The Mystery of the Zorse's Mask Read online

  I must have drifted asleep because suddenly I sit up with a start as Mrs. Morales announces, “We’re here!”

  The Hunters’ ranch sits in a valley surrounded by low hills. We drive through a wooden gate, onto a paved road circling up to a brick and fawn-brown colored single-story house with a wraparound wood deck and potted cactuses. A Labrador retriever barks and wags his tail excitedly as he chases after our car.

  The front door of the house swings opens. Carol Hunter-Bowling comes out, pushing a wheelchair with a silver-haired woman draped in a bright-red shawl.

  “I’m so glad you’re here!” Carol says warmly, giving us hugs. “This is my grandmother, Eloise Hunter.”

  I’m not sure what I expected—maybe a feeble, hunched-over woman who was too frail to speak. Mrs. Hunter’s face is lined and she’s attached to a breathing tube, but she sits tall in her chair with bright-blue eyes.

  “Oh my,” she says, pointing at the horse trailer. “Is it really him?”

  “Yes,” her granddaughter answers.

  “My sweet Dom … I can hardly believe it.” The old woman stares ahead like she expects the horse trailer to vanish. “I thought he was dead.”

  “He’s very much alive,” Becca’s mother says.

  “I never thought I’d see him again … but here he is.” She grips her wheelchair with shaky hands. “Thank you, girls, so much.”

  “He’s a special animal,” Becca says softly.

  “And he’s back … My Domino is home.” She wipes a tear from her wrinkled cheek and turns to her daughter. “Take me to him. Please.”

  “Of course, Mom,” Carol replies, looking close to tears too.

  When Becca unlatches the trailer and Zed backs out, Mrs. Hunter grips her wheelchair tightly. She pushes herself up, slowly standing.

  “Are you sure you can handle walking?” Carol asks.

  “Move over and let me see my sweet Domino,” the elderly woman says. She takes a shaky step forward, then another. Her blue eyes shine, and for a moment I see past her wrinkles and age spots to the younger woman in the photos.

  “Domino … Dom baby … it’s really you.” She wraps her arm around the zorse. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  Zed lowers his head and caresses the old woman with his muzzle. He’s not rough or stubborn but lovingly gentle.

  “It’s so good to hold you again,” Mrs. Hunter says. “When I’m stronger, we’ll go for a ride.”

  “Don’t forget this,” Becca says and reaches into her back pocket.

  “Domino’s fly mask!” Eloise Hunter cries, clasping the mask to her chest. When her legs buckle, Carol and Becca’s mom quickly come to her side and ease her back into the wheelchair. “Thank you, but I’m fine,” Eloise says. “I’m just overwhelmed with joy. I never expected to see Domino again, much less the jeweled mask.”

  “Leo thinks the black stones are chocolate diamonds,” I say.

  “Clever boy.” Eloise Hunter chuckles. “Most people think the purple stones are the valuable ones, but those are imitation amethysts. My husband had a quirky sense of humor and always made a game of giving me special gifts. When I unwrapped the mask, I was delighted by the sparkly stones. I had no idea they were real until my husband offered to string them into a necklace for me. But I liked seeing them on Domino—and I still do.” She hands the fly mask to her daughter, who slips it over Zed’s muzzle and fastens it in place. The fake purple jewels sparkle brighter than the valuable black diamonds.

  Zed and his fly mask are home.

  It’s hours before we get back home, and it’s almost dark—but not too dark for a quick visit to the Skunk Shack. We’re going to pick up the kittens, their bed, and their litter box, and move them into a back room of Becca’s house.

  And there’s something else on the CCSC agenda.

  Leo has been mysterious for the last few hours, teasing about a surprise he has for us. No matter how hard I try, I can’t pry this secret from him.

  All he’ll say is that it’s in the shack.

  As we hike up the hill, Becca and I pester him with more questions.

  “It better not be Frankie,” Becca warns. “It’s bad enough he knows about our shack.”

  “Not Frankie, and I already told you we can trust him. He promised not to tell anyone about our kittens or the shack.”

  “Is it another kitten?”

  “Nothing alive,” Leo says, then hurries ahead to the shack and disappears inside.

  When we enter the shack, he’s standing by the grandfather clock—not pieces of a broken clock but a full-size, repaired clock taller than us—and it’s ticking.

  “I fixed the clock!” Leo says proudly. “It will chime on the hour.”

  I check my watch. “That’s in three minutes.”

  “Coolness,” Becca says. “I’m so proud of you!”

  “Me too,” I add. “Congratulations, Leo.”

  Cuddling my kitten in my arms, I stand beside my two club mates as we stare at the hands of the clock.

  Leo counts down. “Two minutes forty-three seconds … one minute and twenty-two seconds … thirteen seconds … WHAT?”

  The small clock hand stops.

  “Drats,” I say. “Sorry, Leo. Guess it still needs work.”

  With a determined press of his lips, Leo sorts through his box of tools and picks up a screwdriver. He tugs the corner of the clock face and the glass cover swings open. He pokes the screwdriver into gears below a decorative golden moon. As he tinkers, his elbow bumps the moon, and it swings sideways.

  A small piece of paper floats to the floor.

  “What’s this?” Leo says, reaching down.

  Becca and I crowd around him as he holds out the paper.

  “A photo,” Becca says.

  “An old black-and-white photo,” I add, peering closer. “The little boy looks like he’s having fun riding a huge turtle.”

  “Not a turtle—a tortoise.” Leo flips over the photo and points to tiny handwritten numbers. “According to my calculations, if this is the date the photo was taken, the child would be 106 years old.”

  “Wow—that’s really old,” I say.

  “He probably died a long time ago,” softhearted Becca says with a sigh.

  “I’m more interested in the tortoise than the boy.” An excited gleam lights up Leo’s face. “A famous Egyptian tortoise lived to be over two hundred years old. If we solve the mystery of who left this photo in the clock, we may find the tortoise too. He might still be alive.”

  About the Author

  At age eleven, Linda Joy Singleton and her best friend, Lori, created their own Curious Cat Spy Club. They even rescued three abandoned kittens. Linda was always writing as a kid—usually about animals and mysteries. She saved many of her stories and she loves to share them with kids when she speaks at schools. She’s now the author of over forty books for kids and teens, including YALSA-honored the Seer series and the Dead Girl trilogy. Her first picture book, Snow Dog, Sand Dog, was published by Albert Whitman & Company in 2014. She lives with her husband, David, in the northern California foothills on twenty-eight acres surrounded by a menagerie of animals—horses, peacocks, dogs, and (of course) cats. For photos, contests, teacher guides, and more, check out www.LindaJoySingleton.com.

  All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2015 by Linda Joy Singleton

  Cover illustration copyright © 2015 by Kristi Valiant

  Interior illustrations and hand lettering by Jordan Kost

  Design by Jo
rdan Kost and Ellen Kokontis

  ISBN: 978-1-5040-1738-1

  Albert Whitman & Company

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  Distributed by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

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