A Side of Sabotage Page 7

  “Done.”

  Dad looks to Clooney, and she tells the man, “I’ll get it for you.” As she turns away, she looks over her shoulder at Dad. “Didn’t use the wrong soap in the dishwasher, either.”

  13

  It’s pitch black outside, and I can’t fall asleep. Clouds blanket the sky, blocking the moonbeams that would otherwise shine on the ocean. I lie in bed with my window open and listen to the pounding of the surf and smell the briny breeze.

  Something is wrong in Maiden Rock, and my gut knows it. And if I don’t figure it out, Dad and Clooney are going to be pulling each other’s hair out. This past afternoon was proof of that.

  Not to mention, Zoe’s wonderful homecoming has been a fizzle. She’s in the middle of a big mopefest, and she and Ella don’t seem to be hitting it off either.

  Plus, I’m not making the most of every minute with Dominic like I should be. And whose fault is that? Mine. I should be walking on the beach with him before he goes and getting in those last few hours of handholding. But instead, I’m seeing him while we’re investigating. Still—that’s more important, isn’t it?

  I know my friends think I hang around the café too much, but I’m starting to believe that I’m not there enough. The decline in lunch business makes me worry. And all the so-called mishaps going on are just too much of a coincidence. Gusty’s Café is at risk, which means my family is at risk.

  I take a deep breath and apply my well-developed deductive skills. The kinds of things that have happened at Gusty’s don’t happen by themselves. I have a pretty good idea who’s doing them: Slick and Hubert, maybe with the help of the inspector. They have motive: to win the contest. They have opportunity: when the café is closed (or open, in the case of the inspector). The trick is to find some proof.

  I want to tell Mom my theory, but before I do, I want to think it through as best I can. Sheriffs hate unfounded speculation. Especially from their daughters.

  I think through the little details:

  Hubert said that Gusty’s wouldn’t be popular for long.

  Slick was laughing with the inspector, and the same day, the inspector wrote up the café for all kinds of small things that had passed inspection before.

  The dishwasher overflowed because someone put the wrong soap in it—and I’m pretty sure that someone wasn’t Clooney.

  The refrigerator was set too warm because someone turned up the temperature—and I’m pretty sure that someone wasn’t Dad or Clooney either.

  The time on my phone says 1:30 a.m. I look out my side window, across to Dominic’s room. It’s dark. Still, I take a chance and text him.

  Me: Hey?

  Dominic: Hey. Sup?

  Me: You’re awake.

  Dominic: No. I’m doing this in my sleep.

  Me: I’m obsessing.

  Dominic: Meet you down on the beach stairs?

  Me: On the way.

  It only takes me a minute to throw on jeans, a hoodie, and some Top-Siders, and then I’m sneaking down the stairs, stepping on the spots that I know from experience don’t creak. Thankfully, the kitchen door doesn’t make its usual yawning sound. Across the way, Dominic’s dark figure slips out of his kitchen door, and I catch his hand at the top of the wooden steps that lead to the beach. We park ourselves at the bottom of the stairs like we have so many times in the last year, despite some pretty severe restrictions (DO NOT GO OUT AT NIGHT and especially DO NOT GO ON THE BEACH AT NIGHT). But we’ve been careful, and we haven’t been attacked by coyotes or had our blood drained by vampires or anything.

  It’s our special thing—sitting on this piece of plank, with the smell of sea grass, marine life, and wet sand as our atmosphere. We huddle together.

  Dominic says, “Okay, we know all the reasons they might be our saboteurs. What do we say when your mom gives a bunch of reasons they might not be? What will she say?”

  “Good question. She’d say, ‘If they were going to mess up Gusty’s, why not really cripple it? Why fool around with dinky stuff?’”

  “And if they think Gusty’s is such a threat, why would they start a restaurant in the same town?” he adds.

  “Why would they be so worried when they’re getting great reviews?” I say.

  “And why would they consider burgers and fries competition?” Dominic pauses. “I don’t know. Your mom’s hypothetically making a lot of sense right now.”

