Case of the Time-Capsule Bandit Read online

  D.C. glanced down at her knee and frowned. “Looks like you already did. What happened to you? And what’s in the box?”

  For the first time, Randi noticed the bloody scrape on her leg. “I had a run-in with the Secret Service.” Then she considered the box. She’d been dreaming about the BPX5 for over a week. After what she’d just heard in the bakery, though, she knew there was someone who could use it much more. “And this is a surprise for you!”

  “For me?” D.C. asked. Before she could respond, Randi’s attention was drawn away. Dean Sutton was leading a man in a business suit toward the bank on the opposite side of the square. Maybe it was the man’s rigid posture or perfectly pressed suit that made him seem to be someone important. Trailing a few feet behind was the boy from Boston. She waved to get the kid’s attention, but he was too busy watching his feet.

  “Who’s that?” D.C. asked.

  “I was just going to ask you the same thing. When I fell off my bike, he gave me a hand.”

  “Never saw the kid before. That his dad with Mr. Sutton?”

  “Must be, right?”

  “Well, if he’s friends with Mr. Sutton, he must be a jerk.”

  “A good detective never jumps to conclusions,” Randi chided him. But she made a mental note to check the man out.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Mrs. Prufrock was wiping the tables when they entered the parlor.

  “Miranda Rhodes and Dario Cruz,” she said with a smile. “Did y’all see the sign outside? We don’t start serving until eleven. I thought only one person in town ate ice cream for breakfast. And speak of the devil . . .”

  Sheriff Ogle stepped into the shop, fanning her face wildly. “Woo! It’s gonna be a scorcher,” she said.

  “Mildred, you’re just in time. I was just about offer Miranda and Dario a free scoop of Cherry Dump Delight,” said Mrs. Prufrock. “Don’t suppose you’d like one?”

  “Why, don’t mind if I do.”

  “Thanks for the offer, ma’am, but we’re actually here on business,” Randi said with an official air.

  Mrs. Prufrock looked bemused. “And what business is that?” Then her face burst into a mischievous grin. “Don’t tell me . . . you’ve changed your mind about the Miss Catfish Pageant and you want a sponsor! You ready to give that horrible Sutton girl a run for her money?”

  “No,” Randi informed her. “This isn’t about the pageant. We’re looking for the time capsule.”

  “No need,” the sheriff broke in. “I already know who took the time capsule and why. Just got to prove it.”

  “Then what on earth are you doing here?” Mrs. Prufrock demanded.

  “I’m on my after-breakfast break, Betty. The investigation will recommence right after I finish my daily cone.”

  “So who do you think stole the capsule?” asked D.C.

  “Yeah, who?” Randi chimed in.

  “That information can only be shared on a NTKB. It’s OPB.” The sheriff took a lick off the cone Mrs. Prufrock had handed her before she explained. “That’s need to know basis and . . .”

  “Official police business,” Randi finished for her.

  “Oh, spare us the secrecy, Sheriff,” Mrs. Prufrock huffed. “Everyone in town knows Angus McCarthy stole the capsule. What we don’t know is why you haven’t gone up there to take it right back.”

  “I guess that skunk’s outta the bag.” The sheriff sighed. “But you can’t search someone’s house just because people don’t like ’im. You need PC. That’s probable cause. Right now, I don’t have enough proof for a search warrant.”

  Randi grabbed a notepad from her backpack. “Why are you so sure it was Mr. McCarthy?” she asked Mrs. Prufrock.

  “Because Angus McCarthy wants this town to go under. He stole the capsule so we’d have to cancel the festival. He wants to force the rest of us to sell out the same way he did.”

  Sell out? How did Angus sell out? Randi thought. There wasn’t enough time to ask.

  “Or maybe Angus was after the treasure inside the time capsule,” the sheriff added.

  “I wish you’d stop talking about treasure, Mildred,” Mrs. Prufrock clucked. “You’re supposed to be the sheriff. You can’t go around believing in silly old legends.”

  “Nothing silly ’bout treasure,” the sheriff replied. “Toot always said there was enough hidden somewhere to put this town back on the map.”

