The Bungled Bike Burglaries (The Gabby St. Claire Diaries Book 3) Read online

  “You’re sure she didn’t have a hammer in her possession?” Officer Glenn asked, ignoring me.

  Principal Black shook his head no.

  Hammer? How would someone use cold spray and a hammer to steal bikes?

  My memory, which had failed me so miserably lately, kicked in. I recalled the liquid nitrogen demonstration by the science guy from the Virginia Air and Space Center for my sixth-grade science class.

  First, he’d passed around a normal penny and banana. Then he dipped them in a canister of liquid nitrogen. Its temperature was around 270 degrees below zero. The banana had hardened into a solid mass that he used to pound a nail into a board. But the penny had become so brittle it shattered when he smacked it with a hammer.

  I could see how that same thing would work on bike locks. Carrying liquid nitrogen would be out of the question, but maybe the aerosol spray was similar and less dangerous. Hiding it in a water bottle had been criminal genius. What I didn’t understand was why the kid hadn’t finished the job and busted the locks off. Had someone taken his hammer? Or was his memory as faulty as mine, and he’d forgotten to bring it?

  I could figure that out later. Right now I had to convince them I wasn’t the thief. “I didn’t have a hammer, did I?”

  “You were caught with the cold spray in your hand.” Officer Glenn looked to Principal Black for confirmation.

  “Right. And you were out of the building without permission,” Principal Black replied, shaking his head. “I’ve heard some ridiculous lies for skipping school before, but this stakeout one is new.” He looked at Officer Glenn. “Kids these days watch too much TV.”

  “It’s not a lie,” I said. “You can ask Becca Chapman. I told her about the stakeout after math and before English. If I was stealing bikes, would I tell a cop’s kid my plans?”

  Officer Glenn pursed her lips, and I hoped it meant she might be considering the possibility I was telling the truth.

  “Call the Chapman girl down,” she ordered.

  I went back to piecing together the clues. If the thieves were using a space-age technology to steal the bikes, then somebody with some smarts was behind these burglaries. Would the Mocha Locos have that kind of brainpower? Or would it take university-sized brains, like College Guy might have? Just because his skull earring laughed instead of burned didn’t mean he wasn’t part of some gang.

  They were all possible suspects. Unfortunately, I seemed to be the prime suspect.

  “You need to move the bike rack.” Officer Glenn had turned her attention to Principal Black, and I caught my breath in that small interlude. “Put it next to the nurse’s office window. Even though she won’t be watching it every second, the fact she could be watching might deter further thefts.”

  “Or not.” An idea took shape in my mind. “If the thieves think they have a good thing going on, they’ll keep doing it. Couldn’t you put a tracking device on the bikes out there? The next time one gets stolen, you track it right to the thieves.”

  It was a perfect plan. I would clear myself and look as clever as Sherlock Holmes in the process.

  Before I could congratulate myself, Officer Glenn shot my idea down. “Even if we had that many tracking devices and the time to monitor them, we’d have to get the owners’ permission. With that many students knowing about it, we’d never keep the operation secret. It would be doomed before we got it off the ground.”

  I noticed Officer Glenn had uncrossed her arms. I was pretty sure that was a good sign. Mrs. Baker was always telling us actors not to cross our arms onstage. She said it closed us off from the audience; it made us seem nervous, negative, or defensive. We looked as if we were protecting our hearts from the audience when we really wanted them to perceive us as opening our hearts to them.

  Realizing my arms were crossed over my chest, I quickly undid them and smiled before speaking. “What if one student gave you the okay and that student could keep a secret?”

  I was a great secret keeper, and I was willing to let them use my bike, especially if it would convince them I really was on the side of the good guys.

  “Hmm.” Officer Glenn chewed on her lower lip, shook her head, and said, “We couldn’t make sure that bike was the target and no others.”

  The furrows in her forehead indicated she was thinking out loud more than actually writing off my point.

