CHAPTER 15

Instead of our usual route through the woods behind our house, we took the long way around so we could gather our thoughts. In the distance, I could see Jasmine walking a couple of blocks up the street. Even though I didn’t want to ask her any questions, I thought I should. Jasmine was just the kind of person who would steal. Maybe I could trick her into confessing to the crime. If Jasmine had anything to do with the money, she was about to go from being our school’s most popular troll to being a total nothing. Just the thought of that made me giddy. I elbowed Lester and pointed, and we jogged to catch up to her.

“Jasmine,” I called as we got closer. “Wait up.”

The perfectly tanned legs stopped moving and Jasmine whirled around. When she saw it was Lester and me, she put her hands on her hips as if we were the most exasperating individuals she had ever come across in her entire life.

“What do you want?” she asked. “I’m kind of in a hurry.”

I swallowed my nasty response and kept my face emotionless. “I just wondered if you knew anything about misplaced money.”

Her impatience was replaced by a look of concern. I couldn’t decide if it was related to money being missing or if she was just worried that someone might think she was responsible.

“And I would talk about this with you, why?”

Jasmine had the uncanny ability of making me nervous. “I-I just know you’ve been over at the ball field a lot and that’s where the money was found and I-I thought maybe you might have some ideas about how it came to be there.” My face flushed with embarrassment.

“Again, I-I would tell you, why?” she mocked. “Because I think you’re such an amazing person and I’d want to help you solve another stupid mystery? Nuh-uh.” She turned to go.

It was time to try a new tactic. I’d accuse her directly and make her confess, just like the detectives do in the movies. “I guess you and your friends are suspects. I mean, you’ve been hanging around the neighborhood a lot lately. You and the Ts were even seen hanging around the ball field. Maybe you stole the money from someone, like your aunt, and hid it over there.”

Jasmine stepped forward and, for a second, I was sure she was going to hit me. Instead, she brought her face close to mine. “Listen to me, Tracy Munroe. I don’t know anything about any money. Until you mentioned it a minute ago, I’d never heard about money being lost or stolen. And I don’t know why you’re mentioning my Aunt Hazel. She’s never said anything to me about missing any money. If I were you, I’d be careful with your accusations. If you repeat what you just said to me or to anybody else, I’ll have my mom call our lawyer!”

I gulped.

“Maybe you didn’t take money and hide it there, but that doesn’t mean one of your friends didn’t do it,” Lester jumped in. His words gave me courage.

“He’s right,” I said. “Maybe one of the Ts did it.”

Jasmine’s eyes narrowed into two slits. “I know how you work. You’re accusing me and my friends because you’re jealous of me. Why should I even believe you? Maybe I should call the police and let them sort it out. Because it sounds to me like you found money that doesn’t belong to you and you haven’t turned it in.” She spotted the look of panic on my face and smirked. “Ha, I was right! There’s only one unfortunate thing.”

“What’s that?” Lester asked. He hadn’t yet grasped that Jasmine had turned the tables on us.

She sneered at him. “That because she’s a kid, they probably won’t lock your sister up and throw away the key. I would love to see your sister go to jail.” With that, she flounced off, leaving a stunned Lester and me in her wake.

“That went well,” Lester said. “I hope things go better at Hazel’s.”

“She’s going to rat us out,” I moaned.

“Then we have to go see Hazel right now. If it isn’t her money, we need to get the package and take it to the police right away.”

I gave him a miserable nod. I hated to admit it, but he was right. Our time had run out.

There was a strange car in Hazel’s driveway, a metallic silver convertible with a cream leather interior. It was the nicest car I’d ever seen. I glanced into the backseat and saw a brown leather briefcase and all kinds of oversized, rolled-up papers.

“I wonder who’s visiting Hazel?” I said to Lester.

Lester looked at me as if I had four heads. “That’s Zach’s dad’s car. Haven’t you noticed it in the driveway since we’ve been back?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I haven’t met Zach’s dad yet. Have you?”

Lester nodded. “The Silver Fox.”

“The Silver Fox?” I said. “What’s that mean?”

Lester grinned. “Don’t you remember? That’s what Hazel called him in the caption of the picture we saw of the two of them on Facebook.”

I’d forgotten all about that Facebook picture.

“Look, here’s your chance to meet him. He’s coming out.”

We stood in the driveway, looking like a couple of valet drivers waiting to give someone their car at a fancy hotel.

“Hi, Mr. Favola,” Lester called, as an older man came toward us carrying a silver travel mug and another briefcase. Hazel was hot on his heels.

“Hello yourself, Mr. Munroe,” Mr. Favola said. I looked at Lester in wonder. He knew everyone. I thought I was the person with her finger on the pulse of the neighborhood, but it seemed I was an amateur compared to my brother. “And this must be the lovely Tracy I have been hearing so much about.”

