Case of the Time-Capsule Bandit Read online

  “That’s just not enough time! Can you give us a little bit longer?” Randi heard her say.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Cruz. One week is all I’m authorized to offer.” Sutton flashed a toothy smile and set off toward the bank. “Oh, and don’t forget to vote for Amber-Grace in the Miss Catfish Pageant!”

  Mrs. Cruz hurried back to the apple stand, where a small line had formed behind Randi. D.C.’s mom shot him a frustrated look. “Stop dawdling, Dario. We’ve got customers!”

  D.C. quickly put a chocolate-drizzled caramel apple into Randi’s hand.

  “No charge,” he whispered. “Thanks for helping me out.”

  Randi took a bite. “My pleasure,” she said without thinking. And that’s when she realized it had been.

  * * *

  Go to Appendix C to complete the Ninja Task!

  * * *

  CHAPTER SIX

  * * *

  THE NINJA’S HIDEOUT

  “Cracked the case yet?” Herb Rhodes joked as they sat down to a dinner of microwaved macaroni and cheese.

  “I’ve got a few suspects,” Randi replied.

  Her father paused with a spoonful of neon-orange pasta poised an inch from his mouth. “You know I was kidding, right? The missing capsule case is starting to look like serious business, Miranda, and you’re just a kid.”

  “And you’re the one who dragged me down here to Dullsville. Do you really want me to die of boredom?”

  “Miranda Jasmine Rhodes, what’s gotten into you?”

  “Nothing that wasn’t in me before. Not that you’d have noticed.”

  Herb Rhodes sat back, crossed his arms, and gave his daughter a stern look. “Miranda Rhodes, you stay out of the way and let Sheriff Ogle do her job.”

  “If she does her job, I’ll stay out of the way. But tell me this,” Randi said, deftly changing the subject. “Why does everybody in Deer Creek seem to hate everyone else? Aren’t little towns supposed to be friendly?”

  “Who’s not friendly?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Why don’t we start with the guy who set a skunk loose on the mayor.”

  “Angus?” Her father laughed. “He’s just a cranky old man.”

  Randi toyed with her macaroni, but she couldn’t bring herself to eat a bite. She missed her mother’s home cooking. For the past year, she and her father had survived on canned soup and microwaved meals. “What’s Angus McCarthy got against Mayor Landers?”

  “Well, if you believe Mrs. Prufrock’s gossip, Angus once accused the mayor of stealing something from him.”

  “What did he steal?”

  Randi’s dad swallowed a mouthful of pasta. “Dunno. Angus never said.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “It all happened seventeen or eighteen years ago, back when Cameron Landers was a teenager. He and some friends broke into that cabin over in Rock Hollow.”

  “The haunted one?”

  “Yep. It used to belong to Angus’s father.”

  “Toot the Treasure Hunter—the one who went missing.”

  “That’s the man. Back then, Toot had been missing for only a couple of years, and Angus hadn’t gotten around to packing up his father’s stuff. I guess he kept hoping Toot would show up again. Then he caught Cameron Landers and some other boys looking for Toot’s ghost and chased them away. He swore they’d stolen something from the old house. But he wouldn’t say what.”

  “And that’s why he set the skunk on the mayor? For something that happened a million years ago?”

  “Oh, I’m sure Angus has had plenty of other complaints since then.”

  “So do you think he’s the one who took the time capsule?”

  “Anything’s possible,” her father said with a shrug. “I’m going to leave the investigating to the professionals.”

  Just when the conversation was about to get interesting, Randi thought.

  “I can’t believe that the man who created Glenn Street won’t try to solve a real-life case. What’s happened to you, Dad? Aren’t you interested at all?”

  “Oh, I’m interested. I plan to read about it in the Deer Creek paper. And you better promise me that’s what you’re going to do, too. Otherwise, I might not give you this. . . .”

  He dipped his fingers into his shirt pocket and pulled out a pink postal slip.

  “The postman left it in our box yesterday. It must have gotten tucked inside a catalog. I just found it this afternoon.”

  “Is that what I think it is?” Randi nearly leaped over the table. Her BPX5 had arrived!

