I So Don't Do Famous (26 page)

“Meeting poolside back at the hotel,” Mrs. Howard says.

“Including me?” Leah asks.

“Of course,” Mrs. Howard answers. “Sherry, we'll see you at the hotel.” The aromas of coffee, cinnamon buns and root beer gloss waft away.

Officer Mullins and I reach the car. Dad's sitting in the front. Junie's in the back. The officer unlocks my cuffs and hands me my cell phone. He shakes my hand. “Great job, Sherry. It's an honor working with you. Detective Garcia wanted to pass along that you have a bright future in law enforcement ahead of you.”

“Thanks.”

“And, Sherry,” he adds, “we've already been in
touch with Sarah Sutherland. The paintings were heavily insured.”

“Yay!” I say.

My dad steps out of the car and sweeps me up in a tight hug. “Sherry, I'm relieved you're okay. But you took an incredible risk getting involved in all this. I can't believe you got in that van.”

“I know. I'm sorry.” He releases me, and I slide in next to Junie. We high-five.

While we're riding back to the hotel, I get some of the gaps filled in.

“Okay,” I say. “I have a million questions. For starters, how'd you figure out where the heist was?”

“Well, when you never called or showed at Kira Cornish's, Detective Garcia knew something was wrong,” Junie says. “She contacted me, but I couldn't tell her anything because I hadn't heard from you.”

“David took my cell,” I say.

“Sam phoned me after talking to you,” Dad says. “He was worried because you were so callous about your fish. At first, I thought maybe it was all tied in with your day of depression, but then Junie spilled the beans about the investigation.”

“Sorry, Dad,” I say. “I figured you wouldn't let me go undercover.”

He nods, but I can tell he's still not thrilled about that part.

“Detective Garcia wanted to let you in on the sting, but I wouldn't let her,” I say.

“We'll talk about this later.” Dad's expression is solemn.

“How did Detective Garcia figure out we were robbing Sarah Sutherland's?” I ask.

“After your last visit to her office, the detective compiled a list of all the Raccoonites, with a subset of those who are Hollywood success stories,” Junie explains. “Then it was a question of checking out the few on her list who hadn't been burglarized yet.”

“Smart,” I say.

Back at the hotel, Officer Mullins pumps my hand again.

“I think room service is in order,” Dad says. “After a day like today.”

“Sounds great. I'll meet you guys upstairs. I need a little time to myself,” I say. “I have a meeting by the pool with Mrs. Howard, Mom and Leah,” I whisper to Junie.

The lobby is already filling with people for tonight's Marilyn Monroe look-alike contest. Many are in costume. I pick my way through the people, then take the outside walkway to the pool area. A nervous feeling gnaws at my stomach. It comes from crossing Mrs. Howard.

From the smell of it, the three ghosts are already at
a back corner table when I arrive. Mrs. Howard is a big blurry ball by the open umbrella. I pull out a chair.

“Way to save the day,” Mom whispers in my ear.

I nod.

The pool area isn't crowded, but it isn't empty either. I hold my cell to my ear, pretending I'm engaged in conversation with a live person.

“Sherry, you've done it again,” Mrs. Howard says.

I nod, not exactly sure if this is good or bad.

“You're already making headlines on the World Wide Web for the Dead,” she says.

“Oh yeah,” I say, still noncommittal. Is she mad? Proud? She's the moodiest, most impossible-to-read ghost around.

“Leah's mentioned too,” Mrs. Howard says.

“Really? I am?” Leah squeals. “Does it say anything about how great a help I was on the case? Does it talk about the movie I was in before I died? Am I getting famous?”

“There's nothing but good about you, Leah.” Mrs. Howard oozes cinnamon and sugar.

“How did you know I was at Sarah Sutherland's?” I ask. “And that I needed help?”

“That would be me.” No doubt Leah is raising a hand. The scent of root beer strengthens as she settles near me. “When I saw Junie all alone in the lobby, I guessed something was wrong.”

“So you hung around Junie and eavesdropped on her phone calls with Detective Garcia?” I say.

“Basically,” Leah says. “Like a stakeout in the lobby.”

“Good thinking, Leah,” I say.

“Leah hunted me down when she realized you were in trouble,” Mom says.

“Sherry, honey,” Mrs. Howard drawls, “everyone at the Academy is very proud of you.”

Phew.

“Can I tell her, Mrs. Howard? Can I tell her?” I bet Leah's bouncing up and down like a kid at a birthday party.

“Certainly, dear,” Mrs. Howard says.

“I applied for a position with the Academy of Spirits,” Leah says proudly. “As your partner.”

“Very cool,” I say. And I mean it.

“Leah's coming back to Phoenix with us,” Mrs. Howard says. “But I'm taking her over to see her family first.”

“Could I have a word with you, Mrs. Howard?” I ask.

I
t's nine o'clock and time for the Marilyn Monroe look-alike contest.

Dad, Junie and I head downstairs. Junie and I are wearing Marilyn Monroe T-shirts that we bought across the street at a souvenir store.

The elevator doors open to the sound of Marilyn Monroe belting out “Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend.” The Blossom Ballroom is filled with Marilyn look-alikes. There's a sea of blond wigs. The most popular outfits copy the short white halter dress from
The Seven Year Itch
movie and the long rhinestone-covered evening gown Marilyn wore when she sang “Happy Birthday” to President Kennedy.

Dad wanders around the periphery of the room, texting photos back to The Ruler.

