The Mystery of the Zorse's Mask Read online

  “Shut up!” Becca snaps. “My mother is not ready to date. She’s only been divorced for three years.”

  “My dad just moved out and he already has a girlfriend,” Leo says calmly. He’s okay with his parents splitting up because his house is peaceful now, not a war zone.

  But Becca is the opposite of calm, as if her emotions are at war. With reddening cheeks, she slams her hands on her hips to glare at Leo. “I repeat—my mother is not ready to date. Not Caleb or anyone.”

  I put my arm around Becca. “It’s just a date. They’re not getting married.”

  “But if they did, you wouldn’t lose Zed,” Leo says cheerfully. “He’d be part of your family.”

  “No, no, and no.” Becca stomps her foot on the gravel driveway. “I don’t want that cowboy for a stepdad. He is definitely not Mom’s type.”

  “They’re just sharing a meal,” I remind her.

  “A dinner date!”

  Leo squints at her. “I don’t understand why you’re so mad.”

  “I am not mad … I’m just not happy.” Becca takes a deep breath, then blows it out. “But eating together doesn’t mean anything romantic.”

  “They’re also going to a movie,” Leo says.

  “A movie!” Becca’s dark eyes widen in horror. “But Mom never goes to movies. The last time I asked her to take me, she said she was busy. Too busy for me but not for him? And they’ll be gone for hours, so I can’t even give Caleb the fly mask.”

  “He said not to wait up for him,” Leo adds. “He’ll be back in the morning.”

  “Seriously?” Becca throws up her hands. “After we worked so hard to get the mask, Caleb doesn’t even care.”

  “He said he was grateful,” Leo says. “He wants to thank you before he leaves.”

  Leaves with Zed, I think sadly.

  “Also Caleb said to take extra care of the mask.” Leo turns to Becca. “He suggested you keep it in a safe place, away from animals, until the morning.”

  “Your mother must have told him you sleep with a goat,” I can’t resist teasing.

  “And that ferrets run loose in our house. But I live on an animal sanctuary, so where is it safe to keep the mask?” Becca complains with a rueful gesture from the house to the pasture. “There are animals everywhere.”

  “But only two small kittens in our clubhouse,” I say, thinking quickly. “We can keep it inside our snack container. The plastic lid is kitten proof.”

  “Good idea.” Leo grabs his gyro-board from where it’s propped against the porch. “We should check on the kittens anyway.”

  “Yeah, but first I have to fix Kelsey’s shirt.” Becca points to me, then turns back to Leo. “You go on ahead and take care of the kittens. Kelsey and I will meet you there in about twenty minutes.”

  “Agreed.” Leo hops on his gyro-board and zooms down the road, toward the wooded hill above Wild Oaks Sanctuary.

  Becca leads me into a back room crowded with all kinds of stuff—animal beds, boxes, an ironing board, a treadmill, and a sewing machine. She loans me one of her shirts to wear while she cleans my shirt with a rub-on stain remover and sews up the rip. When she hands the leopard shirt back to me, it looks brand-new.

  “You’re the best friend ever,” I say, then my cheeks burn with shame. Did I just call Becca my best friend? I didn’t mean it that way, but she might think I did. I wish I could stuff the words back in my mouth.

  But Becca doesn’t notice. She’s staring at a framed photograph of her mother next to the sewing machine. Her mother is laughing while riding a camel. She’s in her twenties, like how Becca will look in ten years.

  A short while later, Becca is quiet as we bike up the hill. But I can tell by her dark expression that she’s thinking troubled thoughts. Is she worrying about her mother dating Caleb or Zed leaving in the morning? Probably both.

  Leo’s already inside the clubhouse, putting away the cat food cans into the cupboard, when Becca and I walk through the door. It’s a cloudy day, and with the shutters closed, the shack seems darker, less inviting than usual. But the kittens happily munch their food like they haven’t eaten in days, although it’s only been since morning.

  While Becca cleans the litter box, I check the water bowl. Yuck—there’s a dead fly floating in the water. I scoop out the dead fly, then pour in fresh water.

  Usually after the kittens are fed, Leo works on the broken grandfather clock. But he’s tilting his head in his “thinking” way.

