The Mystery of the Zorse's Mask (15 page)

“Over there.” Frankie points across the hall.

“I'll wait for you,” I tell Becca, but she shakes her head.

“Go ahead. I'll catch up.”

Frankie's arms are tight at his sides, not relaxed. He marches ahead of us like a soldier going off to battle—grim and determined. Leo follows with hunched shoulders.

Is Frankie innocent or a sneaky snake?
I wonder. The face at the window looked like him, but what if I'm wrong? Whoever it was knows CCSC secrets. He spied on our clubhouse, saw the kittens, and even watched Leo hide the treasury money.

“Frankie never left the building,” Mrs. Ross tells us a few minutes later. And the drama kids vouch for Frankie too, even Sophia.

We leave the stage and head for the storage room.

“Told you,” Frankie says. “I'm not your spy.”

“Then who is?” Leo rubs his head. “The guy I chased was tall, thin, and wore a green cap like you.”

“Did you see his face?” Frankie asks.

“No,” Leo admits.

“It could have been any tall guy wearing a hat like mine.”

“I'm sorry.” Leo hangs his blond head. “I should have trusted you.”

“Yes, you should have. But you can make it up to me by helping out with the costumes,” Frankie says with a grin. “You were genius assembling the giraffe. Want to get started on the mechanical elephant?”

Leo agrees quickly, smiling like a huge weight has rolled off his shoulders. Poor guy doesn't have many friends—maybe just us. He and Frankie seem a little alike—smart but socially awkward. It's cool if they become friends.

Yet I'm uneasy. If Frankie isn't the spy, then who is?

Leo goes into the storage room with Frankie, and I start to follow until Becca pops up beside me and whispers, “Let's get out of here. I have something to tell you.”

“We already know Frankie's innocent,” I say with a heavy sigh. “The drama club—even Mrs. Ross—said he never left the building. I was wrong about him.”

“Maybe,” she says with a mysterious smile.

We walk through the theater aisles toward the exit. As we push open the auditorium door, the wind tosses our ponytails. We head for the bike racks. When I glance over at Becca, her dark eyes sparkle brighter than her crescent-moon necklace.

“What's up with you?” I ask as I unlock my bike.

“Nothing.”

I glance at her curiously. “You're smiling too much.”

“Am I?” Her smile widens.

“I get the feeling you know something I don't know,” I guess.

She lowers her voice. “I didn't buy Frankie's innocent act, so I did a little snooping.”

“In the bathroom?”

“I didn't go there. That was a ruse, as we say in spy talk. I searched Frankie's office and found important evidence.” She reaches into her pocket and shows me a handful of paper pieces.

“Looks like trash not evidence.”

“And you call yourself a spy,” Becca teases. “Didn't you notice how weird Frankie acted about cleaning his desk and ripping a paper? Why rip it up—unless he's hiding something.”

I rub my chin thoughtfully. “It did seem strange.”

“Highly suspicious,” Becca says. “So I collected all the paper pieces and hid them in my pocket. I'll tape them together like I did with the letter in your spy game.”

“Excellent! Too bad I don't have tape with me. I'll have to add it to my spy pack. But I do have this.” I dig into my spy pack for a baggie and offer it to her. She stuffs the paper pieces inside, then we head for my house since it's the closest.

When Mom sees me walk in with a friend, she gets all excited like I've never brought a friend to our apartment—which I haven't. Mom also notices my shirt.

“Doesn't that belong to one of your sisters?”

“Um … maybe,” I say, smoothing over the leopard fabric.

“It looks great on you,” Mom says. “I'm glad someone is finally wearing it. Did your sisters give it to you?”

“Uh … not exactly.”

“Well, they should,” Mom says with a chuckle. Instead of criticizing me, she offers to return it to my sisters' closet.

“Go change before your sisters get home,” Mom says with a conspiratorial wink. “Becca can wait here with me.”

When I come back, I'm wearing a sky-blue sweatshirt over comfy jeans. Mom and Becca sit close together on the couch, chatting like they've known each other for years instead of a few minutes.

I give Mom the leopard shirt, then turn to Becca. “Come on. Let's hang in my room. We have that project to work on,” I add with a meaningful look.

“Oh, yeah. The
project
.” Becca pats her pocket where she has the letter pieces. She turns back to my mother. “Anytime you want a tour, I'll set it up.”

“Thanks,” Mom says. “I've really missed being around animals.”

I grab Becca's hand and escape to my bedroom.

“What tour?” I shut my door and lock it.

“Wild Oaks Sanctuary. Your mother might become a volunteer. She said she has lots of free time since her florist job is only part-time and she enjoys working outside. She talked to me like a friend, not bossy like my mother does. Your mom is coolness.”

I smile, pleased and little proud of Mom. “Dad's the diva in the family, and Mom is the peacekeeper. They balance each other out.”

“You're lucky,” Becca says with a wistful sigh. And I guess I am. My family has financial problems, but at least we're together.

Becca opens the baggie I gave her and spills paper pieces onto my desk.

“You'll need this,” I say, then hand her a roll of tape.

There are about thirty pieces of paper, and Becca swiftly arranges them into place like puzzle pieces. The uneven pieces don't lie flat, but Becca manages to smooth them out with bits of tape and fit them together. She must have been practicing because she's really good at this.

Finally all but one piece—a jagged corner—is in place, a colorful image of jungle animals emerging. I find the missing piece on the floor and carefully stick it in place. I hold the tape, ripping off strips until Becca has the paper pieces together.

“It's only a flyer for
The Lion King
play,” Becca says, disappointed. “I thought it would be a letter or coded message.”

“You did a great job of piecing it back together.”

