Case of the Time-Capsule Bandit Read online

  With Mei-Ling in tow, Randi stomped through the house and up the stairs to the room that had once been her mother’s studio. Now it was just a place for strangers to sleep.

  “This is . . . um . . . it,” Randi stammered and backed out of the doorway.

  She’d been avoiding the studio since she and her father had returned to Deer Creek. Every time Randi passed by the door, she’d tried to imagine that her mother was in there, painting by the window, where the light was best. The thought gave Randi a few seconds of happiness every day. Now she’d even lost that. The last time Randi had set foot in the studio, it had been filled with her mother’s art. She remembered countless canvases covered with beautiful blooms. Painting flowers had been her mother’s specialty. Randi inhaled deeply, hoping she might catch a whiff of the verbena perfume her mother always wore. But there was not a single trace of her mother still left in the room.

  Randi fled before Mei-Ling could see her tears. She dashed down the stairs and flung open the door to the cellar. And just as she’d suspected, that’s where her father had put them. Her mom’s paintings were piled against the wall like a bunch of unwanted junk.

  She found her dad tidying up in the kitchen. “You threw her stuff in the cellar?” Randi shouted.

  “You mean the paintings? The cellar was the only place to store them. Mei-Ling needed a room.”

  “Why is she even here? I thought we agreed that I didn’t need anyone looking after me,” Randi growled.

  “You might not, but I certainly do,” Herb joked, trying his best to lighten the mood. “Besides, Mei-Ling’s not a babysitter. I told you she’d be looking after the house and whatnot.”

  “I know you think I’m just a dumb kid. It wouldn’t take a mastermind to figure out I’m the ‘whatnot’ in this equation.”

  “Miranda, I don’t know why you’re so upset. We need someone around to help take care of things. You know I’m barely able to boil an egg, and a child your age should have home-cooked meals.”

  “A child my age?”

  “You know what I’m trying to say,” Herb countered.

  “The only thing I know is that you don’t know me at all. You never have. Back when I was little, you were too busy flying around the world, going from one book tour to the next. Even after Mom died, you couldn’t be bothered getting to know me. If you’d tried, you’d see that I’m not the same kid I was a year ago. So why don’t you have a seat, Dad, ’cause I think it’s time you found out who I really am.”

  Just then, Mei-Ling appeared carrying a small bag of spices and dried peppers. As she placed them on the counter, she offered Randi a smile.

  “Secret ingredients for my special dish. I brought them back from Hong Kong. You like dumplings, Miranda? I make a hundred kinds of dumplings. I’ll make catfish dumplings, just for you.”

  Randi glared at Herb. They had been talking about her. How else would the woman know that dumplings were her favorite food?

  “Not hungry,” Randi said, and stormed out.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  By the time Randi reached Guyton Orchards, she was hot, exhausted, and out of breath. The wagon she’d latched to the back of her Schwinn was loaded with paintings. She never would have guessed that canvas and wood could be quite so heavy. Saving her mother’s art would take at least three or four trips, and she’d barely had the energy for one.

  “Halt! Who goes there?” D.C. shouted down from the crow’s nest at the top of the oak tree.

  “Who do you think?” she called up to him. “You got any other friends?”

  He shimmied down the tree using the rope elevator.

  “What’s all that?” he asked.

  “I brought some more stuff for the hideout.”

  D.C. eagerly examined the wagon’s cargo. Then he stopped and frowned. “Flower paintings? You brought a bunch of girl junk?”

  Randi’s tough exterior crumbled. She could feel the hot tears flowing down her cheeks.

  “I’m sorry!” D.C. yelped. “Don’t cry! I didn’t mean it! I like flowers, too!”

  “They’re my mom’s. She painted them. And my dad just tossed them into the cellar. He wants to erase her from our lives. He doesn’t care. You know, he didn’t even cry after she died. Not once. I hate him!”

  D.C. looked shocked. “No, you don’t,” he insisted.

  Randi angrily brushed away the tears. “Yes, I do. He packed my mom’s stuff away to make room for her.”

  “Who?”

  “The nanny! My dad hired a stinking nanny because he thinks I’m a little kid.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with being a kid, Randi. Sometimes it’s a whole lotta fun.”

