The Sweetest Heist in History Read online

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  * * *

  To all those with dyslexia who continue to enjoy reading. This is for you!

  * * *

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thanks to my family, all of my nieces and nephews, and my team who made it possible: Andy McNicol, Brian Clisham, Brad Slater, Melissa Kates, Bria Schreiber, Karl Austen, Paul Crichton, and Zareen Jaffery.

  * * *

  CHAPTER ONE

  * * *

  THE HEIST

  Randi Rhodes pressed a button on her walkie-talkie and whispered into the receiver, “Target is approaching from due south, heading in the direction of the Deer Creek Bank. Ninja Two, can you make a visual ID?”

  “Negative, Ninja One,” came D.C. Cruz’s hushed reply. “Target is wearing a hat and sunglasses. And how ’bout that—sparkly purple sneakers. Looks like a female to me.”

  Randi ran through a list of suspects in her head. None of them would be caught dead in purple sneakers. The shoes had to be part of the thief’s disguise.

  “This is Ninja Three. Target just entered the alley next to the bank,” Pudge Taylor reported.

  “Let’s give her a minute and then move in at exactly”—Randi checked the watch on her wrist. She never allowed cell phones on stakeouts. They had a way of ringing or lighting up at the very worst moments. So the three ninjas wore watches, and their timepieces were perfectly synchronized—“six fifty-two,” she ordered.

  “Roger that,” her colleagues replied in unison.

  Randi took the opportunity to check Founders’ Square for other signs of activity. It was a flat, grassy park in the center of sleepy Deer Creek, Tennessee. In the fall and winter, when the tourists who came to Deer Creek for the fishing were gone, the stores surrounding the square closed up early. That night in Founders’ Square, only the bakery was still serving customers. There was no one in the park who might interfere with the ninjas’ operation.

  Randi sat back on her haunches and grinned. Dressed in black from head to toe, she was all but invisible in the dark. Anyone strolling through Founders’ Square would never have spotted her crouched behind the monument in the center of the park. Her pulse was racing, and despite the chill in the air, her palms were sweating. Randi hadn’t felt so alive since the previous summer, when the ninja detectives had solved their first case together.

  That’s right, she thought. Let’s show them that the last case wasn’t a fluke. The world’s greatest crime-fighting team lives right here in the middle of nowhere. And we’re not going to let this town forget it.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  It had been five months since Randi and her father had sold their house in Brooklyn, New York, and moved to Deer Creek, Tennessee. Her first summer in the mountains had been unexpectedly thrilling. Randi had made two new best friends, formed the crime-fighting Ninja Detectives Club, and solved the Case of the Time-Capsule Bandit. But the excitement had come to an abrupt end with the start of school. Since August, she and her fellow ninja detectives, D.C. Cruz and Pudge Taylor, had been forced to take a series of second-rate cases. In September, they’d wrangled a rogue opossum that was terrorizing the sheriff’s pet chickens. Then they’d collared a third-grade graffiti artist who enjoyed drawing unflattering portraits of fifth graders on the bathroom stalls at school. At the end of October, Randi and her team had investigated a series of jack-o’-lantern squashings. That case had seemed quite promising at first. Randi had hoped that the vandalism might be the work of teenage thugs or Halloween haters. But the culprit had turned out to be an ordinary bear that had wandered out of the woods one night with a hankering for half-rotten pumpkin.

  By the middle of November, Randi was worried that her detective skills would end up wasted in a town like Deer Creek. She’d lost all hope of investigating anything truly criminal. Then, finally, a week before Thanksgiving, Randi’s prayers had been answered. The Deer Creek Bank had been robbed.

