Case of the Time-Capsule Bandit Read online

  Randi’s mother and father had met in Deer Creek when they were both teenagers. Ten years later, they’d married at the church in town, and they’d bought a house here right after Randi was born. Every summer the family had returned to the mountains. Then last June, Randi’s mom had died, and the two remaining Rhodeses had spent the summer season in Brooklyn. In the two years since Randi had last biked past her parents’ old vacation spot, the place seemed to have slid a bit closer toward ruin. The cottages desperately needed a fresh coat of paint, and the crumbling dock looked ready to wash away.

  “Wouldn’t recommend setting foot on that dock now,” Randi mumbled. “It would probably fall in on top of you.”

  “It’s not looking so sturdy, is it?” her father agreed. “Maybe they’ll fix it up next. Just wait till you see what they’ve done to the town!”

  Randi shot her dad a halfhearted smile. Seven whole days had passed since they had arrived in Deer Creek. Their moving vans had come and gone. The unpacking had kept Randi busy at first, but once the boxes were empty, she’d fallen into a funk. She stayed in her room, thumbing through Detective Weekly and rereading old case files. Her father had been trying for days to get her out of the house, as if some fresh air might cure her condition. But Randi was pretty sure that the boredom was terminal. A ride into the dullest town on earth wasn’t going to do much to save her.

  “Now start pedaling faster,” her dad called out as he picked up speed. “We have to get there in time to see them take out the time capsule!”

  Digging up an old box. That’s what passes for excitement in a town like Deer Creek.

  “Yeah, we wouldn’t want to miss that, would we?”

  Randi’s father ignored the sarcasm. “This year, the Founders’ Day Festival is a really big deal. Deer Creek is turning two hundred years old, and I have it on good authority that a very important person is going to be here in town for the celebration next Sunday.”

  “What kind of big shot’s going to come out here to the middle of nowhere?” Randi sniffed.

  “Well, it must be someone special, because they’re giving him the honor of opening the capsule. I’ve heard all sorts of legends about the town’s three founders. Who knows what they might have buried two hundred years ago. The VIP could crack open that box and find a real treasure inside.”

  “Him?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You said him. VIPs can be female, too, you know,” Randi pointed out.

  “Yes, I do know. It’s just that I have a hunch who our VIP’s going to be. And if I’m right, this one is a guy.”

  “Who do you think it is?”

  “Someone who vacationed here once back when he was a boy. Remember that story your mom used to tell?”

  Randi had heard it a thousand times. Her mother always bragged that she’d taught the future President of the United States how to fish the summer they both turned twelve.

  “You’re trying to tell me that President Gordon is coming down here for the Deer Creek Founders’ Day Festival,” Randi scoffed.

  “I sure hope so. Imagine what it would mean for the town if the celebration ends up all over the news. It could bring a whole new generation of families back to these mountains.”

  You go ahead and hope, Dad, Randi thought. I don’t mess around with wishes or rumors. I only deal with cold, hard facts.

  “Listen up.” A vehicle was driving up fast behind them. “Maybe that’s the president now,” Randi joked. She and her father pulled to the side of the narrow road to let the car pass by. But as the car approached, they saw that it was trailed by two others just like it. Three black SUVs with tinted windows raced past, their heavy wheels pelting Randi’s bike with tiny pieces of gravel. None of the cars had license plates.

  Spooks! She’d read about them in her dad’s books. What business could professional spies have in the mountains of east Tennessee?

  Randi hopped back on the bike and pumped hard on the pedals. A few minutes later, she and her father rolled into Deer Creek, where men in dark suits and sunglasses were already canvassing the town square. Not spooks. Secret Service agents, Randi thought. Which means . . .

  She glanced up at her father in amazement. “The president really is coming to Deer Creek!”

  * * *

  CHAPTER FOUR

  * * *

  GONE

  Deer Creek was bustling with activity. The heart of the village was Founders’ Square, a circle-shaped park surrounded by a handful of shops, the local bank, two tiny cafés, and Prufrock’s Ice Cream Parlor. Everyone in town seemed to be out in the square, preparing Deer Creek for its Founders’ Day Festival.

