Kelsey the Spy Read online

  It takes two more doggie snacks to gain Bobbsey’s trust.

  “Good boy,” I say as I scratch behind his ears with one hand and click the leash onto his collar with the other.

  I start to lead him out of the shed when I slap my palm to my head. Duh! I almost left without searching for my notebook. Did someone trap the dog to lure me in here so I would find my notebook? Or is finding Bobbsey a coincidence? The only thing I know for sure is that Bobbsey didn’t shut himself inside this shed.

  The shed isn’t big so it doesn’t take long to discover my notebook isn’t here. It wasn’t near the Donut D-Lite building or in the parking lot. And I doubt it’s inside the dumpster—why toss something worth ransoming in the garbage?

  But why would someone claim to have the notebook and then not show up?

  I shake my head, frustrated. No point in searching for something that was never here. It’s what I did find that matters. And I smile down at Bobbsey. “Your owner is going to be so happy to see you!”

  Bobbsey nudges his head against my leg. “Ready to go home?”

  He barks and I chuckle. “Okay, boy, let’s figure out where you live.”

  Holding the leash with one hand, I dig into my backpack for the Lost Pet flyers, then flip through them for Bobbsey’s contact information: 1933 Larkspur Lane. Hmmm, that sounds familiar. Maybe the new gated community near Riverview Hill? It’s on the south end of town. There’s a phone number too, which would be great if I had a phone.

  But I know where I can borrow one. I’m only a few blocks away from my old house. So I head for Ann Marie’s house.

  Leading a timid dog home while riding my bike would be a bad idea. If he suddenly bolted, I could end up on the pavement and he’d be gone again. So I walk my bike while leading Bobbsey on the leash. (Apparently he loves to walk.) I know Ann Marie won’t be home since she has some kind of sport practice every afternoon, but her mother (who considers me her second daughter) is thrilled to see me.

  “Kelsey! It’s been so long!” she cries, wrapping me in a hug so tight that I gasp for air.

  When she lets me up for air, I explain about finding Bobbsey, then ask to use her phone to call his owner.

  It’s a quick call. Bobbsey’s elderly owner sounds feeble—until I tell him why I’m calling. Then his voice rises with excitement like a kid surprised with a birthday party. I give him the address, and he says he’s coming right away.

  While I wait, Mrs. Sanchez sits me down at the kitchen table and insists on making me a sandwich, just like when I was little. She feeds Bobbsey too. Mrs. Sanchez hasn’t changed at all, which makes me smile.

  “Nice dog,” she says. “He still looks hungry though. I’ll see what I can find for him.” As she turns to search the fridge, she rambles on about her job at the hospital and shows me Ann Marie’s latest athletic trophies. Ann Marie is an only child—which I’ve often envied. I love my family, but sometimes it would be nice to be an “only” and not wait my turn for new clothes or to use the computer.

  Mrs. Sanchez wants to know everything about my family. So I tell her about Dad’s baking masterpieces, how cool Mom looked in her animal control officer uniform, Kyle’s determination to get a college scholarship, and how my sisters are so popular and busy I rarely see them.

  I’m telling her how I ride around looking for lost pets when the door bell rings. Mrs. Sanchez sets down her steaming coffee cup and then excuses herself to answer the door.

  “Bobbsey,” I tell the dog sitting at my feet, “I think your owner is here. He sounded so excited on the phone and can’t wait to see you.”

  The owner, Mr. Sudbury, doesn’t have much hair on his head, but his wiry gray beard goes down to his chubby chest. When he sees Bobbsey, his eyes redden as he sniffles. Opening his arms he runs forward, meeting Bobbsey halfway, and their hug is so sweet I feel a little emotional too.

  Mr. Sudbury thanks me at least twenty times, then insists that I take the fifty-dollar reward.

  “It’ll go toward helping other animals. Thank you so much,” I tell the old man, but he’s clicking a leash onto Bobbsey’s collar. A few minutes later they’re gone.

  I don’t stay much longer either.

  After hugs and promises to visit more often, I put on my bike helmet and then ride off.

  I’m smiling as I think about how great it felt to reunite Bobbsey with his owner, but after a few blocks my smile fades with thoughts of my missing notebook.