  She continued. “Plus, this seems to be a two-step process. One thief ices the locks, another must do the whack-and-snatch part. I think that’s why that large rock was by the rack. Less conspicuous than carrying a hammer.”

  Rock? I realized I’d missed an important clue and vowed to pay better attention at crime scenes. Of course, that might have to wait until I got the memory stuff down.

  “After school, I’ll find out whose bike had the aerosol can in the water bottle,” I offered.

  “I don’t think so,” said Principal Black.

  Before I could ask why, the door swung open and my best friend stepped into the office. Her eyes widened with fright when she saw Officer Glenn. But when they fell on me, she visibly relaxed.

  Great, my bestie just assumes I’m the one in hot water. Of course, I couldn’t blame her. It was me. This time.

  At first, it didn’t look like they were going to believe the honest and upright Becca Chapman, daughter of a cop and perfect student. But when she blabbed about the Diva pretty much blackmailing me into finding her bike, it convinced them. I was sure the flaming red that ignited over my cheeks when she talked about it didn’t hurt our credibility either.

  I really hated how much pressure the Diva could exert over my life.

  “Being in the wrong place at the wrong time or being with the wrong people has condemned many an innocent person,” Officer Glenn lectured. “If you get yourself into those situations, you have no one but yourself to blame when negative consequences follow.” She nodded curtly to the principal and exited.

  I breathed a sigh of relief. Becca was allowed to go back to class. I wasn’t going to be arrested.

  Unfortunately I wasn’t off the hook yet.

  “Students just can’t come and go as they please,” said Principal Black sternly. “What if we had a fire during lunch—a real one, not a drill—and no one could account for your presence in our area of assemblage? Firefighters would be forced to enter the burning building, risking their lives to rescue you, but it would be a false alarm.”

  I thought better of pointing out Mr. Black had mixed his metaphors. Instead I nodded and did my best to look sorry I had caused such a ruckus. But it wasn’t really an act.

  It was bad enough I’d messed up with the mayo and could have killed my dad. If there had been a fire and one of the firefighters had lost their life looking for a nonexistent victim in need of rescue, I’d feel crummy for the rest of my life. I vowed to do more thinking before acting.

  Right after I mastered the remembering and observing things.

  “Three days of detention should impress upon you the seriousness of your actions.”

  My mouth dropped open. Why was my observational talent being squandered in detention? I should be at the bike rack after school, figuring out whodunit. Plus, how could I finish my monologue and track down the Diva’s bike in after-school detention?

  As I headed to science class, I was grateful for two things: not being arrested and not getting a phone call home from Principal Black. At least my parents would never find out about this whole incident.

  CHAPTER 17

  During detention I prepared a summary of my research that included my hypotheses that 1) Hope’s dad had been a minister 2) plus a civil rights activist in Norfolk, and 3) the family had suffered for standing up for their rights.

  I slipped it under Mrs. Baker’s door; then I headed to Page Turner’s to show Howie the magazines and letter. The closer I got, the slower I pedaled, dreading what I might find. As I rounded the corner, I almost closed my eyes.

  All my trepidation had been for nothing. Pete’s bike wasn
’t chained up outside the store. I let out a sigh of relief. But then my tummy tightened as I wondered what I was going to say when I saw Pete next. I was pretty much in a no-win situation. I had to know, but I didn’t want to ask. But if I didn’t ask, how would I ever know?

  I could tell by the way Howie’s face lit up when I walked through the door that he was eager to pore over what I had brought.

  “I gotta finish stocking some stuff.” He nodded at the stack of comic books he was carrying. “Grab an empty table in the back room, and I’ll be in as soon as I can.”

  I nodded and headed back.

  I parted the curtains and scanned the crowd. I recognized one kid from school but didn’t know his name. Two groups were playing Magic: The Gathering, a collectible card game. A fourth table was empty, so I sat there, back to the wall, so I could observe anyone coming in.

