Kelsey the Spy (16 page)

“Thanks. Albert has to start eating soon, or Mom will give him away. And since you're going to check on Albert, could you try to feed him too? There are carrots in the fridge for him. If he eats, Mom won't be in such a hurry to find him a new home.”

I nod, willing to do anything to help Albert.

I kick off my bike and ride alone to Wild Oaks Sanctuary.

Since I'm going to Becca's house first, I pass by the gated back entrance that trails through thick brush to the Skunk Shack. Riding under the arched front entrance into Wild Oaks, I wind down the graveled driveway to Becca's ranch-style home.

Mrs. Morales welcomes me with a hug. “It's wonderful to see you, Kelsey. But where's Becca?”

Good question
, I think bitterly.

“She's helping a friend but will be here soon. She asked me to feed Albert.”

“If you can get Albert to eat, that would be amazing!”

Mrs. Morales goes into the kitchen, two ferrets on her heels. Becca calls them the Fur Bros. I hear a mew and look down to see a whirl of orange. Bending down, I scoop Honey into my arms. She purrs and rubs her furry head against me. She's so sweet, and I wish so much I could bring her home.

When Becca's kitten, Chris, scampers by, Honey wiggles out of my arms and bounds after him.

“Here's a fresh bunch of carrots,” Mrs. Morales says when she returns holding carrots that have a rough, natural look like they were just plucked from the ground. “Take these to Albert.”

“Thanks,” I say, reaching out.

“I hope you can get that big fellow to eat,” Mrs. Morales says as she follows me to the door. “I've been on the phone with Abigail DeSesa from the CTTC—the California Turtle & Tortoise Club—and she says it's common for tortoises to bond with their owners and get depressed when they're gone. I've tried all kinds of foods to tempt Albert, but he won't eat.”

“I'll do my best,” I promise.

Albert doesn't even lift his wrinkly neck when I come up to him and wave a carrot. He looks the same to me … but different. His eyes don't shine as brightly. And he ignores the carrot, even when I put it up to his mouth.

“Oh, Albert,” I whisper, finding a rock that's not splattered with bird poo to sit on. “Please, eat something.”

He sinks into his shell until all I can see is the top of his head.

“You miss Reggie,” I say softly. “You're sad because you're lonely. Well, I'll tell you a secret … I feel lonely too.”

Albert doesn't move but I know he's listening.

“My friends are cool most of the time.” I suck in a deep breath, then blow it out. “But lately they're always going off with other friends and leaving me behind. Becca says I'm a Sparkler—at least until the fund-raiser on Saturday—but the Sparklers only include me when they want my help. And Leo would rather hang out with Frankie.”

Albert stretches his neck and looks at me.

“Being alone sucks,” I say.

The tortoise bobs his head.

“Yeah, I understand. I want to be with Becca and Leo, and you want to be with Reggie.”

We sit awhile in silence: twelve-year-old girl and hundred-thirty-year-old tortoise. Different species yet we have something in common: we both miss our friends.

I keep trying to convince Albert to eat. He won't even look at me, so I come up with an idea. I lift one of the raw carrots and spin it like a baton in my fingers. He still isn't interested, so I bring the carrot to my mouth and take a big crunchy bite.

“Albert, try the yummy carrots,” I say through chews.

His black eyes watch the carrot. I take another bite, then hold out the carrot. He stretches his wrinkly neck and sniffs. Finally! He's going to eat!

Only he droops his head and withdraws under his shell.

The carrots hang heavy in my hand as I turn away.

A short time later, I'm on my way to the Skunk Shack. As I near the tree-shrouded building, I hear laughter coming from inside. I park my bike by the large table-sized stump, then hurry into the shack.

Leo and Becca sit at the lopsided table, sipping juice drinks with a few papers spread out between them.

My brows rise with surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“A rather obvious question,” Leo says. “We're waiting for you so we can start our CCSC meeting.”

“But I didn't think you were coming.”

“I was surprised to see Leo too,” Becca admits. “And pleased.”

Leo lifts his stylus from his tablet, then taps it on the table like a gavel. “I hereby call our CCSC meeting to order.”

“I second that,” Becca says cheerfully.

They turn to me and I'm so happy we're all here that I can't stop smiling. The CCSC is back together.

“I third the motion,” I say as I sit beside them at the table.

Once Leo gets past his treasurer's report and other boring topics, I announce that I have
news
to share.

I unzip my backpack and hold out the wooden block and the ransom note.

“Is this another spy game challenge?” Becca asks.

“No,” I say, remembering the challenges I gave them when we first formed the club. Becca pieced together a ripped spy message, and Leo escaped from locked handcuffs.

“Not a game—the real thing.” I explain how I found both in my locker.

“So the ransom note led you to that missing dog you found?” Leo asks, wrinkling his brow so deeply he reminds me a little of Albert.

“It was great finding the dog, but I still don't have my notebook.” I point to the wooden block. “And now all I have is
this
—whatever it is.”

“It appears to be a Japanese puzzle box.” Leo turns it over in his hands. “Usually I can open them quickly by moving sliding panels.”

“I don't see any panels.” I crane my neck forward to watch as Leo runs his fingers over the smooth wood.

Leo frowns. “The level of difficulty is high.”

“Let me try,” Becca says.

“While other toddlers stacked toy blocks, I assembled Lego robotics and solved complex puzzles,” he says in his annoying superior tone. “Ah! I found a crevice … Apply pressure here and push this tiny wood panel, then—”

Click.

A popsicle-stick-like wood slat pops up, revealing a secret compartment.

