I So Don't Do Makeup (12 page)

Troy, the cashier, is an older guy of at least twenty-five. Tattoos of sea animals swim up and down his arms. All bright and cheerful, he says, “Hi, Sherry. How're Cindy and Prince?”

“Great. Zipping around their tank like crazy.” I hike my backpack and my purse up onto my shoulder. I am
heavily laden today. “Hey, Troy, did a girl named Eve just start working here?”

“Yeah.” He's slotting the new pet magazines in the rack. “She's here now.”

And then I smell something else. An odor that so does not belong in a pet shop. Cinnabon rolls. It's getting stronger and sweeter. It's Mrs. Howard. She's checking up on me.

My only advantage is that she doesn't know I can smell her. Which means she doesn't know that I know she's there. My foot midair, I do an about-face, stick my hands casually in my pockets and smile like a typical shopper, not a detective. By the time she knows about this mystery, it'll be signed, sealed and delivered to her at Dairy Queen.

“So, Troy, remember the castle I bought here that you recommended? Prince and Cindy love, love, love it. Got any new aquarium stuff?”

“A few plastic plants. Not sure they're your style, though.” Now he's hanging little bags of catnip. “We just got a new bridge. Your fish might like that.”

“I bet they would. Cindy and Prince don't have anything bridgelike. Thanks.” I meander over to the fish aisle.

The Cinnabon smell trails after me.

I spot the new plants stacked on a shelf. Troy's right. They aren't worth saving up for. But I take my time examining them, turning them this way and
that, holding them up close, then at arm's length. I move to the middle of the aisle and find the bridge. It's übercute. For a sec, I forget about the mystery and Mrs. Howard following me around and imagine Cindy and Prince darting under this little ceramic bridge. Until I turn it over and see the price tag. Ouchie mama! It's more than two weeks' allowance!

Mrs. Howard materializes beside me, big and round and hazy.

My hand on my heart, I stumble backward in fake shock. I swivel my head back and forth, making sure no one's around. “Mrs. Howard?” I whisper.

“Sorry to startle you, honey,” she whispers back. Which she doesn't need to do since no one can hear her but me.

“Is my mom okay?”

“Honey, your mama's just grand. And making everyone real proud with the way she's focusing and learning. By everyone, I mean us
and
the prestigious foreign Academy. If things keep on progressing this a-way, your mama will get an exciting assignment, and we'll get to borrow one of their members.”

Voices! And they're getting louder! A girl employee strides toward where I'm standing. A woman follows her.

“We have a pretty good selection of aquarium decorations.” The girl stops right beside me.

I look at her badge. Eve!

Mrs. Howard drifts to the ceiling.

The woman's gazing at the various castles and treasure chests and colored pebbles. “He doesn't have anything in his aquarium yet.” She looks at Eve. “What's your best seller? I have no idea what to buy.”

She hesitates. Because she's brand-new, she can't offer much aquarium assistance!

My natural helpfulness kicks in. “A lot of people go for this castle.” I point to a medieval castle with a few turrets. “But, personally, I prefer this castle.” I hand the merchandise to the customer. “Yes, it's two dollars more. But see how it's got bigger swim-through chambers? My fish are constantly playing tag because of them.”

“Swim-through chambers. I never would've thought of that.” She holds the castle up to the light. “This'll be perfect.”

“Eve, customer at crickets,” the loudspeaker cuts in. “Eve, you're needed at crickets.”

“That's for me. Is there anything else?” Eve looks at the woman, who shakes her head. “Thanks,” Eve says to me, then jogs down the aisle.

As soon as we're alone again, Mrs. Howard descends. “Sherry, you can be such a polite, helpful young lady.”

“Yeah, well, I am into fish.”

“How gratifying to see you exhibiting exemplary behavior.” Mrs. Howard floats close to my ear. “I want
to pass along a little insider info I received from a snitch. The foreign Academy will be nosing around this week, watching your behavior, making sure you aren't a potential embarrassment either to our Academy or to your mother. Please be more than extra careful with your conduct…”

I give her a thumbs-up. “No worries, Mrs. H.”

And
poof
, she and her Cinnabon smell are gone.

