I So Don't Do Mysteries (20 page)

It's way late
in the afternoon when Josh's
older cousin Derek pulls into the condo parking lot. He was forced to drive us and totally glares at
Junie and me as we climb into the back of his Honda. “I'm only dropping you off. Call
my mom to pick you up.” Derek inserts his earbuds.

“Hey, isn't that illegal?” I say loudly.

“Do you want a ride or not?” Without waiting for an answer, Derek
turns on his MP3 player.

Josh shrugs, then switches from the passenger seat to the back.

Which means I'm whizzing up the highway sandwiched between Josh and Junie
in a compact car. Which means my thigh is touching Josh's. At least, I think it is. Being this
close to him has blown out a bunch of nerve endings, numbing my left leg.

Jostling my leg to get the feeling back, I start filling Josh in on the mystery. I'm
leaving out the supernatural details. I have to. I mean, what's an acceptable amount of
weirdness at the beginning of a relationship? Zero. Or less. So ixnay on the ghost stuff.

Josh says, “How'd you get involved in all this?”

“ 'Cause of some people in Sherry's family.”
Junie's such a quick thinker now.

We're all speaking in hushed tones, although I doubt Derek can hear us over his
music.

“And why aren't you going to the police?” Josh lifts a bottle of
Gatorade from the cup holder and tips it back.

“We will, depending on what happens tonight.”

“And what do you think'll happen?” he asks, slotting the bottle
back in the holder.

“I think the poacher's gonna strike,” I say. “With
poison.”

“And our plan is to take the last monorail ride of the day, jump down to the
savanna when no one's looking, hide in the rhino enclosure and stop him?” Josh
asks.

Put like that, it does sound whacked. But it is our plan, so I answer, “Well,
yeah.”

“And you'll recognize him?” he asks.

“Definitely.”

From a case on the car floor, Josh pulls out a CD. He leans over the front seat and
slides it into the player.

Derek frowns but doesn't say anything.

“You into ska?” Josh asks.

“Absolutely,” Junie says.

“Ska?” I say.

Josh glances at me and grins. “Tell me what you think of this.”

Punkish reggae music bounces round the car. Totally awesome, with a drumbeat that
makes you want to order your almost boyfriend to pull over and show you what he knows about
kissing. That is, if the driver wasn't scary-grumpy and your best friend wasn't squished
up next to you.

I stretch out my neck, lean my head back and close my eyes. I block out my fears
about Grandpa being super sick. I block out my fears that Josh, Junie and me are in over our heads. I
block out my fears that we won't save the rhinos and my mom's afterlife. I'm
grooving to the music, to sitting next to Josh, to having friends helping me.

Josh turns down the volume.

I open my eyes.

“Sneaking into the rhino enclosure and staying in the Park after closing,”
he says, “—how illegal is all that?”

“We're minors,” Junie says. “Seems like they'd
just kick us out.”

Josh looks at me.

“I don't know.” I'm sure he's thinking of when
he hung with bad kids in San Diego and how he's being careful now. “No problem if
you don't want to do it. Seriously.”

“But you'll go anyway, right?” he asks.

“I have to.”

“Count me in, then.” He squeezes my shoulder, then cranks the volume
back up.

My heart does a double twist with a somersault thingie, like one of those gymnasts at
the Olympics. Josh is so there for me.

At the Wild Animal Park's main gate, I unzip the cute little outside pocket of my
mini-backpack. My hand closes briefly around the crystal my grandmother gave me. I drop it back in
and pull out the freebie Park tickets.

“You kids realize we close in an hour?” The employee fiddles with the
latch on the booth's window and scowls. “I shouldn't even let you
in.”

“Please, sir.” Junie smiles. “We're from out of town and
might not get a chance to visit here again.”

We zip through the turnstile and run to the monorail. Josh swings the big backpack with
our supplies over his shoulder as he runs.

“Three more customers,” he yells out to the driver-guide, who's
closing all the train doors.

In true déjà vu style, the last car is empty, and we slip into it. I even look
around to see if Thomas is a few rows in front, like before. Negative. The train's way less full
than last time. It's dark and kinda chilly. Junie's sitting across from me. And Josh is
right next to me. Our hips and thighs are touching. Yowser.

A low-hanging, round gobstopper of a moon shines weakly. Cute twinkling Christmas
lights weave around the roof of the train, while glaring floodlights attached to the sides light up the
landscape. I stare out over the savanna, all eerie with shadows of animals and bushes and trees. I can
smell an herbally plant that must be blossoming somewhere down there.

The microphone crackles on.

I jump.

