“Leah,” I say, “what are you talking about?”
“The victims? The celebrities whose homes were burglarized?” The papers on the desk flutter where Leah’s swirling around. “They were all Raccoonites!”
“What’s a Raccoonite?”
“The Raccoonites? From After School with Uncle Stanley?”
“Never heard of it.”
“It was an after-school TV show. A kids’ variety show.”
I shake my head.
“You would’ve been too young for it,” Leah says. “You were more Sesame Street back when it was on.”
“We’re basically the same age. You were more Sesame Street too.”
“My big sister was a Raccoonite. I was the baby sister who tagged along. The invisible kid who hung around, but was never included.”
And now she’s the invisible ghost who hangs around. My heart goes tight. “Who were the Raccoonites?”
“Kids roughly nine to thirteen. They sang, danced, did dumb magic tricks. They’d introduce cartoons. And act out these little situations with morals at the end. Some of the Raccoonites went on to become big names, like the people on this list.”
“Who’s your sister?”
“Jocelyn Dixon.”
“How did Detective Garcia miss this pattern?” I ask.
“Well, the show’s been off the air for ten years or so,” Leah says. “Plus, it’s a little bit complicated.” I can practically hear her puffing out her chest with pride. “For example, my sister totally changed her name when our mom remarried. As a Raccoonite, Jocelyn was Lyn Jones. Hannah Smyth changed her name from Melissa Smyth. Melanie Grace used to be teeny tiny, but look how tall she is now.”
“Where does Dear Elle fit in?”
“She was a Raccoonite for like two minutes. Sherry, she was so bad. She couldn’t sing or dance or act. She could barely breathe right. But her dad was a bigwig at the station. Anyway, she’s completely reinvented. Cosmetic surgery like crazy. And, of course, she used to have a last name. Funkleburger. Eleanor Funkleburger.”
“Wow, Leah. You’re incredible!”
“Thanks! And you were right. This totally beats moping around over Michael.” She giggles. “Aka Sox Throck.”
“How come the celebrities themselves aren’t seeing the pattern?” I ask. “Wouldn’t they remember the other Raccoonites?”
“But it’s not like they’re all still friends or anything,” Leah says. “And there were many Raccoonites.”
“I bet the victims don’t know the names of everyone whose homes have been broken into,” I say, thinking aloud.
“I wonder who’ll be next?” Leah says. “Maybe Kira Cornish. She’s one of the biggest stars that came out of that show.”
“Why would someone go after the Raccoonites like this?” I say. “Jealousy? Someone who never achieved fame?”
“That describes a lot of Raccoonites,” Leah says.
“Maybe it’s someone who hated After School with Uncle Stanley and wants to seriously annoy everyone who did well because of the show,” I say.
“Or someone who hates forest animals,” Leah suggests.
Sometimes that ghost does not even make sense. “I want to pay a visit to Taco Magnifico. See if I can figure out why Cameron Williams looked familiar to a couple of Beverly Hills residents,” I say. “You up for it?”
“Am I up for it? Are you kidding me?” Leah says. “I’ve been stuck in this hotel for over a year. Even a trip to the Dumpster sounds exciting.”
I call down to the front desk and read off the restaurant’s address from my notebook.
“It’s just around the corner,” the girl says. “Stop by the concierge, and he’ll point you in the right direction.”
I phone Junie. “You will not believe what Leah just figured out.” And I tell her about the Raccoonites stuff and how Kira Cornish might be next and why it was easy for Detective Garcia to not see the connection.
“That’s incredible,” Junie says.
“We’re walking to Taco Magnifico now. Just to see if there’s something there to explain why those Beverly Hills people recognized Cameron Williams.”
“Are you okay going without me?” Junie asks. “ ’Cause I’d like to even out my tan some more. But I can work on it later if you need me.”
“I’m totally good,” I say.
Leah and I head down to the lobby, where she flies into my purse before I step out the door. The purse doesn’t shudder as much as the beach bag did. Maybe we’re getting the hang of this threshold-crossing thing.
I stride right into Taco Magnifico before unzipping my purse.
The second she’s out, Leah starts complaining. “I’m cramping up in your micro purse. Any chance of upgrading?”
“Sorry about that,” I say. “But, uh, no. My last purse was a huge black hole, swallowing up all my stuff.”
Taco Magnifico is like a million other taco restaurants across the Southwest. A TV blares out a Spanish soap opera; the menu hangs on the wall; you place your order at a ceramic-tiled counter; the eating area has about ten little tables and chairs; and your mouth majorly waters.
“Don’t look now,” Leah says, “but the guy sitting at the first table is checking you out.”
Of course, now all I want to do is look.
“Uh-oh. He stopped fiddling with the salsa bottle. He’s standing up. He’s walking toward us.”
“How old? How cute? Just getting a soda refill?” I say.
“Are you staying at the Roosevelt?” It’s the dark-haired, dark-eyed guy from the hotel gift shop.
“I am,” I say. “You?”
“Ask him if he’s available,” Leah says. “A rebound boyfriend wouldn’t be a bad thing for you right now.”
“Me too.” He glances around the restaurant. “You eaten here before?”
“No. This is the first time I’ve set foot in the place.” I point to the menu. “I’m getting a fish taco. It’s sort of my test dish for all Mexican restaurants.”
“Mine too!” he says. “If I don’t like the fish taco, I’m outta there, and I won’t be back.”
“That’s exactly my theory!” I say.
“Moving the conversation right along,” Leah says. “ ‘Hello, Cute Boy from Hotel, do you have a girlfriend?’ ”
Leah and I are definitely having a chat about ghost etiquette when we get back to the hotel.
“The Mexican place directly across from the hotel? Next to the tattoo place?” I press my thumb and index finger together. “Awesome fish tacos.”
“Thanks for the tip,” he says. “I’m Mark, by the way. Mark Peña.” Everything about him is smiley and friendly, from his chocolate eyes to his warm voice.
“I’m Sherry Baldwin.”
“Are you here on your own, Sherry?”
I look around like I might actually find Leah. “I’m with a girlfriend. She’s kind of weird, though. Always disappearing.”
“Hey,” Leah says. “That’s not nice.”
“So, Mark, I was just wondering”—I stick a quarter in the vending machine, all nonchalant—“do you play water polo?”
“No, I’m more of a land-sports kind of guy,” Mark says. “Why?”
“Just curious.” I turn the knob and a handful of Mike and Ikes tumble out. I offer him some.
“Get his cell,” Leah shouts.
“Thanks.” He takes a couple of candies.
“Mark, your order’s ready,” calls the girl behind the counter.
“That’s me,” he says. “We didn’t realize they delivered. My parents are waiting for me back at the hotel.” He looks right into my eyes. “See you around?”
“Sure.”
Mark grabs his order and gives me a final wave as he shoulders open the door.
Leah’s right in my ear. “Are you crazy? Why didn’t you get his number? Do you not want to move on from Josh?”
But what’s echoing in my mind is a little sentence Mark said: We didn’t realize they delivered.