“But it tells us nothing about Frankie. I was just so sure …” Becca's voice trails off as tosses the taped flyer toward my trash can. But she misses and it sails down to the floor. Neither of us bothers to pick it up.

“I was sure I saw Frankie too,” I confess. “But it must have been someone else.”

“Someone who now knows all about the CCSC,” Becca adds grimly.

I groan, my gaze drifting down to the floor to my shoes, which are scuffed and mud stained. I'm thinking how I should wash my shoes when I notice something odd about the flyer.

“Look!” I grab the paper and point. “When it fell to the carpet, it flipped over and there's writing on the back.”

Becca and I read it together.

Chapter 17

A Puzzling Clue

Frankie has terrible handwriting.

It's hard to decipher the words scribbled on the bottom of the paper. At first glance I think they're just doodles until a few words jump out at me:

Wild

Club

Cats

Another word looks like it begins with “san” and has a t in the middle … Could it be sanctuary?
Wild
could be for Wild Road or Wild Oaks. Either way this paper proves Frankie
was
at the Skunk Shack. He wrote down what he saw; then, when we almost caught him, he ripped up the evidence.

But Becca pieced it back together.

“I bow to your puzzle mastery,” I say as I hand back the paper. “This proves Frankie
did
spy on us.”

“Why did the drama club—even Mrs. Ross—say he never left?” Becca wonders.

“Maybe they didn't know,” I guess. “They saw him go into the storage room but not leave.”

“How did he sneak out?”

I rub my chin for a moment. “Could there be a back door?”

“There must be.” Becca nods. “Large buildings usually have lots of exits.”

“So Frankie left through the back door, then returned the same way, and no one knew he left,” I guess.

“What a sneaky snake.” Becca scowls.

“He was convincing,” I say. “He should be acting in the drama club.”

“As a villain,” Becca adds bitterly.

I stare down at the scribbled words, a trail of guilt adding up. “Frankie wrote down what he saw. He followed Leo to Wild Oaks Sanctuary, then climbed up the hill and through the trail to our clubhouse, where he spied in the window.”

“Exactly,” Becca says with a triumphant snap of her fingers. “Now all we have to do is confront him and make him explain.” She sits on the edge of the bed, a worried look creasing her face. “But how do we tell Leo?”

“Oh” is all I say because I don't have a better answer.

I sit on the bed beside her, our legs dangling over my carpet. Leo seemed happy to work on the costumes for Frankie. I've never seen Leo so relaxed. He's going to be so disappointed when he realizes Frankie lied.

“Do we have to tell Leo?” I ask Becca.

“Yeah.” Becca blows out a heavy sigh. “But it can wait.”

“We'll tell him tomorrow,” I agree, and we shake on it.

Becca isn't in a hurry to return to her empty house, so we study for a science quiz. We work until the aroma of homemade corn bread and spicy chili is too strong to ignore. My parents invite Becca to join us, and suddenly an ordinary night becomes a party.

My family—even my sisters who usually look down on middle schoolers—are fascinated by Becca's stories of living on a wild animal sanctuary. She tells us about a dog with the hiccups, being sneezed on by the zorse, and a duck that fell in love with a cat.

It's dark by the time dinner is over. My parents offer to drive Becca home, and I tag along with them. After putting her bike in the rear of our SUV, I sit in the backseat beside Becca. My parents have the radio blasting '80s songs, so Becca and I have to lean close to hear each other.

“I really like your family,” Becca confides.

“And they like you too. Usually my brother can't wait to leave the table, but he stayed for Dad's blueberry cheesecake.”

“It was delish! Your dad's an amazing cook. It's cool your mom might volunteer to help at the sanctuary. She's easy to talk to—the opposite of my mom,” Becca adds wistfully. “Mom used to be fun—before Dad left.”

I remember Mrs. Morales saying how hard it was to run a sanctuary alone. I've never asked Becca about her father and only know he's living in Washington. “Maybe your mother is lonely,” I say.

“How could she be lonely when she has me? Yeah, we argue, but I help her out a lot. She doesn't need anyone else.”

“Are you sure?” I ask softly. “You're not home that much with school, the CCSC, and the Sparklers.”

“Mom isn't home tonight,” Becca complains. “She's with that cowboy.”

We don't say much after this. I hum along to the song coming from the front seat radio. I watch Becca twirling the end of her ponytail and realize I'm twirling mine too. Streets, houses, and cars blur by as I try to think of something to say that has nothing to do with her mother, Caleb, or Zed. So I talk about the Sparklers.

“Any new ideas for the fund-raiser booth?” I ask.

“Only old boring ideas. We'll probably do face painting again.”

“But even Tyla admits that wasn't profitable. Your hair ties are so pretty; they would sell like crazy,” I say, reaching up to touch my leopard hair tie. “I'm wearing mine the same way you wear yours.”

She gives me a startled look. “Why did you change your hairstyle?”

“Because yours looks so great on you. I admire your creative style.”

“But your style is
you
,” she says so loudly my mother glances at us from the front seat. “You're already coolness. And you have a great family. I hardly ever see my dad, and when I try to talk to Mom, we end up shouting.”

“So don't talk—listen. Give your mom a chance.”

“She won't give me a chance.” Becca shakes her head.

“Sure she will, if you give her your big smile that wins everyone over. People naturally like you. I envy that. Before I started hanging out with the Sparklers, no one even knew my name.”

“I did,” Becca says. “You sat behind me in homeroom, and I admired how smart you were. Whenever the teacher asked you a question, you got it right without coming off like a smarty-pants. I wanted to get to know you, but whenever I turned around to talk, you looked away.”

“I did?” I ask, surprised.

“I thought you didn't like me, so I gave up trying to talk to you.”