A Side of Sabotage Read online

  Praise for Vampires on the Run

  “From its quaint coastal setting to its collection of quirky inhabitants and visitors, Surrisi sets her snare of mystery to a guaranteed surprising outcome.”

  —Rita Williams-Garcia, Newbery Honor award-winning author of One Crazy Summer

  “A delightful mystery with a clever plot twist that does a good job keeping the suspense going while balancing Quinnie’s desire to obey her parents with her concern for her friend’s safety.”

  —Nancy Banks, City Stacks Books & Coffee

  Praise for The Maypop Kidnapping

  “[A] delightful cozy mystery, snugly mixing intrigue and humor, with an unpredictable and satisfying resolution.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “Surrisi has created a tale that captures readers’ attention within the first few pages and keeps up the pace through the last chapter. The characters are relatable, refreshingly human, and very funny.”

  —School Library Journal

  “The only thing that would make this book better is if it came with a Gusty Burger and a side order of lobster fries. I’ve never flown through a book so fast to find out whodunit.”

  —N. A. Nelson, Smithsonian Notable Children’s Book Award-winning author of Bringing the Boy Home

  “The Maypop Kidnapping teems with one-of-a-kind local characters, likely suspects and unexpected heroes, humor, and heart.”

  —Sue Cowing, author of the Society of School Librarians International Honor Book You Will Call Me Drog

  “C. M. Surrisi’s Quinnie Boyd is one of the cleverest, most memorable young teen protagonists I’ve met in quite a while! . . . Surrisi’s debut novel is an engaging cozy mystery, with unpredictable twists and turns and an ending you’ll applaud!”

  —Cindy Norris, Malaprop’s Bookstore/Cafe

  Text copyright © 2018 by C. M. Surrisi

  All rights reserved. International copyright secured. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of Lerner Publishing Group, Inc., except for the inclusion of brief quotations in an acknowledged review.

  Carolrhoda Books

  A division of Lerner Publishing Group, Inc.

  241 First Avenue North

  Minneapolis, MN 55401 USA

  For reading levels and more information, look up this title at www.lernerbooks.com.

  Jacket illustration by Julie McLaughlin.

  Map design by Ingrid Sundberg.

  Backgrounds interior: © Gordan/Bigstock.com.

  Main body text set in Bembo Std 12.5/17. Typeface provided by Monotype.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Surrisi, Cynthia, author.

  Title: A side of sabotage : a Quinnie Boyd mystery / C.M. Surrisi.

  Description: Minneapolis : Carolrhoda Books, [2018] | Summary: “A fancy fine dining establishment has opened in Quinnie Boyd’s Maine town, creating new competition for her father’s humble café. When things start to go wrong at the café, Quinnie suspects the people behind the new restaurant are to blame” —Provided by publisher.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2017006437 (print) | LCCN 2017033440 (ebook) | ISBN 9781512498523 (eb pdf) | ISBN 9781512448368 (lb : alk. paper)

  Subjects: | CYAC: Mystery and detective stories. | Diners (Restaurants)—Fiction. | Sabotage—Fiction. | Friendship—Fiction. | Maine—Fiction.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.1.S88 (ebook) | LCC PZ7.1.S88 Sid 2018 (print) | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017006437

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  1-42555-26211-10/12/2017

  9781541517370 ePub

  9781541517387 mobi

  9781541517394 ePub

  For Chuck, who would happily eat a Gusty burger every day

  1

  I sidestep a patch of creeping beach grass as I walk down Mile Stretch Road. Green crabs catch my eye, scurrying over nearby rocks. Beyond them, gulls stop shredding a piece of seaweed long enough to squawk at me and my friends for interrupting their meal.

  We all have to share this place. The crabs. The gulls. Me, Quinnette Boyd. Ben Denby, scientist-jock. Ella Philpotts, New York transplant and exotic painted bird. Dominic Moldarto, cap-wearing sci-fi expert and all-around nice guy. And Maiden Rock’s summer tourists, back in town for June.

  Ninth grade in Rook River is over as of yesterday. I survived. After all those years of being tutored in Maiden Rock, way out here on the rocky coast of Maine, I was more than a little nervous going to a big school outside of town every day. Having Ella, Ben, and Dominic around made it easier. And now my best friend from birth, Zoe, is coming home.

