The Homemade Stuffing Caper Read online

  “Okay, let’s say you’re right. Let’s say Sherman’s our man. How are you gonna find out for sure? You gonna go up and ask him if he’s the culprit? If that’s your plan, I don’t want to be around.”

  “He’s not gonna talk, Henry. We both know that.” I thought to myself for a moment. “Although I’ll bet, with my advanced interrogation skills, I just might be able to break him.”

  Henry grinned. “Oh, really? More likely, he’ll break you … in half.”

  He was right. We needed a new strategy.

  “I guess we could just follow him,” Henry said.

  I nodded. There was nothing like resorting to good old-fashioned field surveillance. “That’s the plan then. We’ll tail him. Tonight.”

  “What should we tell our folks?”

  “Why don’t we say something like we got a big paper … a team project—due tomorrow—and we need to do research at the library.”

  “The library closes at nine,” he said. “I guarantee our suspect makes his move later than that.”

  “Okay, then. You tell your folks that we’re writing the paper at my house, and I’ll tell mine that we’ll be at your place—and it could get a little late.”

  The bell rang for fifth period. We nodded at each other to confirm our plans. The table was now set.

  CHAPTER 10

  The Buoys and Girls Caper

  Maybe it was just the guilt consuming me but at dinner that night when I announced my plans to work on a homework project at Henry’s, my parents seemed unusually combative.

  “You have a paper due tomorrow and you’re waiting until tonight to write it? How smart is that?” my dad said.

  “It was the first time Henry and I could get together to work on it.”

  “What are you talking about?! The two of you are always together.”

  “We just found out our topic the other day.” I should have anticipated this line of questioning. It wasn’t one of my better efforts.

  “Well, it’s probably gonna look like a rush job. Is that what you want?”

  “Dad, I’m at my best when the pressure’s on. I’m a crammer. I can pull it off.”

  He stewed for a moment, then shook his head. I had survived the worst of it.

  “I better get over to Henry’s.”

  “You have a key?” my mom asked.

  I nodded.

  “Remember, your curfew is ten o’clock,” my dad warned. “Don’t be late, or you’ll be placed under house arrest, got it?”

  “I got it.” I smiled and kissed my mom on the cheek. I didn’t always do that but I needed to soften her up in the event I missed my deadline. She was always easier to sweet-talk than my dad.

  I met up with Henry about a block from Sherman’s house. We were on foot. We thought it would be a better idea than taking our bikes. Then, if Sherman suspected that he was being tailed, we could just dart behind a tree or a mailbox or something. This neighborhood seemed different from ours. Neither of us was particularly comfortable in this part of town. If you were alone, it was the last place you’d want to be. The streetlights had just gone on. We waited a few minutes before proceeding.

  “This could be a complete waste of time, you know,” Henry said.

  “Then again it could be the key to solving this case. You have to stay positive.”

  A car filled with teenage boys roared by. I prayed that they wouldn’t see us. No luck. As they sped past, they uttered a few well-chosen expletives just for effect. We continued on just past Sherman’s house, trying to appear inconspicuous. When we were sure it was dark enough, we took refuge behind a row of evergreens. From our vantage point, we could see the front door and into the backyard—just in case our suspect made a hasty rear door exit.

  We were fortunate that the bushes were rather sparse. We knelt down behind them for cover but were still able to see right through. Henry pulled out a deck of cards.

  “What’s your pleasure?”

  “How are we supposed to play cards in the dark?”

  “You brought a flashlight, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, so what do you wanna play?” Henry said.

  “I’m not gonna waste the batteries on that. We may need them later.”

  Henry shuffled the deck. “I have a feeling he’ll never show, and we’ll have wasted the entire night.”

  “That’s possible,” I said.

  “Then why are we here?” Henry was getting a little edgy.

  Why couldn’t he realize that in this profession, you needed to make an investment … sow a few seeds … pay some dues? That way you’d feel like you had earned it when things panned out.