I shake my head. So, a bunch of foreign ghosts will be spying on me. How creepy is that? But it makes me more determined than ever to get to the bottom of the makeup tampering so I can prove that I deserve a special assignment with my mom. And Real Time too.

I jaunt over to the crickets.

“Twenty-five, right?” I hear Eve's voice before I see her.

Rounding the corner, I see a blond boy about Sam's age, his head bobbing as Eve taps crickets from a tube into a clear plastic bag.

“Yeah. They're for my veiled chameleon, Frank. He's eating a lot. Probably getting ready to shed.”

Holding the bag closed at the top, Eve starts counting under her breath. She shakes her head and starts over. Finally, she shrugs, blows air into the bag, then knots it shut. “I'm sure there are a few extra.” She hands the bag to the boy, then turns to me, “Oh, hi. Something I can help you with?”

I wait till the boy's out of sight, then frown like I'm trying to place her. “You look familiar. Did you used to work at the mall or something?”

“For like a month. At Naked Makeup.”

“That is trippy makeup.”

“Seriously.”

“So, you worked for Lacey?” I glance in the cricket box, acting all nonchalant.

“You know her?”

“Kinda. I just had a makeover slumber party. And I got a bunch of makeup from her.” Now I'm examining the reptile lamps. “I wish I could work there. Except I'm only thirteen.”

“It's a good job.” She pops open the lid to the cricket container and spoons in some orange jellylike food. “Depending on what you want to do in life.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like I want to work with animals, so Pets Galore'll look better on my résumé. My parents and I just visited Tucson over the weekend to look at the pre-vet program there and the profs liked that I was working here.”

If Eve was in Tucson for the weekend, she wasn't tampering with makeup at the Phoenix Mall. Besides, anyone who likes animals enough to be a vet must be cool.

“Are they pretty nice to you here?” I ask. “As nice as Lacey?”

“This is only my first day, but no complaints on my end.” She straightens the tubs of wax worms. “Of course, Lacey's super super nice. Everyone likes her. Discount Mart especially loves her. They've been fantastic about adjusting her hours so she can get her makeup business off the ground.” She stacks the egg cartons. “And then there's that one guy.”

My detective ears perk up. “What one guy?”

“Eve, customer needs assistance in dog food,” the loudspeaker crackles. “Eve to dog food.”

“What one guy?” I repeat. Goose bumps pop up all over my arms.

“I don't know. Just some Discount Mart shipping and receiving guy who's always texting and sending her flowers.”

I
'm out in the fresh Arizona air, jetting home for dinner. I hope it's yummy, because I've worked up a mammoth appetite with all this sleuthing.

I call Amber. When she picks up, I say, “I need Lacey's number.”

“She's right beside me. I'll pass her my phone.”

In half a sec, Lacey's on the line. “Did you already figure out who's messing with my makeup?”

“Uh, not yet. Lacey, is there a shipping and receiving guy at Discount Mart who's crushing on you?”

She sighs. “Drew. He's nice and all, but just not my type.”

“Don't you have the makeup sent to Discount Mart?”

“Yeah. Drew sets my shipments to the side for me and keeps an eye on them.”

I want to reach through the phone and slap some sense into her. Doesn't she get it?
Everyone
who's involved with Naked Makeup is a potential suspect. “Any reason why Drew might sabotage the makeup?”

“No, no, no. He's a total sweetheart. Just kind of nerdy.”

“Does he know you don't like him the way he likes you?”

“Uh, probably. Since I'm constantly refusing to go out with him.”

A little lightbulb flashes on in my head. “The fresh-cut flowers you always have by the cash register? Are they from him?”

She sighs again. “I keep telling him to stop.”

“So, he buys you flowers, but you won't go out with him. And he's still okay with keeping your packages safe?”

“Well, yeah,” Lacey says. “He wants me to succeed with Naked Makeup.”

“For sure? He actually says this?”

“Well, no, he doesn't say it exactly like that. More like he says he doesn't want me to quit Discount Mart because then he wouldn't see me,” Lacey says. “But I'm positive he wants Naked Makeup to take off
even if it means I'll leave Discount Mart. He's a good guy. He wants what I want.”