“Isn't this amazing?” Mom swoops in beside me.

“Totally,” I say. “Where are Mrs. Howard and Leah?”

“Somewhere around here, working on crossing thresholds,” Mom says.

“What's the deal with them?” I ask. “Why is Mrs. Howard so crazy about her?”

“I'm not sure, but Mrs. Howard has a very long and complicated past,” Mom says. “I think Leah reminds her a little of herself at a certain age.”

“Well, while I think Leah will be fun to work with, you'll always be my first choice.”

“Sherry, you are so sweet.” She touches my cheek. “It'll all pan out. And, at this point, I'm still on loan to the foreign Academy.”

“Sherry!” Dad's waving his phone at me. “Phone call!” He starts wending his way through a pack of Marilyn Monroes.

“And thank you for setting up Real Time through Mrs. Howard for your father and me,” Mom says.

“When are you going to do it?” I ask, all excited.

“Now,” Mom says.

“Really?” I suck in a breath.

Dad presses his phone into my palm. “Paula has amazing news.”

“Hello, Paula,” I say.

“Here's Sam,” she says. “He wanted to be the one to tell you.”

I follow my dad, who goes into 25 Degrees and sits in a booth, his face to me. I stand at the door, watching.

“Sherry?” Sam says.

“Just a sec, Sam,” I say.

The waiter brings Dad water. He points to something on the menu, and the waiter leaves. Dad raises the glass to his lips, then sets it down, smiling across the table, like he sees someone there. His clasped hands, relaxed shoulders and lips turned up in a content grin all tell me Real Time has begun. Dad won't remember it, but he'll carry the good feelings from it forever.

I turn away. It's private. “What's going on, Sam?”

“I didn't hurt your fish. I didn't do anything to your fish.” His voice squeaks with excitement. “No one did.”

“Are they acting normal today?” I ask.

“Nope,” Sam says. “Not at all.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Cindy laid eggs!” Sam shouts. “All over the bottom of the aquarium.”

A proud parental feeling flows through me. Cindy laid eggs. We have a fry. Bala sharks almost never, ever lay eggs in captivity. But my fish are so happy and healthy and in love. They just couldn't help
themselves. It all goes back to my essay. When you're in love, everything in your life falls into line. Pimples clear up. Math homework makes sense. Your room stays clean.

Junie and I mill around. At ten o'clock, the hotel staff wheel a dolly into the middle of the Blossom Ballroom. On the dolly sits a squat mirror, the kind you find on a bathroom counter. The mirror is framed by ornate silver curlicues.

The smell of coffee breezes around me. “Sherry,” my mother says, “Mrs. Howard left an artichoke under the table with the guest book. I don't want to carry it because it'll look like it's floating through the air.”

I tell Junie, and we skip over to get it.

We crowd around the mirror, along with many Marilyn Monroes and my dad. I balance the artichoke so that it's leaning on the frame.

I sniff. “No Mrs. Howard or Leah.”

“I don't know where they are,” my mother says. “I'm worried they'll miss Marilyn's appearance.”

“Hi, Sherry,” says a voice at my shoulder. “I thought I might find you here.”

“Hi, Mark!”

“Any sign of her yet?” he asks.

I shake my head, staring intently at the mirror, willing Marilyn's ghost to appear.

“Want to hang out tomorrow?” he asks. “It's my last day.”

“Definitely. I just have to check with my dad.”

“And your mother,” my mom says in my ear.

“Sure thing,” I say under my breath.

“Hi, Mark,” Junie says.

The hotel dims the lights until the entire focus of the room is on the little mirror. All goes silent.

The smell of cinnamon rolls hovers above me. Mrs. Howard has arrived.

I sniff. The room is filled with a lot of different smells. French fries, lavender, flowers. A host of ghosts have arrived to greet Marilyn.

The scent of root beer rolls in next to me. “That's not the mirror I saw her in,” Leah says. “The right one must still be in the basement.”

“Downstairs, ghosts,” Mrs. Howard commands.

“Did you hear that, Sherry?” my mom whispers.

“Got it,” I say quickly. I scoop up the artichoke.

“Junie”—I tug on her elbow—“can I talk with you?”

She nods.

“Later, gator,” I say to Mark.

He smiles.

When we reach the outskirts of the crowd, I say, “Junie, they brought up the wrong mirror. The right one's still in the basement.”

We barrel down. A dusty cloth is lifted from a plain full-length mirror. I place the artichoke next to it.

The mirror goes dark and cloudy, like a storm is brewing in it. Suddenly, it clears. Marilyn gazes out,
her eyes large. “Hello, everyone.” Her voice is high and breathy. “I thought there'd be more fans here, on the anniversary of my death.”

“There are loads more in the Blossom Ballroom, a bunch of them dressed like you,” I say. “Would you like us to carry you upstairs?”

“Yes,” she says. “Thank you.”

“But first could you talk with my mother?” I ask.

The scent of coffee is strong by the mirror as my mother moves in close. She and Marilyn talk in such low tones that I can't hear what they're saying.

Other ghosts clamor for a turn at the mirror. After about ten minutes, Marilyn says to Junie and me, “Girls, it's time to meet my fans.”

Junie carries one end of the mirror, while I grab hold of the other. We set it down in the ballroom, and the mirror is immediately swarmed by fans. Ms. Monroe smiles her big famous smile, her eyelids at half-mast.