Shirley Link & The Party Poopers Read online

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  For Nathan, Jennifer, Maille and Ingrid Fox, who are anything but party poopers

  Shirley Link & The Party Poopers

  Copyright © 2015 by Ben Zackheim

  Cover by: Robin Hoffman

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means including photocopying, recording, or information storage and retrieval without permission in writing from the author.

  Book Websites

  amazon.com/author/benzackheim

  Write to the author at:

  [email protected]

  Chapter 1

  Everyone loves my mom. She's fair, stern but kind, and she makes brownies that sell out at every bake sale. But I have to say, she's never been good with large groups of people. Don't get me wrong. In her job as a police officer she could charm a room full of crooks before arresting them. But when it comes to things like speeches, well, she's not in her element. The crowd is especially big today as the town enjoys the Iron Bridge Dinner. It's an annual party where most of Shelburne Falls shows up at our bridge to eat a meal together.

  "So, uh, YEAH! Okay!" my mom says. "Thank you, councilman. Thanks to uh, to uh..." She wants to thank her sister, my Aunt Patty, but it looks like she's forgotten her name.

  "Patty," Patty mutters. She's shaking her head and smiling, teeth clenched like she just sat on a cold toilet seat.

  Poor Aunt Patty.

  Poor Mom! The town is recognizing her for her service to the community. She raised $25,000 for a fund to restore the Mohawk Trail, which is this beautiful path that runs around our town. She came up with the idea of a music fair fundraiser last summer. No one thought it would come to much. But when she asked a really popular band called The Nields to play, they said yes.

  (Which freaked out my friend Wiley, because he has a huge crush on the Nields sisters. He started testing out colognes which was disturbing on several levels.)

  So after they said yes, that opened the floodgates and before we knew it we had a free venue and five bands performing for the cause.

  My Aunt Patty nominated Mom to get the annual Community Service award. Everyone is surprised she won, though. The last few years' awards have been given to my friend Jacob's dad, J.L. Graham who, apparently, has as much charm as his son. Meaning not much at all. I mean, the man has never shown up to receive the award. He's a billionaire. I guess he likes his privacy.

  I'm fascinated by J.L. Graham. His family has lived in the area for two hundred years. They've always enjoyed a lot of support from the community, even when the Graham family hit hard times. If I remember right, J.L.'s mom died young and his dad had a reputation for hating everyone. J.L. had to stay with friends for months at a time while his dad got carted off to jail. Just a bunch of small crimes. But they added up to a life that doesn't sound like much of a life. J.L. worked hard to put that behind him. He built up his empire from nothing.

  Speak of the devil! Well, speak of the devil's son, I see my friend Jacob on the other side of the crowd. He's what many people would call handsome, but I would call dastardly. What can I say? I just know him too well. I guess the fact we met because he kidnapped me makes it hard to be objective. I gesture for him to come over, but he just slouches his shoulders and walks away.

  Weird. I probably did something to offend him. Like getting an A to his A-. Or maybe I beat him to school one day this week. He's competitive that way. Hey, I said he's a friend. I didn't say I like him all the time.

  Mom's finished her speech, Thank Thor. That was painful.

  "Hi sweety," she says to me, coming off the stage.

  "Hi, Mom."

  "That was a disaster," she says, the smile not breaking from her face. She doesn't really have a problem messing up. She usually thinks it's funny.

  "It was your worst yet," I say, giving her a hug. She laughs even more. Before I know it, she and I are taking Aunt Patty to Moe's for something sweet.

  "I still feel bad for forgetting your name, Patty." Mom is sipping a lemonade while her two favorite girls enjoy ice cream.

  "Stop it," Aunt Patty says.

  "It could happen to anyone," I add.

  "Sure. Anyone who drops 127 IQ points when she speaks in front of more than three people," Aunt Patty finishes, with a smile and a wink.

  "Congratulations, Mrs. Link," a voice says from the table behind me. It's Jacob. He has his moping face on.