  She’d heard about the crime the usual way—by eavesdropping on the sheriff. Deer Creek didn’t have a newspaper or television station. But when anything happened, you could always depend on the town’s two biggest gossips, Sheriff Ogle and Betty Prufrock, to get the word out. Randi had been grabbing a treat at Betty Prufrock’s ice cream parlor when she overheard the sheriff, Mayor Landers, and Mrs. Prufrock discussing the theft over double-scoop cones. From what Randi could gather, someone had slipped into the Deer Creek Bank after office hours. The thief never touched the money in the vault or the tills. Their loot of choice was office supplies—and they’d gone straight for the good stuff. The rubber bands and paper clips had remained untouched. Instead, the burglar had taken Post-its and Sharpies, notebooks and highlighter pens.

  It had to be one of the employees, Randi had heard the sheriff say. The culprit in question knew how to turn off the alarms and slink around the security cameras. The bank’s new owner was demanding the sheriff set up a stakeout. But the sheriff seemed convinced that the crime was a one-time affair.

  “Who’s gonna use that many office supplies?” she’d asked her friends.

  “Maybe a burglar with a lot of pen pals?” Betty Prufrock had suggested.

  The mayor, who was sitting with his pet skunk curled up in his lap, shook his head at the question and wondered out loud if the world had gone totally nuts.

  Randi had a hunch that the thief wasn’t done with the Deer Creek Bank. The stolen office supplies were likely being sold online. And Post-its didn’t come cheap. The crook was probably making a killing. And he (or she) must have figured out that the sheriff wasn’t interested in investigating stolen highlighter pens.

  Pudge had spotted an office supply delivery truck parked in front of the bank that morning. A little afternoon sleuthing had confirmed that the supply closet had been restocked. If Randi was right, the thief would soon be going back for more.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  “Ninja Two and Ninja Three, get ready to rock and roll,” Randi whispered into her walkie-talkie. The time had come to crack the case.

  “Ninja One, we have a problem,” Pudge replied. Randi heard a high-pitched giggle in the background, and she knew Pudge’s cover had been blown.

  Randi peeked over the monument. Pudge was right where she’d left him—stationed behind a car parked on the east side of the square. But he was no longer alone. Two little girls in cotton-candy-colored coats had ambushed him. Randi recognized Pudge’s eight-year-old twin sisters, Maya and Laeleah, who appeared to be experiencing mind-bending sugar highs. One of the girls had nabbed Pudge’s hat while the other was trying to climb her brother for a piggyback ride. The frenzy had attracted the attention of a tall, well-dressed woman who’d just exited the Founders’ Square Bakery with a cake box in one hand. Pudge’s mom must have taken the girls out for dessert.

  “Kelly Eugene Taylor, is that you?” she asked, using the name Pudge always begged her not to mention in public. “Why on earth are you hiding behind that car? And why weren’t you home when dinner was served? Your father is not a happy man right now.”

  “But, Mom . . .” Pudge tried to get a word in edgewise.

  “Don’t but, Mom me, mister. Get your rump off the pavement and help me get these two girls home. I swear all it takes is a packet of sugar to turn them stark raving mad.”

  “But, Mom!” Pudge tried
again.

  “Now, Pudge!” his mother ordered in a voice that was pure business.

  Randi felt for the kid; she really did. But she couldn’t allow Pudge’s capture to compromise the entire mission. She pressed the button on her walkie-talkie.

  “Ninja Three, we’re going in without you.”

  “Awww, do you have to?” Pudge groaned just before Randi switched off her walkie-talkie.

  She crept through the dark park toward the alley that ran down the right side of the bank. D.C. was already waiting for her in the shadows.

  “Look,” D.C. whispered. The side door of the bank was ajar. They had planned to ambush the thief in the alley, but the opportunity before them was too good to resist. They could get inside the bank and capture the culprit red-handed.

  Together Randi and D.C. tiptoed through the dark bank toward a dim light at the far end of a hall. As they drew closer, they could hear office supplies being tossed into a sack. Then, at last, they could see the bandit. She couldn’t have been more than five foot two, and she was wearing a black designer sweat suit. A swatch of dyed blond hair stuck out from beneath a black knit hat with a fuzzy pom-pom on top. When D.C. gasped, the thief spun around at the sound. Even with sunglasses hiding most of the girl’s face, Randi had no trouble identifying the criminal. It took every ounce of restraint Randi could muster to keep from hopping up and down and squealing with sheer delight.