  But Dominic is leaving.

  I take a deep breath of salty air and let the late-morning sun warm my face. I feel the gravelly sand beneath my flip-flops. Why can’t I pick and choose what happens? And how it happens? Why, why, why? I ask you.

  Ben jogs ahead of us, then doubles back, burning off energy. “I really need to run today,” he says.

  Ella throws her arm around my neck and touches heads with me. “Q, you need to try my newest nail color, Blissful Blue Azure.”

  I laugh. This girl. She’s turned me into a sparkly-toenail-polish wearer just like her. And—woo hoo!—when Zoe comes home tonight, my two best friends will finally meet. I’ve been telling them about each other for more than a year, and soon they’ll be in the same place. Sure, they’re about as different as chocolate pudding and lemon pie. Ella is a questioner, like me. A digger-into-problems. And yes, this gets us into some tricky situations. Zoe, on the other hand, is super cautious. When we were eight, she wouldn’t even help me crawl across the beam in Ms. Stillford’s carriage house so I could dangle from a rope like a trapeze artist. I mean, seriously!

  Still, the thought of them meeting gives me goose bumps of excitement.

  And Dominic is leaving in thirty days, which has me tossing and turning at night wondering if I will ever see him again. He is—and I don’t say this out loud very often—my boyfriend. We’re copacetic (one of Dominic’s favorite words). So a tiny voice in the back of my head keeps telling me that, if he’s leaving, I need to start protecting my heart. But I’m not going to think about that today.

  And oh, there’s this: my dearest darling teacher, Ms. Stillford, who tutored me for my first eight years of school, has been bored out of her gourd since retiring last year. Now she’s taking her husband, crusty lobsterman Owen Loney, on a big see-America trip. And since you can’t run a lobster pound while you’re seeing America, he sold his lobster pound and put his trawler up for sale. But following the sale, he’s been a mopey, coffee-drinking fixture at the end of Gusty’s café counter, which I can see upsets Ms. Stillford.

  It’s piling on. I’m like, enough stress already.

  “Hey, look!” Ella points to the café, where Dad and Owen Loney are wrestling a ladder through the back door.

  Ben takes off running toward them. “ ’Chuppta?” He’s always ready to get involved in a project, especially one that might involve climbing on a roof. “Need help?”

  Dad and Owen Loney exchange raised eyebrows as if to say, Do we look like two old guys who can’t set up a ladder?

  “Thanks, Ben,” Dad tells him. “I think we got it.”

  “What are you doing?” Ella asks.

  “Measuring how much sign space we’ve got,” Dad says. “For Quinnie’s mom.”

  He makes it sound like he’s humoring Mom. But there’s a good reason he and Owen Loney are headed for the roof.

  This is the craziest change of all: The guy who bought Loney’s Lobster Po
und is this chef from Boston with a famous temper. He’s turned the place into a super-fancy restaurant—named after him. Restaurant Hubert has only been open a month, since the middle of May, but it’s the first real competition my dad’s café has ever had. A gourmet restaurant reviewer called it “coastal agri-modernism.” I think that’s supposed to be high praise.

  Mom may be the Maiden Rock sheriff, the real estate broker, the postmaster, and the mayor—all of whom want the town to boom—but like me, she doesn’t want the café to suffer because of some restaurant up the street serving singed-carrot vinaigrette and raw-beet foam. Gusty’s is the heart of this little coastal village and a Maiden Rock institution. Still, the place could use some publicity. We’ve all been trying to convince Dad of that.

  After Restaurant Hubert opened, I made T-shirts that say: Gusty’s Café—Home of the Gusty Burger and Lobster Fries. Mom has been lobbying for a new sign. Clooney Wickham, the all-in-one cook, summer server, and assistant manager, wants Dad to plant flower boxes in the front. Even Ben’s uncle, John Denby, the director of the local nature center, thinks “patchin’ up the pah-kin’ lot might be a good thing.” We’re all on edge about this Hubert place.