  "Why, thank you Jacob!" Mom says. "We finally broke your father's impressive run. Actually, I think the bridge repairs he paid for were more worthy of the honor."

  "No, not at all, Mrs. Link. My dad could use a few more losses in his life."

  Uh-oh. He's in a mood and a half.

  "Excuse me," I say, getting up from the table. I'm going to get to the bottom of this. "Jacob, would you walk with me for a minute?" Mom and Aunt Patty look at each other and use some kind of weird silent language that only siblings understand. I think Mom thought, "Wonder what's going on here!" and Aunt Patty thought back, "Best to stay out of this one, Mrs. Link!"

  Jacob follows me outside. We stroll toward the bridge.

  "What?" he asks. Or whines. Depending on how you look at it. He has his hands in his pocket and his whole body screams leave me alone.

  "Did someone steal your Cheerios this morning?" I ask.

  "What's that supposed to mean?" He darts out from between his slouched shoulders like an angry rooster.

  "You look like your spoiling for a fight with the whole world," I say. "And you congratulated my mom back there. No way would Jacob ever do that. Jacob does not congratulate anyone, anytime, ever, never."

  "Maybe Jacob is changing. Did Shirley ever think of that?"

  "Shirley has not thought of that," I say, running with the fun new game of Refer to Yourself in the Third Person.

  "Maybe she should. Maybe after all these months of nagging Jacob to be normal have finally paid off for Shirley."

  "Shirley hasn't been trying to make Jacob normal," I say. "Shirley has been trying to make Jacob not a felon."

  "Maybe Jacob wants Shirley to mind her own business!"

  We glare at each other.

  "Maybe Marie and Wylie should capture this Instagram moment," Wylie says from a bench on the sidewalk. Marie is sitting next to him. They both grin like they just won a million dollars on a game show. I didn't see them there.

  "Jacob is acting weird," I say, jerking my thumb at him.

  "Shirley is acting normal, which is to say she's irritating and making a perfectly nice gesture on my part into a crime."

  "You were nice to someone?" Wylie and Marie ask at the same time. They laugh. I try not to. I don't want to pile on Jacob. I just want him to tell me why he's so mopey!

  "Very funny. Nice talking to you three," he says as he walks off.

  "I'm here to help if you need it, Jacob," I call out after him. He stops walking, doesn't quite turn around and then starts walking again.

  "Boy, he's crabby," Wylie says.

  Suddenly, Mom pops out of Moe's. She's on her cell phone and has that urgent walk I know so well. It looks like the police have a new problem on their hands.

  I'm about to stick my nose in her business when I hear a honk up the street.

  "Who's that?" Marie asks. She points up the hill. A shiny red Chevy pickup truck that I don't
recognize has stopped next to Jacob.

  New Hampshire license plates.

  Fresh from the car wash. Maybe even just off the sales floor.

  Jacob's body language screams discomfort. Whoever is in that truck is not a friend. So I'm surprised when the driver leans over and pushes the passenger door open. Jacob climbs in.

  "Jacob," I say, not loud enough. He doesn't hear me. Or he ignores me. "Jacob!" I yell. He slams the door shut.

  The truck peels off and roars up the hill, out of sight.

  Chapter 2

  I just called Jacob's cell but he didn't pick up. That means he's either in trouble or he's ignoring me. Either way I'm determined to find out what's going on with him, and who that truck belongs to.

  Marie, Wylie and I are biking up Maple Street. A few people wave as we pass. They're on their way back from the Iron Bridge dinner. I do my best to wave back or at least give them a friendly look. Of course, my friendly look is like a nauseous kitty face according to Marie, but I try anyway. What can I say? I'm small-talk deficient.

  But Jacob's even worse. In fact, he takes pointers from me on how to behave around other people. Why can't I have a normal conversation with him? Even a boring five minutes would be welcome. But he seems to always be in an argument with his family. He likes to tell me all about it if I'm in earshot. I always listen, of course, but it's hard to sympathize when most of the family fights are about some silly competition.