  “I know. But still.” I drum my fingers on my thigh. “This stuff didn’t really start happening until the Secret Diner competition. That’s why I come back to Hubert and Slick. Even if they don’t want to permanently drive Gusty’s out of business, maybe they’re afraid of the publicity if this big new fancy restaurant loses to a tiny old café.”

  “It could just be Slick thinking he’s helping Hubert, with Hubert not knowing anything about it.”

  “Well, whether it’s one of them or both of them, I’ve got to stop them.” I don’t hear the determination I’m listening for in my voice—it’s a quiver.

  Dominic leans in close to me, squeezes my hand, and says, “And I’m going to help you.”

  “Aww.”

  “But we’re gonna have to bust them in the next sixteen days.”

  I push him—just a little bit. “You had to remind me, didn’t you?”

  We sit there for a long quiet time. Then I say, “I’m worried about Zoe.”

  “Yeah, she’s kind of a mess,” he says.

  “What should we do about her?”

  “We?”

  I clasp my hands in front of him. “Please?”

  “I am not dancing in a kilt.”

  “Fine.”

  We get up and climb the stairs. The grasses sway in the night breeze, and the sound and smell of the ocean haven’t changed. Even while something bad is happening, ordinary life keeps going on.

  “So are you going to tell your mom what you think?” he asks.

  “I don’t know yet.”

  We hug our own special awkward hug. I get that feeling that I should be getting ready to not hold hands anymore.

  Okay, fine. What can I say? There may also have been a soft kiss.

  It’s so sweet my heart hurts. Will I ever have this feeling again? I cry a little bit on the way into the house. Sixteen days. But I push the thought away for now.

  * * *

  Throughout the rest of the night, I think about ways to approach Mom about this. Casual but with concern. I can already hear her saying, Quinnie, please don’t do this again. You can’t go around accusing people of outrageous things. And I have to admit, I’ve made some pretty wild accusations in the past, but I’ve also helped uncover some pretty big crimes.

  When I walk downstairs, I can’t talk to Mom right away. She’s in her office, on the phone, and I realize the family’s back in crisis mode.

  “It was out when he arrived at five a.m.,” she’s saying, probably to someone at the power company. “Our auxiliary generator had automatically started up, but we need someone to get the main power back on.” Her voice sounds strained. “We use the ovens heavily for the morning baking.”

  I slip in and wait for her to hang up, but she starts texting as soon as she ends the call.

  “Mom?”

  “Just a second, Quinnie. Let me tell Dad when the power company will be there.”

  I take a seat in the office guest chair and wait. When she plops her cell on the desk and leans back with a sigh, I ask, “What’s going on?”

  “The power was out when Clooney and Dad arrived this morning.”

  “But it’s okay? The emergency generator’s on?”

  “Yes. It’s okay. But I don’t know.” She gets up, stretches, and walks to the kitchen. I follow her to the coffee. “It’s one thing after another.”

  “Mom.” I wasn’t quite ready to raise the subject with her, but she has practically raised it herself. “Can I talk to you about something?”

  She recognizes the I-smell-a-mystery tone in my voice. “Oh, please, Quinnie. Not
now, okay?”

  “But Mom. These things that are going on at the café . . . I think maybe they aren’t accidents.”

  “What do you mean, exactly?”

  She puts her hands around her coffee mug as if it will give her the patience to hear this through.

  I plow through my theory without taking a breath, so she can’t interrupt. “It all started around the time Dad challenged Hubert to the competition. I heard Slick tell Hubert that Gusty’s had a lot of customers, and Hubert said, ‘Not for long.’ And then the inspector that we saw talking to Slick came to Gusty’s and cracked down so unfairly, and the dishwasher soap was switched, and someone turned the temp in the cooler up, and now the power is out.” I take a deep breath.

  Mom’s tapping her fingers on her mug as she listens. I can tell she’s itemizing the reasons why I’m on the wrong trail. After a few seconds, she says, “What was the part about Hubert saying ‘Not for long’?”

  I explain exactly what I heard when they were in the car. She nods her head. “He could have meant—”

  “I know, he could have meant his business was going to get better. But when you think about everything that’s happened since then . . .”

  “I don’t see any connection between Restaurant Hubert and the inspector pestering Gusty’s,” she says.

