The next day after jump rope practice, Keisha and Savannah stood just inside the school doors watching for their rides. Savannah had asked Keisha if she could watch jump rope practice. They didn’t have a team in Montgomery Springs.
Outside, Marcus and Jorge were climbing the huge snow pile the plow had made on the side of the blacktop.
“Coach is always easy on us the day before a meet,” Keisha explained. “That’s why we just did five-minute speed-jumping rounds, worked on the group jump and practiced our freestyle routines in slow motion.”
“You did so well in practice,” Savannah said. “So what happens at the meet?”
Keisha scuffed her boots against the rubber doormat. She got very interested in which boy would be “king of the hill.”
“I was just asking because I used to get real nervous when I jumped … with Sugar … but I, well, I found some things that helped.”
“But you were on a horse!” Keisha said. “He was the one jumping, not you.” During the two days Keisha had spent as Savannah’s buddy, she had learned something about 4-H dressage. Dressage was a test of how well your horse could perform certain tasks, like stopping, turning and jumping, in response to your commands.
“The competition is how well you do as horse and rider. I found that if I was nervous, so was Sugar. I would stiffen up, and then I connected differently to him … do you see what I mean?”
Keisha shook her head. “Did it really matter if you were a little stiff as long as you stayed in the saddle?”
Savannah tapped her finger against her lips. Then she grabbed her backpack and stuck it between her knees. “Watch.” She bent down a little and rocked her shoulders back and forth. “You have to use your imagination, but watch my legs. When everything’s loose, I can hinge up here—that’s a riding word. It means … um … flow. My body can respond to the horse and the horse to my body. When I’m tight”—Savannah tightened her legs—“look what happens up here.”
The girls heard a pop, and Savannah let her backpack fall to the floor.
“Uh-oh! I think I just busted my lunch box.” Unzipping her backpack, Savannah stuck her hand inside and fished around. “When you get nervous, you tighten. If I tighten on Sugar, then he gets nervous, too. Like last night. When you were surprised you had to stand up and talk, I pressed up against you all relaxed. Didn’t that help?”
Keisha thought back. She remembered Savannah’s shoulder. It did help.
“Ew.” Savannah held up a squished sandwich. “I hate egg salad, but I promised Mom I’d bring home anything I didn’t eat.”
Keisha crinkled her nose. It didn’t smell too good, either, having been in her backpack all day.
“She probably won’t want it now.” Savannah tossed the smushed sandwich in the trash can.
“I know your rope isn’t a live thing like Sugar. But as I watched you practice your freestyle routine, I noticed that when your coach was looking, you messed up. And when you started again, you got stiff, and that changed the way you turned your rope.… Oh my gosh, there’s my mom.” Savannah waved at a little red car parked in the bus lane. “Hope she hasn’t been waitin’ long.”
Marcus took advantage of Savannah’s opening the door to get back in without having to buzz the office. “Colder than it looks,” he said, stomping his boots on the rubber mat. “What’s that stinky smell? Smells like rotten eggs.”
“Savannah was trying to show me how getting nervous messed up her horse routine, and she smushed her sandwich.”
Marcus gave her one of his “girls are crazy” looks, where he pulled his head back like a turtle and flared his nostrils, so Keisha tried to explain how the smell of rotten eggs was connected to Savannah’s getting stiff in dressage.
“Hey, I think I know what she’s talking about,” Marcus said when Keisha had finished. “When I fade back to shoot, if I try too hard, I mess up. But when I just let it flow …” Marcus went through the motions of shooting the basketball. “Score!”
“Flow! That’s the same word Savannah used. So, how am I supposed to stop thinking about being nervous? Especially when everybody is always bringing it up?”
“Easy.” Marcus tugged the bottom of Keisha’s ear. “Just turn off your brain. That’s the off switch right there.”
“Ha, ha. There’s my grandma. Gotta go.”
Keisha gave Marcus a backward wave as she ran down the front walk before hopping into the truck.
“I’m starving, Grandma. Did you make something sweet for after dinner?”
“I did. I made pumpkin spice cake.”
“Can I have a little when we get home?”
“We’re not going home yet,” Grandma said. “We’ve got to make an emergency stop.”
“Really? Please don’t. I’m so hungry.”
“Heavens to Betsey Johnson, Keisha Carter. I knew you would be.” Grandma handed Keisha a square of pumpkin spice cake wrapped in wax paper. The smell of nutmeg and cloves erased the yucky memory of warm egg salad sandwich.
“This will tide you over while we swing by the college. A squirrel broke into the president’s office today and caused pandemonium at Holmdene Hall.”
“How?” Keisha tried to picture a fat, bushy-tailed squirrel scurrying through the big double doors and into the president’s office.
“Dropped right from the ceiling, swung on the chandelier and knocked over the president’s family portrait. At least that’s the way his secretary reported it. Ms. Pontell. She’s one of those high-pitched-jump-on-a-chair screamers, and we all know they sometimes miss the most obvious clues. The little guy didn’t hang around long.” Grandma held tight to the wheel and concentrated on getting the big truck down a narrow street lined with cars. It had snowed four more inches the night before, and the roads were slippery.
“You should relax, Gram. You’ll turn better,” Keisha said through a mouthful of cake.
But Grandma wasn’t listening. She loved a big to-do. “A real halls-of-higher-learning hullabaloo,” she said happily.
