Framed (9 page)

T
he next day, Logan snuck out of the science lab a few minutes before the end of last period and rushed to his locker. He stowed his books and paused to regard himself in the mirror on the inside of the door — the one that showed his reflection in an oval of stars. His many cuts and scratches were more pronounced than ever, thanks to the dark scabs. And the lump on his forehead was a deep purple. Certainly not his best look, but an interesting one. Actors had to make do with the raw materials available.

At rehearsal last night, Mrs. Arturo, the director of
Hail Caesar
, had gasped at the sight of him. Luckily, she had been a makeup artist during her days on Broadway. No skin blemish, she’d explained, was so severe that it could not be erased with the right powder. Mom, on the
other hand, had never worked in drama. Why did these nontheatrical people have to be so emotional?

He locked up and headed for the stairwell. Halfway down, he passed the principal.

Dr. Egan did a double take. “Logan, what happened to your face?”

“Uh — mosquito bites,” Logan replied. “I guess I scratched them in my sleep.”

The principal cast him a crooked smile. “I think you’d better apply some more lima beans when you get home.”

Logan could not get out of the school quickly enough. So Dr. Evil had guessed that his had been the face behind the frozen vegetables. And now Logan was heading back to the very same house for round two.

But the show must go on. As long as Griffin was still banished to Jail For Kids, the operation was all that mattered.

Logan’s first stop, though, was Cedarville Elementary. Funny — up until this year, he and his friends had all attended this school. How could it have gotten so dinky in just a few months?

The dismissal bell rang, and he sat on a rock by the sixth-grade wing. Soon the school yard was
filled with elementary kids. But Logan only had eyes for one.

“Lindsay — hi!”

She was beaming as she joined him. “Logan — what are you doing here?”

“I was in the neighborhood.”

She laughed. “Isn’t this
your
neighborhood, too?”

“I remembered you were going to be planting bulbs today. I figured I could give you a hand. I’ve got a lot of experience.” At least, he had enough crib notes from Ben to fake it. Despite his complaining, the small, slight boy had come through with four pages of information on spring planting last night.

Her smile got even brighter. “Great!” As they headed for Honeybee Street, she made a confession. “You know, my dad kind of warned me to stay away from you. He said, ‘If it’s the Logan I think it is, he’s part of that gang Celia White’s always writing about.’”

Uh-oh. This kind of negative advance buzz could undermine a performance.

“Well — uh — what do
you
think?”

“I’m with you, aren’t I? I respect my dad, but he doesn’t pick my friends for me.”

At the Egan house, Lindsay opened the door,
tossed her bag in the front hall, and called, “Mom — I’m going to do some planting.”

She stepped into the garage and emerged with two hand spades and a basket of bulbs. In a few minutes, they were side by side on their knees, digging holes and planting daffodils for next spring.

“I hope you got some of the blue ones,” Logan commented as he shoveled. “They’re the rarest.”

She looked at him oddly. “All daffodils are yellow.”

“Like I said, the rarest,” Logan blustered. He must have read that part of the research wrong. “I know the bulbs are considered a delicacy in Canada,” he ventured in an attempt to recover.

“No, they’re not. They’re poison.” She leaned over his shoulder. “What are you doing — digging a tunnel to China?”

“But — but the bulbs have to be planted at least two feet deep.”

“Logan!” she exclaimed. “Where did you learn about gardening? Six inches is plenty.”

“But — but —” He stood up, totally flustered. What was going on? Why had Ben fed him wrong information? How could an actor play his part when the script was full of mistakes? “I have to go to the bathroom!” he blurted, and ran into the
house. This performance was ruined. All he could do was get a look inside the jewelry box and get out of there. It wouldn’t win any Oscars, but at least the job would be done.

He burst through the door and ran into the kitchen.

“Oh — hello. I’m Lindsay’s mother.”

Oh, no! Mrs. Evil!

Logan fastened his eyes hungrily on the blue velvet box, so close, yet so far away. “Uh — hi.”

“You must be the lima bean boy. Logan, is it? I’ll bet your mother had something to say about what happened to your face.”

Utter, paralyzing stage fright. He wasn’t sure he could live with the humiliation. Not only was he totally blowing this, but, up in Savannah’s attic, all his friends could hear every word he wasn’t saying through the chimney mike.

He tried to mumble, “Nice meeting you,” but it came out more like “Mice neeting goo.” His face must have been bright red as he finally escaped, because, when he got out to Lindsay, she made an extra effort to be kind.