  “You mean it’s a whole lot of fun being a boy. It’s different for girls, you know. We get treated like we’re fragile things that have to be watched and protected. You have no idea how lucky you are to be a boy.”

  “Can you repeat that?” D.C. asked sarcastically, tapping the hearing aid in his ear. “’Cause I’m pretty sure I didn’t hear you right. You think I’m lucky? Just because I’m a boy?”

  Randi choked back a sob. “You’re not helping here, D.C.”

  “Sorry. It’s just that no one ever called me lucky before. So who’s this nanny your dad hired? Is she some horrible old witch or something?”

  “No! That’s the worst part! She’s sweet and cool and she even said she’d make me dumplings!”

  D.C. nodded as if he understood. “But she’s not your mom.”

  Randi started to cry again and D.C. gave her a hug.

  “It’s okay,” he said softly. “I miss my dad, too. He’s still alive. He just has another family now. I don’t see him that much anymore.”

  “That’s terrible,” Randi said, choking on her own tears.

  “That’s life,” D.C. replied with a shrug. “Or so my mom says.”

  Randi used the collar of her T-shirt to dry her face. “Sorry to come over and cry like a baby.”

  “Sorry? We’re friends. That’s what I’m here for.”

  “Yeah, but . . .”

  D.C. leaned in close as if he were about to tell her a secret. “You don’t have to be tough all the time,” he whispered.

  * * *

  CHAPTER TEN

  * * *

  THE FIFTY-POUND CAT

  Once the paintings had been hung on the hideout’s walls, Randi and D.C. stood back to admire the results of their labor.

  “Ninjas, Kung Fu masters, and flowers. Not a bad combination,” D.C. said, nudging one of the canvases to the left so it wouldn’t cover his poster of Jackie Chan.

  But looking at the paintings just made Randi feel worse. They wouldn’t be hanging in a toolshed on the edge of an apple orchard if her mother weren’t gone for good. Randi felt the tears welling up in her eyes again.

  Get it together, she ordered herself. Glenn Street doesn’t get sad. She gets even. Show Herb Rhodes who he’s dealing with. You’re not a crybaby kid! You don’t need a nanny looking after you! You’re the Brooklyn vigilante. You fight crime and protect the innocent!

  “We’ve got to go back,” she announced.

  “Go back where?” D.C. asked.

  “To get Pumpkin.”

  “What? Are you kidding? You want to go back to Rock Hollow after you saw a ghost there?”

  “I’m not convinced that what I saw was a ghost,” Randi said. “But I do know that cabin is dangerous, and Pumpkin’s just an innocent old cat. He could get hurt in there!”

  “Then let’s call the owners and tell them we saw their cat go into Toot’s house.”

  “And forfeit our reward?”

  “Come on, Randi!”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Are you a real ninja detective?” she demanded. “Or are you a kid playing make-believe?”

  “I’m a ninja detective,” D.C. insisted, sounding a bit hurt that she’d questioned his credentials.

  “Then here’s your chance to prove it,” Randi challenged him. “You gave me your test. Now you have to p
ass mine.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  In the shadowy late-afternoon light, the old house at Rock Hollow seemed to be waiting for them. The front door hung loosely on its hinges. The weeds around the building swayed in the breeze. Up close the house no longer looked haunted—just empty and sad.

  The kids stopped their bikes at the end of the drive. Randi tucked a sprig of red curls behind an ear and went right to work unpacking her gear. “I’m going to take a cast of that paw print. I never got a chance to snap a picture when we were here earlier, and now the light’s not so good. I don’t know if a photo would capture the extra toe.”

  “Okay,” D.C. said, his voice quivering. “But I don’t wanna be here too long. This place creeps me out.”

  “Then come over here and I’ll show you how to make yourself useful. I read about how to do this in—”

  “One of your dad’s books,” D.C. said with a huff. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”

  “While I make a paste with the casting powder, I need you to collect some twigs,” Randi said. “I’m going to build a dam around the prints to keep the paste from leaking out.”

  “Twigs?” D.C. surveyed the surrounding wilderness, an uneasy look on his face. “From the woods?”

  “It’ll speed things up.”

