The Homemade Stuffing Caper Read online

  “I’m afraid,” Scarlett said.

  I shielded her. “Don’t worry.”

  The door swung open and a bag was dropped onto the cement floor. I couldn’t resist. I peeked up, hoping to catch a glimpse of the intruder. The figure was large, but I couldn’t quite make out his face. For some crazy reason, I wasn’t afraid. I decided it was time to confront the enemy. I aimed my flashlight at him.

  “Sherman?” I said.

  “Collier?” he yelled as he jumped down into the cellar. “What are you doing here?”

  “Somebody locked us up in here. You have to help us get out.”

  “I don’t understand. What’s going on?”

  Henry decided to set this kid straight. “I’ll tell you what’s happening. We’re trying to save the birds that you’ve been kidnapping … and killing.”

  “Killing? What are you talking about? I’m the one saving these birds.”

  “What?” Henry said.

  “You see all them birds,” Sherman said. “They don’t belong in cages. It’s my job to rescue ’em so they can be shipped back to where they came from and released into the wild. South America. Africa. Places like that.”

  “Who told you this?” I asked.

  He seemed as though he didn’t want to answer.

  I knelt down and looked into the sack that Sherman had delivered. I pulled out a parrot. It appeared lifeless.

  “Did you kill that one too?” Scarlett said.

  “Whoa, guys. I didn’t kill anybody. He’s just asleep … kind of. I had to drug him. It didn’t hurt him. But some of these buggers put up a pretty good fight.” He held up his bandaged hands. “As you can see.”

  “Sherman, all the birds you’ve been kidnapping … they were bred in captivity, you know.” I pointed to the cages. “This is the only life they know. They’d never survive in the wild.”

  Sherman seemed puzzled.

  “You wanna know what’s really happening to all these birds?” Henry said.

  “What?”

  “Come on, I’ll show you.”

  We led Sherman into the back room. When he saw the birds that had been stuffed and mounted, he squeezed the sides of his head. He seemed as if he were trying to keep it from exploding.

  “I’m confused,” he said.

  “Who’s paying you to steal these birds?” I asked. “Mr. Olsen?”

  I could tell by Sherman’s expression that the answer was yes.

  “I don’t know his name. He never told me,” Sherman said.

  “You didn’t know that he kills them, stuffs them, and sells them to collectors, did you?” I said.

  Henry picked up the bag and looked inside. “There’s at least half a dozen more in here,” he said. “I always knew you were bad news, Sherman. This confirms it.”

  Sherman shook his head, trying to come up with with a response. “Listen, this is the first time I ever did anything like this.”

  Henry chuckled sarcastically.

  “The first time?” I said. “We saw you the other night. In the field? With your boss, Mr. Olsen? He was dressed up like a woman?”

  Sherman dropped his head. He seemed embarrassed.

  “Why does he do that anyway? Dressing up like that?” Henry said.

  “In case somebody saw us out there,” Sherman said. “He didn’t want anyone to be able to recognize him.” Sherman stared at the stuffed birds. There was a pained expression on his face.

  “Tell me something,” I said. “Why did you bring the birds here this time? Why didn’t you just meet up out in that field like before?”

  “The old man was getting nervous,” Sherman said. “He saw some of the bird stories on TV and in the newspaper. He didn’t want to do anything out in the open anymore.”

  Scarlett approached Sherman. It was almost as if she felt sorry for him.

  “You do understand what you did was wrong, don’t you?” Scarlett said.

  Sherman appeared uneasy. “Listen, I don’t know what this guy plans to do with all these birds, but I swear I thought he was letting them go.”

  I pointed at the stuffed birds all around us. “Doesn’t it seem obvious that he has no plans to release them?” I said.

  “Sherman,” Scarlett said, “why didn’t you ask someone before you agreed to do this? Mrs. Jansen at school, for example. If you had asked her about releasing pet birds into the wild, she could have told you that you can’t do that. It would be a death sentence for them.”

