I So Don't Do Mysteries (22 page)

Junie and I
walk side by side, making our way at snail
speed down the sidewalk and over the sand. Amber loaned us adorable, but dangerously high, platform
sandals. One false step, and we're crippled for life. Amber, on the other hand, is way out in
front, practically galloping, she's in such a hurry to get to the pizza party.

Junie starts to topple over and clamps on to my arm.

I glance at her. Man oh man, but she looks pretty good. Myself, I'm on
fi-fi-fire. Amber was, like, a genius when it came to spiffing us up. That girl could make a fortune doing
makeovers at the mall. I mean, with tips and all.

And who knew so much beauty power lurked in normal old kitchen stuff like mayo and
raw eggs? Although it did feel a bit weird ignoring the bazillion Mary Kay products that my great-aunt
has crammed all over the condo.

After a skin-care regimen, Amber eyelined and mascaraed and glossed us. And
she's so right—more is better. Then she plucked our eyebrows. Ouchie mama. Poor
Junie was really yelping. Of course, her werewolfish brows gave the tweezers a major workout. Amber
said my eyebrows were almost perfect just naturally.

Next Amber plugged in her ceramic straightener, which I swear is like a magic wand in
her hands. My hair has never, ever looked this classy: straight, frizz free, well behaved. And for all three
of us, Amber pinched up an adorable amount of hair at the back of our heads with a glittery clip. Can
you say beautiful?

I pull down on my supershort knit skirt and up on my tube top. It's one of
those tube tops with a built-in bra. Amber loaned me a pair of gel inserts. I totally agree with
her—they don't look at all like fake-o boobs; more like I had a growth spurt in my sleep
last night.

I say to Junie, “Can you believe how fab we are?”

She grunts a yes. “But spring break'll be over by the time we get down
the beach. When are Rob and the photographer coming?”

“Not for a couple of hours.”

“We might make that.” She kicks off her sandals. “Forget these
stilts.”

“I'm with you.” I slip my feet out, then bend over very carefully,
so as not to thong-flash anyone, and scoop up my sandals.

Ahead of us, Amber waves with big arm movements. She found the guys.

Junie and I speed up.

And then I spot him.

Leaning back against a cooler on a big gray-and-red-striped blanket is Josh. His
Hawaiian board shorts ride low on his hips, and he's wearing a San Diego Padres T-shirt. With
a flat hand on my perfect brows, I shade my eyes. He looks good. No, great. No, greater than
great.

I put my hand over my gel boob to slow down my heart. He's incredibly
gorgey-gorgeous. And he's waiting for me. Sherlock Holmes Baldwin.

Our eyes lock.

“Wow,” Josh says.

In my whole entire life, no guy has ever looked at me with
that
particular look in
his eyes. Never. It's beaming straight through his blue-tinted sunglasses. My legs go jelly
wobbly.

He swallows. “Hey, Sherry and Junie. This is my cousin Mike.” He
gestures to one of the guys sitting on the blanket.

Mike has dark hair sprouting from his chin and his long toes. He reminds me of a
hobbit. Seriously, his middle name could be Bilbo or Frodo. Apparently Amber's a big Lord
of the Rings fan, as she's sitting very, very close to him.

She scoots even closer. “Mike's in engineering at UC San
Diego.”

I wave. “Hi, Mike.” I drop my sandals beside the blanket.

“And this”—Josh introduces the second guy—“is
my old neighbor Aidan.”

“Aidan's in seventh grade,” Amber adds. “Like you
two.”

I smile a hello at Aidan and blink. Someone needs to clue him in about antiglare lenses. I
swear the sun is ricocheting off his huge owl glasses and burning me.

Junie's staring at Aidan. “I know you.” She pauses, doing her
tongue-between-the-teeth thinking thing. “Did you do a project on testing the strengths of
electromagnetic fields for the national science fair last year?”

He index-fingers his glasses higher up on his nose. “Yeah.”

