A Side of Sabotage Read online

  She points to a shallow reedy area between two sandbars. “Remember when that bed used to have decent clams? And we used to take pails out there?”

  “That was fun,” Ben says.

  I stare out at the old clam bed like I’m watching myself seven years ago, wearing shorts and a canvas hat, bent over, digging in the wet sand for quahogs with Ben and Zoe.

  “You and Zoe would have been six, Quinnie, and you seven, Ben.” She shifts on the rock and goes silent for a couple seconds. “Such happy times.”

  The way she says it is so sad, like we don’t have happy times anymore. I want to give her a big hug, but she’s perched up on the rock. Instead, I lean against it. “We have lots more happy times to come, Ms. Stillford.”

  She shakes her head a little. “So much change. Too much change.”

  Ben tries in his way to lighten the mood. “Yeah, that Hubert restaurant is too weird, with its asparagus spoom and all.”

  Ms. Stillford laughs. “Oh, I don’t know. The food is fine, I suppose. It just doesn’t feel very Maiden Rock.” She turns to me. “No need to tell your dad, Quinnie. I had to find out what it was like, but I won’t be going a second time.”

  “Did you have the lobster with the beam of light?” Ella asks.

  “Sounds like you kids have been reading the menu. No, I had sunchoke, oyster, and eggplant involtini with celery-infused cream. It was actually very tasty but too expensive. The place has an ambiance, though, I’ll grant it that.” She laughs again. “The day I was there, so was that woman with the dog, and she was giving the waiter what for because the salad plates weren’t cold enough. She poked her finger in his face and demanded the plates be five degrees cooler!”

  Ms. Stillford gets down off the rock and looks from the ocean to the row of beach houses. “I never thought I’d say this, but I don’t want to see America. Not if it means spending the next year away from Maiden Rock.”

  Ella rushes over and hugs her. “You don’t have to! Just stay here.”

  “Owen doesn’t really want to go either,” Ms. Stillford admits.

  This cracks my heart wide open. Ella has her arms around Ms. Stillford’s shoulders, so I go for her waist. I’m squeezing her with my face pressed against her back, and the next thing I know Ben is standing by us joining the hug-in. Not to be left out, Dominic piles on.

  From deep within our little huddle, I hear Ms. Stillford say, “I love you kids.”

  24

  Later that afternoon, I’m back at home, and I hear Mom on the phone in her office. She’s talking to Detective John Dobson in Rook River. He used to be Officer Dobson, and he’d really get on her nerves, but then he backed her up in a huge way when Ms. Stillford went missing, and they became good friends. He’s the one who loaned her the plainclothesman to watch the café at night after the spice incident.

  “I understand, John, there are staffing shortages across the state. And I sure do appreciate what you’ve been able to do for us . . . Yes, that’s right, no activity for five nights . . . It’s all quiet . . . Well, okay then. Thanks for the help.”

  Mom’s chair squeaks like she’s rocking in it and thinking. Then she phones Dad. I stand very still.

  “Gus, Dobson needs his man back . . . We’ve had him out there drinking coffee in the bushes for five nights . . . Oh, you’re right about that. No one’s getting through those new locks.”

  Dad seems to talk for a long time.

  “I agree,” Mom says. “Let’s give it a rest for now. If we think we still have a problem later on, I’ll go get a security camera and set it up.”

  As their conversation turns to commercial cleaning products, I resume walking out the door. I can’t quite believe Mom’s going to stop the live surveillance on Gusty’s. Sure, I get that Dobson can’t provide it anymore, and sure, I get that she thinks the new locks are going to be secure, and sure, maybe the perpetrator hasn’t shown up for the last five nights, but what does that really tell us?

  It doesn’t tell us we are ironclad safe. It’s playing the odds. The perp may have been watching the plainclothesman while he sat in the bushes. Maybe the minute our saboteur sees he has another chance, he’ll take it. Plus, who knows how good he is at lock picking? For some criminals, there’s no lock they can’t pick.

  When I get to Dominic’s room I ask, “Hey, have you packed your video camera yet?”

  “Yep. I couldn’t even tell you what box it’s in. Why?”

  “We have a mission.”