  Henry walked to the corner of the room, picked up a stuffed red-tailed hawk, and carried it over.

  “Did you catch these big ones too?” he asked.

  “No. I don’t know anything about them. I was only supposed to take the fancy-colored ones. Olsen hired a bunch of guys. They bring in birds from all over the state.” Sherman dropped his head. “I can’t believe this. You mean … because of me … they’re all dead?”

  I placed my hand on his shoulder. I had never before gotten this close to Sherman without fearing for my life.

  “First of all, we have to get out of here. Then we have to make sure that these birds get back to their owners. Can you do that?”

  “You’re sure about all of this?” he asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  The expression on his face was one I had never seen before. It wasn’t that familiar without-a-clue look. It was genuine remorse. He actually seemed sorry.

  “Follow me,” Sherman said as he turned from the doorway. He now was on a mission. We followed him out into the basement area. “We’re gettin’ out of here,” he said. “And we’re takin’ these birds with us.”

  “How are we gonna do that?” Henry said. “Look at all of them.”

  “My uncle’s got a truck,” Sherman said. “He’ll help us.”

  But before we could put our plan into action, we were rudely interrupted.

  CHAPTER 14

  The Knight School Caper

  Sherman, what are you doing?” Olsen shouted. At least six-five, no, six-six, he was as wide as he was tall. He was even uglier without the wig and lipstick. He wore a short-sleeved white undershirt and dirty overalls. And he didn’t seem happy to see us. I wondered how much he had heard.

  Sherman stared at Olsen as if he were looking right through him. “You lied to me. You told me you were going to take these birds back to the wild and let ’em go.”

  “What do you care?” Olsen said. “You got paid.”

  “This is all wrong. I don’t want any part of it anymore.”

  “Sherman, what happened to you? Yesterday you were just a big, dumb kid. Now you gotta get smart?”

  “My friends and I are leaving. And we’re takin’ these birds with us,” he announced.

  “I don’t think so,” Olsen replied.

  “I’m not gonna let you kill any more of ’em,” he said.

  As soon as Sherman uttered those words, I knew we were in trouble. All he had to do was play dumb. He had managed to do that every day of his life. Why not today?

  “What are you talking about? I didn’t kill any of them. Look in all these cages. They’re as happy as can be.”

  “I’m not talking about them. I’m talking about the ones in the back room. The stuffed ones.”

  That was it—we were toast now. I admired Sherman for standing up to the old man, but couldn’t he just have said nothing and let us go get help after we got away?

  Olsen moved a couple of steps in our direction. We began to backpedal. He could see into the back room now, and by the look on his face, it was clear that he knew exactly what we had stumbled onto.

  “You nosy brats!” he screamed. “Now you’ve done it. Now I can’t let you go. You had to snoop around. Well, now it’s gonna cost you.”

  “We won’t say anything. We promise,” Scarlett said.

  “Oh, I know that. You won’t be telling anybody anything. You’re gonna stay down here till you rot.”

  “What are you gonna do with us?” Scarlett asked. Her voice was breaking.


  Olsen placed his finger to his lips. “I know. I’m gonna add you to my permanent collection. All of you.” He chuckled and began climbing the stairs, then stopped and turned toward Sherman. “If you’re smart, you’ll change your mind and join me. I could use a partner. You’ll be the richest kid in town.” He pointed to the three of us. “But you gotta help me do something with them first.”

  “No. No way. I’m staying here with my friends. I’m not helping you anymore.”

  “Suit yourself. I’ll be back later tonight. I got a delivery to make. Maybe you’ll come to your senses by then,” he said as he climbed out.

  We heard the cellar doors slam, and the chain slid back into place.

  Scarlett promptly marched up to me. “This is all your fault. You got us in this mess. You better think of some way of getting us out.”

  “I was trying to reunite you with Socrates. And we did that.”

  “Well, you should have thought this thing through a little better.” She began to cry.

  I hated to admit it but she was right. I had underestimated this old guy. I should have listened to Eugene. He knew Olsen was crazy. He knew he was capable of anything.