I was sure that the blush started in my big toes and climbed the whole length of my body, rendering each successive part completely unable to function like a normal human being. I knew I should say hello, but all I could do was stare at the wonder that was Mr. Favola. Unlike Zach, his dad had a bit of an Italian accent, which only made him more exotic to me. He was wearing a light gray suit and a shiny mint-green tie, and was the most elegant person I’d ever seen. Even though Mr. Favola was old—he looked about Hazel’s age, which put him in his early fifties—and had a head of curly silver hair, I could understand why Hazel liked him. And I could see where Zach got his good looks. Mr. Favola was, to quote Jasmine and her pals, a total hottie.

Luckily Hazel was there to help me out of my stupefied state. “Hello, Tracy. What are you and Lester up to today?”

“We came by to see Zach,” I said. Lester looked at me, confused. I was suddenly afraid to talk to Hazel. What if she got mad? What if Mr. Favola wanted to be a part of the conversation, too, and then told Zach? I’d made such a big deal out of the mystery to impress Zach. I didn’t want him to realize how badly I’d botched the whole thing.

“He’s working right now,” Mr. Favola said. “Would you like me to take you to see him? I’m on my way to the construction site anyway, so it wouldn’t be any inconvenience.”

“Um, sure,” I said. I knew I should go clear things up with Hazel. But now that she was standing right in front of me, the thought of talking to her made me want to throw up. Maybe Zach had remembered something that would help me solve the case. If he hadn’t, what difference could an hour make anyway?

I leaned over and whispered in Lester’s ear, “I’m going to visit Zach, ask if he’s seen anything suspicious, and come right back, okay? That way we’ll have interviewed everybody before we talk to Hazel.”

“You already talked to Zach,” Lester pointed out. Darn his memory!

“Yeah, but maybe he knows something new. Maybe he took the money. I’ll try and trick him—”

Lester cut me off. “Like you tricked Jasmine? Don’t go. We need to talk to Hazel right away and see if the money is hers. And you can’t fool me. I know all about you and Zach.”

I froze, and then took a deep breath to make sure I sounded relaxed. “What do you mean?”

Lester whispered back, “I saw you with him last night. I heard you talking, and I know you’re working with him. Ralph’s going to be so mad.”

I leaned in, my face so close to my brother’s that our noses were practically touching. “You said you wouldn’t eavesdrop again! Anyway, it isn’t what you think. It’s—”

“I know exactly what it is. Fine—go tell Zach you’re not working with him anymore. You’re only working with us, okay? If not, I’m going to tell Ralph.”

“You’re blackmailing me!”

“You should have thought of that before you decided to be in cahoots with the enemy.” For a nine-year-old brat, Lester sure had a big vocabulary.

“Fine, I’ll tell Zach he’s off the case. Just keep your mouth shut, Pig Face. Wait here and keep an eye on things. As soon as I get back, I promise we’ll talk to Hazel.”

I couldn’t believe my plans had been tripped up by Lester’s snooping and my own stupidity. Of course he would be skulking around, watching me; he was always skulking around. Plus, I should have known it would be impossible to work with Lester. He couldn’t be trusted. I couldn’t wait for the case to be over so I could kick him back to the curb. Could this day get any worse?

He grinned wickedly at me. “The name’s Lester. Don’t be too long, okay? And keep your walkie-talkie on.” I didn’t bother to tell him that the walkie-talkie only worked within a one-block radius. Let him figure that out himself.

Meanwhile, Mr. Favola was still chatting with Hazel beside the car. “Don’t forget about our dinner plans tonight, pretty lady.”

Hazel beamed. The effect was startling. I hadn’t seen her look happy in such a long time that I’d forgotten that she could look pretty. “I’ll be ready, Silver Fox.” If I hadn’t been so stressed, I would have gagged. She and Mr. Favola were acting like a couple of lovesick teenagers.

“Hop in!” Mr. Favola said turning to me, and I opened the door and stepped into the most glamorous car ever. I pulled my red, heart-shaped sunglasses out of my purse and put them on, feeling like an old-time movie star, like a girl who should be riding around in a convertible. The painful memories of my conversations with Joe and Jasmine, and of being busted by Lester, were forgotten in the excitement of getting to pretend I was Grace Kelly, driving with Cary Grant in the movie To Catch a Thief.

“Thanks for the drive,” I said, trying to strike up a conversation. I wanted Mr. Favola to like me, to think I was worthy of being Zach’s friend. As we drove along, I kept hoping that everyone I knew would see me riding around town in a convertible. I especially hoped to see Jasmine and the Ts. I knew they would die of jealousy if they saw me with Zach’s father.

