I So Don't Do Famous (11 page)

Junie frowns at me.

“Please,” I say. “I'll owe you big.”

“Fine.” In a flash, the camera's on and Junie's squinting through the viewfinder. “I'm going to hate myself for this.”

As she clicks, I scoop up papers, then lay out fresh
ones. I even set out the two head shots, then flip them over so Junie can snap the names. I'm concentrating and trying really hard to put everything back in the folder exactly the way it was.

We're totally focused on the contents on top of the desk.

Überly focused.

“Girls, what are you doing?”

It's Detective Garcia!

M
y back hunched over and shielding the desk, I sweep the last few papers back in the folder. Then, standing tall and straight, I slap my hands on my hips and an attitude on my lips. Offense is usually the best defense. “Detective Garcia, were you trying to erase all the data off Junie's memory card?”

“What? No, no, not at all.” Flustered, the detective pushes flyaway hairs off her forehead. “Did I really do that?”

“Yeah, well, we spent a bunch of time recovering pictures for the school paper,” I bark. “Plus, my dad's in the parking lot and texting us to hurry up. I've already spent enough of this year grounded.”

The detective tugs open the drawers of her desk. They're overflowing with crinkled papers and clips and pens and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. “What if I make you a CD of the photos from my computer?” She rummages around in the mess. “I don't understand how I erased data. It's a new computer, though, and I'm not a techie.”

“Uh, it's okay. I got it, uh, figured out,” Junie says. She's not as quick and spontaneous as me in a tricky situation. She bundles her camera up and tosses the case strap over her shoulder, all set for a quick getaway.

“Are you sure?” The detective's still poking around her desk. “Someone here will have a blank CD.”

“All is saved,” I say.

Junie and I skip out of the Detective Division. Then we barrel down the stairs to the exit.

My dad's leaning on the metal rail outside the door, Velcroing his cell back in his belt holster. “Girls, now that we've got that chore out of the way, it's time for a little tourist fun.”

Junie perks up. Running risks and breaking the law do not agree with her. Even in the best interests of a case.

Personally, I'm not up for fun. I'm on probation with the Academy of Spirits and I want off. Detective Garcia and her ineptness can only worsen my
situation. I have to solve the case of the Beverly Hills Bandits. Before it's time to return to Phoenix. Nope, no fun for me. I'm totally in detective mode.

“Actually, Dad, I'd like to head back to the hotel room. Maybe take a nap.” Maybe scroll through Junie's two-hundred-plus photos looking for Detective Garcia's two suspects. Maybe examine the pages from the file that Junie took pictures of.

He punches me lightly on the arm. “Not happening, pumpkin. When is the next time you, Junie and I will be in Los Angeles? Maybe never.”

“Unfortunately, I think I'm suffering from jet lag.” I fake yawn.

Dad bursts into laughter. “Good one, Sherry. 'Cause everyone gets jet lag from the ninety-minute flight between Phoenix and L.A.” He laughs again. “If nothing else, our family has a great sense of humor.” He struts off down the walkway to the parking lot, gesturing for us to follow. “Come on, girls.”

Unblinking, Junie stares at me and says evenly, “You. Owe. Me.”

I grab her hand. “Let's go play tourist!” For five minutes.

Over his shoulder, my dad's outlining our schedule. He ends with a pat to his jeans pocket. “I have the discount tickets Paula found online for Madame Tussauds wax museum.”

We pile into our rental and cruise cautiously back to the Roosevelt, where we ditch the car and amble out to Hollywood Boulevard.

To be accurate, Dad and Junie amble. I'm more like sprinting, practically galloping. The sooner I get to Madame Tussauds, the sooner I'm out of Madame Tussauds and on the case.

“Sherry!” Junie calls. “Come back!”

My dad whistles.

I pull a U-turn and retrace my steps, huffing and puffing.

In
Star Wars
heaven, Junie's posing between two street performers in costume: Darth Vadar and Chewbacca.

“Stand beside me.” Junie's voice is high and excited, like a little kid's on Christmas morning.

I squeeze between her and Darth Vadar.

“Smile,” Darth Vader commands in a scary, deep voice.

I give a quick grimace.

“Uh, Mr. Baldwin, you're holding my camera upside down,” Junie says.

She's letting my dad touch her camera?
Star Wars
has fried my best friend's brain.

“I know. I know. Just tricking you.” Dad turns the camera right-side up and shouts from behind the viewfinder, “Okay, girls, say ‘Céline Dion.' ”

“Smile,” Darth Vader commands again.

Chewbacca grunts and drapes a hairy arm over my shoulders.