  D.C. sighed heavily and set off in search of twigs. A few minutes later he brought an armful over to Randi and dumped them at her feet. “What’s next?”

  “I made the paste and sprayed the prints with hair spray. It should harden and protect them. Now hand me a few of those twigs.”

  She built the dam around the prints and then checked to see that the hair spray had dried. “Give me a hand with this, will ya?” D.C grabbed one corner of the plastic bag filled with the casting-powder paste. Randi took the other. Together they poured the mix.

  “It’ll take about half an hour for it to become solid,” Randi said. “Now let’s have a look inside that cabin.”

  “NO!” D.C. almost shouted. “I mean, why? Even if Pumpkin was in there earlier this afternoon, he’s gotta be long gone by now.”

  “Well, I’m going in,” Randi announced. “You can stay out here by yourself if you want.”

  Being left alone in Rock Hollow didn’t seem to appeal to D.C. “But what about the ghost?” he moaned. “What if Toot tries to rip off our arms like he did to Stevie Rogers?”

  Randi felt herself shiver. “There’s not a ghost on earth who’s a match for a pair of ninja detectives!” she exclaimed, wishing she felt as brave as she sounded.

  “Okay,” D.C. reluctantly agreed. “But when we see that the cat’s not in there, we leave. Deal?”

  “Deal.” Randi grinned and handed him a flashlight.

  The front door of the cabin opened with a strained creak. Randi went in first. Inside, a few rays of sunlight managed to filter through dingy windows, but the place was eerily dark.

  “Flashlight ready,” Randi demanded.

  D.C. clicked on his flashlight and directed its beam across the musty living area. Silky cobwebs covered everything and glistened in the light. A beetle emerged from a hole in the wall and scuttled across the floor into a forest of webs.

  D.C. shuddered. “Well, I don’t see any cat in here. Guess it’s time to go.”

  Randi ignored the comment. She was busy bending down to examine a tuft of orange fur that had been snagged by a rusty nail protruding from one of the floorboards. “Look at this,” she said, snapping a photo.

  “What is it?”

  “Cat hair.” Randi collected the hairs with tweezers and folded them into a sandwich bag. “He’s here. Now let’s find out where Pumpkin is hiding.”

  She took a small spray bottle from her kit and lightly spritzed the floor. When she was done, she pulled out what appeared to be a long black wand.

  “What’s that?” D.C. asked.

  “A lumalight. Body fluids like snot and urine give off a faint glow under a black light. And if you spray the area with luminol first, it will make any stains glow even brighter. Close the front door, would ya?”

  When the room was totally dark, Randi flipped the black wand on. A faint swath of violet light shot across the floor. “Tell me what you see,” she said.

  In the darkness, paw prints glowed iridescent yellow. “They’re everywhere!” D.C. marveled.

  “Still think Pumpkin’s not here?” Randi teased the boy. “What else do you see?”

  D.C. pointed to a circular splotch in one corner of the room. It, too, glowed in the dark. “Is that what I think it is? Ew.”

  “Yep. Looks like urine. But I don’t think Pumpkin was just relieving himself. Looks like he might have been cornered. Cats sometimes spray when they’re scared. Learned that one the hard way a few cases back.” Randi walked over to the puddle and passed the wand over it. “Uhmm-hmm. It’s definitely Pumpkin’s. I can see where his leash dragged through the puddle.”

  “It’s really dark in here, Randi. Can I open the door again?” D.C. asked with a tremor in his voice.

  “Yeah, go ahead,” Randi huffed. His scaredy-cat routine was starting to get on her nerves.

  Randi heard the door open, and a dim ray of sunlight fell across the cabin’s front room.

  “Hey, I found something!” D.C. exclaimed, pointing down at the floor.

  Sure enough, there were a few prints in the dust by the cabin’s front window—and they didn’t belong to Pumpkin.

  “Good eye!” she congratulated D.C. “This is where I thought I saw Toot standing earlier today. But these are boot prints, and ghosts don’t wear boots. Someone was inside the cabin!”

  “Do you think it was the same person who scared Pumpkin and made him pee in the corner?”