  “And that’s why folks laughed at him. Maybe if—”

  “I’m sorry, but I’m missing something,” Randi interrupted. “What’s this treasure everyone keeps talking about?”

  “Will it bore you to tears if I tell them the story?” the sheriff asked Mrs. Prufrock.

  “Naw, go ahead,” the other woman said with a sigh. “But the short version, if you don’t mind.”

  The sheriff scarfed down her last bit of ice cream. “You’ve probably heard that Deer Creek was founded by three Irishmen. Liam Sutton, Jed McCarthy, and Sean Prufrock. Well, in 1813, they came to Tennessee to claim land, and all three of them wanted this beautiful valley. And they weren’t the sort who liked to share. They fought each other that whole summer and into the fall.

  “One afternoon, they were all down by the river when they heard a scream. Two Indian sisters had been canoeing downstream when their boat hit white water. One of the girls had fallen into the icy-cold river and the other had almost drowned when she jumped in to help her sister.

  “No one knows which of the three founders acted first. But somehow the girls were saved. And as it turned out, their father was chief of a nearby tribe. When the founders returned the girls to their people, the chief gave Sutton, McCarthy, and Prufrock a reward.”

  “The Deer Creek treasure,” D.C. chimed in.

  “So they say,” Mrs. Prufrock grumbled.

  “What was it?” Randi asked.

  “No idea,” the sheriff replied. “But it must have been something amazing, ’cause the founders spent so much time fighting over who deserved it most that none of them prepared for the winter. They ended up spending the season holed up in a cave. All three of them would have died if the Indians hadn’t checked up on them. When spring finally came, they founded the town. And they named it after the two girls who’d been saved: Running Deer and Creek Walker.”

  “What happened to the treasure?” D.C. asked.

  “Some folks say they spent it. Some folks, like Betty here, claim there was never a treasure to begin with. And some think they buried it under that monument in the middle of town.”

  “Why would they do that?” Randi asked.

  “Way I always heard it, when the founders couldn’t decide how to split it up, they figured whoever’s family lasted the longest would be the one that deserved it.”

  “See what I mean?” Mrs. Prufrock scoffed. “It’s just a silly old story. Hard to believe it’s still causing so much trouble today.”

  “It’s a silly old legend that got the President of the United States to come to Deer Creek,” the sheriff pointed out. “You think he’d have been so willing to open that capsule if he hadn’t heard the founders’ story?”

  “Everyone loves that story, Mildred. But you and Toot are the only ones who were ever gullible enough to believe it.”

  “So Toot the Treasure Hunter was looking for whatever the Indian chief gave Deer Creek’s three founders?” Randi asked.

  “Yep,” the sheriff replied. “When the McCarthys started having money problems, he set out to search for it.”

  “Toot was just as crazy as his son, Angus,” Mrs. Prufrock added. “Every morning, the old man would put on that safari hat and head off into the woods. If he’d just gotten a job, he mighta earned a little money and saved his son from having to sell out.”

  “Sell out? What exactly did Angus McCarthy sell?” Randi asked.

  “He sold Toot’s old cabin. Mayor Landers offered to buy up the house and the land behind it. But that miserable coot said he wouldn’t part with the land for any price. Then he went and sold the
first house ever built in Deer Creek to a Yankee.”

  “And then he stole the time capsule because he wanted the rest of you to be ruined, too?” Randi asked.

  “Not all of us are going to be ruined,” Mrs. Prufrock said. She was glaring out the window of her shop.

  From where Randi stood, she could see Mr. Sutton and the man in the business suit through the window.

  “Dean Sutton will be just fine. That vulture’s gonna swoop down and pick this whole town clean,” Mrs. Prufrock said.

  “Who’s the man with Mr. Sutton?” D.C. asked.

  “That there’s the Yankee who bought Rock Holler.”

  * * *

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  * * *

  ROCK HOLLOW

  “I think we’ve got a new suspect,” Randi confided once she and D.C. were alone.

  “Who?” D.C. asked. “Everyone seems pretty sure that Angus McCarthy stole the capsule.”

  “He’s not the only one who has a reason for hoping the festival gets canceled. Who gets the town if the tourists never come and Deer Creek goes broke? Dean Sutton and his bank!”