“Don’t feel bad, Logan. I’ll teach you everything you need to know about gardening.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “I’ll be right back.” And
she scampered across the porch and into the house.

The instant the door closed behind her, the lid of the wood box flew open, and out vaulted Ben Slovak, a compact whirlwind of fury.

“You’re busted, Kellerman!”

Logan could not have been more astonished if a giant squid tentacle had reached out of there and grabbed him. “Why aren’t you in the command center? Are you spying on me?”

“Oh, horror!” Ben sneered. “We can’t have any spying — besides the webcams in the trees, the microphone in the chimney, and the telephoto lens across the street!”

“Get out of here!” Logan hissed. “She could be back any minute!”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Ben seethed. “Then you’d have her all to yourself — you and your shovels and your bulbs!”

“It’s not like that! I’m acting!”

“Yeah — acting like a moron!”

“At least I’m doing my job!” Logan defended himself. “That’s more than I can say for you — feeding me all those bogus facts! I could have taken a bite out of one of those bulbs and be dead right now!”

All at once, both boys realized that their argument was being drowned out by a loud roaring bark.

“Luthor!” wheezed Ben.

“The signal!” added Logan.

And that could mean only one thing. Dr. Egan’s car had been spotted from the attic.

In a heartbeat, the anger between them was transformed into pure speed. They dashed across the street, diving behind the Drysdales’ hedge a split second before the principal’s Hyundai whispered past. Then they blasted in through the door, startling Savannah’s mother, who was sorting through a pantry filled with a dozen different kinds of animal feed.

“Oh, hi, boys —”

But they were already halfway up the stairs en route to the attic.

Pitch greeted them, close to hysterics. “What was
that
supposed to be? Are you both crazy? Ben, what were you doing in the wood box?”

“I had to stop Romeo here from letting his love for Lindsay get in the way of the operation!”

Logan was furious. “For the twentieth time, I don’t even like her! Maybe
you’re
the one who likes her!”

That was the last straw for Ben. He hurled
himself at Logan, sending the larger boy staggering backward into the camera tripod. It went down with a crash, punctuated by breaking glass — the telephoto lens.

Ferret Face darted out of Ben’s shirt and took cover up a support beam as Ben kept a choke hold on Logan and would not let go.

“It — was — acting!” Logan insisted, slamming Ben against the table that held the three laptops. Only Melissa’s frantic efforts kept the whole setup from hitting the floor.

“What’s going on over there?” Griffin’s voice echoed throughout the attic. “Has everybody gone nuts?”

Pitch and Savannah each grabbed a combatant, but they could not manage to pull Ben and Logan apart.

“Cut it out, you guys!” Savannah begged. “My mom’s home!”

And then a new voice sounded in the command center. It came through the speaker of the third laptop, the one that monitored the chimney mike. Instant silence fell in the attic. It was the voice of Dr. Evil:

“Okay, I’ll be back soon. I’m going to swing by the jewelers and drop this off.”

T
he five team members squeezed into the dormer window. They watched breathlessly as their principal, the blue velvet box in his hand, left the house and climbed into his car. He backed out of the driveway and headed down the street, making a left turn off Honeybee toward town.

“What’s happening?” Griffin demanded in a half-demented rasp.

“This is it, Griffin!” Ben exclaimed, wild with excitement. “He’s got the box and he’s heading for the jewelry store!”

“Follow him!” Griffin ordered.

“He’s in a car!” Pitch protested.

“There’s only one jeweler in Cedarville,” Griffin reasoned. “Konrad’s, on Main Street. We’ve got to take a picture of the ring while Dr. Evil’s holding it!”

As they raced for the attic stairs, Ben snatched Ferret Face down off the beam and stuffed him under his shirt. Savannah threw open the door. There stood her mother, who had come up to investigate the commotion. Her eyes bulged at the sight of the computer screens with their detailed views of the Egan home.

“Savannah Marie Drysdale, you’d better have an explanation for all this!”

“I do — later!”

And then Mrs. Drysdale was alone with Luthor, amid the ruins of Operation Stakeout.

Up in his room, Griffin stared at his computer monitor, which showed a bewildered Lindsay standing by her flower bed, trying to discover what had happened to her planting partner. She even looked inside the wood box, because the lid was open. The split-screen image showed the command center in Savannah’s attic was empty.

“Guys?” Griffin said into the microphone. “Is anybody still there?”

“Who is that?” came the sharp voice of Mrs. Drysdale. Her bewildered face tilted into his monitor.

Griffin was out of his room and down the stairs before conscious thought kicked in.