  What would I say if Pete came in? Or that girl? I’d only seen the back of her head, but I knew most girls with braids, beads, and extensions didn’t change their hair every day or every week. I’d recognize her.

  I thumbed through one of the Jets to pass the time. What I read disturbed me. Nine people lost their jobs because they’d participated in a rally supporting the Alabama bus boycott.

  I could relate. My mom hadn’t done anything wrong, but she could lose her cleaning job because snotty, snooty Donabell Bullock wielded that kind of power. It wasn’t fair.

  My thoughts were interrupted as a bunch of kids poured into the back. I searched in vain for girls with braids and Pete. My attention was drawn to a dark-haired kid with a laughing skull sticker on his backpack. I rose from my seat to get a better look, but a wall of three kids blocked my line of sight.

  “We need this table,” said one of the kids. He wore a Princess Anne High School hoodie and wire-framed glasses.

  I craned my neck to keep an eye on Skull Kid, but Princess Anne repeated himself, shifting so he once again blocked my view. “These tables are for gamers first and customers second. You don’t qualify as either, girlie,” he stated, his hands going to his hips.

  “Howie told me to wait here for him and save this table,” I answered, feeling a tiny bit intimidated and a whole lot annoyed that I’d lost sight of Skull Kid.

  “Oh.” The kid’s face fell, and they meandered off. Apparently Howie’s name had some clout.

  I scanned the room again to find Skull Kid.

  He was gone.

  I didn’t want to give up dibs on the table in order to ask around, and I couldn’t exactly yell my question across the room, so I waited until Howie arrived. I asked him if a lot of girls came in to game, especially since I was the only one in here now.

  “Tyasia, my little sister,” Howie said, shaking his head the way Pete did when he had to let his little sister Suzy tag along somewhere. “I had to bring her to work with me last summer because my parents didn’t want a fifth grader home alone. First she pitched a fit because she thought she was old enough to stay home alone, and then because she was pretty much the only girl here.” He shook his head again and chuckled.

  “Then she started liking gaming and one of the gamers. They were kind of ‘going together’ until my mom blew a gasket. She thought Tyasia was too young for that kind of stuff. Our parents put her in a YMCA day camp to squash that before it . . .” Howie stopped himself, and I could tell he was going to change the topic.

  I needed Howie to finish his sentence. I concentrated with all my might, like some superhero mind reader might.

  Finish. Finish. Finish. I was in luck. It worked.

  “Kinda ironic that yesterday both she and the guy . . . never mind. Let’s check out your time capsule. I only have a fifteen-minute break.” Howie picked up the golden walnut, the only item I brought in addition to the papers. “Very cool. This is a sewing kit.”

  “Sewing kit?”

  Howie nodded. “Yeah. Back in the day, women would carry them in their purses in case they had to fix something on the fly. This one is a fancy one.”

  “Could it be valuable?”

  “Maybe. If it is an original. Any other items related to sewing in the capsule?”

  “A toy sewing machine, some buttons—”

  “Then we can infer Hope probably sewed or liked to sew.”

  I followed Howie’s logic and decided to bounce one of my own inferences off of him. “She also had pinecones, seashells, and gum balls from a tree in the flour tin. Could she have liked the outdoors?”

  “Could be.” Howie picked up the envelope and studied the postmark before removing and reading the letter. “I think it is likely Hope’s Memaw lived in Montgomery, Alabama, and the reference to bus problems had to do with the Rosa Parks bus boycott. Probably the family was involved with the Pearl Beckett case in Norfolk.”

  “Until the assassins got to their dad,” I added.

  “Assassins?” Howie looked at me like I had sixteen purple antennae growing from my head.

  “Betsy and Hazel.” How could a college kid be so dense?

  Howie chortled, and I bristled.

  “Betsy and Hazel—”

  “Yo! Howie!” College Guy burst through the curtain. “We got a special delivery! Better get back there pronto.”

  Howie jumped up like his seat was on fire and exited through a door labeled “Storeroom.” I only got a glimpse, but the room contained lots of boxes, shelves, and books.