  But not Dad. He isn’t afraid of what he calls an “uptight place with hefty prices.” He belly-laughed when he heard Hubert’s signature dish would be “lobster quenelle poached in seaweed broth and finished with a beam of light.”

  “What respectable Mainah will pay for that?” he said. “Me, I’m sticking with burgers and fries.”

  I’m not so sure. Some people like fussy food once in a while. I might even want to try some of it. Like maybe the subzero chocolate pudding on a red bamboo stick. But Dad says he’s not buying a three-thousand-dollar anti-griddle just to make a fudge pop.

  We stand there watching Dad and Owen Loney snap a tape measure across the current sign (which probably went up when Dad was my age), proving how easily entertained we are here in Maiden Rock. I hear a car coming and turn to see a sunny yellow truck heading for Circle Lane. The writing on the door says Randy’s Organic Free Range Poultry. It’s stopping at Restaurant Hubert, no doubt. The egg-yolk yellow of the truck almost hurts my eyes.

  Across the road, a line of beach houses is getting some summertime repairs. A man in overalls scrapes peeling paint off the Morgans’ house, getting it ready for a fresh layer of white. A crew of workers is washing the windows at the Chathams’ place. (It takes a lot of rubbing to clean off a winter’s worth of caked-on sea salt.) And opposite Gusty’s, John Denby is fixing the railing on the front steps of the Lambert house.

  I get a small heart-quake when I think that in a few short hours, Zoe, her mom, and her dad will be piling into that house. I imagine hugging Zoe, introducing her to Ella, introducing Ella to Zoe . . . then, friend perfection.

  “Perfection?” Ella says.

  “What?”

  “You said, ‘Perfection.’ ”

  Great. I’m talking out loud and don’t even know it. “Perfection: my two best friends are going to meet each other soon.”

  Ella nods. She’s been listening to me go on about this for a while. I know she’s not as thrilled about it as I am. I get that. That’s because she doesn’t know Zoe yet. But she will.

  I gesture to the house across the street. “It’s going to be weird having Zoe live there.” The Buttermans will be staying in the Lambert house until Dominic’s family leaves. Dominic’s family rented the Buttermans’ house while his biology professor parents spent their sabbatical year at Rook River College. Ella and her dad lived there for a stretch before that. And soon Dominic’s room, which had also been Ella’s room, will turn back into Zoe’s room, the room where she and I had so many sleepovers.

  “Too bad Dominic’s parents didn’t buy a house here in Maiden Rock,” Ella says.

  We both turn to look at Dominic. Shorts, a T-shirt with a sigma sign on it, Vans with black socks, and that hat. I saw that hat for the first time a year ago. Squat like a golf cap, and plaid. This one’s actually Son of Hat, as he calls it, since Hat was lost at sea during the great vampire caper. I look down at my chest, at the pi sign on my own T-shirt, the one he gave me last August, after a summer of figuring each other out.

  “He’s turned me into a geek,” I say.

  “A totally cool geek,” Ella says. She leans into me and smiles. “Wait, is that an oxymoron?”

  Ella and I look at Ben, who is elbowing Dominic and making comments about the origin of the tape measure while Dominic listens with rapt interest. Who would have guessed that these two would bro-bond like this? When they met a year ago, tempers flared. Ben: You can’t prove that vampires exist. Dominic: You can’t prove they don’t. Ben: Grr. Dominic: Grr. Now here they are, tight as can be.

  Maiden Rock is like that. It brings people together.

  I look at Ella, then think about Zoe, only a few hours away.

  I can’t wait.

  2

  Inside the café, Mom and Ms. Stillford are seated at a central table, looking at Mom’s not very artful drawing of a new sign for Gusty’s.

  Ben and Dominic head over to our regular spot, while Ella and I stop to look at Mom’s idea.

  “It’s a good start,” Ms. Stillford says. I recognize her diplomatic voice.

  Mom holds up the drawing admiringly. “I like it. It says Maiden Rock.”

  “What are those?” Ella asks as she points to some red spots in the corners.

  Mom looks at the blobs like she doesn’t understand the question. “Lobsters,” she says. “Two on each side.” Ella and I don’t say anything. Mom continues, “You know, for Maine . . . lobsters . . . like in Gusty’s famous lobster fries.”

