Say It Ain't So (19 page)

Kyle gave me a puzzled look. “So what's up? Did you, uh, think about what we talked about?”

“You don't have to be secretive,” I said. “Maria is a detective too. She works for me.”

She gave me a look that would have killed a lesser man.

“
With
me?” I tried. “I work
for
her, I mean?”

She laughed. “Listen, we just work together,” she said. “And we know all about the little game you're playing here—and I don't mean catch.”

“Excuse me?” Kyle said.

“Oh, okay, Maria,” I said. “Let's just slow down and—” But I should have known. With Maria Bonzer there was no such thing as slowing down.

“We know all about how you took your dad's phone,” she said.

Kyle gave her a dumb look. That might have been his normal look. I don't know. It seemed, like, extra-dumb. What if we were wrong? You can't just go around accusing people of things.

“Why would I—?” Kyle started to say.

“Oh, don't play dumb,” she said. “Even though I can see that you are quite good at it. You want your parents back together. I get that. Ain't no crime. So you swipe Daddy's phone. Send a text to Mom. ‘Oh, I'm sorry. Kissy kissy hug hug.' ”

“Kissy kissy hug hug?”
Kyle said slowly.

“Those are Lenny's words,” Maria said.

“Hey, I—” I started.

“Lenny?” Kyle asked. His voice sounded so sad. “I hire you and this is how you treat me? You think I was the one who”—he lowered his voice to a whisper—“stole my own dad's phone?”

“Why are you whispering?” Maria said.

“He doesn't want his dad to hear,” I said. “He's kind of mean.” Then to Kyle I added, “No offense.”

“None taken,” he said, still whispering. “Believe me. I know. He has a temper these days.”

“Yeah, but why are you whispering unless you don't want your dad to find out the truth?” Maria was talking louder and louder, aiming her words toward an open window.

“Keep it down!” Kyle said.

“Well,” Maria said. “Either you have something to hide or you don't.”

And with that, Kyle started to cry.

“Gee, that went well,” I said to Maria as we walked back toward her house.

“Yeah,” she said. “If you like seeing dudes cry.”

“I mean, Mike is innocent! I can't wait to tell him.”

Shortly after he spilled his tears, Kyle spilled everything. He was trying to take his dad's phone just so he could text his mom. He got caught in the act and stashed the phone the first place he found. Just so happened to be Davis's smelly shin guard.

He only cried a little. Well, first he denied it, then he cried. Then he told us not to tell anyone, then he cried again. Then he said his dad was going to murder him if he found out. Maria said, “Probably.” Then he said Davis was going to murder him if he found out. Maria said, “Probably,” again. And then he cried again. Okay, he in fact
cried a lot. She tried to console him by pointing out that you actually can't get murdered twice. Shockingly, this did not make him feel better.

But then I came up with a pretty sweet solution.

“All you have to do is tell Coach Zo what really happened,” I said. “Resign from the team like a man and he won't mention it to your dad if you ask him not to. And we won't say anything.”

“What about Davis?” Kyle asked, his voice snotty with tears.

“Don't worry about him,” I said. “I'll handle Davis Gannett.” Though of course I had no idea how.…

We walked in silence for a minute. “Wait,” Maria said. “If the truth gets out there, won't Davis be back on the team? Won't Mike lose his starting job?”

What was I thinking? I got so caught up in solving the case that I missed this obvious outcome. It was wrong that Davis got kicked off the team for something he didn't do. But of course the other side of that coin was also obvious. If Davis got back on the team, Mike would probably lose his starting spot. Mike was already mad at me! He already said
we weren't friends. Being the starting catcher on this team meant so much to him! His whole future rode on it. Well, at least high school. He would kill me if I ruined it for him. And what did I owe Davis Gannett anyway? All he ever did was call me a dork-bucket and try to make my life miserable.

“Maybe we should go back and tell Kyle not to say anything to Coach Zo,” I said.

“We're detectives,” she said. “We just find out the truth. If people don't like it, that doesn't make it not true.”

I offered to accompany Maria home. I didn't actually say it that dorkily. Like I'd really be like, “Oh, madam, can I accompany you home?” Fine, actually I did say something like that. Okay, exactly that.

She gave me a horrible and disgusted look. “Dude, you live that way—I live this way. You think I can't make it home by myself?”

“No, I just … W-well …” I was stammering. “I was just asking to be nice! You don't have to be so shocked. You made a face like I offered to fart on your cat.”

She repeated the look. “You truly are weird, Lenny,” she said. “You know that?”

“Whatever. Thanks for your help. We still don't know how that evil new school of yours is stealing signs, but we're onto something.”

“Also, you're
on
something,” she said.

I buckled my helmet and rode off.

I decided to ride straight to Mike's house. This couldn't be discussed by text. This couldn't be discussed over the phone. This was a man-to-man situation if there ever was one. As I pedaled there, I thought back to the winter for some reason. I thought back to the day I made this same trip in order to kick him in the crotch. It seemed like so long ago, yet was really just a few months. Since then he had risen from a guy getting crotch-kicked in the garage to the starting lineup, catching a perfect game. And now I had to go simultaneously apologize and deliver the news that it would all be over? First I accuse him of a crime he didn't commit and then I help him lose his starting role? Would I want to be my friend if I were him?