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  After dinner, Randi hopped on the rusty old Schwinn for a farewell ride. When she passed Guyton Orchard, a strange whim came over her, and she turned down the gravel driveway. A farmhouse sat in the distance, flanked by a big red barn. As she drew closer, she could see that time had not been kind to the buildings. Two of the house’s windows were cracked, and its white paint was peeling. The barn was in even worse shape. A giant hole had rusted straight through the tin roof, exposing the wooden beams beneath it.

  D.C. must not have heard the sound of Randi’s bike riding over the gravel. He was out on the front porch of the house, practicing Tae Kwon Do. An old illustrated guide to blocks, kicks, and hand attacks was balanced on the swing in front of him. He still had the yellow belt tied around his head, but his wild black mane had broken free. Wisps of sweat-soaked hair were pasted around his face. Randi watched as D.C. popped off an impressive roundhouse kick, then doubled over with a racking cough. He grabbed an inhaler that was sitting on the porch railing. He took a puff but shoved the inhaler into his pocket the second he caught sight of Randi.

  “Nice form,” Randi told him, climbing off of her bike. “Where do you train?”

  “Everywhere,” D.C. replied. There was an unexpected edge to his voice.

  “Where’d you get the book?” Randi pointed at the illustrated guide on the porch swing.

  “It’s my dad’s. It was, anyway. We used to train together. He left the book behind for me when he moved. He’s a brown belt now,” D.C. bragged. “He doesn’t need books anymore.”

  “You really a yellow belt?” Randi asked.

  “What would you know about Tae Kwon Do?” D.C. smarted off.

  Randi raised an eyebrow. “Enough to give you a lesson or two. For starters, you don’t bend your knees enough. Your kicks will be more powerful if you’re grounded before you strike. Here, I’ll show you.”

  She climbed up the steps and gestured for the boy to move to the side. Then, in one swift motion, she executed a roundhouse kick. There wasn’t a mirror, but she knew her form had been flawless.

  “Not bad!” D.C. offered reluctantly, his face turning beet red. “What rank are you?”

  Randi casually put her hands on her hips. “Black belt, first degree.”

  He nodded solemnly. “Then maybe you’re worthy.”

  “Worthy of what?”

  D.C. gave her a grin. “Wanna see something cool?”

  He led Randi around the back of the house, where a flourishing apple orchard seemed to go on forever. The trees drooped with heavy, ripe fruit. D.C. plucked two ruby-red apples from a low-hanging branch and tossed one over his shoulder to Randi.

  At the edge of the orchard sat an old toolshed. The rusted frame of a bicycle leaned against one side. A few feet from the shed was a tall oak tree with a wooden platform built in its upper branches. D.C. snagged the rope that dangled from the tree and pointed up at a hoist fastened high above.

  “Elevator to the crow’s nest,” he explained. “You can see everything for miles.”

  “Nice,” Randi admitted, biting into her apple.

  “You haven’t seen anything yet,” D.C. replied, opening the door to the shed.

  Inside was hideout heaven. A small table sat at the center of the room. On it were mismatched plates and cups and a plastic bin filled with all sorts of snacks. Surrounding the table, ice chests doubled as chairs.

  The walls of the shed were cove
red with martial arts posters. Most were of ninjas twisted like pretzels in gravity-defying, awe-inspiring poses. The two most prominent pictures showed Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan performing stunning feats of Kung Fu. Randi had to smile when she saw an ad for the BPX5 pinned to the back of the door. Definitely friend material, she thought before she remembered she didn’t have time for friends anymore. She’d had lots of them once. Then her mother had died and Randi’s detective duties had started keeping her busy. Over the past year, she’d said good-bye to every friend she’d ever had. Sometimes she missed a few of them, but it was easier to be alone than it was to feel pitied all the time.

  “Impressive hideout,” she said.

  “I’m still working on it.” D.C. cleared his throat nervously. “I’m thinking of starting a new club.”

  “Oh yeah? What kind?”

  “A secret society of ninjas,” D.C. explained.

  Why does it have to be kid stuff? Randi thought, her heart sinking. I’m too old for make-believe. “Ninjas are a secret society.”