  There's always some kind of game going on around the Graham household. From what I can tell, dad works hard to makes sure Jacob and his siblings are always divided against each other. My favorite was the "Who can bake the best cupcakes?" contest (where Mr. Graham was the judge, jury and mixecutioner). Or maybe it was "Who can name every country on the planet?"

  But there's one thing Jacob told me about his dad that's always stuck with me.

  He works eighty hours a week! He's CEO of i-History, a web company that helps people find their ancestry. I know his dad's job drives Jacob crazy because he tells me they used to have a lot of fun together before his mom died.

  "There's the truck," Marie says, puffing hard from the tough hill we just climbed. I follow her gaze. A shiny truck bumper is visible between two trees. It's parked in Mrs. Hoffman's private driveway. She runs her bed and breakfast in the warm months. It looks like the guy who picked up Jacob may be her customer.

  "You guys mind staying here?" I pose it as a question to avoid an argument with them. Odds are that, at any given time, one of them will put up a fight over any little thing. Keeps me on my toes.

  "Aw, come on. Why? I want to go with you," Wylie says, suspicious.

  "It's Jacob," is all I have to say. My friends know how complex Jacob can be. They know I'm the one who knows how to handle him best. "If there's trouble, then I'll need you near this truck."

  Wylie likes the idea of guarding something. He folds his arms across his chest and does his Superman pose.

  "You got it," he says in an uncomfortably low voice.

  "I don't like it," Marie says. "What if the guy who picked him up is dangerous?"

  "Then I'll need you to trip him up when I spray him with this." I pull out my pepper spray and wink.

  She eyes me with that Marie look. The one that's meant to show me that she's as sharp as I am. "I'll be on the porch if you need me."

  "Thanks Marie."

  I hop off my bike and knock on the door. Mrs. Hoffman answers. She's a kind lady, always quick with a smile. But at the moment she looks pretty mad.

  "Hi, Mrs. Hoffman. Everything okay?"

  She glances over her shoulder and leans forward to whisper, "It will be in two days. He should be gone by then." I peek into her home and see a tall, young man in his early twenties sitting in a comfy chair. He wears a Southern New Hampshire University sweatshirt and he's drumming on his knees with his palms, lip-syncing to music only he can hear on his headphones. He's really into it. His eyes are closed tight. He doesn't care what people think about him.

  Jacob is sitting across from him, arms crossed.

  Mrs. Hoffman stands aside to let me in.

  "Sorry, Shirley," she says. "Welcome. Come in. But don't expect to have a moment's peace." She walks past the guest and goes into the kitchen.

  "Hi," I say to Jacob. Headphones Guy has no idea I'm even here.

  "What do you want?" Jacob asks.

  "I saw you get into a truck I didn't recognize. I was worried about you."

  "I'm fine." He leaves it at that. After a few seconds pass I try to sit down in the chair next to Headphone Guy, but it takes three attempts to get past his gyrations.

  "Is he your brother?" I ask.

  "How did you know that?" Jacob mutters.

  I shrug. "Lucky guess," I say. But they look so much alike that it's not even a question. Tall, strong build, brown, wavy hair. Must be a strong gene in the Graham family.

  Here's my best guess about what's going on here. This brother, fresh out of college and trying to decide what to do with his life drives home in his truck. He has a University of New Hampshire sweatshirt on. He's either a graduate or in his last year if I'm reading his age right. He stops by to grace the family with his presence. Jacob can't stand him and this guy strikes me as someone who delights in annoying people, so he likes to rib Jacob as much as possible. That would explain Jacob's body language when the truck pulled up next to him.

  Jacob sees a chance to play a game, so he brightens a little bit. "What are you thinking? You think you know what's going on here?" He crosses his arms. I shrug. "Okay. Fine," he says. "Go ahead."

  I tell him everything I just deduced. With each sentence his posture shrinks. Looks like I'm mostly right.

  When I'm done, Jacob grumbles, "He didn't just drop by. He's here for a family party."