I dropped my bike in the driveway and rang the doorbell. As always, Mike's mom answered. As always, she told me I didn't need to ring the doorbell. As always, Mike's little sister was standing there, sticking her tongue out at me.

“Is Mike home?” I asked.

“Up in his room,” Arianna said. “Why so glum, Lenny? Your dog die?”

“I don't have a dog,” I said flatly.

“I know,” she said. “It's called a joke.”

I didn't laugh. I just trudged upstairs to Mike's room. I stuck my head in the door carefully, like it might get bitten off. Mike was sitting on the floor, playing a handheld video game. He looked up, saw me, then looked back to the screen. His face showed nothing. He said nothing. He was acting like we weren't friends. Heck, he was acting like we never even met each other.

“Uh, hey, Mike, listen,” I said. “Do you have a second?”

He said nothing. All I could hear was the faint video-game music.

I swallowed hard and continued. “Hey, well, so, listen,” I said. “I really just have to say—”

“The only thing I want to hear you say,” he said through gritted teeth, “is good-bye.”

“Mike,” I pleaded. “Come on. Let me explain.”

“If you don't want two black eyes,” he said, “you'll be leaving now.”

Mike was strong and had spent a lot of time
toughening up his hands. If he wanted to give me a black eye—or worse—there was nothing I could do to stop him.

I sighed. “You know what,” I said. “I deserve that.”

“You're right you do!” he said. He threw the video game onto his bed and jumped up. He was a little bit shorter than me, but he drew himself up to his full height and got right in my face.

“Fine,” I said. “I'm going to say I'm sorry and then you can hit me if you want.” I closed my eyes and said, “I'm sorry.” I waited for his fist. “I've been hit once. I can handle it again.” Don't get me wrong: I didn't
want
to handle it again. But I figured I probably could. I figured I deserved it.

Nothing happened.

I must have taken him slightly off guard. I opened my good eye halfway and peeked at him. “I'm really sorry, Mike,” I said. “I suspected you of something you didn't do. I was a bad friend. I'll never doubt you again. I promise.”

“Um, thanks,” he said. He took a step back. He unclenched his fist.

“Don't thank me yet,” I said.

“Why?” His right fist reclenched, if that's a word.

“Well, the reason I'm apologizing … I mean,
part of the reason … is that I figured out who
did
steal Kyle's dad's phone.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

“And it wasn't Davis Gannett?”

“No. Kyle stole his own dad's phone.”

“Why on earth would he do that?”

I explained the whole thing to Mike. He said nothing. He went back to playing his game.

Then he spoke. He didn't look up. It was like he was talking to the guys on the screen and not to me. “All along I sort of thought that it wasn't really Davis. I mean, I didn't know
who
it was! And I wasn't sure. I didn't have proof or anything. I just … Well, Davis was behind the plate with me most of that practice. There was hardly any chance for him to get near the bleachers, to steal a phone. Plus, why would he hide it where it was sure to be found?”

“Yeah,” I said. “So why didn't you say anything?”

“Isn't it obvious?” he said glumly.

“You were happy that Davis got thrown off the team? So you could be the starting catcher?”

“Does that make me a bad person?” Mike said, nodding, biting his lip.

“Nah,” I said. “I don't think so. I think anyone would have done the same.”

“Not you, Lenny. You're so good.”

“So why do I feel so bad?” I said.

“Because you helped your best friend lose his starting job to a maniac milk-pooper?” he said.

“Oh yeah,” I said. “That.”

“Hey,” he said, “I'm all for anything that makes us a better team. And besides, there's always next year.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Next year.”

Monday. Lunch. Me and Mike and Other Mike. Once again we were talking about the mystery of the stolen signs. Life was like that. As soon as you solved one mystery, there was another one waiting for you. Mike and I were racking our brains, trying to figure out what to do. There was no game that day. Highland and Griffith were playing over at Highland, giving the Mustangs the day off.

“Hey, so can I help with this whole thing or what?” Other Mike said, looking up from his book.

“Um, sure,” Mike said.

“I doubt the culprit is a warlock,” I said. “We don't need someone to cast a counterspell.”

“Ha-ha,” Other Mike said. “Though I could tell you that the warlocks in
Warlock Wallop
do have a sophisticated ball game of sorts that they play called ‘Spurious,' which you might actually enjoy if
you bothered to give it a try. They hit the ball with a bat. Oh, well, okay, it's actually a spiked club. And there's a ball, of course. Well, actually, a human head. But anyway, that's neither here nor there nor in your underwear. The point is that if I'm understanding this correctly, what it seems like is that you maybe could take advantage of my—how do you say—skills in the arts of reconnaissance?”

“You are going to have to tell us—in English—what exactly you are talking about,” Mike said.

“I mean if they are spying on Hunter, the only proper response is to spy back,” he said. “We need to go over there and see what we can find.”

“If you remember correctly,” I said, “I already tried that and it resulted in a little thing called ME GETTING PUNCHED IN THE FACE.” I pointed to my eye. It was only a little red now, but I liked to show it off still.