  Was it a coincidence that I found Bobbsey at D-Lite Donuts? Or was he purposely left there for me to find? But why leave a pet instead of my notebook?

  It doesn’t make any sense.

  When I get home, I spread the ransom note under a bright light on my desk and look for clues. The thief was careful not to use their own handwriting, only cutout words and images from magazines. I doubt there are any fingerprints, but I take my spy pack from the closet, slip on gloves, and sprinkle graphic powder across the paper. I find several clear prints—all mine.

  Pulling out my magnifying glass, I examine each glued piece of paper. They’re mostly from magazines with colorful printing formats. The donut could be from any food magazine—Dad has a cupboard full in the kitchen. The phrase “meet me” has a loose corner that I pull up gently until it comes off. On the other side of the paper there’s a cartoon of a clown with half of his face smiling and the other half frowning.

  Hmmm … that’s familiar. But I can’t think of where I’ve seen it before.

  I stick the weird face picture back on the paper, the glue still strong enough to hold it in place. My nose and eyes itch at a strong chemical odor. I sniff and the smell is definitely coming from the paper, sort of like a detergent mixed with flowers.

  I’m on the scent of a clue—literally!

  I dig my fingernail at the edge of the eyeball paper until it lifts off. My eyes itch again and the smell increases. I fight the urge to sneeze as I stare down at the paper eyeball in my hand. It’s slick and glossy like it came from a magazine.

  Curious, I flip it over, and in bold print is the name of a popular magazine: InbeTWEEN. My sisters used to read the trendy teen-zine and cut out photos of cute guys. Now instead of ogling airbrushed guys, they’re going out with high school guys.

  My sisters stopped reading InbeTWEEN two years ago, so why do I have a memory of seeing the magazine recently?

  Not at school or at home.

  Memory slams into me, and I suck in a sharp breath.

  I saw InbeTWEEN magazine in Becca’s bedroom.

  - Chapter 15 -

  The Corning Comic

  A coincidence, of course.

  Becca would never steal from me or leave a ransom note.

  But she might know which of our suspects reads InbeTWEEN. It’s too late to call her so I’ll ask her tomorrow at school—if I can get her alone. I should have told my club mates about the ransom note instead of keeping it a secret. With Becca’s social savvy and Leo’s analytical deductions, we’d have probably found my notebook by now—or at least know who took it.

  Will I get it back before secrets are exposed?

  The next morning, I find out.

  I arrive at school early and am spinning the combo of my locker when I hear, “Kelsey! Kelsey!”

  Whirling around, I see Becca pounding down the hall in tiger-striped sneakers, her ponytail flopping behind her like a pink flame in black smoke.

  “OMG—the worst has happened!” Becca cries as she comes up beside me, bending slightly to catch her breath.

  I tense. “What?”

  “One of your secrets has gone viral!”

  “No!” I stare at her in horror. “How do you know it’s one of mine?”

  “It’s about Sophia and it’s really bad.” Becca drops her voice dramatically as she shows me her phone screen. “Check this out.”

  I’m afraid to look, but I do.

  My breath catches as I recognize the Corning Comic website. The site created by one of our top three suspects.
r />   Secret 23 flashes like a disaster headline across my mind: Erik Taylor anonymously posts a snarky web comic strip mocking other students under the name “the Corning Comic.”

  Becca clicks a link, then shows a photo of Sophia in a lion costume similar to the one Frankie created for her Nala role. The caption reads: The Lying Queen.

  “OMG!” I reach out to hold myself steady against my locker.

  “Sophia must be devastated.” Becca sighs. “I feel awful for her.”

  I feel awful too as I read the comic strip, which uses cute drawings to accuse Sophia of having no talent and bribing Perrin Jefferson to get the lead role.

  “Is this the secret you had about Sophia?” Becca asks.

  What’s the point in lying now? The secret is out. So I nod.

  “I just can’t believe it.” Becca spreads out her hands, and her silver bracelets jangle like a sad song. “Why would Sophia cheat? And how could you know about this and say nothing?”

