I So Don't Do Famous (15 page)

“Maybe I got their names wrong,” I say. When planning this part of the investigation, Junie and I talked about how Lorraine and Stef could've given us fake names.

Rizzo pulls a rag from his back pocket and begins
dusting the lids of the containers. “I don't have any females cleaning or repairing pools.”

Junie frowns. “But you said you hire girls.”

“I have a couple of girls who work in here”—he opens his arms and gestures around the store—“on the weekend. Selling, manning the register, that sort of thing.”

Lorraine and Stef, or whatever their names are, could work in the store and get info for heists from a guy out in the field, cleaning pools.

“I thought you were looking for a pool service.” Rizzo squints his too-close eyes at us. “If you're looking for jobs, don't bother filling out an application for me. I'll tell you right up front I don't hire anyone under eighteen. With my clientele, I need mature staff.”

Junie thanks him quickly for his time, then gets behind me and practically pushes me out the door.

“What's the rush?” I ask her when we get to the sidewalk. “I wanted to check out the merchandise in the back corner. You know how I love to shop the sales.”

She counts off on her fingers. “We could use something to drink. I'm ready for some R and R. You don't have a pool.”

“All true,” I admit.

Junie snaps oversized sunglasses on top of her glasses, then takes off speed-walking to the hotel.
She doesn't say a word the whole way back, just walks faster and faster, her arms out like a chicken's wings. When Junie is hungry or thirsty or tired, there's no talking to her. Of the two of us, I'm the easygoing friend.

We hit our room to change into bikinis, then it's down to the shimmering aqua pool. The blue sky is cloudless, with a white shining sun. A light breeze keeps the temperature perfect.

The pool area is crowded, but Junie snags the last two chaise longues. We're next to a couple with tattoos up and down their arms. On the other side, there's a mother and a little girl playing Go Fish. While Junie lays out towels, I skip over to the tiki drink station and order us tropical juices in coconut-shaped cups with bendy straws and mini umbrellas.

I'm slathering Junie's back with sunscreen carefully, because with her redheaded-freckly complexion, she burns faster than you can say “SPF 50.”

“Lorraine and Stef have nothing to do with the pool company.” Junie's lying on her stomach and her voice is muffled. “Well, at least not directly. I suppose they could be connected to an employee.”

“Whatever way you slice it, we have no leads.” I slouch. “Sure, we know the lengths Lorraine and Stef went to for the tickets. From your photos, we know they ripped off the purse. We know they're involved in the celebrity break-ins because Lorraine's bracelet
is stolen property.” I crunch an ice cube. “We know Detective Garcia is totally on the wrong track with both her suspects. Cameron Williams was at Dave and Buster's the night of the
Hollywood Girl
dinner.”

Junie flips over and fishes her copy of
Rebecca
from her beach bag. “Well, we don't know why a few Beverly Hills residents thought he looked familiar.”

I try to snap my fingers, but they're too slippery with leftover sunscreen. “At some point, we need to visit Taco Magnifico. See if we can rule out Cameron Williams for sure. After that, we're in a bind.” I frown. “How are we supposed to find Lorraine and Stef in a ginormous city like Los Angeles?”

“Ginormous is right.” Junie opens her book. “L.A. has a population of over ten million.”

“I'm all tangled up in this mystery. I have no idea how to proceed.” I bury my head in my hands. “And I can't even talk to my mom for ideas.”

Junie's phone pings with a text.

I sit up.

She reads it, then taps back a reply. The twinkle in her eyes tells me it's Nick.

To anyone passing by, we look like a couple of best friends catching a few rays together by the pool of an upscale Hollywood hotel. But really, we're on different planets. Junie's on the Planet of Nick. I'm on the Planet of the Beverly Hills Bandits.

Junie's texting back and forth with Nick. Nonstop.

I get up and walk into the dim lobby. I flop on a cool leather chair and close my eyes. Maybe a little time alone will clear my mind. Like the letter cubes in a game of Boggle, I'm shaking up all the facts of the case, flipping them over, bumping them against each other, hoping for some patterns.

Then I smell it.

And my stomach drops.

“S
herry!” Leah squeals. “When did you get back? I've been waiting for you. Did you look for me? I was hanging out at 25 Degrees. I thought you'd check there since that's where we first met.”

Underneath her excited high pitch, I sense Leah's feelings are hurt that I'm not all best friends forever and wanting to hang with her every second.

And it suddenly hits me how überlonely she must be. What if our situations were reversed and I was a ghost while my mother was still alive? What if I'd been stuck in a hotel, no matter how fancy-pants, for a whole year after a nasty breakup, with no friends and no family to vent to?

“I have an idea,” I say. “Let's try getting you outside.”

“Seriously?” Leah barely breathes out the question.

“I don't know how my mother learned to cross thresholds. It was part of her classes at the Academy of Spirits.” I open my beach bag. “But I'm wondering what would happen if I just walked out with you.”

There's a quick breeze, then my beach bag gives a shake.

I pull the drawstrings tight, and stand. I square my shoulders and march to the door that leads to the pool. Who knows what's in store for us. But I'm hitting it straight on.

I step through. My bag shudders. And keeps on shuddering. I gather it against my chest. The shuddering slows, then stops. I untie the drawstrings. “Are you okay?” I ask softly.

“I feel kinda sick.” A root beer scent wafts by my head. “But look! We made it!” The scent swirls and whirls. “A tree! A flower! Dirt!”

I'm meandering around the deck, heading toward Junie. Every few steps, Leah squeals about something. “How did I live a whole year without all this? Sherry, you are so the best!”

Junie's still texting. She'll probably end up with thumb blisters. I drop into my chaise longue and
stretch out. Reaching under the chair, I retrieve my drink and take a long sip.