  “Mr. Sutton’s after our orchard, too,” D.C. admitted. “My mom’s been scrimping and saving, but we can’t pay the bills. We’ve been eating apples practically three meals a day, and it still hasn’t done any good. Looks like Sutton’s going to get what he’s after.”

  “Not if we find that capsule!”

  D.C. gave her a sad smile. “This has been fun, but you know we’re just kids, right?”

  “No, we’re not! We’re ninja detectives! And the stuff I’ve got in this box will prove it!”

  Randi set the box down on the sidewalk and took out one item at a time. “Foot-print casting powder. Fingerprint-dusting powder. Luminol and a lumalight. Police radios. And . . .” She pulled out the folding bicycle and held it out to D.C. “A present for you.”

  D.C.’s jaw dropped. “Is that the . . .”

  “BPX5? It sure is. One cubic foot in volume, with six-inch rubber tires and aluminum hubcaps.”

  “And you’re giving it to me?”

  Randi shrugged as if it were no big deal. “I just bought the kit for the detective stuff. I already have a bike.” She pointed down the sidewalk at the rusty old Schwinn that was chained to the bike rack.

  “No. I can’t . . . ,” D.C. started. “I mean my mom . . .”

  “Geez, D.C., do you tell your mom everything? If she asks any questions, just say it’s a loaner. Now unfold that bike and follow me!”

  They raced out of town and toward the mountains. Randi had hoped some fun would help D.C. forget his worries. Now she could hardly remember her own.

  “This is so sweet!” D.C. yelled, pedaling like mad. The small bicycle fit him perfectly, and he handled it with ease.

  Randi slowed for a moment to point at a white clapboard dwelling at the side of the road. It must have been a lovely old house once, but several of its shutters were now hanging from their hinges, and the garden in front had gone to seed. “Isn’t that where Angus McCarthy lives?” she shouted back at her friend.

  D.C.’s eyes widened, and he nearly ran off the asphalt and into some bushes. That’s when Randi saw Angus standing at the end of his drive, checking his mailbox.

  “Stop spying on me! I ain’t got nothing!” the old man bellowed, slamming the mailbox and shuffling back toward his house. Randi heard a dog bark and the front door slam. Then a massive Rottweiler came barreling down the drive. For a moment, Randi was sure that McCarthy had set the dog loose on them. But the mutt raced right past the bikes. Up ahead, an enormous orange blob disappeared around a curve in the road, with McCarthy’s dog hot on its trail. Something about the blob seemed awfully familiar . . . .

  “It’s Pumpkin, the fifty-pound cat!” Randi shouted. “Quick, D.C. We can claim the reward!”

  But as soon as they got around the bend in the road, the cat was gone. A muddy drive sloped off to the left. Randi hopped off her bike. There were several sets of prints in the soft earth. Most looked like dog prints. A few could have been possum or raccoon. Then she noticed a set with a long line drawn between them and remembered the photo on the flyer in Prufrock’s. The cat in the picture had been wearing a leash.

  “Pumpkin went down this road,” she told D.C. “Let’s go!”

  But D.C. seemed to have lost his enthusiasm. “You’ve got to be kidding,” he said. “That’s Rock Hollow. It’s haunted!”

  “We’re ninja detectives,” Randi reminded him. “We aren’t afraid of ghosts.”

  She climbed back on her bike and headed off down the road to Rock Hollow. D.C. hesitated. Then she heard him jump on the BPX5 and come after her. It was a sunny afternoon, but tall trees cast shadows in the heavily wooded dell. Branches almost seemed to reach out for Randi and D.C. as they passed. Needle-sharp brambles and poison ivy grew by the side of the road.

  At the end of the drive sat Toot McCarthy’s old cabin. Its wood-shingled walls were gray with age, and the rock chimney on top of its steep-sloped roof looked ready to topple. Randi and D.C. stopped a few yards from the house. D.C. pulled his inhaler out of his jeans pocket and sheepishly took a puff.

  “Any sign of Pumpkin?” he wheezed.

  Randi spotted a set of paw prints in the damp soil by the house. She left her bike in the drive and went to investigate. “Yep. These are definitely his paw prints.” Randi squatted down. “Hmm, very interesting. Come look at this.”