  “It’s easier to keep the secret than to hurt a friend.” I sigh. “Sophia is really sweet and never says anything mean about anyone.”

  “She didn’t have to bribe Perrin—she deserved that role. She’s talented with an amazing singing voice. The Corning Comic got that wrong.” Becca taps her phone screen. “I’m worried about her. She’s super sensitive and must be devastated. I’ve texted her but she won’t answer.”

  “It’s all my fault,” I groan. “If I hadn’t been so careless and brought my notebook to school, Sophia’s secret would still be secret.”

  Becca pats my shoulder. “How did you find out about it?”

  My face reddens because my answer is almost as humiliating as Sophia’s secret. “I was in a school bathroom stall … um … sitting. Sophia came in with Tyla, and they were at the sinks talking about the play. I didn’t even mean to eavesdrop—I just have this weird luck when it comes to discovering secrets. Tyla said she was surprised Sophia got the Nala role instead of Sonali Ma—” I pause trying to remember her last name.

  “Sonali Malhotra,” Becca tells me. “Gorgeous eighth grader with amazing black hair that goes down past her waist. She usually gets the female lead in our school plays but not this time.”

  “Because Sophia got it.” I glance up, then down the hall and whisper, “Sophia told Tyla she wanted to play Nala so much that when Perrin Jefferson—the drama teacher’s assistant—bragged that he could influence the drama teacher, Sophia gave him theater tickets so he’d help her get the role.”

  “Bribe!” Becca says this so loudly that she claps her hand over her mouth, then lowers her voice. “I never liked Perrin—he acts like he’s important and is totally fake. Mrs. Ross seems to trust him but I don’t believe he can influence her. She makes her own decisions about acting roles.”

  “Sophia got the role of Nala,” I point out with a shrug.

  “Why isn’t Perrin on our suspect list?” Becca raises her dark brows.

  “The secret was about Sophia—although I guess it’s his secret too.” I stare off down the hall, not seeing any of the kids hurrying to class, only pages in a stolen notebook. This secret was bad, but others are worse.

  “Well, we can cross Sophia off Leo’s suspect list,” Becca says. “She wouldn’t steal your notebook and then tell everyone her own secret. The Corning Comic is the top suspect—whoever he or she is.”

  He’s already on the list.

  Erik Taylor, aka the Corning Comic, is looking very, very guilty.

  “The Comic must have stolen your notebook to get gossip for his snarky website—and he started with Sophia.” Becca balls her fists like she’s ready to do battle to defend a friend. “Who will he target next?”

  I frown, imagining Leo’s hurt when the whole school finds out his real age. Becca will be embarrassed too, if kids tease about her mom dating the sheriff.

  “We have to stop him or her,” Becca adds with a furious twist of her lips. “But the coward hides behind a fake name. No one knows who he is.”

  “Actually … I do.” I gnaw on my lip. “His identity is one of my secrets.”

  “And you can’t tell me.” Becca rolls her eyes. “But now I know it’s a he.”

  “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Stop it already! I’m tired of your secrets.” Becca covers her mouth with her hand. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to lose my temper. I’m just worried about Sophia.”

  “I’m worried about her too,” I say softly.

  “Then don’t protect the Corning Comic. Leo and I need to know who he is if you want us to help find your notebook.”

  I glance down at my white sneakers, frowning at a grass stain on my toe.

  “Do you want him to post more secrets?” Becca persists.

  “Of course not. But if I tell one secret, I might tell another secret, and soon all of the secrets will be out. It’s sort of like trying to eat just one french fry.”

  “No one can do that,” Becca says with a frustrated look.

  “My dilemma exactly. I feel like a superhero forced to make the decision whether to save one person or an entire planet.”

  “I swear no planets will be destroyed if you tell me this one secret.” Becca solemnly makes a “cross my heart” gesture. “Who is the Corning Comic?”

  I take a deep breath, and as I blow it out, an idea pops into my head. “I’ll tell you—after I talk to him.”

  “That slimy snake won’t talk to you,” Becca says. “And if he does, he’ll post all about it and you’ll be humiliated like Sophia.”

  “But what if I can persuade him to take down the post about Sophia and not post any more secrets?”

  “He’ll never do it.”

