I So Don't Do Famous (25 page)

A little smile sneaks onto Taylor's face.

I have no cell. The heist is at a different location. I'm off dog-walking duty. I don't even know exactly what I
am
doing now. Other than breaking into a house and robbing it. I'll be back in the limelight on the World Wide Web for the Dead. The Academy will hate me forever and never let me work with my mom again. I literally feel all the blood drain from my face. What else can go wrong?

My cell phone rings.

David throws me my cell. “Answer it on speakerphone.”

I'm shaking.

“Hi, Sherry. It's Sam.”

My little brother, who rarely calls me, couldn't have picked a worse time.

“Hey, Sam,” I say. “Can I call you back later?”

“Act normal,” David whispers. “Talk for a minute.”

“Sherry, I'm really sorry. But I don't know what to do about your fish. They're acting crazy. I swear I didn't overfeed them.” Sam's talking fast and nervous.

“What're they doing?”

“I think they're gonna kill each other.” Sam's voice chokes.

“What're they doing?” I repeat.

“They're going after each other,” Sam says. “Paula called the pet store, but they didn't have any advice for us.”

David makes a cutting sign across his throat. “Enough,” he whispers. “Tell him they're just fish and end the conversation.”

“They're just fish, Sam. I'll call back.”

There's stunned silence from Sam. “They're just fish?”

“They're just fish. Bye.” Freaking out, freaking out, freaking out.

David snaps my phone shut. He throws a leash to Taylor. “Do your thing.”

She clips the walkie-talkie to her waistband, then hooks the leash around Dorothy's collar and squeezes by me. Through the van's windshield, we watch her sashaying down the street, letting Dorothy sniff here and there.

An older woman with silver hair and a cane hobbles toward her. They chat. Taylor points to Sarah Sutherland's house and to the van, then holds Dorothy for the woman to pat. I've never seen Taylor so animated. Completely different from how she was at the library and in the van. She's a good actor.

After the woman limps off, Taylor's voice crackles in on the walkie-talkie. “The coast is clear.”

“Stef and Lorraine, I want you to find a painting of a silver mine. Should be a decent size. It's worth a
mint,” David says. Then he reels off two other artists' names that are meaningless to me. “Those paintings are worth something too. Although the silver mine painting?” He gives a low whistle.

“Sherry, you locate a key, then pick up electronics like laptops and iPads.” David hands us all disposable gloves, which we pull on immediately. “There's no security system,” he says. “When Taylor scoped out the place this morning, the side door was unlocked. Try that first. If it's locked, go through a back window.” He points. “Pile the stuff outside the side door. I'll pull into the driveway for fast loading.”

He looks at me. “If I give a signal on the walkie-talkie that you gotta get out, you obey. Pronto. You get caught in Sarah Sutherland's house? Well, just think of how famous you'll be back in Phoenix.”

“But I so don't do famous,” I wail.

David frowns, then jerks his head at me, Lorraine and Stef. “Go!”

I plod up the drive, several steps behind Lorraine and Stef. The side door is open and we scoot in.

The ground floor is a huge living room, a huge dining room, a huge kitchen and a huge bathroom. I stand in the living room, in the middle of rich.

Lorraine pockets a small wooden elephant from the metal and glass coffee table. “Love this.”

“Let's start on the top floor,” Stef says to her.

“Look around on this level for a key,” Lorraine says to me. “Maybe in the kitchen.”

They skip up the stairs, chattering like they're at the mall on a shopping trip.

“Sarah's most recent movie was
Baltimore Blues
, right?” Stef says.

“Yeah,” Lorraine says.

“ 'Cause she looked like about our size in that flick,” Stef says. “I could use some new jeans.”

My hands shoved deep in my pockets, I walk from the living room to the dining room to the kitchen to the bathroom and back to the living room. I can't bring myself to touch a thing. It's so weird to be in a movie star's house. On the end table by the couch is a copy of Dear Elle's book. In the kitchen, there's the same kind of light green juice glass that we have at home. Maybe celebrities are just like ordinary people.

The more I wander around, the more nauseated I feel. This really sucks. A burglary is going down. And I'm in the middle of it. Without my cell, I can't contact Detective Garcia or Junie or my dad for help. And I promised Mrs. Howard and my mother that I wouldn't get involved with this case. I'll be dead meat with the Academy.

“Did you find a key yet, Sherry?” Stef calls from the landing at the top of the stairs.

I look up. “No.”

“Get on it!” Stef says. “We need you. A couple of these paintings are too heavy for just Lorraine and me.”

She's holding the edge of a picture frame. Two stairs below her, Lorraine's hanging on to the bottom half of the painting. “Come on, Lorraine. You know how impatient David gets,” Stef says.

Lorraine's walking backward. “This isn't easy, Stef. The floor's slippery.”

“Sherry, get up here and help,” Stef orders.

I brush my gloved hands against my shorts, take a deep breath and start climbing.

Lorraine's left foot dangles in the air, between stairs. Her toe draws circles, trying to find solid ground. She teeters, listing.

“Sherry!” Stef yells.

I bound up, two steps at a time.

At the last second, Lorraine catches her balance. But she pulls hard on the frame, yanking the picture from Stef's grip.

The painting spins from Lorraine's fingertips.

Toward me.

I reach out my arms. The painting lurches at me. My left hand makes contact with the frame. My fingers curl and hang on tight. My right hand misses the edge and hits the canvas.

Rip!

My hand goes through.

Lorraine and Stef arrive on the stair above me. They pull the picture off my arm.

They stare at the ruined painting, their mouths open and their skin greenish.

“David's going to go ballistic,” Lorraine whispers.