  D.C. crouched down beside her. “What do you see?”

  “These are his front paws,” Randi said, pointing to two prints. “Now look at the hind ones. See any difference?”

  “I see it! Pumpkin must have an extra toe on his front paws!”

  “That’s right. I’m going to go ahead and make a cast of these prints just in case Pumpkin gets away from us. At least we’ll be able to give the owners proof that he’s alive and well. They must be worried sick.”

  “How long will it take?” D.C. asked. Randi could tell he was itching to get out of spooky Rock Hollow.

  “Just a few minutes,” Randi replied, rummaging through her kit for casting powder.

  “What are we going to do while we wait?”

  “Keep searching for Pumpkin!”

  “I’m not setting foot in that cabin,” D.C. insisted.

  “Then what’s back there?” At the edge of the woods, a well-worn path headed up the side of the mountain.

  “Snakes. Poison ivy. Bears. Caves.”

  “That’s right! There are supposed to be caves in the mountain above Rock Hollow. Let’s go have a look!”

  “This isn’t our property, Randi. We’re already trespassing.”

  “Well, we’re not the only ones. Looks like a lot of people have been through here lately.” She pointed to boot marks on the trail. “In fact, forget the casting powder. I’ll just snap a picture of Pumpkin’s print, and we won’t have to wait to explore.”

  Randi pulled out her phone to take a picture and yelped the second she saw the screen.

  D.C. almost jumped out of his skin. “What’s is it?” he wheezed, fumbling for his inhaler.

  “Is it really twelve thirty?” Randi asked. The phone’s message light was blinking, but there was no reception in the Hollow. “I think my dad called. He’s gonna kill me. I was supposed to be home by noon!”

  “You’re only half an hour late.”

  Suddenly they heard a crash inside house, followed by the wail of an angry cat.

  D.C.’s face went white. He jumped on the BPX5 and spun its wheels around. “It’s the ghost!” he shrieked and nearly ran Randi down.

  Randi’s heart was pounding so hard that she was afraid it might break right out of her chest. Stay cool, she thought. It’s just Pumpkin.

  She turned to face the rundown house, and her blood turned to ice. A figure was watching her from one of the windows!

  Randi raced away from the cabin. D.C. was waiting for her when she reached the main road.

  “I saw hi
m!” Randi cried as she gasped for air. “I saw Toot!”

  * * *

  Go to Appendix D to complete the Ninja Task!

  * * *

  CHAPTER NINE

  * * *

  THE AMBUSH

  It was almost one o’clock when Randi raced toward her house on Poplar Lane, still searching for an excuse for being so late for lunch. She skidded to a stop by the side of the house and snapped the Schwinn’s kickstand into place. When she rounded the corner, she was startled to find a woman sitting on the front-porch swing. She and Randi’s father were sipping lemonade and munching on a plate of Lorna Doones.

  The woman looked like she might be in her early sixties. She was petite, with long gray hair, which she wore in a loose ponytail tied at the nape of her neck. On closer inspection she seemed even younger because her face had no wrinkles.

  “There she is!” Randi had expected her father to be furious. Instead he sounded nervous. “Miranda, you remember Mei-Ling, don’t you?”

  “Is that really Randi?” the woman said with a faint accent. “It’s amazing! You were right, Herb. She looks just like her mother!”

  Suddenly Randi was too angry to speak.

  “Mei-Ling has been in Hong Kong visiting family,” Herb said. “But now that she’s back, she’ll be staying with us. Taking care of . . . the house and whatnot.”

  “Where’s she supposed to sleep?” Randi demanded. “Are you giving her my room?”

  “Of course not. I cleaned out the guest room this morning.”

  “We don’t have a . . . ,” she started to say. “Wait—are you talking about the studio?”

  “You got it,” he said a little too cheerfully. “So why don’t you go ahead and show Mei-Ling up to her room?”

  The air grew thick, and a dry lump swelled in Randi’s throat. She brushed past her father, avoiding his eyes. This has got to be the biggest insult of all time. While I was out investigating crimes and spotting ghosts, my father went and hired a nanny.