  D.C. didn’t seem to know how to answer. After a long pause he added, “You can be in the club if you want. But first you gotta pass the test.”

  “You don’t believe me? I may not be a ninja, but I’m a black belt in Tae Kwan Do. What do you want me to show you?” Randi asked, assuming a combat stance.

  D.C. took a seat on one of the ice chests and grabbed a bag of chips from the snack box. “Who’s stronger, Batman or Superman?”

  “Easy,” Randi answered as D.C. crunched his chips. “Superman. Batman needs gadgets. Although he does have a better car, Robin, and Batgirl.”

  D.C. nodded. “And who’s faster, Jackie Chan or Bruce Lee?”

  Randi chewed on her lip for a moment. “That’s a tough one. They’re both Kung Fu masters. Bruce Lee studied Wing Chun, the art of combat and self-defense, known for its speed. Jackie Chan is an acrobat and stuntman who trained under Lee. I’m gonna go with Bruce Lee, but I wouldn’t want to meet Jackie Chan in a dark alley.”

  D.C. smiled. “That’s it! You’re in!”

  He seemed so thrilled that Randi didn’t have the heart to decline the offer. “Okay. Just make it a secret society of ninja detectives, and you’ve got a deal.”

  “That’s even better!”

  “Then it’s official,” Randi said, rolling her eyes. “Even though neither of us knows anything about Ninjitsu, I guess we are calling ourselves ninja detectives. So how many other members are there?”

  “Right now, just two,” D.C. admitted sheepishly. “Do you have any brothers or sisters who might want to join?”

  “Nope,” replied Randi.

  “Yeah, me neither. It’s just me and my mom.”

  “I live with my dad,” Randi said, hoping she wouldn’t have to explain. “And he’s really overprotective, so I better start heading home. I promised I wouldn’t be out too late.”

  “Okay.” D.C. didn’t hide his disappointment. “So when should we have our next meeting?”

  Don’t do it! Randi thought. Glenn Street works alone! You can’t have some kid with a hearing aid and an inhaler following you around! He’s damaged goods. He’ll just let you down.

  “Meet me in front of Prufrock’s Ice Cream Parlor tomorrow morning at nine sharp,” Randi said, ignoring her instincts. For some reason, she just couldn’t help liking the kid.

  “Your dad lets you eat ice cream for breakfast?” The boy sounded impressed.

  Randi rolled her eyes. “We’re not going to eat. We have to get started on our first big case, and I think the town gossip can help fill in a few details.”

  “Case?” D.C. asked.

  “Of course! Who else in this dinky little town is going to be able to locate the time capsule?”

  * * *

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  * * *

  FAMILY FEUD

  Randi peered through the window at the clock on the post office wall. It was 8:58. She checked her watch to make sure that the time was correct. C’mon, she thought. She was anxious to meet up with D.C. and get cracking on the case. At 8:59, the clerk rounded the corner and unlocked the door. Finally! Randi sighed in relief.

  A few minutes later, she emerged from the building carrying a large parcel, which she strapped to the back of her bike. She’d asked her father’s permission to spend her life savings on a brand-new bicycle. But he’d be expecting a standard model, and Randi knew exactly what he’d say when he saw the BPX5. Miranda, you shouldn’t squander your money on frivolous things. That’s what he’d told Randi when she’d spent last year’s birthday money on a parabolic microphone kit. The same kit that had helped her identify the delivery van that was being used by a ring of coldhearted pigeon thieves. Of course, Herb Rhodes had never found out that Randi was the anonymous source who’d alerted the cops—and he still tsked whenever he laid eyes on the microphone’s box.

  Randi wheeled down Main Street toward Prufrock’s. Deer Creek seemed quiet for a Monday. A few citizens went right on preparing for the president’s visit, but their faces were grim, and a pall had fallen over the town square. She saw a Secret Service agent peeping into the dirty front window of McCarthy’s Bait ’n’ Tackle. Looking for the capsule? she thought. Let’s see which of us finds it first.

  The sound of a jackhammer suddenly filled the square. A small crew of men was replacing a patch of cracked sidewalk. The din made her homesick for noisy New York. She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to pretend she was back in Brooklyn, on her way to her favorite spy supply store.