  They must have been working for months, Randi thought. Most of the town’s buildings had been recently painted. Brightly colored flowers lined the sidewalks, and brand-new park benches were still waiting for someone to sit on them. The north side of the plaza even featured a farmers’ market. There were apples from Guyton Orchard, freshly baked pies from Shipe’s, the local bakery, and wildflower honey from the town sheriff’s own hives. Deer Creek had always been cute, just a little rundown. Now it looked like a place right out of a fairy tale. Or it would have, if it were not for two things: McCarthy’s Bait ’n’ Tackle shop remained the unsightly hovel that Randi remembered. And there were burly men in dark suits stomping around the park, rounding up any ordinary citizens who’d gone ahead and claimed seats. A dozen townsfolk were brusquely ushered off the grass and onto the surrounding sidewalk. They chatted with one another while three of the Secret Service agents built a temporary fence around the unusual monument at the center of Founders’ Square.

  Back when she was little, Randi had loved to pretend that the monument was an enchanted castle. There was something bewitching about it. An enormous boulder hauled into town from one of the mountains, its surface was covered in tiny flecks that glittered in the sunlight. Anchored to the north side of the rock, a bronze plaque crafted by the town’s three founders read, REMEMBER HOW IT ALL BEGAN.

  “What are those Secret Service guys doing over there by the monument?” Randi asked her father as she watched the boulder disappear from view behind the agents’ fence.

  “They’re protecting the boss, I’d imagine. The time capsule’s buried under the boulder. If the president’s going to open the capsule, they’ll want to make sure it’s not dangerous.”

  Randi pointed to a pair of men who were approaching the monument with crowbars and shovels. Another Secret Service agent drove a small backhoe over the grass. Even a bunch of muscular men would need a machine to uproot the massive rock. “The Secret Service is going to move the monument and dig up the capsule? Shouldn’t people from Deer Creek get the honor? Their ancestors were the ones who buried the thing!”

  “It does seem unfair, but I guess you can’t be too safe,” her father responded.

  “Oh, come on,” Randi huffed. “Does the Secret Service really think the three founders were plotting against President Gordon when they buried the capsule two hundred years ago?”

  “No. It’s entirely possible that the founders were plotting against each other, though. The Suttons, Prufrocks, and McCarthys have despised one another for ages. If there is some kind of treasure inside, I wouldn’t be surprised if one of the founders booby-trapped the capsule in case the others decided to dig it up first. Mayor Landers is just trying to be cautious. He doesn’t want anything going wrong on his watch.”

  “Yeah, we wouldn’t want anything interesting to happen here in Dullsville,” Randi droned. But the chance that she might get to see a two-hundred-year-old booby trap in action had already lightened her mood.

  “The mayor’s scheduled to unveil the capsule at noon. Then it goes straight to the jail for safekeeping. Looks like we have a few minutes before they get started. Can I tempt you away from all this excitement with some ice cream?”

  “You can,” Randi replied with a grin. But she didn’t take her eyes off the Secret Service agents. While her dad stopped to chat wi
th one of the locals, she walked her cycle to the bike rack near Prufrock’s Ice Cream Parlor.

  Betty Prufrock herself was standing on the sidewalk outside the shop. A hardy-looking woman with chubby pink cheeks, she was one of the two biggest gossips in town. The other, Sheriff Ogle, was leaning against a streetlight, devouring a triple-scoop cone. Randi had heard that the sheriff had once been a champion kickboxer. Now Deer Creek’s only police officer was as round and pink as a jelly bean.

  Randi could hear the pair chatting, and judging by the tone of their voices, Randi figured the gossip was extra juicy this morning. She crouched down behind the bike rack and pretended to futz with the lock.

  “Selma told me Stevie Rogers almost got his arm ripped clean off,” Mrs. Prufrock said. Randi snarled a little at the sound of the name. Stevie Rogers was nothing more than a half-grown thug. During her last trip to Deer Creek, he’d found out the hard way what happens when you try to “borrow” a bike from a black belt.

  “You know how Selma exaggerates. But Stevie did come away with a nasty ol’ bruise,” the sheriff confirmed. “And I checked out the cabin right after it happened. Wasn’t a soul inside.”

