Shirley Link & The Party Poopers Read online

  He slows down even more. Marie rolls her eyes at me and I shrug. We know Jacob well enough to let him sulk when he needs to sulk.

  I'm admiring the massive, ancient white oak and sycamore trees when I notice security cameras peeking out at us from their branches, arranged in just the right way to perfectly capture every possible path to the house.

  But I also notice something else.

  A human form is perched in a nearby tree.

  It's a big person, too. Definitely an adult. I squint to see what he's doing and notice a reflection of light flash from his hand.

  CLINK

  Something metallic just hit the cobblestones in front of us.

  "What was that?" Marie asks.

  "Get down!" I yell and push Marie behind a tree. Jacob follows.

  "OUCH!" he cries, grasping his thigh.

  "Someone's shooting from the tree near the top of the hill," I say, trying to keep my voice calm. "How bad is it, Jacob?"

  "It hurts but it's just a BB gun. Eric, probably."

  "You're telling me that your brother is in a tree with a BB gun," Marie fumes. "Shooting at family members who pass by."

  "No, I'm telling you that it's my brother in the tree with a BB gun, shooting me when I pass by. He'd shoot my other brother. My sister too. But they both have college as an excuse to skip the festivities. I just... forgot that he'd probably be there waiting for me."

  "That's it! I've had it," Marie yells and she walks out into the open.

  "Marie!" I call out.

  But she's not listening. She's storming off toward Eric's tree.

  "YOU! DOWN! NOW!" she shouts at Eric.

  I can hear that Eric is still shooting at Jacob as another BB bounces off the walkway near our tree. I think I also hear him cackling.

  Marie has worked her way to the tree and now she's climbing it.

  "Hey! Off!" Eric cries. But she keeps on climbing until she disappears into the thick branches. The next thing we see is Eric falling from his perch.

  Jacob and I run to the scene of the crime and find his brother lying on the ground. He's fine. In fact, he's laughing. Marie, high above us, dangles her feet from his former perch. She looks like she just ate a lemon.

  "I surrender!" Eric says, laughing. "You three are too crazy for me."

  "Why were you near my house earlier?" I ask. Yes, I know that's not the first question most people would ask after being shot at. But in my experience, the out-of-the-blue questions throw people off. They make it harder to lie.

  "I wasn't," Eric says, without hesitation. He's a professional liar. Not surprising.

  "You were. I yelled at you."

  "Oh! That was you! I was looking for items on the scavenger hunt list."

  "Give it to me," I say.

  "What?"

  "The list. Give it to me."

  "Ooooo, or else what, tough girl?"

  "Eric, just put it in my hand," I say, throwing out my best Mom voice. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a cell phone.

  "Password," I say.

  "I'm not giving you my password," he says back, with a nasty tone. I notice he still has his University of New Hampshire sweatshirt on. I type in Wildcats with no success. That's his school's athletic team. I try W1ldc4t5. I get in.

  "Hey!" he yells, seeing that I cracked his password within 10 seconds. I ignore him and start walking toward the house again. There are 72 items on the list.

  Number 34 is a trophy.

  When I emerge from my thoughts, I realize that Eric, Jacob and Marie are now following me and we've reached the house.

  "All the items have been checked off in the treasure hunt app," I say out loud, but not loud enough for anyone to hear me. That means everyone has their single raffle ticket to win J.L.'s $25,000.

  I stand at the door, unsure of what to do. Yeah, it's not like me to be stuck. I know. But my head is packed at the moment. I export the treasure hunt list as a pdf and send it to my email.

  "What are you waiting for?" Eric asks. He slides past me and swings the doors open to reveal the most spectacular entryway I've ever seen. It's like walking into the Metropolitan Museum in New York City. The ceiling is about 30 feet high. A massive staircase, with steps that span the whole space leads up to a second floor where a few dozen people mill about under a chandelier the size of my bedroom. They're decked out in nice clothes and make for quite a picture. It's a scene out of a romantic film until everyone goes quiet and looks down at us. Then it's like a horror movie.

  "Hello creepy people," Marie says.

  "Hi," I say. But no one responds.