  “Maybe.” Randi took out a magnifying glass and knelt down to get a closer look. “Do you see that? These footprints are crawling with tiny ants.”

  She pulled a roll of tape out of her backpack, cut three strips, and carefully connected them. Then Randi placed the tape over one of the prints, pressed, and then lifted the impression off the floor. The print had stuck to the tape, along with a few little ants.

  “Wow!” D.C. exclaimed. “You really know what you’re doing!”

  “Thanks. Come on. Let’s see what else we can find.”

  They ventured farther into the house. D.C. aimed his flashlight above his head to avoid walking face-first into cobwebs. The light captured tea rose–printed wallpaper, which was yellowed by time. In some areas, portions of the paper had peeled back, revealing another layer with a brownish color underneath. Large sections of the walls and floor had disintegrated, and all that remained was swollen and exposed wood.

  “I don’t care if this place is haunted or not,” D.C. whispered. “It’s really creepy. Maybe we should get going.”

  “Sure. Right after we check upstairs.”

  D.C. clutched her arm. “Do we have to?”

  “Someone’s been in the cabin,” Randi reminded him. “They could have been looking for Pumpkin. If we want that reward, this might be our last chance to get it. It’s now or never.”

  “I vote for never.”

  But he followed as Randi started up the creaky stairs. When they reached the second floor, they found themselves in a short hall with four doors.

  “Which room should we check first?” D.C. asked.

  Randi reached for a doorknob and threw open one of the doors. The room’s windows were broken, and the floor was rotting away. Nothing.

  The second room was empty too, aside from a bowl of milk that had been placed in the center of the floor.

  “Look!” D.C. exclaimed.

  “How weird,” Randi said. “That must be for the cat. Someone knows he’s in here.”

  The third room’s windows had been boarded over and the cramped little chamber was pitch black. The beam of Randi’s flashlight passed over a large hole in one wall. Something inside sparkled.

  “Did you see that?” D.C. gasped.

  Randi rushed over and shined t
he flashlight directly into the hole. Pumpkin was curled up inside the rotten wall. His fur glittered like gold.

  “What’s that all over him?” D.C. asked. “It looks like he’s been rolling around in gold dust! What if Pumpkin found the Deer Creek treasure? What if it’s hidden somewhere inside this cabin?”

  “You’re jumping to conclusions again,” Randi warned him. “We don’t know that it’s gold dust. And even if the cat did find a treasure, we don’t know that it’s here. Pumpkin’s probably roamed the whole town in the last week. He’s definitely gotten some exercise.”

  “Doesn’t look like it helped much. He’s still the size of a watermelon.”

  Randi bent down to pet the cat. “Haven’t you heard that looks are deceiving? Pumpkin’s plump, but he isn’t all that fat. Feels to me like he’s mostly fur. I bet he doesn’t weigh more than twenty pounds,” she said, and Pumpkin purred in agreement. “Where have you been, you old rascal?” Randi asked.

  “But if Pumpkin found the treasure, it could explain why someone was trying to catch him—” D.C. started to argue, and then stopped abruptly. A spine-tingling creak had just echoed throughout the house. “Toot!”

  “Old houses make funny noises,” Randi said, trying to sound brave.

  She’d barely gotten the words out when they heard the sound of footsteps on the cabin’s stairs.

  D.C.’s eyes went wide with panic. Randi clamped her hand over his mouth before he could shriek. “Follow me.” She grabbed Pumpkin with one arm and led D.C. to the hinged side of the door. If the door opened, they’d be hidden from view.

  The kids held their breath. The footsteps became louder, closer. KATHUMP . . . KATHUMP . . . KATHUMP . . . KATHUMP . . . The floor creaked and groaned under the pressure. KATHUMP . . . CREAK . . . KATHUMP . . . CREAK! The footsteps stopped right outside the room where Randi and D.C. were hiding. Then a shadow stepped inside.

  Randi needed both hands to keep hold of the cat. If the figure attacked, she wouldn’t even be able to defend herself without letting Pumpkin go. She was trying to come up with a plan when D.C. leaped into action. Randi couldn’t see well enough in the darkness to tell if he’d followed her advice and kept his knees bent. But the kick he delivered must have been powerful. The figure rocked backward and fell.