  “What is it?” Dominic asks.

  “The Rook River sheriff’s office is pulling its surveillance officer, and my mom isn’t going to replace him because she thinks the locks are good enough.”

  Zoe walks in at that moment. I texted her to meet us just to be sure she wasn’t moping in her room. “What’s up?”

  Dominic doesn’t notice her. He’s already gone into planning mode. “We could post two people inside, two outside in the back, and one out front, ready to record with their phones. And where would we put the camera? If I can find it, that is.”

  “The back door, of course. That’s the point of entry,” I say.

  Zoe waves her hands. “Oh no. No more break-ins or stakeouts or sting operations.”

  “It’s not a break-in, Zoe,” I tell her. “It’s my family’s café.”

  Dominic, trying to stay above the fray, starts assigning tasks. “Ben and I can be in back with the camera. Ella and Quinnie can be inside. And Zoe, you can be out front.”

  “Sorry, guys. No can do. The only way I’ll be out front is if I’m across the street and upstairs in my room.”

  “That’s good enough,” says Dominic.

  I know I should let the point go, but: “We’re trying to catch the person breaking in. And not even physically catch them.” I can hear my mother’s voice if she stumbled upon this conversation. I reiterate the safety of what we’re doing. “Just get footage of them breaking in.”

  “What if they try to set the place on fire?” Zoe asks. “And some of you are inside?”

  I’m miffed at her for even imagining it. “Don’t say that.”

  “I’m just saying,” Zoe says.

  “And I’m saying, don’t say it,” I snap.

  Zoe looks shocked. For a second, I think she’s going to tear up.

  Dominic just stares at me.

  “What?” I say. “Thoughts are powerful. That’s all.”

  Without saying a word, Zoe turns and walks away.

  “Zoe!” I call out. “Come on!”

  Dominic’s still looking at me.

  I ask him, “You gonna find that camera?”

  * * *

  As I head back to my house, I try to forget about Zoe storming off. Sharing the new plan with Ben and Ella is just more important right now. When I reach my front porch, Mrs. Billingsley is coming out with her big bag over one arm and Groucho in the other. In her hand is a key. I wait for her to come down before heading up, but she lingers.

  “Hello, young lady.”

  “Hi.” I reach out to pet Groucho, who wriggles happily.

  “Go ahead, might as well,” Mrs. Billingsley says and kisses Groucho on the top of his head. “He’s just impossible to resist.”

  I give the little guy’s head a good scratching, and he stretches his neck for more.

  “Okay. That’s enough,” Mrs. Billingsley says. “We have to go.”

  Groucho keeps his eyes on me and wags his tail as Mrs. Billingsley gets into the car and slams the door. Inside the car, the dog jumps up and down like a ping-pong ball. He’s cute, but he’s a weird one.

  Mom’s in her office, standing at her real estate desk and wearing her sheriff’s uniform, but her top button is unbuttoned and her shoulders are sagging a bit.

  “What did Mrs. Groucho want?” I ask her.

  “The toilet has a bad smell. The bathroom faucet drips. The freezer doesn’t make the ice hard enough. And now she’s lost her dratted key.” Mom shakes her head. “I had to charge her the fu
ll fifty dollars for a replacement. I mean, what am I supposed to do? It’s in the rental contract.” She turns and looks at me like she’s just realized I’m there, even though we’ve been having a conversation. “How’s packing going for the Moldartos?”

  I don’t exactly roll my eyes. I should be used to this by now. She always knows where I am and where I’ve been. She has the greatest spy network in the world. “They’re almost done.”

  “Here, let me give you a new Gusty’s key.” She opens a paper envelope and shakes out a bigger, heftier key than we had before. “We had the café locks changed last night. Would’ve liked it done even sooner, but we had to do a special order to get the really strong stuff.”

  I turn the key over in my hand. It has real weight to it, as if it’s taking the threat seriously. That doesn’t change the fact that someone with ill intent might put our new locks to the test.

  * * *

  At eleven thirty that night, Dominic and Ben are by the back entrance of Gusty’s, hidden behind some crates and barrels, armed with their phones and Dominic’s camera, prepared to record anything that happens. Zoe is by her bedroom window, watching—I hope. Maiden Rock is partially overcast, with thunder rumbling in the distance, and for a second, I think Zoe might be the smart one.