When Leo flips the box over and shakes it, a strip of paper—like you find in a fortune cookie—flutters out.

I catch the paper.

And read.

- Chapter 19 -

Cryptic Clue

At least, I
try
to read the message.

“It's starts off with
W-E
, but then the rest is jumbled letters and numbers that don't make any sense,” I say, wrinkling my brow.

“They could form acronyms,” Leo guesses. “Each letter represents a word.”

“Like CCSC.” Becca smiles. “Or maybe it's another language.”

Leo shakes his blond head. “Not any language I know.”

I snap my fingers. “Spy language!”

“There is no such thing.” Leo scoffs.

“Spies communicate in code. I've studied common codes that spies use. Some are so complex that only a computer can solve them.”

“Let's go to my house and decipher the code on my computer,” Leo says.

“Not necessary.” I stare down at the tiny print, recognizing a familiar pattern. “I can figure it out. It's an easy letter-substitution code.”

“A cryptogram,” Leo says with a nod. “I prefer sudoku puzzles, but I've solved many cryptograms.”

I take the paper over to the table and smooth it out.

WE MJP GQLS SJ EWLB MJPA NZUAZSN, IJJV WL IJUVZA 299

“Is it weird to have numbers mixed in with letters?” Becca scoots in beside me and points to the paper.

“Not weird at all,” I say, then take out paper and a pencil from my backpack. I copy the code down in large print, then write the alphabet across the top of the page.

While I prefer to figure things out on paper, Leo consults his tablet.

“Each letter represents another letter,” I explain to Becca while I scan the paper in search of a starting place.

“Or it could be more complicated where you have to count down from each corresponding letter to match the code with the correct letter,” Leo says.

“Huh?” Becca blinks at him.

Leave it to Leo to make something simple sound like advanced algebra. While Leo taps away on his device, I explain to Becca, “Becca, see these two
J
s together?”

She nods.

“That means it's a double vowel or consonant. And the most commonly doubled letters are
d
,
e
,
f,
g
,
l
,
m
,
n
,
o
… Oh, I think I know!” I write the letter
O
beneath the letter
J
on my alphabet list. “It's the word ‘look!'”

Leo stops mid-keystroke to look at me. “You can't possibly know the word from a wild guess.”

“But it's not a guess.” I tap my pencil on the paper. “This puzzle probably came from the person who stole my notebook and left the ransom note. The first word of the ransom note was
look
so it's logical to find that word here too.”

“Good deduction.” Leo approves. “That means
I
is
L
and
V
is
K
.”

“The last word begins with
L-O
… and then there's the number.”

“Locker 299!” Becca guesses.

After that, other words fall into place.
SJ
is a small word ending with
O
. Easy to guess it's
to
, a very common small word.

So when we're finished, the decoded message reads:

If you want to find your secrets, look in locker 299.

“What are we waiting for?” I jump up and grab my backpack.

“School's been over for hours.” Leo frowns. “The gates will be locked. We'll have to wait till the morning.”

“I can't wait,” I say with a stubborn shake of my head. “I have to find the notebook.”

“If we can't get in through the gates, we'll find another way,” Becca says.

We lock up the Skunk Shack, then head to Helen Corning Middle School. Becca and I ride our bikes while Leo hops on his gyro-board.

All during the ride, I'm thinking of Locker 299, excited and scared of what I'll find. Will there be another puzzle to solve? Will I finally get my notebook back? Or will there be nothing at all?

But I wonder why the thief—especially if it's Erik—would bother to leave cryptic clues when he didn't even want to talk to me yesterday. And he didn't seem worried when I threatened to expose his identity—which I haven't done yet. But I will if Locker 299 doesn't hold my notebook.

It made sense for him to want my notebook. With nearly forty entries, the notebook gives him weeks of dramatic secrets to post. His web hits will soar to insane numbers, and people I care about will be hurt. Words are explosive weapons, striking deep into heart and soul.

But wait a minute … how can it be Erik? I found the wooden box in my locker
before
I threatened to expose him if he didn't return the notebook. How is that possible?

I'll figure it out later—once I have my notebook back.

When we reach the school, one of our fears is confirmed.

While the athletic fields are open for the public, the school buildings are padlocked for the night. There's no way to get to the lockers—unless we break in. I have my key-spider lock pick, but I won't break into my own school.

“Drats.” I coast my bike between Leo's gyro-board and Becca's bike. “I don't want to wait until tomorrow.”

“You won't wait a full day,” Leo points out. “According to my calculations, the school opens in only 15.3 hours.”

“There may be a way inside.” Becca shields her eyes from the setting sun and peers off to the back field where baseball, soccer, and other sports are played. In the distance I hear the rumble of a lawn mower again.

“How?” I ask.

“A smile is more effective than a key.” Becca whirls her bike around and pedals down a side road.

Leo and I look at each other, shrug, and then hurry to catch up with her.

The rumble of the lawn mower grows louder, and I recognize our groundskeeper, Mr. Thompson, riding it. Not far away, some kids practice baseball. I can't even guess what Becca is planning until she parks her bike on the sidewalk, then runs over to Mr. Thompson.

“What is she doing?” Leo asks, stopping his gyro-board beside Becca's bike.

I shake my head. “I don't know. But she's waving at Mr. Thompson.”

“He turned off the mower,” Leo says with a puzzled tilt of his head. “Should we go over there?”

“I don't think she needs our help.” I stare as Becca's smile widens while she talks to Mr. Thompson. I can't see his expression beneath his thick, black beard, but he's nodding and stepping off his mower.