  “Listen,” I said. “Sam Solomon was known to have spent a lot of time crouched down in the front seat of his car, perched in a tree, or stuffed into a closet, just to gain a glimpse of a blackmailer, forger, embezzler, or some other undesirable. Take, for example, Episode #7—The Buoys and Girls Caper. Sam hid in the hull of a houseboat on San Francisco Bay for four nights just to catch a smuggler who was recruiting teenage girls to help move a stash of knockoff cashmere sweaters.” I smiled proudly. “So there.”

  Henry was unimpressed. “Well, if you’re not interested in a game, at least hold the light over here so I can play some solitaire.”

  I placed the flashlight in my pocket and folded my arms. I refused to waste the light. One of us had to exercise good judgment.

  When Henry finally realized that I was not about to cooperate, he went on the offensive.

  “Okay, genius, when does four minus one equal five?”

  “Hmmm, give me a minute.”

  “Take your time. We got all night,” Henry said. His comment was more sarcastic than gracious. He would have liked nothing better than to have stumped me with this one … at this particular time. When does four minus one equal five? I knew immediately that this was not a math problem. I needed to think anything but logically. Can the number four take on a different shape or meaning? I started to press. And whenever I did, my thought process slipped into slow motion. I took a deep breath.

  “Why don’t I just tell you?” Henry said.

  “No. Absolutely not.” Even if it did take all night, I was not about to surrender. I concentrated for several minutes. Nothing was clicking. And then I thought—what’s the harm? He had been waiting for this moment all his life. Let him enjoy it. It might be worth it just to see the look on Henry’s face when he bested me. But just as I was about to throw up the white flag, something hit me. “Four minus one equals five … when we’re dealing with Roman numerals. A four is I-V. Take away the one and you’ve got just the V, the five.”

  Henry grumbled. “Just turn on the stupid flashlight. I’m playing cards.”

  And just as I was about to cave in, about to switch on the light, I heard a voice coming from Sherman’s front porch.

  “Wait a minute,” I whispered. “I think that might be him.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “It’s gotta be.” I reached into my back pocket for a pair of portable binoculars that I had borrowed from my dad’s dresser drawer. The minute I peered through them, I knew we had found our man. “It’s him, all right,” I said.

  Sherman stepped out, slammed the door behind him, and ran down the stairs. The hunt was officially on. He appeared to be carrying some sort of sack under his arm. We began our pursuit.

  We followed him for a couple of blocks, maintaining about a fifty-yard distance from our suspect at all times. He seemed to be avoiding well-lit streets, preferring alleys instead. I was never a fan of walking down a dark alley at night. I sure was glad Henry was alongside.

  Every stick, stone, or tin can that crossed Sherman’s path received a gargantuan boot from the man-child. The kid was a human bulldozer. Fearful that Sherman might detect us, we made it a point to duck down behind parked cars, garbage cans, anything that offered cover. If our boy knew we were on his trail, it could make for a very unpleasant experience.

  We ke
pt him in our sights for the next twenty minutes. He never looked back. When he reached a strip mall, a little over a mile from where we had started, he stopped and pulled what appeared to be a piece of paper from his pocket—the address of the next victim, no doubt. We followed him to the rear of the shops, where deliveries were made. We hid behind a minivan in the parking lot. He stopped at a door marked BIRD WORLD. He reached into his pocket again and pulled out something else. He slid it into the lock, fumbled with it for a moment, then turned the knob, and entered the store. The entry was swift and clean. Either Sherman had a key or he was a pro at jimmying a lock. The next few moments were deathly quiet … eerily quiet.

  “I don’t like it,” Henry said.

  “What do you suppose he’s doing in there?”

  “Maybe we should try to get a little closer and find out.”

  “I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” I said. Henry could be a hero if he wanted to but I was fine with staying put until Sherman emerged from the shop.

  “Where exactly are we? Do you have any idea?” Henry asked.