  Eric is walking up the steps, twirling his BB gun and chuckling at his Eric-y thoughts.

  Jacob moves ahead of me and climbs the steps. He glances over his shoulder.

  "You coming?" he asks.

  Marie and I share a look, then follow. Every foot fall on the marble steps echoes. No one is speaking. I feel as welcome as a stomach flu at the moment. But why?

  "Jacob, Jr. You know this party is for family only," an elderly woman who smells of three and a half gallons of Chanel #5 perfume scolds as we pass by. There's my answer to why everyone is looking at us like that. So the next mystery is where Jacob is taking me. Did he intend to get me here all along?

  Wait.

  Something is off here. I'm not sure what it is, but the crowd is setting off a thousand alarms. Yes, they're all looking at me like I have seven heads, but that's not it. I try to figure out what's bugging me when I spot a tall, thin man with graying hair and a thin beard. I've seen his picture in magazines before. I've always wanted to meet him.

  J.L. Graham.

  Born Jack Logsdon Graham. A self-made billionaire who makes his fortune with a web company that uncovers the ancestry of millions of people. He's come a long way from being the son of a man who spent more time in jail than out of it.

  "This must be Shirley Link," he says, his eyes not moving from mine as he takes three long strides toward us. His voice is low, confident. Like Jacob's when he's in a good mood. But he also strikes me as a tired man. His eyes are puffy and look weird. Kind of like... Yeah, he's wearing eye makeup to cover the bags under his eyes. I guess the 80 hour work weeks Jacob told me about are taking their toll.

  "Guys, this is my dad."

  I reach my hand out first and he takes it firmly. I can't match his strength but I do my best. He doesn't acknowledge Marie at all, which is a big mistake on his part. Marie does not like to be ignored.

  "I'm Shirley's faithful sidekick, Chucky," Marie says, holding out her hand. Mr. Graham gets the hint and offers up a smile. He shakes her hand.

  "You must be Marie," he says. She's suddenly charmed and answers him with a nod. "Are you two on a case?" he asks. The other guests realize that Mr. Graham is okay with us being here. They've started up their own conversations again. But a few of them lean forward, trying to eavesdrop. Especially Eric. He seems irritated that his dad is so interested in talking to us. "I'd love to hear all about it," Mr. Graham continues, as if he doesn't realize that the whole room is hanging on his every move. "I gather you have a real talent for seeing the big picture, Link."

  Link? He just called me Link. That's rude. I get distracted by his eyes. After he said "big picture" they darted to the ceiling. I follow his stare to the beautiful chandelier over our heads. It's the grandest thing I've ever seen. Its bright crystal reflects a hypnotic blanket of light across the ceiling and the floor directly underneath. It takes effort to pull my eyes from its shine.

  "No, sir," I say, finding my train of thought. And being more polite. "No case. We're just bringing Jacob home."

  He looks down on his son who pretends to be watching something on a balcony above us. "Does Jacob require an escort?" Mr. Graham says. "I can't imagine why he'd be out when the party is right here."

  When it becomes obvious that his father demands an answer, Jacob says, "It's more fun to hide in Marie's bathroom, actually."

  "Well, we'll be going," I say quic
kly. "We don't want to interrupt your party." I'm also antsy to take my new information, and this scavenger hunt list, to the police. But I'm not going to tell him that part.

  Mr. Graham's brow tightens. "Oh, come now, you've just arrived."

  "It looks like it's relatives only," I say. I'm leading him into giving me some information. I hope.

  "It's all relative, right?" Eric says, delighted by his own wit.

  "Actually," Mr. Graham injects, "It's all alphabetical."

  Okay.

  Mr. Graham raises an arm as if to present his entire house to us. "Come," he says. "Jacob can show you around. Go ahead, Junior."

  Junior? The nickname does not amuse Jacob at all. His face is red.

  So, of course, Eric laughs so loud that half the party stops talking. "HE'S TURNING RED!" Eric yells. He laughs again, but it's one of those forced laughs that no one believes is real.

  "Shut up, Eric," Mr. Graham says with enough venom to wilt a tree. I think I just got a peek at the boss who runs a billion dollar business. My heart is beating fast.

