Iced!: The 2007 Journal of Nick Fitzmorgan (2 page)

JUDGE

Now those eyes were burning more brightly than ever. “Nick, thanks for coming so quickly,” she said as I hopped out of the
cart and walked over to her.

“Hi, Judge. What’s up?” I expected her to present me with another challenging mission.

“I’m sorry, Nick,” she said. “I’m going to have to cut your training short.”

I was stunned. “What?”

“I’m sending you home.” She must have seen the concern on my face because she held up a hand before I could speak. “No, don’t
worry. Nothing’s wrong with your dad. Henry is fine.”

That was a relief. But it didn’t answer any of the other questions that suddenly flooded my mind. “Then what’s the problem,
Judge?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she signaled to Mr. Bulldog, who strode over to us. He carried my green duffel bag in one hand
and my journal in the other. Normally, I keep this journal on me at all times, but I knew we’d be getting wet in today’s training
and didn’t want to take the chance of dropping it in the swamp.

Mr. Bulldog handed me my things and went back to the cart.

“What is going on?” I asked.

“Speed is of the essence, my friend,” Judge said. “So I asked my aide to grab your belongings on his way to pick you up. You
can change into a clean pair of jeans on the plane.” Before I could say anything, she continued, “My pilot, Maura, will fly
you to Hanahan Airport outside Los Angeles.”

I turned to see a young woman—almost a girl—standing at the top of the steps leading up to the plane’s doorway. She must have
been inside when I arrived. About nineteen, she was athletic looking and wore a sleek, dark suit over an immaculate white
shirt. Her red hair was cut short and her angular face was dusted with freckles. But this sweet face was set in an all-business
expression.

MAURA, THE PILOT

“Please make sure Nick gets home safely,” Judge instructed.

The pilot nodded curtly and disappeared kick into the plane.

“She seems friendly,” I joked under my breath.

Judge smiled. “Maura was top in her class here and is my best pilot. And you two have more in common than you might think.”
She patted my arm. “So on, now.”

This was unbelievable! She was sending me away without an explanation. I felt a -flash of frustration. “Why did you spend
three weeks training me if you won’t let me help when something’s wrong?” I asked.

“Nothing’s wrong, Nick,” Judge replied.

The skin at the base of my neck prickled as I looked at Judge’s face. My detective radar was running at full blast.

Ever since I can remember, I’ve had the ability to “read” people. My dad and Judge are always joking that I’m like a walking
lie detector.

At the orphanage where I spent the first seven years of my life, I could tell in a fraction of a second whether or not potential
parents were thinking about taking me home. My senses naturally zoomed in on a person’s facial expressions, changes in body
language, and even the way they talked. Each time, I was correct.

My perfect record continued when Henry Fitzmorgan walked through the door of the orphanage with Judge Pinkerton by his side.
I knew at that exact second that I had spotted my new family.

And that’s why watching her face now, I knew Judge wasn’t telling me the truth. Something was definitely wrong.

But she wasn’t sharing.

Fine, I thought, trying not to pout. She must have her reasons for being secretive. “Okay, thanks for everything,” I said
and hefted the duffel over my shoulder. I started up the steps to the plane, my mucky sneakers squishing. “See you later.”

“Wait,” Judge suddenly called after me. I turned back and saw she had moved closer to the stairs. “Forgive me, Nick. You’re
old enough to be told what’s happening.”

“Thanks, Judge,” I said, feeling instantly better.

But her face remained grave. “Have you heard about the Notabe case I’ve been working on?”

I nodded. Everyone in my family knew about the Notabe case.

ASYLA NOTABE

Asyla Notabe, a wealthy woman who had recently tripled her fortune by investing in a cloning program, had been in and out
of the lives of my family and Judge for about a century. Whenever Asyla appeared, trouble would follow. Lately, Asyla had
made it her quest to convince the government to ban private investigators. She argued that because PI’s worked for private
people, they could be hired as a private army. She said they were dangerous to national security.

It turns out Asyla might be the true threat. Judge had caught her passing bribes to elected officials. Asyla had been trying
to buy votes so that her “anti-private detective” bill would pass.

Now Judge was saying, “There are a few loose ends I need to tie up to make sure Asyla’s trial goes well. It’s something I
hadn’t expected. My work will take me away from PDA, and I’ll be out of touch for the next week.”

“You mean you’re going undercover?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. A sudden smile lit up her face. “Even we old people still like to get out in the field.” Then, more seriously,
she added, “I won’t able to oversee your training here as we’d planned. But we’ll complete your courses at another time, okay?”

I nodded. I didn’t like leaving, but at least she was being straight with me. “I’m glad you told me the truth, Judge,” I said.

“Your radar wouldn’t allow anything less.” She reached out and tousled my hair. “I spoke to your dad early this morning. I
told him what an amazing job you’ve done here and that you’d be home later today. I’ll contact him again to let him know your
exact time of arrival.”

“I’ll call him from the plane,” I said. “You’ve got enough going on.”

Judge’s bright blue eyes searched mine. “So are we okay?”

Before answering, I took a few more steps up toward the airplane door. Then I turned and said with a smile, “Always, Judge.”

She beamed at me. “Bully for you, Nick!”

MAURA TALKING TO THE LIMO DRIVER

A long black car picked us up at the
private airport outside of Los Angeles. The squat driver showed us his PDA badge, and Maura said a few words to him. I tossed
my bag in the trunk and hopped in the backseat. When Maura climbed in next to me, I said, “I’m okay. You don’t need to take
me to my house.”

Maura gave me a cool look that could have frozen the sun. “Judge Pinkerton told me to take you home.”

“Did I mention she also said you should buy me a new big-screen HDTV?” I asked.

Sure, it was a dumb joke, but Maura’s expression didn’t change at all. I wondered if she had ever smiled in her life.

I had tried calling my dad from the airplane. But I hadn’t been able to get through to either our home phone or his cell.
There had been two or three rings, and then a strange click followed by a high-pitched buzzing. Must’ve been some kind of
interference from the plane’s phone.

I thought about asking to borrow Maura’s cell phone but wasn’t sure how she felt about sharing. Besides, I was almost home.
I might as well just surprise Dad with my early return.

During the forty-five minute ride to my house, Maura sat ramrod straight. I was glad she didn’t feel like she had to make
chitchat. I’m not so good at that and find it even more exhausting than a 4-mile run in the mountains.

The car wound its way through the twisty streets of my neighborhood in the Hollywood Hills. We pulled up in front of my one-story
house. The sight of the curving stone walk and my dad’s brightly colored flower garden made me realize that I had really missed
this place — and my dad.

Maura coolly scanned the little house. “I’ll ask the driver to wait until you open the front door”

“Okay,” I agreed. “Bye, then.”

She nodded. I grabbed my things and got out of the car. Feeling Maura’s eyes on me, I walked to the front porch, unlocked
the door, and opened it. I gave her a wave, and the car sped off down the street.

Gee, nothing like a teary good-bye, I thought as I went inside.

“Hi, Dad!” I shouted. “Your favorite son is home!”

MOM AND DAD

That’s our little joke. Actually, I’m his only son.

Like everyone else in my family, my day is a detective.

He turned one of his most famous cases — the one about that serial bank robber in Florida — into a script. The script was
turned into a hit movie that won an Oscar. Ever since then my dad has been writing scripts, turning true mysteries into exciting
movies.

Dad’s life hasn’t always been like a happy Hollywood ending, though. His wife died ten years ago, and he grieved for her for
a long time. He always says Judge was the one who got him through that tough time.