Stalk, Don't Run

  As we hurried to rear of the store, George pointed to the floor. “Look!” she said.

  I glanced down and gulped. Leading straight to the refrigerator door were footprints. Bloody footprints!

  We walked around the footprints and approached the door. But suddenly Bess said, “Wait!”

  “What?” I hissed.

  “What if Mandy, Mallory, and Mia are . . . ,” Bess started to say. “You know . . . what if they’re . . . ?”

  “Dead?” George said.

  “Don’t say it!” I said, not wanting to imagine the worst. I grabbed the handle, gave it a turn, and opened the heavy door.

  George took a package of something off the shelf to prop open the door and give us some light.

  We walked in slowly, where it was cold and pretty dark. Mr. Safer had been meaning to change the lightbulb but never had.

  “Anybody in here?” George called.

  “Mandy, Mallory?” I called. “Mia?”

  I was able to see enough to know there was no one in the fridge but us. I was disappointed not to have found the sisters, but also relieved.

  “Wait a minute, you guys,” George said, pointing to a shelf in the back of the fridge. “Isn’t that raw meat? Mr. Safer doesn’t sell meat. What’s it doing in here?”

  Before we could figure it out—SLAM!

  I gasped. We were in total darkness. The heavy door had just slammed shut!

  George pressed her phone, and it lit up. “I knew this flashlight app would come in handy one of these days,” she said.

  “The door is locked,” Bess said, struggling with the door handle.

  “The fridge doesn’t lock by itself,” I said. “Someone has to do it from outside.”

  Pressing my ear to the door, I heard something—or someone—running away. I felt myself shiver—not so much from fear, but from cold.

  “I hate to tell you this,” I said, my teeth starting to chatter. “Not only did someone lock us in, he or she turned down the thermostat.”

  “You mean this fridge is going to be a freezer?” George said.

  Desperate, we tried calling out on our phones but couldn’t get signals. We shouted and pounded on the door—until we couldn’t feel our freezing, tingling hands.

  “No one’s going to hear us,” Bess said, her teeth clicking from the cold. “I bet whoever locked us in here shut the front door too.”

  I was just about to wonder what would be worse, suffocating or freezing to death, when the door swung open. In the doorway was the shadow of a tall, hulking man, clutching a giant cleaver!

  MEAN AT THE BEAN

  Bess shrieked at the sight of the looming figure. I was too frozen with fear to scream or to move.

  From the corner of my eye I saw George grab a huge wheel of cheese from the shelf. Lifting it over her head, she was about to hurl it when—

  “Nancy? Bess? George?”

  I blinked at the familiar voice. The figure stepped out of the shadows, and I almost started to cry: It wasn’t a murderer, it was just Hal—the butcher on Main Street.

  “Coming through, Hal!” I said as the three of us bolted past him out of the walk-in fridge. I almost slipped on a fresh bloody footprint—courtesy of Hal’s butcher shop.

  “S-s-sorry, Hal,” Bess said, her teeth chattering. “But it was a bit ch-ch-chilly in there.”

  “I’ll say!” Hal said as we jumped up and down to get warm. “What on earth were you doing in Mr. Safer’s cheese fridge?”

  “Someone locked us in,” George said. “The rest is a long story.”

  “Did you hear us calling for help?” I asked.

  Hal shook his head. “The fridge in my butcher shop is on the blink,” he said. “Mr. Safer told me I could store some of my cuts in his fridge until I got it fixed.”

  “So that’s where all that meat came from,” I said, blowing into my hands for warmth.

  George pointed to the floor and said, “The bloody footprints, too? Did you make those, Hal?”

  Hal’s face blushed red. “Afraid so, George,” he said. “I accidentally tracked those in while I was carrying in the meat earlier. I felt so lousy about messing up Mr. Safer’s impeccably clean floor that I came back to clean them up.”

  “Does Mr. Safer know?” I asked.

  Hal shook his head and said, “Mr. Safer had an important meeting tonight at the theater.”

  “What about?” I asked.

  “Not sure,” Hal said with a shrug. “All he told me was that he had to take care of the three sisters.”