“Maybe, in reality, he wants to wreck your business so you're stuck working at Discount Mart, near him, for the rest of your life. That's called motive.” I want to scream at her. “And he could easily contaminate the makeup while he's ‘keeping it safe'”—I make air quotes—“then package it back up good as new with Discount Mart tape and staples and whatever. That's called opportunity. And those two things, motive and opportunity, are all you need for a crime.”

“I don't think Drew'd do all that,” Lacey says. “It's so, uh, so twisted.”

“Yeah, Lacey, that's why they call it twisted love.” I disconnect, shaking my head.

My foot is barely in the door when The Ruler calls out, “Sherry, could you please take your brother around the neighborhood while I finish making dinner?”

Sam bounces up to me. “My wagon's packed.”
Bounce, bounce
. “You just have to walk with me.”
Bounce, bounce
. “It's cabbage casserole for dinner.”
Bounce, bounce
.

“Fine, but quit the Tigger routine, you're exhausting me.” I drop my backpack and purse by the door. “Let's hit the road.”

“Be careful you don't hurt yourself.”

I groan. Apparently, my brother shares my dad's bad-pun habit.

We pass through the kitchen, where The Ruler's tossing a salad. The casserole is obviously bubbling away in the oven because the cabbage fumes are practically knocking me unconscious. However, if you can get past the smell, cabbage casserole is
el delicioso
. It's got this to-die-for cheesy sauce with walnuts and tofu. In a million years, I never thought I'd crave anything health-foodish, but there's something about The Ruler's cooking.

In the garage, Sam's wagon is all loaded up with stuff he and The Ruler have been growing in our backyard: tomatoes, carrots, celery, beets and prickly pear cacti. My hands start itching at the sight of the evil cacti and their nasty bristles. He's also got brown paper bags and a little box with some change in it. My brother got enough organization genes for the two of us. Even his sock drawer is all nice and neat with the contents paired up.

We trudge to the end of the driveway with Sam pulling the wagon. One of the wheels is squeaking. I think it's saying, “Go home. Eat dinner.” My stomach grumbles.

“Left or right?” I ask.

“What do you think, Sherry?” he says. “Which way will I get the most sales?”

I seriously don't think he's going to sell much
regardless of the direction. Especially not those ugly beets that look bruised and purple, like they've been in a knock-down, drag-out garden fight. “Go right. It's less hilly.”

“Good idea, Sherry.”

Well, I am the big sister. “Sam, I noticed you don't have a calculator. You can borrow my phone. It has one under Tools.”

“Thanks, Sherry.” He yanks on the wagon handle to get it started. “I can just add in my head.”

I know he's supposed to be some kind of math whiz, but I think he's pushing it, especially 'cause we're talking about money. A small mistake with a decimal point could spell financial ruin.

When we get to the driveway of our closest neighbor, I say, “No point trying Mrs. Moore. She's such a grump. Plus she's got that No Solicitors sign on her front door.”

Sam keeps tramping up her drive. “She's also got a sign that says Guard Dog/Beware of Dog and we know that's a lie.”

At the front steps, he passes me the handle to hold and walks to the door. He presses the bell.

A thin face with a hook nose peers out the window. Then I hear the dead bolt moving and the front door cracks open. “Yes?”

“Hi, Mrs. Moore. It's Sam from next door.” He points to the wagon. “I've been growing organic
plants in our garden and now I'm going door to door, selling them.” He lists his wares.

She squints down the steps to the wagon. “Which sports team are you on?”

“Oh, uh, no sports team,” Sam says. “I'm just saving up to buy some stuff, special stuff.”

“No sports team?” She shakes her head vigorously but her tight steel gray curls barely budge. They're hair-sprayed into submission. “Good for you, Sam. I don't believe in sports teams. Makes kids too competitive. Turns them into bullies.”

She totters down the steps, her heels slipping out of the backs of her fuzzy slippers. “What're you saving up for?” she asks, weighing a tomato in each of her palms.

“It's a secret.” Sam smiles and unfolds a bag for her.

“A secretive boy who doesn't play sports.” She places a bunch of carrots in a bag, then sets the tomatoes in carefully. “I like it.” She even buys a couple of beets.