“As Alfred Hitchcock would say, good evening,” our tour guide says in
a deep, spooky voice. “Welcome to today's last ride. I'm Stephen, and
I'll be leading you on this nocturnal adventure.”

The train lurches away from the station.

Josh slides closer to me.

Is he going to hold my hand again? I wipe my palm on my jeans.

Stephen dives into an animal-facts spiel.

I tune out and force myself to think. About how I better totally get it together. My mom
and the rhinos are counting on me. I can't let myself turn mushy-brained because of Josh. I
have to focus, focus, focus.

The train crawls around a curve, and the floodlights beam on Ongava, standing by a
palm tree. He looks up and smiles at me. He does. I swear.

I sniff. No Mom. I peer around. No Grandpa. Back at the condo, I left a full pot of
coffee on the porch table. Under the carafe, there's a note saying where we are. All in the crazy
hope Grandpa makes a speedy recovery and he and my mom come looking for me. I cross my fingers.
I so need them to show.

The savanna is still and quiet. Even Junie's keeping her mouth shut. And
I'm sure it's killing her not to add on to Stephen's animal facts. It's like
we're in our own little, peaceful world up high on the tracks.

Suddenly all the lights blink out.

Someone screams. Junie. That girl is not cool.

“No need for alarm,” the guide says. “I always turn off the big
lights near the highway so I don't blind the drivers.”

In the almost dark, the train inches forward until we're right by the rhino
enclosure. I take a deep breath and whisper to Josh and Junie, “Jump. Now.”

“See you down there.” Josh hoists a gorgeous leg up and over the side
of the train, then quickly disappears from view.

Junie crouches on the seat, then jerks a leg over the edge. For a second, it's like
she's a panicky insect fighting a spiderweb, arms flailing, a leg dangling on either side. She tips
over.
Thud.
Junie has landed.

Sniff.
Still no sign of my mother. I squint. Still no sign of my grandfather.
It's looking more and more like Grandpa's really sick and they're not gonna
make it. Will he be okay? Can Josh, Junie and me truly handle tonight?

“Hang in there for a few more seconds, folks,” Stephen announces,
“and I'll turn the lights back on.”

I'm up out of my seat and over like when the last bell rings at school the Friday
before summer vacation.

Splat.

My face hits the hard dirt. The monorail lights switch on and the train whirs away. I
watch the twinkling Christmas lights shrink in the distance. Civilization's driving off and leaving
us in the dust.

Josh pulls me to my feet. “You okay?”

I rub my chin, hoping he didn't witness my dorky full-face landing.
“I'm cool.”

“What's next, Sherry?” Josh asks.

I cup my ear but don't hear any buffalo snorts. Major phew. The monster Cape
buffalo must be locked up in solitary confinement, like the afternoon monorail guide promised. I look
around. Above the door to the rhino hut, there's a light. And the moon's shining a little
brighter. “Let's get out the flashlights.”

Josh shrugs off the backpack and drops it on the ground. “They in
here?”

“Zippered pocket on the right side,” I say.

Junie says, “Let's separate and hide so we can watch the widest area
possible. Once we locate him, we'll take him down.”

“How, exactly?” Josh asks.

My insides go all jiggly and butterflyish. This is the dangerous part of our plan.
“I'll call his name, and in the split second when he's super-surprised to see me,
I'll squirt hair spray in his eyes, then—”

Swinging her arms over her head, Junie interrupts, “I'll knock him out
with the frying pan.”

“Sounds kinda dicey.” Josh blows out a breath and looks at me.
“Don't call his name till I'm right by you.”

“Okay.” I'm feeling a little less jiggly. Because I have Josh.

“Anything goes wrong, anything looks weird,” he says, “we call
nine-one-one right away. Okay?”

Junie and I nod.

“I wanna check out the bush at the top of the hill.” Josh points.
“I think it'll give me a good overview of the savanna.” He pulls out the
flashlights and hands one to me and one to Junie. After clicking on his light, he jogs off.

A startled antelope springs out of the way.

“Why don't you take the tree wrapped in wire?” I say to Junie,
indicating a tree not too far from Josh's bush. “I'll take the feeder close to the
hut, the one that looks like a giant termite cone.”

Close to the hut. Close to where the banana treats were left. That's probably
where the action'll take place. Yikes. But it's my mystery, my mother, my
responsibility.

“Be careful, Sherry,” she says, rubbing my shoulder.

Josh returns. “That's a great lookout position up there.”

“How will you let us know if you see something?” Junie asks.

“I do a pretty good owl hoot,” Josh says.

Wow. There's no end to this guy's talents.

We take off to our various hiding places. I flatten myself against the side of the concrete
feeder. Staring into the darkness, I can make out the outline of Junie's shoulder and the top of
Josh's absolutely adorable head. They seem so far off in the distance. I shiver and rub my
arms.