  Ella and I sneak into the café using my heavy new key. We don’t turn on any lights, so Ella creates just a little bit of noise when she knocks over something metallic and shouts, “What the—?!” when it hits the floor.

  I bump into a stack of dishes, almost sending them cascading to certain death. My heart races as I steady the tower of crockery. There’s moisture hanging in the kitchen air from the steam cleaning that was done before lockup, and it starts to bead up on my forehead.

  I feel my way to the counter, where moonlight coming through the front window reveals the chairs doing handstands on the tables. Zoe’s house is dark across the street, but I see a flash of light in her window. Is she signaling me?

  I text the team:

  Me: Zoe? That your light?

  Zoe: Letting you know I’m here.

  I want to tell her to turn it back off so she doesn’t scare off the saboteur. But instead I say:

  Me: Good. Lay low.

  Thankfully, I see the light snap off a few seconds later.

  With that settled, I crouch behind the counter, in a space next to the ice bin. From there, I can peek up and look across the dining room or into the kitchen.

  I call to Ella: “You set?”

  “I’m in the pantry, behind a shelf of canned corn.”

  “Just don’t knock it over.”

  “Fine, but can we make an espresso?”

  I laugh. “Sure, I’ll get right on that.”

  Our voices fade, and the quiet of the empty restaurant surrounds us. I hear a click-click-click and hold my breath. It continues: click-click-click. I turn my head, homing in on the direction of the sound. It’s coming from ten or so feet from me, at the end of the counter near the wall. Click-click-click.

  I realize the source and relax. The water reservoir in the big fancy espresso maker.

  I sit down again and tuck my feet tightly under me, shivering. This place that’s so familiar to me suddenly seems foreign and spooky. The time on my phone says eleven forty-seven p.m. It’s going to be a long, stressful night if I keep freaking out over every little sound.

  After an hour and a half of waiting, my legs are cramping so bad that I need to stretch them out. I consider getting a Moxie out of the cooler when my phone lights up:

  Zoe: !!!!!!!!! Man sneaking around café!

  Ben: Where?

  Zoe: On the side!!!!!!

  Ben: Which side?

  Zoe: Right side!!!

  Dominic: Your right or our right?

  Zoe: NOW!!!

  Me: Do you see him?

  All of a sudden, I feel like Ella and I are sitting ducks, and our stakeout doesn’t seem like such a good idea anymore.

  Ben: Got eyes. They’re looking in the back windows. Can’t tell who. D’s trying to get footage.

  Ben: He’s at back door now. Fiddling with the doorknob! Dom still filming. Holy

  My fingers fly.

  Me: Wwhus hai?

  A crashing thud at the back door makes me jump. I don’t know whether to sprint out there or hide where I am. I consider crouching by Ella so we’re together. But before I can decide, Ella comes running to me, grabs my arm, and pulls me toward the front door.

  “Come on,” she yells. “Let’s get out of here!”

  We rush to the front and fumble to turn back the dead bolt, then push each other through the door. Ella yells, “Hey!” She’s pointing up Mile Stretch Road, in the direction of Hubert’s. A flash of lightning down the road reveals a dark figure in the distance. Ben’s behind it, giving chase, but he’s a long way’s away.

  “Ben, stop!” Ella yells. “He could get himself killed.”

  The rain reaches the Gusty’s lot, running down our faces. Ella’s Midnight Garden Azure eye shadow is all over her cheeks.

  “Hey!” Dominic runs up to us. “Which way did they go?”

  Ella points to the road, and Dominic starts in that direction. I grab his sleeve. “No, it’s not safe! What happened?”

  He yanks himself away. “We knocked over some crates, and that scared the man in black, and he bolted, and Ben yelled, ‘Stop!’ and busted it after him, and now Ben’s out there alone with that guy.”

  I can tell there’s no stopping him. Dominic’s gone by the time the next flash of lighting reveals the now-empty road. I start pacing. This is way out of control. My first reaction is to call my mom—I mean, Ben and Dominic could be in real trouble. Then Ella goes rogue and races off after the guys.