  Randi opened her eyes just in time to see a pair of Secret Service agents exiting a nearby café with steaming cups of hot coffee. Neither checked for traffic before they stepped out into the street. Randi steered hard to the right, brushing against one of the agents as she hopped the curb and . . . WHAM! She slammed into a trash can. Randi skidded across the concrete, her bike’s pedal etching a long scratch into the sidewalk. The package on the back flew through the air and landed hard at the feet of the mysterious boy she’d seen the day before.

  “Watch where you’re going, kid!” one of the Secret Service men barked. All Randi could see was the mud-caked treads of their boots as the two agents stomped off across the park, leaving her sprawled facedown the sidewalk.

  “Hey! You okay?” someone asked. The Boston kid offered Randi a hand. “You hurt?”

  “I don’t think so,” Randi replied once she was back on her feet. But when she saw her package lying on the sidewalk, her heart nearly stopped. Did anything break? She used her house key to open the box. Then she tore through the wrapping and inspected the contents. A vial of footprint-casting powder had cracked. Fortunately, that appeared to be the extent of the damage. She gave a sigh of relief.

  “Sorry, I should have said thanks . . . ,” she began, but when she looked up, she saw that the boy was gone. She scanned the area and caught sight of him ducking down behind a parked car on the opposite side of the park. The two Secret Service agents had stopped a few feet away on the sidewalk. From Randi’s vantage point, it almost looked like the Boston kid was shadowing them.

  Just then a battered truck drove past and stopped in front of the bakery up the street. D.C. hopped out of the passenger’s seat with a basket of apples. He was wearing faded jeans with a ratty T-shirt. The yellow belt was still wrapped around his head.

  “Sorry I’m late! I’ll be right there!” he shouted at Randi. “Just gotta make a quick delivery.”

  Randi locked up her bike and waited for her new sidekick, who already seemed to be slowing her down. The delivery was taking longer than D.C. had promised, and when she reached the bakery, Randi saw why. D.C. had been ambushed.

  “Would ya look at Bruce Lee?” she heard Stevie Rogers say as she opened the door.

  “You mean Bruce Wee,” cackled one of his posse. “Get it? ’Cause he’s so short.”

  “You know why Bruce Wee’s belt is yellow and not black? It’s ’cause he’s so scared to fight that he pees in his pants.”<
br />
  “Oh yeah? Well, anyone who’s earned a yellow belt wouldn’t have any trouble kicking a bloated butt like yours,” Randi informed Stevie.

  The bullies spun around to face her. Stevie snarled, but Amber-Grace Sutton was all smiles.

  “How did little deaf Dario earn a karate belt when he can’t afford to take classes?” the girl sneered. “I hear his mom spent so much money on those tattoos that she can’t even pay her mortgage.”

  It was the lowest of low blows.

  “Because your dad won’t give us enough time!” D.C. blurted, sounding dangerously close to tears.

  “I was wrong about you, Amber-Grace,” Randi said. “You’re not a catfish. You’re a snake.”

  Amber-Grace snickered. “I’d rather be a snake than a motherless Yankee. Let’s go, guys. I gotta meet my mom at the boutique to have my dress hemmed for the pageant.”

  Somehow the girl had found Randi’s weak spot, and it took her a moment to recover. “Don’t listen to them,” she told D.C. once the bullies were gone. She just hoped she could follow her own advice.

  “Amber-Grace was right, you know,” D.C. said miserably. “I’m not a yellow belt. I’m not any belt. I’ve never taken a single class.”

  Randi shifted the large box in her arms. “Then I’d say you’re a natural. If you want, I’ll help you train. You could be really good if you stop thinking too much. In fact, here’s your first lesson. Whenever you face a challenge, try to make your mind as still as water.”

  Sensei Daniel had told her that’s what Bruce Lee always said. For a while, Randi had gotten quite good at it. But after her mom died, she’d forgotten how. Now D.C. was concentrating so hard on making his mind as still as water that his eyes were beginning to cross.

  “Maybe we should practice later. We’ve got a case to solve, remember? And I’m supposed to be home for lunch. My dad made me promise. He’s worried I’ll get myself into trouble.”