  It was better than opening the best present on Christmas morning. It was more thrilling than the brightest fireworks display on the Fourth of July. The person raiding the supply closet was none other than Randi Rhodes’s archenemy Amber-Grace Sutton, daughter of the Deer Creek Bank’s former owner. Her father, Dean Sutton, had been forced to sell the bank after the ninja detectives had exposed him as a traitor and a crook. For months, Amber-Grace had been looking for a way to settle the score with Randi, D.C., and Pudge.

  The flash of a camera lit the scene. D.C. had snapped a picture of the teenage robber holding a fistful of Post-its and a bagful of loot.

  “Bus-ted,” Randi sang.

  Amber-Grace dropped the stolen goods and hurled her body toward the exit. But it was too late. Randi swung the door of the supply closet shut, trapping the other girl inside.

  “Let me out of this closet, you motherless Yankee, or I’ll turn everyone at school against you! I’ll have my boyfriend . . .”

  As Amber-Grace shouted insults and threats and pounded on the door, Randi Rhodes whipped out her cell phone and dialed the Deer Creek Police.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  When Sheriff Ogle answered, Randi instantly knew that something was off. The sheriff didn’t seem surprised to be hearing from Randi. Of course, the bank heist wasn’t the first Deer Creek crime that the ninja detectives had solved, but Randi expected the sheriff to sound a bit more shocked when she heard the reason for Randi’s call. Instead, she said, “Thanks a bunch for the tip, Miranda. I’ll be right over.”

  There weren’t any sirens when Sheriff Ogle arrived fifteen minutes later. The police station was only a few blocks from the bank. She had walked to the scene of the crime. With her big down coat on, Sheriff Ogle looked a bit like a bowling ball. She was chewing on a doughnut that she’d stopped off to pick up from the bakery.

  “Good work, you two,” the sheriff announced, panting from the walk. “Let’s see what we got here.”

  She swallowed the last bite of her doughnut, took a deep breath, and threw open the door of the supply closet. There, sitting on the floor, was a thirteen-year-old girl in a black sweat suit and purple sneakers. Her swag bag had been emptied and its contents were now back in neat stacks on the shelf. Amber-Grace’s black hat and sunglasses were nowhere to be seen.

  “Those two brats locked me inside this closet!” she wailed, crocodile tears streaming from her eyes.

  Then a man’s booming voice came from behind Randi. “Amber-Grace, is that you? What in the sam hill is going on?” Randi spun around to see Dean Sutton charging down the corridor. He hadn’t worked at the bank in months. There was no reason for him to be at the scene of the crime—unless the sheriff had called him.

  Randi peered up at the sheriff, who once again showed no sign of surprise. She’d been expecting Dean Sutton to arrive. Whatever was going on, the sheriff was behind it.

  “I think maybe your daughter should answer that,” Sheriff Ogle told him. “Looks to me like she might have been doing some shopping.”

  Dean Sutton’s voice softened. “Amber-Grace, honey, what on earth are you doing in there?” He spoke to his daughter like she was a testy toddler or a prize poodle.

  “I was just picking up a few supplies for an art project,” the girl said, sobbing. “I wanted to make Mama a surprise gift for Thanksgiving, and you never give me money to buy anything anymore.”

  Randi couldn’t help but laugh. “You were going to make a gift for your mom out of Post-its and binder clips? I had no idea you were still in kindergarten.”

  “I don’t think that kind of nastiness is necessary,” Dean Sutton snipped.

  “It’s okay. I don’t listen to her, Daddy,” Amber-Grace whined. “Randi’s just jealous. She only says mean things because her own mama is dead.”

  The last word hit Randi like a slap in the face. She could feel her fists tightening into two solid balls. Randi had been itching to show Amber-Grace a few of her latest Tae Kwon Do moves, and it was starting to seem like the perfect time.