“I feel brand-new,” Leah says.

“Cool beans,” I say.

“What?” Junie looks up from her phone screen. She finally notices there's a whole world out here that doesn't revolve around Nick and a little screen and even littler keys.

“Leah,” I say.

She nods and goes back to her phone.

“Got any fives?” the young girl near me asks her mom.

Apparently, this is the Go Fish game that never ends.

“She does,” Leah whispers, even though no one can hear her but me. “That kid's totally owning her mom.” She pauses, and I'm sure she's watching the card game intently. “Sherry, I rocked at Go Fish when I was a kid.”

“Me too.” I turn to Junie. “Not sure if you've thought of this, but you're messing with your tan line by hunching over your phone so much. Your face is still as white as Wonder Bread, while your arms and legs are freckling up.”

“Whatever,” she says, head still bowed.

“I smuggled Leah out of the hotel. In my beach bag.”

Junie looks up. “Very smart!”

“Not all friends would think to help out in the
tan-line area,” Leah says. “I don't think Junie appreciates you.”

“She appreciates me,” I say. “When she's not texting her boyfriend.”

“Remember, I can't hear her,” Junie says. “But I
can
hear you.”

I hop up. “I gotta walk around. You know how sometimes your legs go all twitchy, and it's tough to sit still? Well, that's what my whole body and my brain's doing.” I start pacing.

The root beer gloss scent trails along beside me. “I can really get into character. It's one of my strengths as an actress,” Leah says.

I hold my cell against my ear to give myself a legitimate reason for talking aloud.

“And while I was waiting for you, I devoted the day to getting into the character of a detective.”

“Oh yeah?” I'll admit I'm less than enthusiastic. Leah is completely inexperienced. I don't want to be mean to her, but I also don't want her messing up my investigation.

“Did the break-ins occur during the day or at night?” she asks.

“Both,” I say. “But more at night.”

“How about this for a strategy? We'll hang around Beverly Hills every night and patrol the area. Because now we know you can get me out of the hotel.” Leah's talking faster and faster. “I can fly up and
down the streets while you walk them. I'll be the Beverly Hills Security Ghost. You'll be the Beverly Hills Security Teen. We'll catch the thief red-handed.”

“Leah, I'm not pounding the Beverly Hills pavement all night long. First off, my dad wouldn't let me. Second, I'd be exhausted, so I'd sleep all day. What's the point of coming to Los Angeles, then snoozing through the vacation? Third, I'd have blisters. Fourth, I doubt we'd catch someone. There isn't a break-in every evening.” I've paced all the way around the pool and right out to the little tile fountain at the pool entrance.

Leah blows out a long breath. “You're absolutely right. I didn't take all that into consideration.”

I sit down in a metal chair by the fountain.

“Here's another idea,” Leah says. “It's common knowledge that criminals make mistakes when they're stressed. So, to stress the bad guy, or guys, take out an ad in the
Los Angeles Times.
A lot of people read that newspaper, even criminals. In the ad, say you know their identity and you're watching them, just waiting for them to trip up. And that you'll be ready with handcuffs.”

I rub my forehead. She really is not helping. “Leah, I get less allowance than anyone else at my middle school. I could never afford an ad in the newspaper. Plus, it just wouldn't work.”

I stand up and meander along a path around the
periphery of the hotel. It's pretty and Californian, with palm trees and benches and recycling bins. From the root beer smell, Leah is glued to my side.

Suddenly, I catch a whiff of coffee. I spin around. The smell is getting stronger. My mom is headed my way!

“Leah?” I stop and face where I'm pretty sure she's floating. “You know how parents can be difficult? They don't understand why you've got to do certain things?” I'm talking quickly, the words tripping all over each other. I've got to get through to Leah before my mom starts chatting with her, and Leah spills about the mystery. “And they'll be all over your case for next to nothing? And it's easier and actually kinder to them if you leave them in the dark about your activities? Because they can't worry about what they don't know?”

“What?” Leah asks.

“My mom! My mom is almost here! And she doesn't know I'm working on the mystery. And it's better if she doesn't know.”

“Oh wow, I'll get to meet your mom! Just like real live girlfriends!”

“Did you hear me, Leah?” If I could, I'd grab her by the shoulders and shake her.

“I'm supposed to tell your mom all about how you're hunting down the Beverly Hills Bandits.”

“No, no, no!”

“Psych!” Leah says. “I got it. Really. No mystery talk. My lips are sealed.”

Phew. I think.

“So we're definitely working together, right?” she says. “And you're not going to avoid me anymore? And we'll hang out a bunch and be best friends?”

Leah's more on the ball than I realized.

“Hi, Sherry,” my mom says.

“Mom,” I say, “this is Leah.”

“Pleased to meet you,” my mom says.

“I'm very pleased to meet you too,” Leah says. I can just imagine she's jumping up and down like a little kid. “Your daughter is amazing. And thoughtful and kind. Thanks to her I finally got out of this hotel today.”

The two of them go on to discuss crossing thresholds, Leah's early death and other spiritual matters.

“Sherry told me you're trying to get to the bottom of Marilyn Monroe's death,” Leah says. “Was it murder? Was it a suicide? Was it an accident?”

“Have you met her?” my mother asks.

“No, but about a month ago, I heard her calling over and over from the mirror she haunts, ‘Joe DiMaggio, Joe DiMaggio.' ” Leah's voice goes all breathy and squeaky.

“Interesting.” I bet Mom's twirling a few strands of her dark hair around an index finger, a habit she has when she's mulling stuff over. “Rumor has it that she
and DiMaggio, her second husband, were planning to remarry, but then she died.”