  “Can I see the fly mask?” he asks me.

  “Sure.” I unzip my spy pack and hold out the bejeweled mask.

  Leo takes it over to the table and carefully spreads it flat. He pulls his phone from his pocket and snaps photos of the mask. Tucking his phone back into his pocket, he leans down to closely examine the mask, rubbing his finger over each stone. I read his lips as he counts the black stones and larger purple stones inset into the leather trim. He touches the empty setting where the blue stone we gave to Caleb fits.

  “What are you muttering, Leo?” Becca asks, her hands on her hips.

  “He was counting the stones,” I answer since Leo is too focused to reply. “Now he’s counting backward.”

  Leo ignores both of us, moving his lips silently. Twenty, nineteen … thirteen, twelve … When he reaches zero, he lowers the mask.

  “What was all the counting about?” I ask him.

  “I was executing the minute test to determine the authenticity of the stones.”

  “Authenticity?” I laugh. “Caleb told us they’re fakes—although the purple ones look real.” I glance down at the yarn flower attached to my shirt and remember how dazzled Sunflower Mary was by the jewels. She really believed they were real.

  Leo lowers the fly mask, then touches the stones. “They’re warm. Genuine amethysts stay cool but a fake will heat up to forehead temperature. Also, amethysts are deep purple with different hues, but these stones lack depth. They’re definitely fakes.”

  “We already knew that,” Becca says with an eye roll.

  “I’m being thorough,” Leo insists. “I want to give all the stones a glass test.”

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “A simple procedure of rubbing a stone against glass to see if it scratches.”

  “Not going to happen.” Becca plucks the mask from Leo’s hands. “You might break a jewel or rip the netting. Caleb wants me to keep this safe and that means no tests.”

  Leo frowns as Becca puts the fly mask inside the plastic food container and seals the lid shut.

  “Let’s discuss CCSC business,” I suggest, trying to lighten the tension between Becca and Leo. I sit at the table and wave for them to come sit beside me. “Becca, we still haven’t told Leo about the dog.”

  “What dog?” Leo pulls his chair close to the table.

  “The lost one we returned today,” I say proudly. “He ran out in front of my bike.”

  “He was superfast,” Becca adds. “It was hard to catch him.”

  “But we did it together,” I say with a grateful look for Becca. “And we didn’t expect a reward—the flyer didn’t offer one—but the owner insisted we accept this.” I reach into my pocket and give Leo the twenty since he’s our club treasurer.

  “Good work.” Leo reaches for a metal lockbox he keeps on a high shelf and tucks the money inside. “What breed of dog was it?”

  “Dachshund. I’ll find his photo,” I say, flipping through the stack of lost pet flyers I keep in my spy pack.

  Becca and I talk fast, interrupting each other, as we describe how we caught Ditzy. I tease Becca about how she fell trying to climb a fence, and she points to the stains on my jeans from stepping in a hole. We start to laugh and even Leo joins in. Our conversation shifts to other club topics, like when to make a vet appointment for the kittens, treasury expenses, and studying more missing pet flyers so we’ll be ready next time we see a stray animal.

  I glance at my watch. An hour has passed—I need to get home.


  But my kitten scampers over and swats at my shoes—her way of asking me to pick her up. I cuddle Honey’s soft fur against my cheek. Her purring is like my favorite music, and I hate to put her down, but I do it anyway.

  As I straighten up, I see a flash of green and pink out the window.

  I gasp. “No way!”

  “What’s wrong, Kelsey?” Becca exclaims, coming up beside me.

  “Did you see something?” Leo asks.

  “Not something—someone.” I point at the window and shake my head in disbelief. “That drama kid Frankie was spying on us!”

  Chapter 16

  Spying on a Spy

  Quick as a lightning flash, Leo rushes outside. The door bangs behind him.

  When I jump up to follow, Becca pulls me back. “Let him do this alone. If it was Frankie, this is between them.”

  “It was Frankie,” I say with certainty.

  “Did you see his face?”

  “No, but I saw his green cap and pink curl. Leo told us he thought Frankie was following him.”