“Mom,” I whisper-call. “Grandpa.”

No answer. No coffee smell. No flapping wings.

A few white goats skitter on the knoll behind Junie. They look like ghosts out on a
nighttime frolic. Somewhere above me, a bird lets out a creepy call. The whole scene is
überspooky.

“Hoot.”

“Hoot”? I smile. Cute voice, but a really poor owl imitation.

“Hoot.”

Okay, Josh, I got it. That's you being an owl.

“Hoot. Hoot. Hoot.”

Oh. Oh. Oh. He sees something. He's warning me. I go nervous-twitchy all
over. I look around.

“Hoot. Hoot. Hoot.”

I squint. I see the fronds of a tall palm pointing like giant fingers toward the black sky.
Way far off, I make out a zebra's silhouette. But nothing else.

My cell rings—more like screams—in the quiet night.

Panicked, I fumble in my pocket. I slap it off.

Footsteps.

My pulse is pounding like crazy. I drop to the ground and listen.

There's a loud click.

Ouch!

The world goes black.

All groggy and
woozy, I slowly blink open my eyes.
It's like there's a fog machine in my head, clouding everything up.

Where am I?

A skinny stream of moonlight filters through a small, dirty window. I can make out a
table with several bottles of Sassy Girl shampoo. The air stinks of old food and animals.

I'm in the rhino-keeper's hut.

Through my head fog, I remember hiding by the cone-shaped feeder, Josh's
pitiful hooting, my phone ringing, footsteps, a noisy click and a jab to my leg. But then what
happened?

My thigh aches. I go to rub it.

Ack. I can't move my arms. I can't move my feet. I'm duct
taped to a chair with my hands behind my back.

My mouth dries up like I hiked the Sonoran Desert, at noon, in the summer, without any
water.

I pull against the tape. It's so tight, it squeezes me like a way-too-small
Halloween mummy costume. The more I struggle, the more the tape stretches my skin and yanks on
my arm hairs. And my mini-backpack is digging into my shoulder blades. My pulse speeds up. Sweat
dots my forehead. Which I can't wipe off.

A major lump plugs up my throat. I swallow hard.

Peering around the hut, I see it's still a disaster area. A disaster area
that's a stockpile of bad-guy supplies. There's gotta be enough duct tape to restrain
Saguaro Middle School's entire student body.

I keep looking. No one except me. Are Josh and Junie out on the savanna, plotting my
rescue? Through my thick head haze, I think two clear little yays.

The door squeaks open. Dressed all in black, a guy enters. Moonlight flows on and
around him, lighting him up like he's a rock star on stage. But instead of a microphone,
he's carrying a rifle.

Help. I'm going to die a lonely, smelly Wild Animal Park death. Josh and Junie,
make the scene. Now. Pleeease.

Possumlike, I close my eyes. Surely he won't shoot me if I'm still
unconscious.

In his hugely gross, creepy accent, Gary says, “Sherry, I know you're
awake.”

I open my eyes.

He sets the rifle on the table. “I only put a light dose of tranquilizer on the
dart.”

“You shot me with a dart gun?”

“Yeah.” He inclines his ugly head toward the gun. “And you
weren't at all difficult to track.” He smirks. “You need to utilize the vibrate
function on your cell phone. Or be more discerning when giving out your number.”

My jaw drops. “You're the one who phoned me on the
savanna?”

He nods.

Those double-crossing old people. They gave Gary my cell number.

“I knew you were out there somewhere,” Gary says, “and that
seemed the quickest way to pinpoint your location.”

He knew I was out there? Those double-crossing blabber-mouthy old people. They told
him the plans.

“Where are your mother and grandfather hiding?”

I don't answer.

“Fine. Don't talk.” He shrugs. “I'll find
them.”

Ha. Good luck.

Gary drags a sports bag from the corner. Then he's on his haunches, shoving
stuff around in the bag.

I sit perfectly still, thinking. My head's less hazy now. Whatever he shot me
with is wearing off. I realize that once he starts hunting for my mom and grandpa, he'll stumble
across Josh and Junie. I have to buy time for them, my two aces out on the savanna, who are waiting
for the perfect moment to bust in and save me. Hopefully in time to save the rhinos too. And my
mom's afterlife.

I've always been a gifted talker. I'll stall him with questions. Plus, I
want the answers. “How'd you hook up with everybody?”

Gary digs some more in the bag. He hauls out some weird goggle things, which he slips
around his neck. “I've done work for Dr. Kim before. The arthritics contacted him
about concocting a Chinese remedy for their arthritis. A bogus remedy, I'm sure.”