  Eric's face falls and he shuffles off. I'd expect Jacob to take some pleasure from his brother's humiliation. But instead he sulks away, too.

  "I'll show you the house," he mumbles. I follow him.

  "It's good to finally meet you, Link," Mr. Graham says. "I've followed your short career closely." I'm not sure what he's getting at but I stop and take a quick look at him. I only need a second to gather some good data for future examination.

  Expensive suit.

  A tidy beard.

  A watch that gleams on his wrist. It has multiple faces.

  At least two cell phones. One in his hand. One weighs down his jacket's chest pocket.

  Eyes wet and trying hard to stay focused. Exhausted.

  Faking every smile he can muster.

  The neatness tells me he likes order. The watch just says he does business around the world. The multiple cell phones mean he has a lot going on at once.

  The exhaustion is consistent with how hard he's known to work.

  Wait a second. I think I know what's been bugging me since I arrived. Everyone here is arranged in a really weird way. The guests are lined up in one area as if they're making a wall around something. The other grouping of Grahams is surrounding J.L. in a perfect half circle.

  "Please stop smiling like that, Shirley," Marie whispers. "You're not fooling anybody."

  "I didn't realize I was smiling," I say, smiling.

  I nod at Mr. Graham and turn to follow his son. I feel like I've just taken some kind of test. And failed.

  ***

  The house is beautiful. I've always assumed Mr. Graham was the benefactor who gave my school a million bucks to build The Scriptorium, as I call our incredible school library. This mansion's style proves that I'm right. It looks a lot like our library.

  Deep red wood, likely mahogany or cherry, lines every doorway. Light sconces on the walls illuminate the walls perfectly, casting a warm glow over everything and everyone. The entry way may be grand, but the rest of the house feels like a cozy home. It just happens to be a cozy home with 50-plus rooms.

  "And that's the door to the indoor swimming pool," Jacob mumbles, jabbing his thumb as if he'd just told me the most boring thing he could think of. It makes sense that he's not as impressed by his father's wealth as everyone else, but he shows a disdain for every room we pass through. It's like he considers the house his enemy. That doesn't bode well for the house. Too bad. I'd like to spend some time here. A place like this must have a lot of history. And mystery.

  "It's so quiet," Marie says. It's true. We can't hear the party at all, even though it's only a few rooms away. Our feet hit the carpet in complete silence. The walls must be sound-proofed. My ears have that dull feeling to them, as if the house itself is plugging them.

  "Everything is sound-proof," Jacob mutters.

  "Better to hide your secrets in," Eric says from behind us, as if he's just read my mind. I didn't know he was following us.

  "Shut up, Eric," Jacob says.

  "Better to hide your treasures in!" Eric says, louder, digging at his brother's patience.

  Jacob storms off. He turns a corner in the hall. I run to catch up, but I'm surprised to find he's nowhere to be seen. He must have slipped through one of the six doors ahead.

  But I see no clues to tell me which one he used.

  "Looks like I touched a nerve," Eric says with a sneer. I glare at him.

  "Yeah, you're good at that," Marie hisses. "What's the deal? Why don't you leave him alone?"

  "Where's the fun in that?"

  "You're a creep." Marie walks past him, headed back the way we came. I follow her, but not before looking back at Eric.

  "Secrets and treasures!" he yells.

  Eric is acting just like every other member of the Graham family I've ever met. He wants to play a game of wits. I think he knows what's going on around here and he knows I'm on the lookout for clues. So he's giving me some. He's challenging me to go down a certain path. But why? I guess I can figure that out later. After I follow his clues to the end. Sure, it's probably a trap. But being friends with Jacob has been one big trap.

  ***

  We rushed out of the mansion the same way we entered. Mrs. Garcia demanded a detailed report on what the house is like. I don't think we disappointed her. She dropped Marie off at their house and now she's driving me home. I text Jacob...

  Does your dad have camera security in the house?

  I wait for a minute. I notice Marie's mom glance at me. She smiles. It's one of those Worried Mom looks, though. As if she's trying to think of a way to talk to my parents about the weird things I yank her daughter into.