“I did the PicoTurbine windmills.” Palms up, she says, “We
were right beside each other.”

Aidan shakes his head. “Really?”

The fact that he doesn't recognize her shows what a miracle worker Amber
is.

“Are you entering this year?” Junie asks.

And they start an überboring conversation about science experiments. So it is
true. There really is someone for everyone—a nerd for Junie, a college hobbit for Amber and a
Josh for me. In the middle of this heavy philosophical thought, my phone rings.

I dig it out of my mini-backpack. “Hi, Dad. I've been trying to call
you.”

“We escaped to another island for a few days for some peace and
quiet.”

Ha. Junie's relatives must be driving him and The Ruler nuts.

“And there was no cell coverage. Anyway, Margaret just got hold of us.
We're so proud of you, pumpkin.”

“Thanks.”

“How did you ever get involved?”

“Oh, it's kind of hard to explain.” When you're
standing on the beach next to Josh Morton, looking your absolute coolest on a perfect hair day, the last
thing you want to do is spend time talking to your father.

“Was it dangerous?”

I think about being taped up and Gary's threats about his mean partner and the
poison and the rhinos. Then I eyeball Josh, with his cool shades and narrow hips, and the highlights in
his hair glinting in the sun. I go for the short answer. “Not really.”

“We want all the details. It's not every day my little girl is a
hero.”

“Hey, can I phone you later? I'm kinda on the beach with a bunch of
people right now.”

“Say hello to Paula first.”

“Sherry, don't buy a cell phone case,” Paula says. “I
found one in a tiki print. Similar blue-green colors to your bedroom walls.”

“Thanks, Paula!” We figure out a callback time, and she's very
reasonable. I disconnect, then toss the phone and backpack on the blanket.

“Let's go for a walk.” Josh stands.

He holds out a hand to me. I grab it like a natural.

Incredible. I'm walking along a Southern California beach, holding hands with
Josh Morton. I take a deep, oceany breath. From this point on, true love will always be associated with
the smell of salt and rotting seaweed.

He says, “You look great.”

“Thanks.” I should, considering how much effort it took.

“And you were awesome at the Wild Animal Park.”

Does life get any better? Have I pinnacled at age thirteen?

Waves lapping over our feet, we stroll along, discussing the whole rhino experience.
Then we move on to school, friends, parents. He's easy-schmeazy to talk to.

And because the beach is pretty empty, we're not dodging Boogie boarders or
Frisbees. We're just a happy couple out for a walk in the sun and surf.

A happy couple? Oh no. Eeks. Ikes. Ack. What do happy couples do? They kiss.
Only, I don't know anything about happy-couple kissing. I've been too busy with the
mystery to try to figure out any romantic stuff.

Why didn't I quiz Amber earlier, when I was lying on the kitchen floor, wet tea
bags plopped on my eyes? She could've given me the Cliff's Notes version on kissing.
As in, whose head goes in which direction? As in, how do I make sure my teeth don't crash
into his?

We meander behind a huge boulder.

Eeks. Ikes. Ack. It's the perfect kissing spot, with waves crashing and sand
glittering like it's full of gold.

Josh steps toward me.

I stare at Josh's eyes.
The
look is there. Big-time there.

Well, I did outsmart a Cape buffalo. And I did free everyone from duct-tape bondage.
And I did save my mother's afterlife. Surely I can manage the kissing thing.

I put my hand behind Josh's neck and pull his head toward me.

In the very second our lips meet, I'm instantly changed forever.

Yow, yow, yowser.

Oh my. Oh wow. Oh yummy.

I'm riding the roller coaster, front seat, hands reaching for the clouds.

I break for air but keep my eyes closed. I want to remember this amazing, fantastical
moment forever. I memorize the sound of waves smacking the shore, the coconutty smell of sunscreen,
the bright sun baking my skin, the electric tingle of my lips.

I will definitely send a thank-you card to the French government, because, as everyone
knows, they invented kissing.