House arrest! I can’t go!

He was not allowed out that door, except to go to Jail For Kids. That wasn’t just a rule, like no running in the hall. It was
law
, imposed by a real judge, and enforced by the police department!

It almost tore him in two. Half a mile away, at Konrad’s Jewelry Designs, the most important event of his life was about to take place. And he couldn’t be there.

Not that he didn’t trust his friends. But there were so many things that could go wrong. They could arrive too late and miss the moment when the ring was revealed. Or too early — and be spotted. Then Dr. Evil would keep the ring underground.

They could take a bad picture that was worthless as evidence. Or forget the camera altogether in the rush to get to the store. And if today didn’t pan out, there’d be no second chances. The stakeout was in shambles; the command center compromised; and the principal would know they were on to him.

Griffin set his jaw. His friends were great — the best. But a successful plan required a master planner. And none of them was that.

I have to be there!

Throwing on a jacket, he did a quick accounting of the whereabouts of his parents, who would definitely not be cool about this. Mom was in the backyard, cleaning out her greenhouse for the winter. And Dad was in the garage, working on the Vole-B-Gone.

Uh-oh. His bike was in the garage. No way could he get it without Dad seeing him. He opened the closet and pulled on his old Rollerblades. A little tight, but sore feet were the least of his worries right now.

He pocketed his father’s cell phone, which had a camera, and slipped out the door, careful not to slam it. If Mom or Dad happened to check on him and find him gone, payback would be a monster. In the end, though, everything would be okay — with his parents, the judge, even with the school — once the ring had been recovered. He couldn’t wait to see their faces when he was proven innocent. And Celia White would have to print a huge apology in her stupid column.

He almost fell down the front steps, but managed to save himself and hit the road at top speed. Long, powerful strides ate up the distance downtown.

A police cruiser went by as Griffin made the turn onto Main Street. Blind panic coursed through him, but he did his best not to look like a fugitive. The car drove on. The officer did not recognize him.

He could see the gold awning in front of Konrad’s, two blocks away.

A gray Hyundai Sonata wheeled onto Main from a side street. Dr. Evil! Had Griffin gone through all this only to arrive too late?

He bore down, pouring every ounce of strength in his body into the pumping of his legs. His muscles burned and so did the breath in his throat. Oh, no! The principal was right in front of the store….

Wait — no place to park! Hooray! The Hyundai continued down the block and began to reverse into a spot past the store.

Griffin was almost there. One more street before the gold awning …

The bicycle appeared out of nowhere, directly in his path. He reached out and grabbed the rider in a desperate attempt to save them both. His momentum very nearly took them into a shattering wipeout against a brick wall. But at the last
second, the biker managed to right them and bring them to a shaky stop.

“Griffin!”
Savannah hissed. “You’re on house arrest!”

“I won’t be a few minutes from now,” he whispered back. “Quick — hide!”

They ducked around the corner of the building and peeked out. The principal was having trouble parallel parking in a tight space. It gave them a moment to catch their breath.

“Where are the others?” Griffin asked urgently.

“Running.”

He could already see the rest of the team pounding up the sidewalk, athletic Pitch in the lead.

A car door slammed. Dr. Egan was crossing the street toward Konrad’s. Griffin bladed out to greet the runners, his finger to his lips. At this sensitive moment, even heavy breathing could be enough to give them away.

Although the newcomers were surprised to see him, nobody said a word. Ben and Logan, sweaty and bruised, glared at each other. But the operation came first.

The jingling sound told them that the principal had entered Konrad’s Jewelry Designs. They crept
around the corner and approached the store gingerly, keeping low. Slowly — agonizingly slowly — Griffin raised himself to peer in the window.

Dr. Egan was the only customer. The jewelry box, still closed, sat on the glass showcase. The principal released the catch and opened the lid.

“Now!” breathed Griffin. He threw the door wide and rolled inside, the team at his heels.

Dr. Egan looked up, startled. He spied Griffin first. “You!”

Like a gunfighter at the O.K. Corral, Griffin whipped out the cell phone, framed a view of his principal standing over the open box, and tore off six quick shots.

Cameras flashed, team members jockeyed for the best vantage point. If anyone had ever been caught in the act, it was Dr. Egan.

At the same instant, all six noticed the contents of the jewelry box. It was an antique gold brooch with one missing drop pearl.

“That’s not a Super Bowl ring!” blurted Ben.

Truer words had never been spoken.

The principal’s voice dripped ice. “This is going to have consequences.”