  It's not lost on me that we've been talking for a couple of minutes and the brother is so into his music that he still has no idea I'm sitting right next to him. He's in his own world and appears to be listening to One Direction with an intensity that makes me want to pull out my cell phone camera and enjoy a few minutes of YouTube fame.

  Wylie knocks on the door. He puts some muscle into it, shaking the whole front portion of the house.

  "Come in!" Mrs. Hoffman yells as she emerges from the kitchen with a tray of lemonade. It has six glasses on it, which means she saw Wylie and Marie outside. Nothing gets past Mrs. Hoffman.

  Wylie and Marie immediately spot the new guy.

  "Who's that?" Wylie asks, with an irritated tone.

  "Jacob's brother," I say.

  "Ah, I see the similarities, yeah," Marie says. Jacob sighs heavily.

  "What's your brother's name," I ask. I'm not really surprised he's never told me his name. When he talks about his family it's in a kind of distant way. As if he's talking about someone else's life.

  "Most people call him, Eric," Jacob says.

  "Most people?" Wylie asks.

  "I call him other things."

  "Lemonade?" Mrs. Hoffman offers, changing the subject.

  Which is when Eric decides to open his eyes.

  "AAAHHH!"

  He leaps from the couch, banging his head on a lamp. We try not to laugh. I guess it would be startling to close your eyes when there's only one other person in the room, and then open them to find five people staring at you.

  He throws his headphones to the ground.

  "What's the deal, man?" he screams.

  "It's not their fault you zoned out, Eric," Jacob says.

  "Shut up, Jacob," Eric says pointing at him.

  "What did you say to him?" Wylie growls. He takes a threatening step toward Eric. Weird. Wylie doesn't even like Jacob.

  "Not in my home, you two," Mrs. Hoffman says calmly.

  I put my hand out to Eric. "I'm Shirley."

  Eric looks at my hand like I just pulled it from a toilet. "Shirley?" he says. "Who names their kid, Shirley?"

  Wylie takes another (bigger) step at Prince Charming here. I hold him back
with a Don't-You-Dare face.

  Eric backs up to the stairs and smirks with enough attitude to make me lose all faith in humanity. He leaps up, three steps at a time.

  "Seems like a nice guy," Marie says with a big, fake smile.

  "Two days I've tolerated him," Mrs. Hoffman says. "Are you sure you can't put him up in your 50 room mansion, Jacob?"

  "Dad won't let him stay in his old room until he gets a job. And we have, like, seventy other relatives in town for The Birthweek."

  Oh yeah, "The Birthweek". I forgot about that. The Birthweek is what Jacob calls his father's humongous birthday event. Every relative within a thousand miles shows up at the Graham estate for five days and nights of competitions, contests and, on the last night, fireworks.

  "First event is at 3 o'clock," he continues. "The busses of Grahams are arriving at my house as we speak."

  "Is there anything we can do?" I ask.

  "You could kidnap Eric and send him to Greenland."

  "Funny," I say. Except it isn't. Jacob would have been capable of doing just that only a few months ago. The last thing I want is for this jerky brother to undo all the progress we've made with my friend.

  "No, I'll be okay," he says, standing. "I'll just take my medicine and buck up and all that stuff my dad likes to say. ERIC!"

  "YO!" The voice shoots through the house and makes everyone wince.

  "Let's go!" Jacob walks out the front door.

  We hear running footsteps upstairs and then watch in horror as Eric leaps onto the old wood banister and slides. He almost reaches the bottom but the rail breaks under his weight and he falls onto the carpeted entryway. He scrambles to his feet and tries to look cool.

  Mrs. Hoffman just stands there, wide-eyed.

  "My dad will handle it," Eric says. He's about to walk out the door. But he turns and says, "You're lucky I don't sue you, Mrs. Hoffman. You really should secure that thing." He winks and smiles, closing the door hard enough to shake the house.

  We all watch her go to the door. No one knows what to say.

  She waits for the Grahams to drive off, then climbs the steps.

  "Where are you going, Mrs. Hoffman?" Wylie asks.