“Idiot!” Stef says. “You tore through the middle of the mine shaft. You destroyed a
priceless
painting.”

“We can't give it to him in this condition,” Lorraine says. “Let's put it back in the room where we found it and tell him it just wasn't here.”

Stef frowns. “He'll hear about it on the news or something. Our best bet is to tell him the truth. Sherry wrecked the painting.”

A shiver snakes through me, like someone injected ice water in my veins. “It wasn't really my fault.”

“It was an accident, Stef.” A thin blue vein beats against Lorraine's pale neck. “You know what David'll do.”

“My point exactly.” Stef's lips are a grim line. “That's why we're throwing her to the dogs.”

“Sorry, Sherry,” Lorraine whispers. She really does look sorry.

Stef and Lorraine cart the picture downstairs and out through the side door.

“What are we supposed to do now?” Lorraine says, reentering the house. “No way we can carry those last two paintings down by ourselves.”

“She
has
to help,” Stef says. “Sherry, if we get the paintings down the stairs without messing up, we'll ask David to go easy on you.”

“Like I have any choice,” I mutter.

“That's true.” Stef starts up the stairs. “You don't.”

Stef and I follow. At the top, we hang a right and head down a long hall to an almost empty office. There's a desk and a chair and a couple of paintings leaning against the wall, waiting to be hung.

Taking baby steps, the three of us maneuver the largest painting all the way down the stairs without mishap. We prop it outside, by the door, and trudge back inside for the last painting. I think we're all sweating.

Cackle. Cackle.

David's voice blasts over the walkie-talkie. “What happened to this painting?”

“Sherry,” Stef responds.

“Sherry!” David yells through the walkie-talkie. “Where's Sherry? Get me Sherry! I'm coming in!”

“He's coming in?” Lorraine grabs Stef's hand. They back away from the door.

“He never risks coming in a house,” Stef says. “Too serious for him if he gets caught. He's an adult.”

“I told you he'd go ballistic,” Lorraine says, swallowing.

They keep backing up. All the way to the top of the
stairs, where they sit. “You're on your own for this one, Sherry,” Stef says.

The walkie-talkie cackling is loud now, just on the other side of the door.

I'm shaking like I've got a huge fever.

The doorknob turns.

The door cracks open.

S
uddenly, a strong smell of coffee, burnt sugar and root beer storms by me. Mom! Mrs. Howard! Leah!

The door slams shut.

“Sherry!” David rattles the doorknob. “Open up!”

“He'll never get past us,” Mom says.

Lorraine gasps. “It's almost like a force field won't let him in.”

“You watch too much TV,” Stef says. “We probably locked it by mistake.”

I smile to myself. It's a force field of three ghosts.

A siren wails. Louder and louder. Then stops.

Outside the door, I hear Detective Garcia. She reads David his rights. “Cuff him and take him to the car, Detective Bowen,” she says.

Detective Garcia steps into the house. Her hair is pulled tightly back in a ponytail. No wispy, flyaway hairs today. With steely eyes, she stares at each of us.

“The detective's treating you like one of the gang to protect you,” Mom says. “She doesn't want the others to know you're the mole.”

“Just play along, Sherry,” Mrs. Howard says.

Officer Mullins enters. Not even the slightest recognition crosses his face when he glances at me. Everyone in L.A.'s an actor.

Detective Garcia unlocks handcuffs from her belt. “How old are you girls?”

“Just fifteen.” Lorraine's eyes are on the cuffs, and her lower lip quivers.

The detective glares at Stef.

“I'm fifteen too,” she says in a small voice. “What's going to happen to us?”

The detective ignores her and snaps cuffs on Lorraine. Officer Mullins cuffs Stef.

“Because they're minors, we have to transport them back to the station in a separate vehicle from the male suspect, right?” Officer Mullins says.

“Correct,” Detective Garcia says.

Tears spill from Lorraine's and Stef's eyes. “My dad's going to kill me,” Lorraine says in a strangled voice.

Detective Garcia turns to me. “You look familiar. Have I apprehended you before?”

“Uh, no.” I gulp.

“Good job staying in character,” Leah says.

“What's your name?” she barks.

“Sherry Baldwin.” I stare at the floor.

“As in ‘Sherlock Baldwin'?” The detective steps toward me. “Aka Sticky Fingers Baldwin, Arizona's infamous tween thief?”

I nod, weakly.

“Sherry, you are so a natural actress,” Leah says.

“She is good,” Mom says proudly.

“This better get the proper spin on the World Wide Web for the Dead,” Mrs. Howard says.

Mullins wrenches my arms behind my back and cuffs me.

Detective Garcia pulls her cell off her thick black belt. “I'm telling Bowen to take the male suspect to the station. He can use one of the squad cars we brought here, get the paperwork done, then transport the suspect to jail.” She starts punching numbers into her phone. “You take Sticky Fingers to the station in the remaining squad car. Run her through the computer and find out what she's wanted for in Arizona.” The detective stops stabbing the number pad. “And, Mullins, Sticky Fingers may look young and naive, but she's dirty. She's really bad news.”

“What're you gonna do, Detective?” Officer Mullins asks.

“I'll call for another unit. Then I'll transport these
two”—the detective jerks her head at Stef and Lorraine—“to the station, write up my report and escort them over to juvenile hall.”

Lorraine and Stef start crying.

“Plus, I want the van impounded.” Garcia ignores the girls and presses the cell to her ear, waiting for Bowen to pick up.

“Come with me,” Mullins says roughly, yanking my arm. He leads me to a police car parked out of view. I can smell the ghosts trailing along with us.

“I'm so proud of you, Sherry,” Mom says. “Although we need to talk about the danger you put yourself in.”