  D.C. grabbed Randi’s arm. “Don’t do it. Empty your mind,” he whispered in her ear, quoting the ninja detectives’ hero, the Kung Fu master Bruce Lee. “Be formless. Shapeless. Like water.”

  Randi closed her eyes and tried to take his advice. But a punch or two would have made her feel a lot better.

  “Well, I think this is about all the excitement I can handle in one night,” the sheriff announced. “Mr. Sutton, why don’t you go on and escort Amber-Grace home.”

  “I refuse to leave before charges are pressed,” Dean Sutton said.

  “I’m not pressing charges. I’m sure Amber-Grace will return everything that she’s taken,” the sheriff replied. “As soon as she’s done making that gift for her mama.” Even Sheriff Ogle was having a hard time keeping a straight face about that one.

  “I’m not talking about Amber-Grace!” Dean Sutton bellowed again. “These two delinquents just had my daughter locked in a closet! Isn’t that what you’d call kidnapping?”

  “No, sir,” Sheriff Ogle said. “Technically, that would be false imprisonment. But maybe we should check the security tapes to find out how your daughter ended up in the closet. By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask you, Dean. How do you suppose Amber-Grace got inside the bank in the first place? I haven’t done any investigating yet, but I reckon she must have used a key. You don’t happen to have any old keys to the bank lying around, do you, Dean? The new owner was pretty sure you were supposed to have handed all your keys over.”

  Dean Sutton’s face turned a bright, blazing red. There was no mistaking what the sheriff was trying to say. His daughter had broken into the bank using keys he wasn’t supposed to have.

  “Get up!” he growled at his daughter. “We’re leaving.”

  “But, Daddy!” Amber-Grace wailed.

  “Don’t make me say it twice,” Dean Sutton warned through clenched teeth. He grabbed his daughter’s hand and yanked her to her feet.

  “Don’t forget to drop those keys off at my office on your way home,” Sheriff Ogle called out as the Suttons hurried out the door. “I don’t think Amber-Grace needs to be doing any more art projects, do you?”

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  “You knew all along, didn’t you?” Randi asked the sheriff as soon as the Suttons were gone.

  “Knew what?” Sheriff Ogle pulled a grease-spotted bag out of her coat pocket. Inside was another doughnut.

  “That Amber-Grace was the thief,” Randi said. “You just wanted us to do the work and catch her for you. This was a setup from the very start, wasn’t it?”


  “I’m afraid that’s OPB,” Sheriff Ogle replied with a frown. “That stands for official police business. But a setup? That’s not a very nice way of putting it, Miranda. I just thought it could save everyone a lot of trouble if the law-enforcement community didn’t get too involved. Amber-Grace may be a brat, but she’s been through a rough time lately. She doesn’t need to get arrested on top of it.”

  Amber-Grace had been through a lot? Randi thought miserably. Had Amber-Grace lost her mother? Or been dragged to a tiny town a thousand miles away from her home?

  “You two better skedaddle,” the sheriff said with a mouth full of doughnut. “It’s eight o’clock, and I bet you both missed dinner. Wouldn’t want y’all to go to bed on an empty stomach.”

  * * *

  Go to Appendix A to complete the Ninja Task!

  * * *

  CHAPTER TWO

  * * *

  FROM BAD TO WORSE

  What would Glenn Street do? Randi asked herself as she pedaled down the gravel road that ran beside the river and led to her house. Glenn Street was the heroine of the world-famous detective novels that her dad, Herb Rhodes, once wrote. She was a karate-kicking, wisecracking private eye—and everything Randi dreamed of being. Glenn Street was the one who’d inspired Randi to become a detective. Randi had taken on her first case the same day she’d finished her first Glenn Street novel. A band of delinquents had been smashing car windows in her old neighborhood in Brooklyn. Randi had filmed them in action—and then anonymously e-mailed the video to the police.

  What would Glenn Street do? As much as she hated to admit it, Randi knew that the answer was obvious. Glenn Street would never in a million years set foot in a place like Deer Creek, Tennessee.