  And two bicycles.

  CHAPTER 18

  “Becca! This changes everything. What if Pete still has feelings for her, and I’m just his second choice?” I lay on the floor of my bedroom, feet propped up on my bed when I wasn’t kicking them at the ceiling in frustration.

  “You should just ask him about it.”

  “Right. Call up and say, ‘Pete, you’re under investigation. What’s the truth about you and Tyasia?’ I’m sure he’d just fill me in.”

  “So what are you going to do? Stake him out? Your last stakeout didn’t turn out so well, especially because you dragged me into it. What if Officer Glenn talks to my dad? I’ll be in big trouble.”

  “Chillax. You were just a witness.”

  I had to agree the stakeout had been a bad idea. Detentions were no fun. I had managed to convince Principal Black to trade Monday’s after-school detention for three lunch detentions because of the drama club meeting, but I still had to serve Tuesday. That was because the school didn’t carry out imprisonment on Friday afternoon, which worked in my favor because I needed to hit some pawn and bike shops.

  “What would you do about Pete?” I asked.

  “I dunno. But I would love to have that problem. Especially if it were with Brandon.”

  I remembered feeling the exact same way, thinking having a BF and all the problems that came with it would be better than not having a BF. Now I wasn’t so sure. Was it easier to live with the pain from what you had or the longing for what you didn’t have?

  “Gabby, maybe you can go about this sideways. Ask how he got his tire back.”

  “True.” I mulled that over. Maybe the indirect route was a good plan. But before I could ask for details on how to weasel it out of him, Becca changed the topic.

  “Hypatia is fascinating. Did you know she was beaten to death for the crime of being an intelligent woman? A mob of men couldn’t stomach the thought of a woman being that smart, so they dragged her from her chariot and murdered her.”

  “Wow.”

  “They beat her to death with roofing tiles. The authorities never punished anyone either. A real travesty of justice. It fries me how women have been treated like second-class citizens over the centuries.”

  “I think Hope could relate to that,” I said. Apparently prejudice had been alive and well since the dawn of time. Anyone who wasn’t in had to keep to their place. Or else.

  Becca groaned. “It’s eight thirty, so I gotta go, Eskimo.”

  My BFF gave another, even more exaggerated sigh, and I thanked my lucky stars I didn’t have such strict rules at my house.
The Chapmans had more rules than the United States government.

  “See ya next week, eagle beak,” I told her.

  “I’ll mark the date, invertebrate.”

  I chuckled as I hung up. Her last goodbye was a new one. She must have thought that up in science class.

  Then I did what I had dreaded to do. I dialed Pete’s number.

  ***

  The conversation got off to a rocky start and went downhill from there.

  “I doubt those bikes were stolen. The guys that work there keep their rides in the storage room when they work.” Pete sounded irritated.

  “But—”

  Before I could bring up Pete’s missing tire, my BF had shot off on a tangent. “Howie’s too bossy. He thinks he runs the place. The other guy apparently just came into some money and might be quitting. Then Howie really will run the place!”

  “Wait—you mean the guy with the skull earring?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How’d he come into money?” My pulse spiked.

  “I dunno. I didn’t ask questions.”

  “It sounds like you go there a lot, since you know all of that.” As soon as the words flew out of my mouth, I knew I should have remained quiet. But I couldn’t call them back.

  “What’s it to you? I don’t whine about you going to drama club all the time without me. So why are you upset I like comics?”

  I considered pointing out I’d never said I was upset, or that drama club was only once a week unless we had a show about to open. I could have changed the topic.

  Instead I pushed the issue. “So how did you get the bike tire back?”

  “I just did. Can we drop this now? I don’t appreciate you playing Nancy Drew with me.”

  I barely kept myself from blurting out the burning question I wanted to ask: Who’s the other girl? Before I could figure out something else to say that would get me some answers without ticking Pete off, he changed the topic.

  “So you have lunch and after-school detention the next couple of days?”