  “What if Slick bribed him?”

  “There’s absolutely no proof of that.”

  “The dishwasher?” I ask.

  “Quinnie, there are two large containers of dish soap at Gusty’s. One is for the sink and one is for the dishwasher. The one for the sink can’t be used in the dishwasher because it makes too many suds. But they’re next to each other . . .” She raises her hands like it’s obvious that Clooney made the mistake.

  “Don’t blame Clooney, Mom. She didn’t do it. Maybe Slick snuck in and did it. And messed with the temperature.”

  “How could he get inside? We haven’t been broken into.”

  “But Mom—”

  “Quinnie, I appreciate your concern, and I feel protective of the café too. But please. Do not go around accusing Willy of sabotaging Gusty’s. And it would help if you stopped calling him Slick.” She gets up and puts the mug in the sink. “These are all easily explainable things.”

  “The power outage?”

  “Your dad says he’s needed to update the wiring for a while.”

  Her phone rings out her favorite song, and she pulls it back out of her pocket.

  “Great. Okay,” she says to whoever’s on the other side of the line.

  “What?” I ask after she hangs up.

  “The dairy delivery is late.”

  “I want you to know, Mom, that I’m going to keep my eyes open. This is our family business. This is us.”

  She looks up at me and catches the quivering of my lip. In an instant, she’s hugging me. “I know, Quinnie. There’s a lot going on. The contest, and Dominic leaving, and Zoe being out of sorts . . .”

  I lean back to look her in the eye. “You know about that?”

  “Of course, honey. I talked to her mother. She’ll re-acclimate.”

  “That makes her sound like a zoo animal.”

  “No. No. Of course not. We all love her. Zoe just needs time. And it’s okay to worry about Gusty’s. Just please, please don’t go overboard. Okay? Promise? No accusations. No calling Hubert, Willy, and the inspector crooks.”

  I nod my head yes. Still, there’s something in me that won’t let me ignore my instincts. I won’t go around accusing Willy and Hubert and the inspector, like Mom ordered, but I can’t just look away.

  Ella, Dominic, and Ben understand this. I hope Zoe will too.

  14

  We’re gathered in Dominic’s room, since his parents are gone for the day. It’s littered with boxes, the bed’s unmade, the closet door is gaping open, and electronics equipment clutters his desk.

  “OMG, my room,” says Ella.

  “OMG, my room,” says Zoe.

  “Dude, there’s like nowhere to sit in here,” says Ben.

  “We’re moving, you weirdos,” Dominic replies. “This is what moving looks like.”

  It looks sad to me. I almost relish the chance to go through the case against Restaurant Hubert instead of dwelling on how Dominic’s leaving. “Okay, here’s the deal. We’re stepping up our investigation of Hubert Pivot.”

  “Excellent,” Ben says, rubbing his hands together. “What’s the plan?”

  I explain: “We are going to break into Hubert’s kitchen tonight and poke around. See what we can find that points to him sabotaging Gusty’s.”

  “Are you sure it’s sabotage?” Zoe asks. “I mean, my parents say it’s a bunch of awful coincidences, or maybe poor old Clooney is losing it.”

  “I don’t think so,” I say. “She’s barely taller than me, and I couldn’t bump into the temperature dial in that cooler. And besides, she’s loaded that dishwasher a gazillion times. No. It’s not her.”

  “I agree with Quinnie,” Ella says. “I’m up for checking out Baldy’s place.”

  “So here’s the plan,” says Dominic. “Three of us go in, two of us stand guard. Quinnie, Zoe, and I will be on the inside, and Ben and Ella will hang outside. Sound good?”

  “Me? Break into Hubert’s?” Zoe’s getting flustered. “What if we get caught?”

  “We won’t get caught,” I say.

  “But what if we do?” Zoe says. “And break in? Like break a window!?”

  “Bad choice of words,” I say. “No one is breaking any of those shiny new windows. But even though the front of the building has all new windows, the back has the old Loney Lobster Pound ones. I’m betting those don’t even have locks, or if they do, they’re old and rusted.” I’m getting a little frustrated.

  “The locks could be rusted shut,” says Zoe.