  Take care of the three sisters? Uh-oh. Had Mr. Safer meant the play The Three Sisters by Chekhov—or the three Casabian sisters?

  “So!” Hal said, raising his cleaver and making us jump back. “You’re probably wondering why I brought this with me.”

  “Uh . . . yeah,” George said. “I mean, it’s not like you need a meat cleaver to clean a dirty floor.”

  “Right.” Hal chuckled. “I was coming over to clean when I saw the front door half open.”

  “I must have forgotten to close it,” Bess said.

  “Well, I was afraid the store was being robbed,” Hal said. “So I went back for my biggest, sharpest cleaver just in case I came face-to-face with the intruders.”

  Hal smiled as he placed the cleaver on the counter. “Instead I came face-to-face with three girl detectives,” he said. “So how did you end up in Safer’s fridge anyway?”

  “Oh,” Bess started to say. “We were looking for the Ca—”

  “Camembert!” George cut in. “Mr. Safer forgot to pack Camembert cheese for my mom. She needed it for an event she’s catering tonight.”

  Hal looked totally confused. He also must have been wondering how we’d gotten into the store.

  George added, “Nancy was also leaving her keys to the store for Mr. Safer.”

  “Fine,” he said. “Now should I call the police about the creep who locked you in the fridge, or what?”

  Was he kidding? The last person we wanted to notify was Chief McGinnis!

  “We’ve got it under c-c-control,” Bess said, her teeth still chattering. “But th-thanks, Hal.”

  “Hey, Bess, you’d better put something on to get warm,” Hal said. “Here, why don’t you take one of these?”

  Hal grabbed one of Mr. Safer’s white smocks from a hook on the wall. As he held it up, I noticed the big red logo of his store splashed over the front pocket and on the sleeve. How could I have forgotten about the big red logo? If Mr. Safer was wearing his smock while standing outside my window, I thought, I would have seen the big red design, even from up in my room.

  As Hal held the smock for Bess, I noticed something else. The butcher was about the same height as Mr. Safer.

  Which gave me an idea . . .

  “Hal, can you put on the smock?” I blurted.

  Hal studied me like I was from Mars. So did Bess and George.

  “I’m not cold, but okay,” Hal said as he slipped into the white smock.

  I could tell that the smock reached past Hal’s knees. The white jacket the guy outside my window wore was much shorter—going just past his waist.

  “Thanks, Hal,” I said with a smile.

  “No problem,” the butcher said as he slipped out of the smock. “This has been a strange, strange night.”

  After showing Hal where Mr. Safer kept the cleaning supplies, we headed out of the cheese shop—but not before I could check Mr. Safer’s wall calendar. Sure enough, on today’s date he’d written, Stilton cheese delivery—noon; theater meeting—6:30 p.m.

  “Mr. Safer did plan to go to the theater tonight,” I said once we were outside. “Just like Hal said.”

  “Okay, but why did you ask Hal to model Mr. Safer’s smock?” Bess asked.

  “Hal’s not exactly GQ material,” George said.

  “George, be nice,” I said. “The guy I saw outside my window didn’t have a red logo on his jacket. His jacket was much shorter than Mr. Safer’s smocks too.”

&nbs
p; “So you don’t think the guy in the white jacket was Mr. Safer?” Bess asked.

  “Probably not,” I said. “He may have been mad at Mandy, Mallory, and Mia, but not mad enough to do away with them.”

  “Good,” George said. “Though we still don’t know who cut your brakes.”

  “Or who locked us in the fridge and left us there to freeze,” I said, glaring back at the cheese shop.

  We slowly started to warm up as we walked down Main Street. It was packed with people hanging out on a hot Saturday night.

  “Let’s go warm up with something from Three Bean,” I said. “We were going to speak to the owner about Mia, remember?”

  We headed to the trendy new café, where people were sitting around tables and in booths. The café was run by a thirtysomething woman named Lola. Lola was originally from Seattle, so she knew a thing or two about coffee.

  When we asked Lola about Mia, she replied, “She just didn’t show up, which is too bad, because Mia made a mean vanilla latte.”

  “Did you call her?” I asked.

  “I tried several times,” Lola said. “She never answered or returned my voice mail.”