  “I have to try. He’s usually hanging out at the school basketball court with his buddies. I’ll look for him there.”

  “Just shout out, ‘Corning Comic!’ That will get his attention.”

  “Or scare him off.” Dread rises inside me. “He must have been surprised to read my notebook and find out I knew he was the Comic.”

  Becca squeezes my hand. “Knowing his real identity is your superpower. Use it wisely.”

  “I just want my notebook back,” I say sadly.

  “This proves it wasn’t stolen by a Sparkler.” Becca looks relieved as we walk away from the lockers. “Leo can cross Sophia and Tyla off the suspect list. That leaves just two: Erik Taylor and the Corning Comic.”

  Two names but only one suspect, I think.

  Clues are falling into place. Erik Taylor must have been in the cafeteria yesterday and saw Tyla waving my notebook of secrets. Afterward, he broke into my locker and stole my notebook so he could boost his web hits with dramatic secrets. It would be easy for him to piece together a ransom note—a yearbook photographer probably had lots of magazines lying around.

  But some things still puzzle me. Why would Erik send me to D-Lite Donuts, then not leave the notebook? And how did Bobbsey get in the shed? Was finding him a coincidence or did Erik do that too?

  When Becca’s phone dings, she jumps excitedly. “Sophia!” But after checking her phone, she sighs. “Just Leo.”

  Becca says Leo is in the drama supply room with Frankie. So we go there.

  The auditorium is semi-dark and silent as we walk through aisles. Soft thuds from our sneakers are the only sounds as we walk up a short staircase and cross the stage to the backstage door.

  A blend of unusual smells of fabric, oils, and dust fill the storage room where costumes, sets, and unusual props like a metallic giraffe are crammed together. I hear voices and wind through a passage bordered in boxes, cabinets, and a rolling cart with hanging clothes from the Victorian era.

  I hear the boys before I see them and follow their voices to the “office” where Frankie has papers and mechanical parts strewn across his desk of a plywood sheet over boxes.

  Leo sets down a screwdriver as he comes over to meet us. “What have you discovered?”

  “Not here,” I say with a tilt of my head toward Frankie,
who is watching us from his desk. The blue streak in his dark hair waves across his forehead, and his eyes are shadowed by his green cap.

  “You can talk in front of Frankie,” Leo assures us. “He knows a lot about what goes on at school and can be a great help.”

  “This doesn’t concern him,” I say.

  “Does it have something to do with the Corning Comic?” Frankie guesses, unfolding tall and lanky like a marionette come to life. He gives us a friendly smile, but there’s something guarded in his expression.

  “What do you know about the Comic?” I ask.

  Frankie frowns. “I saw the cartoon this morning, and it sucks for Sophia. Sure, she bosses me around like the other drama kids do, but she always thanks me or sometimes just comes in to talk. I feel bad for her.”

  “What cartoon?” Leo wrinkles his brow.

  “Here.” Becca holds out her phone.

  “No one knows who the Corning Comic is,” Frankie adds, untwisting a tangle of wires. “It’s the biggest mystery at school.”

  Becca raises her brows at me, but I ignore her as I turn to Frankie. “Leo says you know stuff that goes on with the drama group. Did you know Sophia bribed Perrin for the role of Nala?”

  “No, and I know it isn’t true. She got the role because of her talent.” Leo stands taller than all of us and is so skinny that his loose black clothes hang on him.

  “Are you sure?” I ask, confused. “I heard Sonali should have gotten the role.”

  “Sonali tried out for another role.” Frankie’s green hat flops as he shakes his head. “I was there for the auditions. After Sophia auditioned, Mrs. Ross stood up and applauded and said that Sophia was perfect for Nala.”

  Leo taps his chin thoughtfully. “Was Perrin there too?”

  “Yeah.” Frankie nods. “He’s always lurking around.”

  “Sophia doesn’t realize how good she is,” Becca adds with a sad sigh. “Even though she’s super talented, she’s insecure. And now her secret has gone viral and she’ll be devastated. I’m going straight to homeroom and talk to her.”

  “Go ahead,” I say with soft sympathy. “I have something to give Leo; then I’ll see you in class.”