  “Well, the boy’s got no one to blame but himself,” Mrs. Prufrock said with a tsk. “He shouldn’t have been fooling around in that old cabin at night. Everyone knows the whole Holler’s haunted.”

  No exaggeration there, Randi thought. Even she knew Rock Hollow was haunted. Just up the road from Deer Creek, at the base of one of the mountains, Rock Hollow was the site of one of the first cabins built in east Tennessee. The shack’s last owner had been a crazy old codger by the name of Toot Anderson McCarthy. Toot had spent most of the 1980s on an endless treasure hunt. Then one day about twenty years back, he had vanished without a trace.

  It was his spirit that was said to haunt the Rock Hollow cabin and the treacherous caves that riddled the mountain behind it. These days it was practically a Deer Creek tradition for teenagers to get chased off the property by Toot’s ornery ghost.

  “Still, never heard of old Toot hurting anybody before,” Mrs. Prufrock added.

  “Can’t blame his ghost for being in a bad mood,” the sheriff replied with a mouth full of ice cream. A thin stream of chocolate trickled down her chin. She wiped it away with the sleeve of her uniform. “Toot spent all those years looking for the Deer Creek treasure, and turns out, it was right here in town the whole time.”

  “You think there’s treasure in the time capsule?” Mrs. Prufrock asked in a tone that seemed to imply that she didn’t.

  “Where else would it be?” said the sheriff.

  “If you ask me, the Deer Creek treasure is nothing more than a legend. But if that silly old story is how the mayor convinced you-know-who to stop by for a visit, then I’m happy to play along. I just hope it’s enough to save this godforsaken town,” Mrs. Prufrock lamented.

  “Betty, Sheriff, how are you ladies doing today?”

  Randi recognized her father’s voice and quickly stood up. She didn’t want the two women to know she’d been spying.

  “Look who’s here. It’s Herb and Miranda.” Sheriff Ogle paused to take another lick off her chocolate cone. “You finally give up big-city life for some peace and quiet?”

  “Who wants peace and quiet when you can have loud and dangerous?” Randi quipped.

  “Never mind my grumpy daughter.” Herb Rhodes mussed Randi’s hair. “She’ll catch Founders’ Day fever soon. And I gotta say, the town’s looking better than ever. You picked the perfect shade of yellow for the ice cream parlor, Betty. Looks like you’ve got some nice new tables in there, too.”

  “Glad you like them.” Mrs. Prufrock beamed. “The renovations took every last dime that I had. Not that I’m complaining. I don’t think there’s a savings account in Deer Creek that wasn’t drained to spruce up the town. Only one who didn’t chip in was Angus McCarthy,” she said with a bitter nod at the ramshackle bait shop across the square. “But that’s to be expected, I suppose.”

  “Yep, if the mayor doesn’t pull off this Founders’ Day extravaganza, the whole town will go broke,” the sheriff noted. “The tourists haven’t been coming for years. I don’t think I’ve issued more than twenty fishing licenses since summer began.”

  “But I know y’all didn’t come to hear us moan and groan,” Mrs. Prufrock told Randi and her dad. “Bet you’d rather have a scoop of my hand-churned chocolate chunk, wouldn’tcha? Come on inside.” The Rhodeses followed as Mrs. Prufrock ambled through the doorway of her shop and slid behind the counter. Then she paused to give Randi a funny look. “You know, you sure have gotten pretty, Miranda Rhodes. Tell you what. I’ll give you a second scoop on the house if you’ll enter the festival’s Miss Catfish Pageant. Someone’s gotta keep that Amber-Grace Sutton from winning the title four years in a row.”

  “Yeah, um . . . no thanks,” Randi replied rather tartly. She honestly couldn’t imagine anything worse than getting all dolled up and prancing around on a stage in the center of town. Especially if it meant coming within fifty feet of Amber-Grace Sutton, the most obnoxious brat in east Tennessee.

  “Oh well,” Mrs. Prufrock replied with a sigh. “Suit yourself.”

  “It’s not such a bad idea, Miranda,” Randi’s father jumped in. “Practicing for the pageant might help keep you busy for the next week.”

  “And what’s going to keep you busy?” Randi asked dryly.