  Sherman approached Scarlett. “Don’t cry. I didn’t mean to steal your bird. I thought I was doing a good thing.”

  “Let’s not worry about that now. We’ve gotta plan our escape,” I told the others.

  “How are we supposed to get out of here?” Sherman said.

  “I doubt if we can bust out,” I said. “But those doors are gonna open again—when he comes back to deliver some of these birds—that’s when we put our plan into action.”

  “What plan?” Scarlett asked.

  “That’s the part I haven’t figured out yet,” I said.

  She rolled her eyes.

  “One thing I do know—when he comes back, we have to be ready for him. We gotta look around this place—cover every inch of it. Search for anything we might be able to use as a weapon. There’s four of us and only one of him.”

  “Don’t forget the birds,” Sherman said. “Socrates and the other birds could help. They could attack him or something.”

  That was just the way we needed to be thinking. We quickly spread out and began our hunt. We had to find something. We just had to. I glanced at the others and felt a hollowness in my chest. I just couldn’t let anything happen to these people. Scarlett had lashed out at me more than once but she had every right to. I should have listened to her grandpa and Eugene and stayed away from here. But, no, I’d wanted a taste of the big score.

  I sat down, away from the others, and tried to concentrate. I wondered what Sam Solomon would have done in this situation. He usually found himself trapped somewhere in each episode—and he always managed to wriggle free. Yeah, like in Episode #13—The Knight School Caper—Sam was hired to find a fencing instructor who had disappeared. When Sam found himself too close to the truth, he was captured and left for dead in a walk-in restaurant freezer. Had he given up, he would surely have frozen to death. But not Sam Solomon. He immediately located the freezer’s main compressor and disconnected it. Once the freezer shut down, it triggered an alarm that warned the restaurant owner that the freezer had failed. When workmen arrived to service the unit, Sam was able to escape.

  I needed to come up with something just like that. Think, Charlie, think. But the more I did, the more I realized it was foolish. Sam Solomon was fiction. This was real. Sam always escaped. He had to. How else would the series have continued? This time it was up to me. And unless I came up with something, and fast, this might be our final chapter.

  We decided to split up and conduct a thorough search of the area. After nearly half an hour, all we had managed to come up with was a dirty pair of sneakers, a broken lightbulb, some oily rags, a plunger, an old Mason jar, a sack of birdseed, some rope, and a garden hose.

  “What good is any of this stuff?” Scarlett said. “We can’t break out of here with this junk.”

  Scarlett was right. This was junk. I stared at each item hoping for some inspiration. I tried to imagine how we might combine one thing with another and create a weapon of some kind. But nothing was clicking.

  “Well, I guess we could at least hook up that hose and blast Olsen with it when he comes back,” I said. I looked around for a water source. I pointed to a sink on the far wall. “There’s a faucet right over there.”

  “You’re going to spray him with water? Now, that’d really hurt him,” Scarlett said sarcastically.

  “Well, I think it’s worth a shot,” I said. It felt good to have a plan. It seemed to give some of the others hope, but was it enough? A jet of water might startle him enough to buy us a few seconds, but we needed something else—we needed some sort of chaos. Some organized confusion. I thought hard for several seconds. Nothing was popping into my head. These people were counting on me. Come on, brain, kick in … please! And then something hit me. I thought about what Sherman had said earlier. “Don’t forget the birds. Maybe they could help.” Maybe they could at that.

  “I just got another idea,” I said. “When Olsen comes down to pick up the stuffed birds, we let him have it with the water. Then, get this, we open up all the cages and release the birds. Talk about chaos—it’ll be mass confusion down here. And it might just give us enough time to slip out.”

  I was waiting for Scarlett to dismiss this idea as well, but instead she seemed to be staring off into space.

  “Hold on, I’ve got an even better idea,” she said.

  “Oh, I can hardly wait to hear it,” Henry said.