  Lola excused herself to help a barista having trouble with the espresso machine.

  We ordered our lattes, then raced to get an empty booth by the wall for privacy. Privacy was just what we needed to discuss this case—but as we were about to get down to business, we heard loud giggling coming from the next booth.

  “Someone’s having a good time,” George said.

  Turning, I saw three girls talking loudly—three girls who by now I knew quite well.

  “Guess who?” I whispered.

  George looked too and rolled her eyes. “Bunk Diana,” she said with a groan under her breath.

  “You mean Darcy, Lindsay, and Ava?” Bess asked, surprised. “Does Amy know they’re out of camp at eight thirty at night?”

  “Would she even care?” George asked.

  “Well, I care,” Bess said. She started to stand up. “I’m going to tell those girls to get back to camp right now or—”

  “Wait—shhh,” I hissed. “One of them just mentioned Mia!”

  We eavesdropped on Bunk Diana as they blathered on in raised voices.

  “Omigod!” Darcy said, laughing. “Can you believe Mia Casabian could be such a witch?”

  “Whatever,” Ava said. “We got payback, didn’t we?”

  “Now that they’re out of the picture,” Lindsay said with a giggle, “we got these!”

  Got what?

  We turned around to see Lindsay slip on a pair of brown tortoiseshell sunglasses. Mia’s sunglasses!

  “Do I look like a Casabian?” Lindsay asked, posing with the glasses and pouting her lips.

  Darcy and Ava screamed with laughter. I was about to say something when Lola marched over to the girls’ booth.

  “You need to bring it down a notch,” Lola told Bunk Diana firmly. “Some other customers have complained about the noise.”

  “Don’t worry—we were just leaving,” Ava said smugly. She then picked up her iced coffee and spilled the rest of it all over the table.

  “Clean it up now,” Lola demanded.

  “Us?” Lindsay said with raised brows. “I do believe that’s your job.”

  With that, the girls from Bunk Diana shot out of their booth and the café—giggling all the way.

  “They really are mean girls!” Bess said.

  We offered to help Lola clean up the mess, but she insisted we relax and finish our coffees.

  “Those little creeps have been here before,” Lola said.

  “Really?” I asked. “Did you ever see them talking to Mia? Or having some kind of fight with her?”

  “No fights,” Lola said, shaking her head. “But those girls are major pains—as you can see.”

  I wanted to ask Lola about Mia’s sunglasses, but she was way too busy with customers and now the mess Bunk Diana had left behind.

  “How did Bunk Diana know all three sisters were out of the picture?” I said quietly over our lattes.

  “Nancy, you don’t think a bunch of junior stalkers did away with the Casabian sisters, do you?” George asked.

  “They may be mean girls,” Bess said, “but I’m not sure they’re capable of kidnapping . . . or murder.”

  “How did they get Mia’s sunglasses?” I asked. “I’d like to go to Camp Athena and find out.”

  “I’d like to check up on Maggie, too,” Bess said. “How about tomorrow?”

  “Can’t,” George said. “I promised my mom I’d take Scott to a special dentist who’s open on Sundays. He cracked a tooth on a popcorn kernel at the movies.”

  “Ouch,” I said. “I can’t go tomorrow either. Ned and I are finally going kayaking. Just the two of us.”

  “Well, it’s about time,” Bess said with a smile.

  My worries and the strong coffee kept me up much of the night. Could twelve-year-old girls really be capable of evil? Did they cut my brakes and not the guy with the white jacket? Maybe he was just looking for an address and not for trouble.

  What worried me most was Chief McGinnis. What if Bess, George, and I were arrested for the disappearance of the Casabians? I shook the scary thought out of my head and eventually fell asleep—around three a.m.

  As sleep-deprived as I was, the thought of kayaking with Ned made me jump out of bed the next morning. With the help of Hannah, I packed a picnic lunch and waited until Ned picked me up in his car at exactly eleven. He drove us down to the river, where we lugged the kayak from the car to the pebbly bank.