  “What do you think?” Ms. Stillford asks me.

  I don’t want to criticize Mom’s drawing too much, since I agree that Gusty’s should have a new sign. “Maybe we should—er—hire a designer.”

  “Okay.” Mom drains her cup of coffee and rolls up the drawing. “I see that my efforts are not going to cut it.” She laughs. “I’ll take this to Rook River and have it done by a professional. We’re going to have a lot of traffic in town this summer, and we want Gusty’s to snag as much of it as we can.” She gives me a quick hug and heads outside to talk to Dad.

  “You kids coming over this afternoon?” Ms. Stillford asks me. “That carriage house is calling your names. I so appreciate that you’re doing this for me.”

  “We’re ready,” I say. Believe it or not, I truly can’t wait to clean out her carriage house and run a tag sale for her. “But Zoe is coming home this afternoon, so maybe we could wait for her and do it tomorrow?”

  “Of course! That would be wonderful. I can’t wait to hear all about her time in Scotland.” Ms. Stillford smiles at me with twinkling eyes. “You must be so excited, Quinnie.”

  I feel like Ella has tuned out our conversation. I elbow her and say, “I am. I can’t wait for Ella to meet her.”

  Ella smiles. Not a big excited smile. Just a little one. I understand. She doesn’t know what to expect. But I can’t help myself. I’m a silly mess, waiting for the three of us to be together. It’s been two years since Zoe left. Well, one year and eight months, technically, but it seems like an eternity.

  “So, I’ll see you tomorrow?” Ms. Stillford asks.

  “Absolutely,” I say, and then head for where the guys are seated.

  A thin man wearing a black T-shirt and jeans comes in, walks to the counter, and starts to survey the café like he’s a dog looking for a bug on the wall. Up, down, and across. He squints to read some of the raggedy titles on the lending library shelf. Hauntings in Ancient Maine Mansions, Atlas of the Maine Coast, Narragansett, Arundel, Blueberries for Sal, and dozens of old Yankee Peddler and Down East magazines.

  Clooney Wickham wipes the counter in front of the man and hands him a menu.

  “Coffee?” she asks.

  “Herbal tea?” he replies.

  “Lipton,” she says.

  “No herbal?” he a
sks.

  “Nope. No herbal.”

  “Water will do, then.”

  As she walks away, he adds, “Bottled—if you have it.”

  When Clooney returns with the man’s bottle of Poland Spring, he says, without looking at the menu, “I’ll take a kale salad.”

  Clooney stands there with her hands on her hips. Ella and I turn to each other with raised eyebrows.

  He presses on. “With a citrus vinaigrette.”

  Clooney shakes her head and sighs. “House dressing on mixed greens with tomato. Or, we have coleslaw.”

  The man looks at her as if he’s assessing how far he can push this line of questioning.

  “What’s in the house dressing?”

  I cringe. From my seat, I can see the man’s profile. His hair is dark blond, slick and shiny, neat and tight. He has a strong profile with a large nose and chiseled cheekbones. He looks a little like a skinny male model. A skinny male model is asking the fearsome Clooney Wickham to recite the ingredients of the house salad dressing. I would not want to be him.

  Clooney takes an annoyed breath, then rattles off: “Olive oil, red wine vinegar, orange juice, lemon juice, honey, orange rind, onion, salt, celery seed, paprika, dry mustard, sugar, and a partridge in a pear tree. And no, we don’t grow the celery ourselves.”

  He leans back. “I guess that’ll do.”

  Clooney takes the menu from him. This guy has Restaurant Hubert written all over him. What’s he doing here? I make a mental note to tell Dad how patient his normally snarky employee was, how she didn’t do a Clooney on this guy when she easily could have. At the same time, she just told him how Dad makes his greatest salad dressing ever, so I’m a little uneasy.

  Ella leans toward me and whispers, “What do you think? One of the cooks at Restaurant Hubert?”

  “Probably.” We both know it’s not Hubert himself. Everyone in town has heard the big boss has a shiny bald head.

  “I bet your dad’s dressing would be great on a kale salad. Do you think he’d try that?”