  She picked up the bag of birdseed from the floor. “After we hit him with water, and after we release the birds, we toss this at him.” She dug into the bag and pulled out a handful of seed.

  “Birdseed?” Henry chuckled. “Now, that’ll deliver a lethal blow for sure.”

  Scarlett glared at Henry. “Do you mind if I finish?” She sighed and composed herself. “Since Olsen will be soaking wet, the birdseed will stick right to him. And what do you suppose our little flying friends will do?”

  I tried to picture the scenario that Scarlett had described. It was a great idea. No, make that a brilliant idea. “It’s perfect,” I said. “The birds’ll head right for him.”

  “Dinner is served,” Sherman said with a wide grin. It was the first time I had ever known him to make a joke.

  “And that should give us just enough time to get away,” I said. “Scarlett, I gotta hand it to you. You’re starting to think like a real P.I.” I turned to Henry. “What do you think?”

  “I guess we can try it,” Henry said. “What have we got to lose?” Under the circumstances, it was about as much of a compliment as Henry was willing to pay—considering it was Scarlett’s idea.

  “Hey,” Sherman said. “You guys gotta let me man the hose. It’s my fault we’re all here. I want some payback.”

  “Then it’s a plan,” I said. “Henry and Scarlett, why don’t you unhook the doors on the birdcages now, but don’t open ’em yet. I’ll wait by the cellar door. When I hear Olsen, I’ll give you a cue. That’s when you fling open those cage doors and release the troops. After that, it’s your turn, Sherman. Turn that nozzle and let him have it. Then Henry and Scarlett can run up and cover him in birdseed.” I needed to appear confident. If something bad was going to happen, at least we were about to give it our best shot. “We can do this, guys. You’ll see.”

  The others appeared confident, but each of us knew the danger ahead. I shuffled over to the cellar door and waited. The more time passed, the quieter it got. None of us was in the mood for chatter. I could sense that with every minute we waited for Olsen to return, the more nervous we got. I decided to engage in conversation just to ease the tension.

  “Hey, Sherman,” I said. “Tell me something. When you were breaking into places to steal these birds, how come it never looked like you were breaking in? ’Cause—let me tell you—I personally checked both doors at the barber shop. There were no
signs of tampering. It was almost as if you had a key.”

  Sherman smiled. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of tiny tools. “I used these,” he said.

  I scooted over to take a look. I had never seen a set of tools like these before. There were at least a half dozen of them. Each one was about six inches long with a black rubberized handle. On the other end of each tool, there was a thin metal shaft with a bent tip small enough to slide into a lock. A couple of them had metal tips that actually resembled keys.

  “The old man showed me how to pick a lock with these things. They worked like a charm.”

  And then I remembered something that Eugene had said in the barber shop the other day. It was all starting to make sense. One of Olsen’s previous occupations was a locksmith. It was the perfect cover. With locksmith tools, you could enter a business clean as a whistle, make your heist, and walk away undetected.

  “You won’t be using them anymore, right?” I said.

  “Heck, no.” Sherman said. And he seemed sincere. “I don’t ever plan on—”

  Sherman stopped in mid-sentence. There had been a sound at the door above.

  “It’s showtime,” I said. “Places, everyone.”

  Henry and Scarlett sprinted to the cages, threw open the doors, and began releasing the birds. Sherman ran over to the sink and turned on the faucet. I had to credit him with a brilliant suggestion. He decided that the water jet would be even more effective if we used the coldest water possible. Not only would it surprise Olsen, it would stun him as well. And Sherman was right. He repositioned himself on the floor in the middle of the cellar so as not to be seen right away. He fingered the nozzle on the hose. He seemed to be looking forward to this little altercation. Scarlett huddled in a far corner. I ran over and turned off the overhead light. It was dark. No, it was black. I held out my hand about six inches in front of my face. I couldn’t see a thing.

  I soon heard the chains being pulled from under the door handles. Moments later the cellar doors opened. Before anyone appeared, a familiar voice was calling out to us.