh floor of the administration building—the very top—and on a clear day, you could see almost to San Antonio from there. However, some low-slung gray clouds were blocking the view. I could barely make out SafariLand at the far end of the park.

The main entrance was still visible, though, as it was right below us—and that was all Pete was interested in. “Look at those crowds!” he exclaimed. “And on a weekday in February, no less! I'm telling you, this elephant stampede is going to be a gold mine!”

J.J. didn't look convinced. “You really think that's what brought them in?”

“Oh, I'm sure of it. Look down there!” Pete pointed toward the shattered remains of the Gorilla Grill. “There must be fifty people looking at the wreckage!”

I went to the window and looked myself. Normally, when disaster had befallen FunJungle, wooden barricades were quickly erected to hide the damage from the public. But today there was only a single strand of yellow ribbon cordoning off the destroyed restaurant, allowing guests to see it easily. “That's why you're not covering up the story?” I asked. “To make the disaster an attraction?”

“Exactly!” Pete cried. “I realized that every time we try to cover up something around here, it doesn't work. The public finds out and we get savaged for lying to them. So I ran some numbers.” He triumphantly waved a report he'd printed in the air. “It turns out the public doesn't care if something bad happens here. In fact, their interest in the park increases! And these so-called bad stories get much more attention than the good ones. When we announced that the tiger cubs had been born, we got moderate press coverage from a few media markets around the country. But when the tiger escaped, that was international news. Same thing when Henry's funeral went wrong. Or when the koala got stolen. So I figured, why try to cover up the elephant stampede? After all, those things don't happen every day. And I was right! The story's gone viral. It's trending at the top of the news. That's already generated interest in the park, and interest generates ticket sales. That small crowd down there isn't merely a one-day blip. It's the beginning of a trend. By the end of the week, I guarantee you fifty times that many people will be gathered around the scene of the stampede.” He turned to J.J. “We really shouldn't clean up that wreckage. People want to see it.”

“I can't leave a smashed-up restaurant in the middle of my park!” J.J. protested. “It's a health hazard! And besides, I need that restaurant up and running again. Our guests need places to eat.”

“So put some hot-dog carts around the stampede site in the meantime,” Pete said.

“I'm rebuilding the grill,” J.J. told him.

“Then what's the chance that we could stage another stampede?” Pete asked. “Unfortunately, there was no video taken of this one, which would have given the story even better play. So imagine that we have it happen again, during park hours, and get a little footage of it this time?”

“Have an elephant stampede during park hours?” J.J. gasped, incredulous. “With tourists around? Are you insane? We're lucky no one was hurt this time! And I lost an entire restaurant, which I now have to pay to rebuild.”