“No trouble at all,” he said. “I know Zach’s been a bit lonely since he got here, what with me working all the time and his mother and friends so far away. I was glad when he mentioned how nice he thought you were.”

I imagined Zach and his dad eating an exotic meal while watching a foreign film, casually discussing how wonderful I was. They were so different from everyone else in town. If Zach was talking to his dad about me, it meant he liked me. I wondered if he’d told his mom about me yet. I bet he told her how much I loved musicals. She’d think I was the perfect friend for him and invite me to visit them in New York City.

The longer we drove, the happier I felt. My worries about Hazel and Jasmine floated away. Everything would be fine. We went a few blocks, and then turned down onto a cul-de-sac, parking in front of a big Victorian house that looked like it belonged on a Hallmark card. I knew the house well—it belonged to our school librarian, Mrs. Smythe.

“Zach’s working here?” I asked. I noticed signs of fresh paint on the front porch steps.

Mr. Favola got out of the car and inspected the steps. When he climbed back in he muttered “sloppy” and pulled out his phone. “He must have gone to his next job. Let me check his schedule.”

He slid through several screens until he found what he was looking for. Holding it toward me, he showed me a calendar with several names written on it.

“Okay, he’s either mowing the Nicholsons’ lawn or at the Garcelons’ trimming a hedge. Oh wait. He could be out on the Ledge Road, too. He’s supposed to paint a shed at some place called the Cogswell Farm. We’re lucky Hazel found him so many jobs.”

“Wow, he’s really busy,” I said, studying the calendar in Mr. Favola’s hand. I wondered if Zach was grateful that Hazel had found him so many chores.

“Zach’s the kind of boy who needs to keep busy or he gets into trouble. His mother and I thought a summer in a small town would do him good. St. Stephen is such a pretty place. It reminds me of the small town where I grew up. In New York City, there are a lot of opportunities to get into trouble. Plus, I’m sure his mother needed a break from him.”

His mother needed a break from him? What kind of thing was that to say about your son?

Zach didn’t seem like trouble to me. “He seems to be working hard,” I offered.

Mr. Favola laughed, and not in a kind way. “He works only as much as he’s forced to.”

I decided to change the subject. “It must be nice to spend the summer together. Do you get to see each other a lot when you’re in New York City?” As soon as the question popped out of my mouth, I wished I could pull it back in. It was none of my business.

Mr. Favola shrugged. “It’s nice to spend the summer with him, but I wish he had a better attitude about it.” He turned to me and smiled. “Perhaps now that he’s hanging out with a nice girl like you, he’ll cultivate a better perspective on life.” I had no idea what Mr. Favola was talking about, but I nodded anyway.

“This is a great car. I’ve never driven in such a nice one before.”

Mr. Favola beamed. “I worked hard to get this car,” he said, stroking the dashboard like it was his favorite pet. “My father worked hard, too. He held down two jobs to keep our family going. One of them was as a train conductor, so I didn’t get to spend much time with him. I didn’t mind. My job was to take care of my mother and my younger brother. Kids today have it too easy.”

I wanted to protest on behalf of all kids, but I didn’t want to get on Mr. Favola’s bad side. The story of his childhood reminded me of Ralph. Ralph’s dad had left his mom about five years ago and moved out west. Ralph never complains about it, though. He just helps his Mom and Willie and does what needs doing. I swallowed hard. I needed to apologize to Ralph as soon as possible.

Mr. Favola was still talking. He seemed to enjoy hearing himself speak. “If I can give you a piece of advice about money, here it is: you’ve got to keep your money safe. Hide it from the tax man. Oh, and one more thing: you’d be amazed how much money you can get just by keeping your eyes open for opportunity. And when you see that money—BAM!—you grab it!”

If I hadn’t already been seated, I would have fallen over. Mr. Favola sounded like somebody who wouldn’t feel guilty about stealing! Could he have taken the money?

“I say that to Zach all the time. But does he ever listen? No, he does not. He’s a spender, not a saver. And he needs the money. He wants to go to Italy with me at Christmas. I have relatives there he hasn’t seen since he was a little boy. I told him to save lots of money so he can go, too. If not—ciao baby—I’ll go alone.”

I glanced at the fancy car, the beautiful suit, the expensive sunglasses, and couldn’t help wondering why Mr. Favola wouldn’t just buy Zach’s ticket instead of making him work at all those jobs. I guessed he wanted to build Zach’s character. My parents were always trying to build mine, and their tactics almost always involved babysitting Lester or cleaning.