  “Or they could be rusted open,” says Dominic. “It’s the channel side of the building. It takes a beating from the salt air.”

  “Hey, if Rubylocks doesn’t want to do it, I will,” Ella says.

  Ben and Dominic laugh. Zoe’s cheeks flush almost to the color of her hair, and it looks like she’s going to blow.

  “Okay, okay,” I jump in to calm her down. “First of all, Zoe, we love your hair. And Ella, that’s great. If you want to go in, and Zoe, you want to stay outside with Ben, that’s great. It’s all good.”

  Zoe’s eyebrows knit together. I know that look. She’s struggling. She doesn’t want to go inside, but also doesn’t want to give it over to Ella. “Whatever. I’ll go in. Somebody just tell me what to do, okay? But I’m not breaking anything.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief. “Good.”

  Dominic wipes his forehead and adjusts his cap. “Good. So we’re set for tonight.”

  * * *

  We gather on the beach behind Zoe’s temporary house at two a.m. The moon’s almost full, so it feels like there’s a spotlight on us. We duck as we walk along the rocks, even though you can’t dodge moonlight. Everyone is dressed in black, except Zoe, who’s wearing a bright yellow hoodie and letting her hair fly like a freak flag. Wild red locks, yellow shirt? Not exactly stealth colors. I pull the scrunchie out of my hair and thrust it at her. I’m a little more nervous than I thought I’d be.

  “What?” Zoe says.

  “We’re going stealth-style.”

  “Oh, sure. Right.” She pauses and scoops the copper colored mass into a low ponytail.

  Ella opens a small plastic pot of gray eyeshadow and smudges each of us under the eyes to promote invisibility.

  We sneak beside the Maiden Rock Spiritual Center and up the center’s drive. Our plan is to reach Restaurant Hubert from the long way around, past the Maiden Rock historical marker, Ms. Stillford’s, and the bed-and-breakfast.

  “Did you bring the flashlight?” I ask Dominic. My gut is knotting up.

  “Check,” he says.

  “Camera?”

  “Check.”

  As we’re approach the B&B, which is
the building nearest Restaurant Hubert, we hear voices and stop dead in our tracks. The knot tightens. We listen intently and realize it’s summer people, sitting on the porch, chatting into the night. This presents a problem, since we can’t walk past them. We’re forced to plunge into the forested island in the center of Circle Lane, across from the B&B.

  We try not to make too much noise as we thrash through the bushes toward Hubert’s. Fortunately, the trees are dense, and the porch people are cheery enough that they don’t notice us. If they had looked across the street, they would have seen a few wiggling balsam firs.

  Soon we’re crouched down in the thicket across from Hubert’s. “Ready?” I whisper to Dominic and Zoe.

  Zoe says, “This is a bad idea.” She pauses, looks at Ella, and adds, “But I’m in.”

  “We’ll watch the apartment above the restaurant,” Ella says, “and text you if a light comes on.”

  “You mean Hubert lives there?” Zoe asks. “Great.”

  “Where else would he be?” Ben says. “Look, the lights are out. He’s got to be snoring away.”

  We hunch over and scurry across the road and along the side of the building. The scraping of our shoes against the grit and sand seems like it’s echoing all over town. I try to put less weight on each step.

  Our backs are against the building as we scoot toward the kitchen door. Dominic reaches up and tries the knob. He shakes his head. No surprise there.

  Zoe whimpers.

  My gut knot squeezes in on itself. We’ll have to try a window. We move around the back, the side that hasn’t been remodeled. Another deep breath. I remind myself that I expected it would be a window. I look to the windows on the second floor. Still dark.

  Here at the back of the restaurant, they have left the old windows—the crank-out type. We start checking them.

  Dominic’s hunch has been proven correct. The back windows technically have locks, but they look like they rusted over in the open position a long time ago. I guess Owen Loney never had to worry much about lobster thieves.

  The first window is cranked shut—and tight. The second one is not as tight, but we can’t quite get our fingers in it. Dominic takes a screwdriver out of his pocket—he really thought of everything—and tries to wiggle it under the windowsill. Zoe looks like she’s preparing to throw a hissy fit, so I press her arm and whisper, “Give him a chance.”