  Before her dad had a chance to reply, his cell phone started to ring and he took it out. Randi caught a glimpse of the name on the display just before he stuffed the device back into his pocket. Sullivan & Sutherland, it read—the company that published the Glenn Street novels.

  “Was that your editor?” Randi asked. “Why didn’t you answer?”

  “It’s not a good time.”

  “Why’s he calling, anyway?” Randi huffed. “Doesn’t he know you retired? Or did you let him think that you moved down here so you could write about catfish?”

  Herb Rhodes ran his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair, shook his head, and turned his back to her. Randi knew that was his way of saying Don’t push it.

  “Here you go, Miranda,” Mrs. Prufrock said, passing her a cone with two huge globs of chocolate chunk stacked on top. “I gave you an extra scoop anyway.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Randi muttered. She wished the woman hadn’t bothered. She’d gotten tons of free stuff after her mom died. Everyone had felt so sorry for poor motherless Miranda Rhodes. The last thing Randi wanted right now was Mrs. Prufrock’s pity. She looked around for her dad and found him standing in front of the refrigerated display with a faraway look in his eyes. Randi had seen that look before. Her dad had worn the same expression for months after her mom got sick and he’d decided to quit writing. She hated that look.

  Randi was about to offer an apology when her eyes were drawn to a flyer that someone had pinned to the parlor’s bulletin board.

  * * *LOST CAT * * *

  FIFTY POUND

  REWARD IF FOUND

  Answers to the name PUMPKIN

  A photo showed an obese orange tabby cat wearing a leash. Randi snatched the flyer. A fifty-pound cat? she thought. Someone needs to lay off the cat treats and get rid of that leash.

  “Are y’all settling in okay?” Back at the counter, Mrs. Prufrock was handing her father a cone. “Is there anything we can do for the two of you?” the woman whispered just a little too loudly.

  “Thank you, Betty. We’re managing just fine.”

  “I was so sorry to hear about Olivia,” said Mrs. Prufrock. “Cancer, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Herb confirmed.

  Mrs. Prufrock shook her head. “Such a shame. She was a wonderful girl. And this must have been so hard on Miranda.”

  “She’s adjusting.” Herb looked eager to flee. He fished for money in his pockets and handed the woman a few crumpled bills.

  “Hey, y’all?” Sheriff Ogle stuck her head through the door. “Just thought you might want t
o know that they’ve moved the monument. They’re about to reveal the capsule.”

  “Great!” Randi’s father sounded relieved. “We’ll be right out!” He practically pushed Randi through the door and across the street to the edge of the park. Sheriff Ogle was already there, watching a young man set up a microphone stand in the park. He seemed to be the only citizen who’d been allowed onto the grass.

  Randi took in the scene from the sidewalk. The backhoe that moved the monument had been driven away. The boulder itself sat off to one side, and the temporary fence circled whatever had lain beneath the rock. Ten Secret Service agents stood guard around the fence, and none of the townsfolk dared take a peek behind it. So there really was something under the boulder, Randi thought. Her eyes passed over what looked like a pulley system that was still lying on the grass. The capsule must not be very big if they didn’t bother to assemble the pulley.

  “So I’m guessing you know who the VIP’s going to be?” Randi asked the sheriff.

  The sheriff straightened her spine, and her voice took on an official tone. “The mayor will make the announcement as soon as the time capsule has been transferred to a secure location. Until then, I can’t talk about it. It’s OPB.”

  “It’s what?” Randi’s father asked.

  “Official police business,” Sheriff Ogle explained.

  “Oh,” Herb finally said with a wink to Randi.

  “But see those men in the sunglasses?” the sheriff whispered. “Let’s just say that they work for our VIP.”

  “They’re Secret Service,” Randi said.

  “Shhh!” The sheriff glanced around nervously.

  A gravelly voice called out from the sheriff’s radio. “The goose is laying the golden egg! Need cover! Over!”

  “Roger that.” Sheriff Ogle spun around. “Gotta run. OPB!”

  Handsome Mayor Cameron Landers stepped out of a car at the edge of the square. The sheriff met the mayor at the curb and escorted him across the park to the microphone stand.