  “But all the way out here?” Worry lines crease Becca’s forehead. “Why would Frankie do that?”

  “He knows we’re hiding something.”

  “And now he knows what we’re hiding—kittens in our clubhouse.” Becca groans.

  “Maybe we should have kept our friendship a secret,” I say. “We’re so different, it makes kids wonder why we’re together.”

  Becca points to my Sparkler necklace. “Not so different anymore.”

  I nod but feel like a fraud. Wearing sparkly accessories and animal-print clothes is Becca’s style, not mine. There’s a tug on my shoelaces, and I bend over to scoop up Honey. Kittens are something Becca, Leo, and I all have in common.

  “How long do you think Frankie was following us? Do you think Frankie followed us to Izzy’s house?” Becca scoots her chair closer to mine.

  “I hope not.” I gnaw on my lower lip. “If he did, he saw me climb into Izzy’s window and take the fly mask.”

  “And he followed Leo here,” Becca says miserably. “Now our clubhouse isn’t a secret.”

  “Frankie could ruin everything for us,” I complain with a fist-pound on the table. The noise startles my kitten, and she springs off my lap.

  Becca scowls. “Frankie is a sneaky, creepy, spying snake.”

  “And Leo’s friend,” I say with a sigh.

  We play with the kittens while we wait for Leo. The kittens are so cute, tumbling over each other as they chase a string. But I’m sick with worry. What if Frankie tells other kids about our clubhouse? Leo has to convince him to keep our secrets.

  Can a sneaky snake spy be trusted?

  Minutes later, Leo returns with mud stains on his slacks—and he’s alone. He sinks into his chair, breathing hard like he’s been running for miles.

  “I almost caught up with him, until I tripped and fell over a rock.” He winces and points to the rip on his black pants. “When I got up, he was gone.”

  “You’re bleeding.” Becca tears off a paper towel strip and hands it to Leo.

  “Thanks.” Leo wipes his knee, then tosses the soggy towel into the garbage. “I couldn’t see his face, but from the back, he sure looked like Frankie. But he didn’t stop when I called his name. Why would he run from me?”

  “He’s a lying snake.” Becca twirls the end of her ponytail. “I liked him when I first met him, but now he’s enemy number one.”

  I frown. “He had no right to spy on us.”

  “But it’s okay for us to spy on other people?” Leo counters. “That’s hypocritical.”

  “Hippo-what?” Becca squints at Leo.

  “Hypocritical is when you criticize someone for doing something you do,” Leo explains. “Why is it wrong for Leo to spy but okay for us?”

  “We’re solving mysteries,” I answer.

  “Maybe Frankie is trying to solve the mystery of us,” Leo says defensively. “I trust him. He’ll keep our secrets if I explain how we found the kittens and that our goal is to help all animals. He’s probably headed back to the drama storage room. I’m going after him.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Becca offers.

  “We’ll all go,” I say, even though I should go home. But my curiosity is stronger than my fear of getting into trouble.

  As I pedal quickly to keep up with Leo, I wonder about Frankie. Did he follow us because he was curious, or was it something more sinister? Is he a psycho stalker?

  Helen Corning Middle School is a sprawling school with covered hallways connecting outdoor classrooms. Usually it’s noisy and bustling with activity, but two hours after the final bell, it’s like the school has gone to sleep for the night. Our footsteps echo as we near the auditorium. The door is propped open, and I hear raised voices—shouting, then a scream.

  But it’s only a drama rehearsal, I realize when we see Mrs. Ross up on the stage, directing three students including Sophia. When Mrs. Ross gives us a friendly wave, I feel a little guilty because I sneaked into her daughter’s room. But I only took back the mask that “perfect” Izzy stole.

  We go through the side door that leads to the storage room. Leo doesn’t bother to knock. He strides purposefully into the room and up to Frankie’s desk.

  “Nice surprise.” Frankie looks up at us with a grin, dropping a pen and pushing aside the paper he’d been writing on. “I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

  “I doubt it’s a surprise,” Leo says in an accusing tone. “We saw you.”

  “Saw me where?” Frankie reaches up to pull his green hat down, so it covers up his pink curl and shades his eyes.