He zips the bag, stands and tosses it back in the corner.

Ack. Speed it up, Josh and Junie. I quickly fire out another question. “What
about the chef?”

At the table, he slides a red dart from the case, then dips the pointy end of it in a small
cup of liquid next to the shampoo bottles. “He knows someone in the online arthritic group.
They were having trouble coming up with the horn money, so—” Gary stops talking to
concentrate on slotting the dart into the back of the gun.

Ack. He's getting ready to go people hunting. “About the
chef?” I ask.

He lays the gun down again, then pulls the goggles over his face.

Very Star Wars. Very night vision. Very scary.

“The chef offered to pay half if he could have the meat,” Gary
says.

“Why'd you leave bananas out for the rhinos?”

“To get them in the habit of checking that area. It's a good place to
make the kill.” He walks to the door.

I fill completely with panic. Completely. Like I'm a can of soda all shook up.
“Are those night-vision goggles? I think I saw them on
CSI
.” My voice
shakes.

“Shut up, Sherry.” He exits.

I breathe in little shallow gasps like a stupid fish who jumped out of the water and is
flopping around, dying on land. By now Josh and Junie must've dialed nine-one-one. Right?
They must've. Which means help'll be here any minute. Help, like the whole San Diego
PD. Right?

A noise outside! Yay. It's Josh, my wonderful, gorgeous knight in shining
armor. Or Junie, my wonderful, full-of-great-ideas best friend. Or a bunch of cops. I'm not
picky.

The door opens. Gary enters, hauling Junie over his shoulder.

It feels as though a twenty-pound block of ice is sitting on my heart, crushing it. Josh,
please come through for us, and soon.

Without a word, Gary dumps Junie next to me. Her glasses bounce off. He returns to
the table and dips another dart. After reloading the gun, he takes off again, leaving the door open.

Oh no. At the top of my lungs, I scream over and over, “Watch out, Josh!
He's coming, Josh!”

Junie's chest rises and falls. She lies there, eyes shut. She's so out of it
even my yelling doesn't wake her up.

Gary backs in, dragging Josh by the feet. Josh's head bumps along the uneven
floor, his gorgeous hair swishing in the dirt. He moans.

Make that a fifty-pound block of ice. My heart is now flattened.

Gary yanks off his goggles and tosses them on the table. He unzips Junie's
purse and pulls out her cell. Staring at the screen, he punches buttons, then drops the phone on the
floor. He pats Josh's pockets till he finds the phone, and goes through the same routine. From
the small smile on Gary's face, I can tell Josh and Junie didn't get a chance to dial
nine-one-one.

It's over. Really over. Really and truly over.

Gary binds Josh's and Junie's feet and wrists. He works quickly and
quietly. Turning to me, he says, “You brought these two instead of your mother and
grandfather?”

My chin on my chest, I don't even bother to answer.

When he's done, he grabs the sports bag and moves to the table, shaking his
head and muttering, “This should've been a relatively simple job. But dealing with those
arthritics and that chef. And now these kids . . .”

His movements all jerky and angry, he unzips the bag and pulls out the Ziploc bag of
Keflit. Even in the dim light, it sparkles and shimmers, beautiful and deadly at the same time.

“What's going to happen to us?” I ask, my voice thin and
reedy.

“It's out of my hands.”

“What does that mean?” My pitch hits girlie-girl notes. As in way high.
As in way scared.

He throws me a look like I'm an annoying mosquito buzzing around his royal
head. “I don't deal with complications like you guys. I'm a professional. I do
my job. I get paid. I leave.” From a little sink on the far wall, Gary adds water to the Keflit and
squishes the mixture all around in the bag. “The guy who picks up the product is the problem
solver.”

“What do you mean? What's a problem solver?” I'm
hysterical now.

Gary slides on disposable gloves and chooses a peeled banana. “Sherry,
you've seen me. You know who I am. You've obviously confided in your friends. You
do the math.” He dips the end of the banana in the mixture, making sure it's coated in
shimmery, glittery, turquoise + sea-green Keflit. Then, carrying a bunch of bananas, including the
two-step death weapon, he exits.

I slump. Totally and completely frozen. We're doomed. The rhinos are
doomed. My mother is doomed.

Right from the start, I knew I couldn't do this. I knew I was in miles over my
head.

Look at me. I'm tied to a chair in a nasty old hut with a taped-up new boyfriend
and a taped-up best friend. I sob big, hot, salty tears. Then my nose starts running, and I can't
even lift a hand to wipe it.

I sit there, not that I can move, anyway, my eyes squeezed shut and my head hanging.
This is the biggest failure of my entire life.