“Let’s try the Nicholson house first, shall we?” Mr. Favola said. I nodded, but it didn’t matter because he spun the car around quickly and we were off, tearing through town again. I hoped that Zach wasn’t working out at Ledge Road. That was at least a mile walk from my house and it would take me a lot longer to get back to Lester. My brother on his own was a dangerous thing. What if he told Ralph everything? What if he talked to Hazel by himself? My decision to put off talking to her was seeming more foolish by the minute.

As we approached the Nicholsons’, I released a giant sigh of relief. There was Zach, mowing the side lawn. He didn’t see us at first. When he finally did, he began to walk toward the convertible. It was hard to tell if he was pleased or peeved that his dad had brought me along.

“Here she is, sport!” Mr. Favola’s voice was cheerful, but it was a fake kind of cheerful and it made me nervous. I hopped out of the car.

Zach looked from me to his father. “Give me a second, okay?” he said, directing me toward the lawn mower. As I walked away, I caught a word here and there, each one more upsetting than the last: “Wrong girl”; “What were you thinking?”; and, worst of all, “Jasmine.” I couldn’t help turning around when I heard her name. From the look of horror on Mr. Favola’s face, it was clear to me that the girl Zach had been talking up to his dad was my archenemy, not me. I stood frozen in place, stupidly waiting for this boy who wished I wasn’t there. How had I been so wrong?

As they continued their conversation, Mr. Favola suddenly pointed to a part of the lawn that Zach had just finished mowing.

“You’re going to have to do that over again,” he said. “There’s no way I would pay someone who did such a lousy job on my lawn.”

“You don’t even have a house,” Zach said.

That seemed to set Mr. Favola off. He hopped out of the car and began to walk the yard, cursing when the freshly mown grass stained his fancy shoes.

“Look!” he shouted. “I see uneven patches there, there, and for sure over there. I want you to redo this whole mess before these Nicholson people see the sloppy job you’ve done and call me to complain.”

“They’re nice people. They won’t complain,” was Zach’s sullen reply.

“Then they’re idiots, boy,” Mr. Favola spat back. Meanwhile, I continued to stand off to the side, mortified to be there, and embarrassed for Zach that his father was treating him so poorly in front of me.

Finally, Mr. Favola started losing steam. “We’ll talk more about this tonight,” he said as he climbed back into his car, careful to avoid touching the creamy leather with his green-tinged shoes.

“Whatever,” Zach said.

“Whatever is right, young man,” Mr. Favola said, and then backed out of the driveway, driving away at a speed much higher than the posted limit.

Zach stood with his back to me for a good three or four minutes, not speaking.

“I’m sorry I let your dad bring me over,” I called out finally. “I guess he thought I was Jasmine.”

When Zach turned, I could tell he was on the verge of crying.

“You see how mean he is, right?”

His father was terrible, but I didn’t think it was polite to say so, so I didn’t reply.

Anxious to change the topic and get back to Lester, I plowed on. “I just popped over to tell you that we still don’t know who the thief is. We’re going to go see Hazel in a few minutes and tell her that we found money and ask if it’s hers.”

Zach said nothing.

“Your dad will cool down, you know,” I added, gesturing toward the mowed lawn that looked perfectly fine to me.

Half-smiling, half-crying, Zach shook his head. “Nah, nothing’s ever good enough for him. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’ll be going home to my mom soon enough. I can’t wait. If I could, I’d get on a bus tonight.”

“Maybe you could call your mom?”

“No, it just makes her upset when I talk to her about dad. I’ll just have to wait it out, unless it gets even worse.” He stood quietly for a moment, looking sad and thoughtful. Then the clouds seemed to pass and he brought his attention back to me. “Are you going to take Hazel the money when you talk to her?”

“No. We don’t know for sure that it’s hers. We’ll talk to her and if she confirms our suspicions, we’ll go get the money. If not, we’re going to take it to the police.”

“I hope you hid the cash somewhere safe. Is it at your house or Ralph’s?”

“Neither. We decided to hide it at this place in the woods where we hang out sometimes.”

Zach peered down at his watch. “That’s good. Look, I gotta get back to work. I need to be over at the Garcelons’ house soon. See you later?”

Not waiting for a response, he popped his earbuds in, turned on his iPod, and got back to work, as if I wasn’t there at all.

As I watched him mow a couple of rows, I felt so sorry for him that I wanted to cry. Even though it hurt that Zach liked Jasmine better than me, I still liked him. I wanted his dad to treat him better. Maybe Hazel would be willing to talk to Mr. Favola and make him understand that the way he was treating Zach hurt his feelings. I’d ask her when Lester and I went to see her.

Ugh. Thinking of going to see Hazel made the awful feeling in my stomach return. But I’d avoided the meeting long enough.

My phone buzzed: Ralph. At the ball field. We need to talk. Had Lester ratted me out? If he had, my day was about to go from horrible to the worst one ever.