  “You know,” Becca adds. “Kelsey caught you spying through the window.”

  “And I chased you through the woods.” Leo narrows his blue eyes. “Why did you follow me?”

  “Follow you?” Frankie’s eyes go wide. “You’re joking, right? I haven’t gone anywhere.”

  “I saw you.” I fold my arms folded over my chest.

  “Tell us the truth,” Leo says almost like he’s pleading.

  Frankie frowns. “You’re calling me a liar?”

  “Kelsey and I both saw you,” Leo insists.

  “Couldn’t have been me,” Frankie says firmly. “I always work here after school.”

  Could I have been wrong? I wonder. I saw green and pink and assumed it was Frankie. Am I sure it was him?

  “Ask the drama kids and Mrs. Ross,” Frankie says, standing from his desk. “They’ll tell you I haven’t left this room.”

  “Okay, we’ll talk to them,” Leo says stiffly.

  “I’ll go with you. Just a sec while I clear away this mess,” Frankie tucks away pens, paper clips, and Post-Its in a drawer.

  “I don’t like a messy desk either,” Leo admits.

  “We have a lot in common.” Frankie looks directly into Leo’s face as he rips up a paper and dumps the pieces into the trash. “I thought we were friends.”

  “I did too,” Leo says, his sad eyes showing hurt.

  We weave through crowded shelves to the door. As we step out into the hall, Becca turns to Frankie. “I need a restroom,” she says. “Is there one close by?”

  “Over there.” Frankie points across the hall.

  “I’ll wait for you,” I tell Becca, but she shakes her head.

  “Go ahead. I’ll catch up.”

  Frankie’s arms are tight at his sides, not relaxed. He marches ahead of us like a soldier going off to battle—grim and determined. Leo follows with hunched shoulders.

  Is Frankie innocent or a sneaky snake? I wonder. The face at the window looked like him, but what if I’m wrong? Whoever it was knows CCSC secrets. He spied on our clubhouse, saw the kittens, and even watched Leo hide the treasury money.

  “Frankie never left the building,” Mrs. Ross tells us a few minutes later. And the drama kids vouch for Frankie too, even Sophia.

  We leave the stage and head for the storage room.

  “Told you,” Frankie says. “I’
m not your spy.”

  “Then who is?” Leo rubs his head. “The guy I chased was tall, thin, and wore a green cap like you.”

  “Did you see his face?” Frankie asks.

  “No,” Leo admits.

  “It could have been any tall guy wearing a hat like mine.”

  “I’m sorry.” Leo hangs his blond head. “I should have trusted you.”

  “Yes, you should have. But you can make it up to me by helping out with the costumes,” Frankie says with a grin. “You were genius assembling the giraffe. Want to get started on the mechanical elephant?”

  Leo agrees quickly, smiling like a huge weight has rolled off his shoulders. Poor guy doesn’t have many friends—maybe just us. He and Frankie seem a little alike—smart but socially awkward. It’s cool if they become friends.

  Yet I’m uneasy. If Frankie isn’t the spy, then who is?

  Leo goes into the storage room with Frankie, and I start to follow until Becca pops up beside me and whispers, “Let’s get out of here. I have something to tell you.”

  “We already know Frankie’s innocent,” I say with a heavy sigh. “The drama club—even Mrs. Ross—said he never left the building. I was wrong about him.”

  “Maybe,” she says with a mysterious smile.

  We walk through the theater aisles toward the exit. As we push open the auditorium door, the wind tosses our ponytails. We head for the bike racks. When I glance over at Becca, her dark eyes sparkle brighter than her crescent-moon necklace.

  “What’s up with you?” I ask as I unlock my bike.

  “Nothing.”

  I glance at her curiously. “You’re smiling too much.”

  “Am I?” Her smile widens.

  “I get the feeling you know something I don’t know,” I guess.

  She lowers her voice. “I didn’t buy Frankie’s innocent act, so I did a little snooping.”

  “In the bathroom?”

  “I didn’t go there. That was a ruse, as we say in spy talk. I searched Frankie’s office and found important evidence.” She reaches into her pocket and shows me a handful of paper pieces.