  My phone buzzes. Message from Jacob.

  Serious question? Cameras everywhere.

  Yeesh, Jacob. I'm just asking. He's really acting like the old, angry Jacob these days. I can't say or do anything without him snapping at me. I type...

  I need to get back into your house.

  I stare at the screen for a minute. He doesn't respond. I put my cell phone away and close my eyes to clear my head.

  "Here we are," Mrs. Garcia says.

  "Thanks very much." I get out of the car.

  "Shirley?" she says before I close the door.

  "Yes, Mrs. Garcia?"

  "Are you okay?"

  I think about it for a second. "I'm just worried about a friend," I answer, before closing the door, smiling my best friendly smile which, from the looks of it, doesn't work on Mrs. Garcia. At all.

  Chapter 7

  Baking is good for the nerves, and good for solving cases. It's a trick my mom taught me. A few years ago there was a robbery in the neighboring town of Conway and she solved the case over a batch of blueberry muffins. She says baking helps because it forces your brain to patiently focus, warms up the room, activates your sense of smell and then you get a treat at the end! With all of those forces at work within a short period you can expect some part of the brain to come up with solutions to problems, new ideas and maybe the meaning of life.

  Though I think she made up the meaning of life part.

  I'm mixing the dough for some white chocolate cookies while Marie protects the first batch from Wylie, who cannot be trusted with this stuff. At all.

  "Just a bite," Wylie says.

  "Yeah, I'm going to let you take just a bite and then put the cookie back on the tray," I say. "You know me so well, Wylie."

  "You know what I mean," he whines. "One bite, one cookie, like."

  The other thing baking does very well is it distracts Wylie from his missing trophy. My plan is working.

  "His bites are big," I say to Marie. "He could take down a whole cookie in one try."

  "Don't give him anything, Shirley," she answers. "You give him a cookie, he takes a refrigerator."

  "Hey!" Wylie says.

  "Oh, I'm kidding," Marie says. "Here." She splits a cookie in two. He eats his half in one bite and lets out a weird sa
tisfied grunt. It's like his stomach is trying to compliment my baking because he's too lazy to use words.

  When he looks up from his sugar trance he sees us staring at him. "What can I do for you, ladies?" he asks. We roll our eyes.

  My cell phone rings.

  "Hello?"

  "Hi Shirley." It's Jacob.

  "Hey Jacob. What's up? You feeling better?"

  Marie looks at me, interested. Wylie takes advantage of the distraction and reaches for another cookie. She slaps his hand.

  "Come over," he says. "I'll meet you at the graveyard near my house."

  "Are you taking me to..."

  "Just do what I say, Shirley."

  He hangs up.

  "What did he say?" Marie asks.

  "We're going to meet Jacob," I say, leaving through the kitchen's screen door.

  "We should bring some cookies!" Wylie calls out.

  The three of us wander around the graveyard while we wait. It's on the western edge of the Graham estate. I left those texts with Jacob hoping he'd get the hint and invite me back. I'm relieved he's cooperating. If I'm going to get to the bottom of this mystery, I'll need his help. I need to see if I can figure out what Eric was trying to tell me last night. It may be nothing, but knowing how the Graham family likes to play games, I think it's worth checking out.

  "There's a whole row of Grahams here," Wylie says, surveying the gravestones.

  "I think this is where a lot of Grahams are buried," I say.

  "I never understood why people do that," he grumbles. "I mean why bury yourselves near family? It's not like you're going to be able to hang out and chat for all of eternity."

  "How do you know?" Marie asks.

  Uh-oh. We're going to have one of these talks. Marie is a big believer in things you can't touch with your five senses. Instinct, ghosts, things like that. Wylie is open-minded, but when it comes to death he has very strong views.

  I'd usually side with Wylie on this kind of argument. I'll need to see evidence of ghosts and the afterlife before I'll believe in it. But I'm staying out of this discussion. I try to catch Marie's attention with a small wave. I think she'd better back off and let Wylie be. But she's focused on him and his shoulders have risen in that special way they do when he's on the defensive.