  “Not really, no. I just figured we’d have to retrace our steps to make it back home.”

  “Now, that’s a brilliant plan,” Henry said sarcastically. “Did you ever hear of a GPS device? You don’t think something like that might come in handy tonight?”

  “Like Sam Solomon, we can use the stars as our guide,” I said confidently. I really had no idea how to do that but I needed a comeback. We both glanced skyward at the same moment. It was overcast. There were no stars.

  Henry smirked and rolled his eyes.

  This little spat might have escalated had Sherman not reappeared. The empty sack he had carried into the pet shop was now full. Sherman threw it over his shoulder. It was hard to believe that there might be a living creature in there, although there was no movement or even a peep from the sack itself. So how was that possible unless … Wait a minute! Had he killed the poor thing? What kind of monster was this kid? I immediately thought of Scarlett. I couldn’t bear telling her what we had seen.

  Sherman soon returned to his less-traveled byways. We followed him for what seemed like hours until we reached an area with open fields on the outskirts of town. He plopped down next to a rotted-out oak tree. We were proud of the way we had tailed the big lug. He never once seemed to sense that he was being shadowed.

  Minutes later, we could hear the sound of a motor, and within seconds a blue pickup truck, with its headlights off, pulled up alongside Sherman. He jumped up and waved to the driver, who stepped out and slammed the door. We ducked down behind some bushes. We couldn’t really hear their conversation but we did notice the driver—a large figure with dark hair. I couldn’t tell whether it was a woman or not. I pulled out the binoculars for a better look. It was a lady all right. She was tall and wide. She had to be at least six foot five and probably tipped the scales at 250 to 275. My mom was known to carry a lot of weight, but she was nowhere near the size of this gal. The mystery figure wore a dark trench coat that was stretched tightly around her. She reached into the front seat of the pickup and pulled out a lantern. When she held it up, we caught a glimpse of her face. This was a face you’d never forget—full of deep wrinkles. Her features were rough, and she wore thick red lipstick. She slipped her hand into the front pocket of her trench coat and emerged with a wad of bills. She pointed to the sack Sherman was holding. He turned it over and emptied its contents onto the ground. Oh God! Henry grabbed my arm. Lying on the grass were three birds—big ones—and they were all motionless.

  “Are they dead?” Henry whispered.

  “Sure looks that way.”

  The driver dug back into her trench coat pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. She seemed to be telling Sherman something but we couldn’t make it out. She held up the paper, and then pointed in the direction of the highway. She handed it to him, then proceeded to pick up each bird by its feet, flinging them, one by one, into the back of the pickup. She hopped into the cab and drove off. Sherman studied the note for several seconds, crumpled it up, and tossed it aside. He then headed in the direction he had come from.

  “Come on,” Henry said. “Let’s see where he’s headed.”

  I was deep in thought. I couldn’t process his request.

  “Aren’t you coming?” he said.

  There was no need to follow Sherman any longer. I was fairly certain his mission tonight had been accomplished.

  “He may strike again,” Henry said. “We have to stop him.”

  “Henry, we’ve seen enough. We now know there’s an evil mastermind. And we know it’s a woman. Gram was right about that note written in lipstick. We also know the location of the rendezvous, and we know there’s a payoff. They won’t meet up again tonight. If Sherman was going to strike again, he would already have done so. Then he would have delivered both shipments at the same time.”

  Henry kicked at the dirt. He seemed to know that my logic was sound, but it was never easy for him to accept it.

  “So what’s our next move then?” he said.

  “I want to examine the ground over there where the truck was parked. Maybe we’ll find a clue to help us identify the mystery woman.”

  I stood up and brushed the dirt from my knees. I started in the direction of the bird drop when Henry grabbed my arm.

  “Why don’t we just go to the police and tell them what we saw? They’ll pull in Sherman and wrap up this whole thing.”