At that very second, standing in the bright sun on a California sidewalk with my best friend and a couple of nutzoids in
Star Wars
costumes, I make a decision. I'm going with the flow and enjoying the afternoon with my dad and Junie. It's like the Lazy River at the water park, where it makes way more sense to float around and hang with your girlfriends than to swim against everyone and wind up kicked and dunked and yelled at. The mystery can wait a couple of hours.

Dad tips the street performers. We continue on our merry way, hamming it up with various characters like Batman and Mickey Mouse. Junie snaps several shots of my dad play-swordfighting with a pirate.

She also takes about a million photos of the sidewalk. Because we're on the Hollywood Walk of Fame and strolling right on top of big five-pointed brass stars that are embedded directly in the cement. There are five categories of stars: television, motion pictures, live theater, recording and radio. The celebrities' names are in the center of the stars. We pass a star covered in wreaths and flowers because the actor recently died.

Madame Tussauds is a total blast. The wax figures are so lifelike, it's as if you're really hanging with these famous people. Except, of course, they don't
talk or change expressions, and they feel gross. Anyway, we're surrounded by movie stars, Hollywood icons, even sports stars, which really thrills my dad. Junie's camera continues to get a major workout.

“Gotta go, buddy.” Dad pats Lance Armstrong on the shoulder. “I'm starving.”

“Me too,” Junie says. “But I'm definitely coming here again to do the behind-the-scenes stuff. Like making a cast of my hand and learning more about Madame Tussaud's life and how she sculpted for the French king Louis XVI. What great newspaper articles those'll be.” She's so excited, her freckles stick out all 3-D.

Back on Hollywood Boulevard, we stop at a hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant next to a tattoo parlor. The chips are warm and salty; the fish tacos are delish, with the perfect amount of cabbage; and the churros are sweet and cinnamony.

“Hey, Dad, why don't you run next door and get a tattoo for dessert?” I giggle. “You know, surprise Paula.”

“Very funny,” he says, reaching into his pocket for his ringing cell. “Hello.” He listens. “Really? No kidding?” His eyes are bright. “Let me check with the girls, and I'll call you right back.”

“What's going on?” I ask.

“That was the client I'm meeting with tomorrow
morning. He wants to take me to the Comedy Store this evening. I'd have to leave you girls at the hotel, but you could order room service and rent a movie.”

“Go for it, Mr. Baldwin.” Junie unrolls her taco and spoons salsa into the middle of it. “Sherry and I can entertain ourselves.”

“Maybe you can pick up some new jokes while you're there,” I say. My dad is the king of groaners.

The three of us meander over to the Roosevelt. Dad's jabbering a mile a minute, trotting out sad knock-knock joke after sad knock-knock joke. Junie's polite chuckle is wearing pretty thin by the time we hop over Eddie Murphy's star and into the hotel. I've rolled my eyes so many times, my headache's coming back.

The afternoon was fun. Buckets of fun.

But it's time to buckle down and get to work on the case of the Beverly Hills Bandits.

Time to examine those illegal photographs of Detective Garcia's file.

S
eated at the desk and sharing a wide square chair, Junie and I stare at her computer. She uploaded all the photos from her camera of the papers from Detective Garcia's file.

“This is a list of the burglaries with names, addresses, dates and times.” I'm running my finger down the screen. “Melanie Grace, Jocelyn Dixon, Hannah Smyth, Owen Gordon. Wow. It's like a mini tour of hot young Hollywood stars.” I look at the dates. “That's a lot of burglary for a little under half a year.”

Junie clicks to the next photo. “Notes on a suspect named Cameron Williams.”

I read.

On the hotel notepad, I jot down the addresses of Williams's home and Taco Magnifico.

Junie pulls up the photo of the next page from the detective's folder.

It's general notes about the case.

I add the contact information about the pool company to my notes.

“In that online article, Detective Garcia said the police were close to making an arrest.” Junie messes with her screen so that it's brighter. “Do you think it's true?”

“No way,” I say. “Cameron Williams looks suspicious because he committed a similar crime in the same area and has maybe been spotted there since getting out of prison.” I squeeze out of the chair and grab our bag of snacks. “And the break-ins started around the same time he got out. But that doesn't
mean he's definitely one of the Beverly Hills Bandits.”

“Thanks.” Junie opens a roll of Life Savers and pops a red one in her mouth. “And just because all the victims have their pools cleaned by Sparkling Pool doesn't necessarily implicate the manager or other employees.”

“There's lots of detecting still to do on this case.” I pick through the candies until I find a green one.

Next, Junie pulls up the list of items stolen.