When I open my eyes, Josh is peering around the rock. “A bunch of people just
piled out of SUVs.”

“Amber's friends.”

“Someone dressed all in pink has arrived,” he reports.

“My great-aunt Margaret.”

“A girl and a guy with a surf board are with her.”

“Lindsey and Luke. I met them at a restaurant. She'll be a great chef
someday. Him, not so much.”

“They're carrying pizza,” Josh reports. “Loads of
pizza.”

I move closer to him. “Oh, we still have a few minutes.”

He gives me
that
look again.

A breeze blows my hair and whispers in my ear, “Sherry.”

It's my mother!

With a finger, Josh lifts my chin.

Think fast, Sherry. Think fast.

I cough. I double over and cough again, but deeper this time, like I'm
diseased.

“You okay?” Josh asks.

I shake my head. Fake hack. Fake hack.

He pounds on my back.

Real hack. Real hack.

A plump wren lands by my feet and squawks. Probably informing me my life is over,
now that my mother has caught me on the beach skank-dressed and engaged in heavy-duty kissing.
How long has she been here?

His voice all anxious, Josh asks, “Can I get you something?”

“Soda,” I rasp.

I wait till he's sprinting off down the beach. “Hi, Mom.”

“We did it, Sherry. We succeeded in saving the rhinos and getting the perps
locked up.” Her pitch rises with excitement.

I let out a breath of relief. She obviously didn't see me kissing, or she'd
be blasting me from here to Phoenix or maybe even Paris. “We are awesome.”

Mom laughs. “Very awesome.” She pauses. “Josh Morton.
He's a nice boy?”

I nod.

“I trust you. You're a good judge of character.”

So this is what growing up is all about.

“Your grandfather and I are taking off for Phoenix now,” Mom
continues. “We have to take the trip home pretty slowly. The bird specialist told us to build in
several water-and-Maalox stops so Grandpa doesn't get dehydrated again.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Next weekend, your grandparents are going together to Sonoma for a few
days. Grandma signed up for Getting in Touch with the Spirit World classes.”

“That'd be way cool if Grandma could commune with you and
Grandpa. We could all chill together.”

Mom's voice moves. If I could see her, I think I'd be staring straight
into her dark eyes.

“Sherry, you are truly an amazing daughter. Thank you for everything
you've done for me.”

My throat lumps up. “I'm glad we could work together. I really, really
loved hanging with you.”

“It has been wonderful, hasn't it?” Sounds like she has a lump
in her throat too. “One of the reasons I wanted you onboard for the mystery was so
we'd get to spend time together.”

“Does it have to be over?” I feel my eyes bug. What am I saying? At
first, I didn't want to get involved with the mystery. But now that it's all wrapped up,
I'm already starting to miss it.

Grandpa scratches in the sand and squawks up a storm.

“Are you sure?” Mom asks.

“What? What's he saying? I don't get how you can always
understand him.”

“Uh, you, uh, get used to him over time.” She's distracted.

Grandpa garbles out a bunch more wrenspeak.

I hear my name.

“I had no idea,” Mom says.

Grandpa flies up and lightly trails his wings across my forehead.

“Fly safe, Grandpa.”

He croaks something. Maybe “You did great.” Or maybe
“Those boobs look fake.” Then he flaps off, his round little body bobbing as his wings
whirl like eggbeaters.

“What did he say? I heard my name.”

“According to your grandfather, now that the Academy knows what a
remarkable mother-daughter duo we are, they might make us a permanent team.”
Mom's words float gently on the Pacific breeze.

A permanent team? Yes, yes, yes. More crime prevention? Yes, yes, yes. Continued
weirdness and a hugely bizarre life where I get to spend time with my mom? Yes, yes, yes.

“I have an appointment with my guidance counselor later this week in
Phoenix.” Mom's voice is fading. “Coffee-call me when you're home,
and I'll let you know what I find out.”