  After a quick kayaking lesson, we pulled on helmets and grabbed paddles. Ned slid into the first seat, with me right behind him. I could see how different a kayak was from a canoe. While a canoe had an open seat, a kayak had closed seats called cockpits. In a canoe you either sat on benches or kneeled. In a kayak you sat with your legs stretched out and covered by the cockpit rim.

  We each gripped our long paddle in the middle, dipping it into the water from side to side.

  “And we’re off!” Ned declared as the kayak glided farther into the river.

  “Woo-hoo!” I cheered, tempted to splash Ned with the paddle.

  Kayaking was just what I needed to relax, but when our arms got tired, we paddled back to shore. Ned and I found a grassy, shady spot to eat and chill out—until my worries came back to haunt me.

  Ned listened as I told him all about Chief McGinnis and why we had to find the Casabian sisters more than ever.

  “What if we’re arrested?” I asked after we finished our sandwiches. The two of us were lying on our backs, staring up at the clouds.

  “I promise I’ll visit you in the slammer,” Ned joked. “I’m sure Hannah will bake you her famous pound cake with a hidden file.”

  “Ned!” I said. “It’s not funny. We’re already suspects.”

  “You mean persons of interest,” Ned said.

  “Fancy words for ‘suspects.’ ” I sighed.

  We held hands and gazed quietly at the sky. Ned thought one cloud looked like his aunt Beatrice’s bichon frise, Napoleon.

  “The Casabian sisters have a dog back in L.A.,” I said. “His name is Peanut, I think.”

  “There you go thinking about those sisters again,” Ned said.

  “How can I not?” I said. “Don’t you think it’s weird that they just disappeared out of the blue?”

  “Of course I do,” Ned said. “But I’m sure you, Bess, and George already have a slew of suspects.”

  “Suspects?” I said, too embarrassed to bring up Bunk Diana. “Nobody solid yet.”

  Ned suddenly sat up and said, “Enough shoptalk. Let’s take the kayak for another spin—before you see a cloud that looks like Chief McGinnis.”

  “Good idea,” I said, giggling.

  Ned and I walked hand in hand to the kayak. Once our helmets were on, I slipped into my cockpit. As Ned pushed the kayak into the water I felt something cold and slimy near my foot. S
omething cold, slimy—and moving!

  “Omigod!” I cried, trying to jump up in the kayak. “Something’s in here!”

  Ned was standing waist-deep in the water as he shouted, “Nancy, don’t stand up or you’ll—”

  “Whooaaa!” I cried as the kayak began to tip. I squeezed my eyes shut as I tumbled out of the boat and into the water.

  “Nancy, are you all right?” Ned asked as he helped me out of the water.

  “Look inside the cockpit, Ned,” I said. “I know I felt something!”

  Ned dragged the kayak out of the water and onto the bank. We peered into the cockpit, and I gasped. Curled inside was a snake!

  “That’s a venomous pit viper,” Ned said.

  “Venomous—that means poisonous,” I gulped. “How do you know what kind it is?”

  “I took a herpetology course at the university,” Ned said. “I learned about snakes like the one in there.”

  “What’s it called?” I asked.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s a Florida cottonmouth,” Ned said.

  Florida cottonmouth?

  The name of the snake made my own mouth dry up like cotton. I’d been introduced to a Florida cottonmouth snake not too long ago . . . at Camp Athena!

  NO PICNIC

  “Ned,” I said, taking deep breaths to remain calm. “Does the Florida cottonmouth have olive-green scales and a bandit mask?”

  “Yeah,” Ned said. “What I don’t get is how the snake ended up in our kayak. It’s not like they’re found around here.”

  “So someone might have put the snake in our kayak while we were cloud gazing?” I asked slowly.

  “Who would want to do that?” Ned asked.

  Darcy, Lindsay, and Ava, that was who. If they could sneak out of camp to get to Main Street in the middle of the night, they could sneak to the river, too. Though it was hard to imagine them handling a snake, I was pretty sure they’d find a way.

  “Ned, there are these three girls at Camp Athena,” I said. “They’re twelve but going on thirty.”

  “What about them?” Ned asked.

  “All I can say is they’re bad news,” I said. “Would you mind if I cut our date short? I really have to talk to Bess and George. I’ll text Bess to pick me up.”