  “According to Eugene, the police aren’t convinced that someone is kidnapping—or should I say, killing—these birds. They’re treating it as a low priority. I’m afraid it’s up to us to solve this one.”

  I knew that contacting the police might make both of us feel less nervous about this whole thing, but I also knew that it was still too early to do so. We needed to continue the investigation for a while longer.

  “I can be very persuasive,” Henry said. “I can make them believe us.”

  “We don’t have any evidence. All we have is a wild story.”

  I tried to imagine the look on a police officer’s face if we attempted to piece together our facts. We might be laughed out of the station. I had to convince Henry that more homework needed to be done.

  “What are you talking about?” Henry said. “We can tell ’em we saw Sherman heist the birds from the pet shop. When the owner shows up in the morning, he’ll be able to confirm that. And then they haul in Sherman for questioning and make him talk.”

  Henry was so naïve sometimes.

  “And if Sherman denies everything, where’s the proof?” I said. “There is none. It’s our word against his. They’ll eventually have to let him go. And then what do you suppose is gonna happen to us when Sherman discovers who ratted him out?”

  Henry sighed. “Okay, you made your point.”

  I switched on the flashlight and we worked our way to the clearing where Sherman had handed over the merchandise. I immediately looked for tire tracks. The grass was so thick that there was no way to make out any patterns.

  “What are we looking for?” Henry asked.

  “I don’t know exactly.” I knew that we had seen a blue pickup truck. At least I was fairly certain it was blue. But I wasn’t really sure what shade. “Hey, did you notice something funny about that old lady?”

  “Other than the fact that she was gargantuan?”

  “I mean how she was dressed. That trench coat. There was something weird about it.”

  “I didn’t notice anything,” Henry said.

  “It just didn’t look right, but I can’t seem to put my finger on it.” I tried to form a mental image of the trench coat but it wasn’t helping. There was something there but I’d just have to wait for it to pop into my head at a later time. I decided to put it out of my mind and instead tried to concentrate on the immediate surroundings. I dropped to one knee for a better look. I aimed the flashlight at my feet. “Hmm, that’s odd.”

  “What?” Henry said.

  I picked
up a handful of what appeared to be loose, dried yellow grass.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  I examined it closely.

  “It’s just dried grass,” he said. “What’s the big deal? We’re in a prairie. There’s a lot of grass around here.”

  “But look around. There’s nothing else like it. All the other grass is green.”

  Henry grabbed the flashlight from my hand and waved it around. “You know, you’re right.”

  “I think we’ve stumbled onto another clue.”

  “What?”

  “You know what this is, don’t you?” I said. “It’s hay. And you know where you find hay? In a barn. And that means a farm, no doubt.”

  “Come to think of it,” Henry said, “I’m pretty sure there’s a farm or two around here. I know my mom’s come out this way to buy fruit at a farmers’ market.”

  I smiled. “We’re slowly but surely compiling evidence.” I took the flashlight back from Henry. “Maybe there’s something else out here that might help.” We continued to walk in circles—concentric circles—each one bigger than the last. We were determined to find anything that might lead us to Mr., or rather, Mrs. Big.

  “What’s that over there?” Henry said.

  I aimed the flashlight in the direction he was pointing. There was a piece of paper, crumpled up, on the ground. I retrieved it, opened it, and held it out for both of us to see.

  “Another note … in code,” Henry said.

  Like the last one, this note also appeared to be written in lipstick. And like before, there was a series of nonsensical letters and numbers on it.

  “This has to be the paper that the old lady gave Sherman,” I said. “It must be the address of the next heist.”

  “We gotta show this to your grandma,” Henry said.

  “We could do that, I suppose.”

  “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t we?”

  “Wouldn’t you love to try to decode this thing ourselves? You heard my grandma explain how she did it. We could do the same thing. Then we’d be cryptologists.”

  “I suppose we could take a stab at it,” Henry said. “But something tells me we’re gonna end up needing her.”