  “Wait!” I’m torn between joining the chase and closing up the café, which has its front door swinging open. This is crazy.

  Me: Come get the key and lock up the café so I can go with them.

  Zoe: Now?

  Me: YES NOW

  Zoe: My parents might wake up.

  Me: They won’t.

  Zoe: They might.

  Me: Don’t be lame. Come on.

  Zoe: Not if you’re going to be like that.

  Me: NEVER MIND

  By the time we finish arguing, I look up and see Dominic, Ben, and Ella walking back toward me. I wave them into the dark café and lock the door behind us. We need to know who this guy is.

  25

  We hustle through the café and look out the back door.

  “We were right there,” Ben says, “hiding behind those barrels.”

  “I started recording, and he came up here to the back door,” Dominic adds.

  “What did he look like?” I ask.

  “Average, I guess,” Dominic says. “No way to really tell. Black pants, black shoes, black hoodie, black face mask—like a ski mask, or like a bank robber.”

  “When we moved to get better footage, the crates tumbled down and hit the bins, and he was off like a bullet,” Ben says. “It took me a few seconds to get my big feet out of the tangle of bins, and he had too much of a head start. I lost him down the convent driveway.”

  “So he didn’t run to Hubert’s?” I ask. I realize I’d been assuming it was Slick.

  “Nope.”

  I know it’s useless to do much more tonight. The good thing is that we kept the perp from doing more damage. Ella starts wiping the wet footprints up in the café. The guys stack the crates in place out back. As the rain pours down, I survey the area outside the back door. It could still be Slick, but if it’s not, we’ll just keep moving down the list.

  * * *

  By the time dawn breaks and the sun slices through the remaining clouds of last night’s storm, I haven’t slept a wink. Not since I crawled into bed at three fifteen. My soaked clothes are in a pile in the corner.

  We’ve agreed to meet at Gusty’s at eight, and after that, we’re going to the carriage house, where we hope Ms. Stillford stays in her living room l
ong enough for us to decide what to do about the man in black.

  I’ve watched and re-watched Dominic’s footage, but it’s useless because of the dark night and the rain. Just when the figure becomes visible, the camera takes a crazy roll and falls to the ground. I go back and forth over whether I should show Mom the video or tell her what we saw. I know she’ll just be frustrated—I mean really frustrated, because the chance that the man in black will try another nighttime trip to Gusty’s after hearing Ben yell at him is like . . . zero.

  So, we may have stopped another attack on Gusty’s. On the other hand, we may have wrecked our chance at catching the culprit.

  And then there is Zoe. She’s gone silent. I know. I know. I have to face this. I have to apologize—which I really shouldn’t have to do, but I will, because lifetime friendships are sacred. And she really should have come down and helped me—but yes, fine, she is still re-acclimating.

  It’s five seventeen a.m. when I take a deep breath and text her.

  Me: Are you there?

  Zoe: I am now.

  Me: Are you coming to breakfast?

  Zoe: I don’t think so.

  I knew it. This is going to be bad. This is an invitation to ask what’s wrong. I get that I’m being stupid by asking, instead of just coming out and apologizing, but I do it anyway.

  Me: Why not?

  Zoe: Why do you think?

  What am I supposed to say? That I called her lame? Asked her to leave the house in the middle of the night? What?

  Me: Asking you to come out in the rain?

  Zoe: Really? That’s your best guess?

  I’m not getting out of this easily. I begin to type, I’m sorry, but wait—why, again, am I apologizing? I add: I’m sorry if you don’t like helping save my dad’s café.

  Still, before I press Send, I reconsider.

  Me: I’m sorry if I snapped at you. I’m sorry if you miss Scotland. I’m sorry if you don’t like investigating.

  She replies at the speed of light.

  Zoe: I don’t care if you bark at me! I do miss Scotland. But no one else cares about Scotland. No one wants to eat my treats. No one wants to hear what I’ve been doing on a farm for two years. No one wants to learn a beautiful dance and listen to beautiful ancient music. It’s not JUST sheep, you know. The culture and history are amazing.