“If the squirrel didn’t stay around, where did it go, do you think?”
“Well, it didn’t leave by the front door. Ms. Pontell said it disappeared into thin air. That’s what they want us for. To figure out the point of entry and seal it up.”
The truck tires crunched up the main drive to Mt. Mercy. As they were getting out, a woman rushed outside without a hat or coat on. She was as tall and straight as a pencil.
“Oh, thank heavens you’re here. I wanted to clean all surfaces right away, but President Kellogg said I should leave them untouched. I’m Ms. Pontell.”
Keisha and Grandma watched Ms. Pontell shiver and waited to hear more.
“So we didn’t destroy the evidence, you see. Follow me, please.”
She led the way into the president’s office, a big room filled floor to ceiling with dark-paneled walls and tall bookcases. “It’s a rodent, I told him. Plain and simple. Cuter, maybe, but a rodent nevertheless …” She stopped to draw in a big breath. “Putting its grimy little paws on the presidential family portrait! Who knows where those paws have been?”
At the far end of the room, Keisha almost missed the man sitting behind the massive desk. He turned in his chair and tilted his head to the side. “These are the squirrel catchers, I presume, Ms. Pontell?”
“Yes, President Kellogg. I’m so sorry to interrupt. What a day.”
“That will be fine. Thank you, Ms. Pontell.”
The president stood up. He was a short man, with a round face and round glasses and hair that traveled from one side of his head to the other. Tucked into his tweed coat, he looked a little like an owl to Keisha. Or maybe it was the way he stood there blinking at them.
“So this is where the breaking and entering occurred?” Grandma strode across the room with her hands clasped behind her back.
Keisha and President Kellogg watched as Grandma examined the room, running her hand across a bookshelf, gazing up at the chandelier, then down at her feet, where the picture had crashed to the floor. Careful not to walk in the broken glass, Grandma picked up the frame and examined it.
“You have a lovely wife, President Kellogg. I’m Alice Carter of Carters’ Urban Rescue. And this is my granddaughter, Keisha. She specializes in small rodents.”
Why did Grandma say things like that?! Now President Kellogg was looking at her all funny.
“Thank you,” he said. “Tell me, don’t you wear special clothing to catch wild animals?”
“Oh, we do. We absolutely do. But we thought it would be best to first ascertain the point of entry and exit. It might help if you explained what happened.”
“Well …” The president tugged on the lapels of his tweed coat, remembering. “Ms. Pontell was giving me some letters to sign. She noticed it first. ‘Swinging from the chandelier,’ I believe she said. Then I looked up to see it jump to the bookshelf … that’s where it knocked over our portrait. When Ms. Pontell started screaming, it just seemed to disappear behind the books.”
“Which books, exactly?”
“Why …” President Kellogg pulled off his glasses and polished them with a handkerchief. He gazed at the floor. “I believe it was in the Shakespeare section.”
“I see. Well, we’ll need a ladder to investigate further.”
Keisha stared at Grandma. Not many people knew, but Grandma Alice was afraid of heights. She would ride at top speed down the sledding hill at Richmond Park or swim out to the sandbar at Millennium Park, but Grandma never climbed to the top of the slide and she never climbed trees, ladders or fences, either. It made her feel woozy.
“In the meantime, can you give us a description of the squirrel?”
President Kellogg picked up the phone and asked for someone named Penny in Physical Plant. “Please tell Jim to bring a stepladder to my office,” he instructed.
“You must be joking, Mrs. Carter,” he said when he’d hung up.
“Not at all. I’m quite serious. How long was it? What color was it? How bushy was its tail?”
“I don’t see what difference it makes … isn’t a squirrel a squirrel?”
Keisha thought asking Grandma that question was like asking a college president, Isn’t a book a book?
“President Kellogg, there are several species of squirrels in Michigan: The red and eastern gray squirrels can be found on both Michigan peninsulas, whereas the southern flying and eastern fox reside only on the Lower Peninsula. Lastly, the northern flying squirrel can be found on the northern Lower Peninsula and entire Upper Peninsula. These squirrel species have a variety of habitats and are important parts of our natural heritage. However, I will limit my remarks to the squirrels I have seen on your campus: the gray, the fox and the red.…”
Keisha was trying to hide a yawn as Jim came in with the ladder. As soon as she saw him, Keisha guessed he was the same man who’d dropped snow on them the other day, but she couldn’t be sure because this time he wasn’t all bundled up with earflaps on.
“This is our handyman, Jim Kleinschmidt,” President Kellogg said as Jim set up the ladder.
“Oh dear, I don’t have my bifocals on. Keisha,” Grandma instructed, “please climb this ladder and tell me what you see.”
“I can climb it for you,” Jim offered.
“No thank you.” Grandma put a hand on his shoulder. “Keisha is trained in what to look for.”
Keisha wondered what training Grandma was talking about. All she knew was that a squirrel could squeeze through a hole the size of a quarter.… Well, Daddy said a little one could.
She went up the ladder looking for quarter holes.
“Does our insurance policy cover children?” Keisha heard President Kellogg ask Jim.
“I’m happy to do it,” Jim answered. “Squirrels don’t bother me. In fact, I like the little fellers.”
“Don’t under-estimate Keisha,” Grandma said, loudly enough for people in the hall to hear. “She is a trained professional.”
“At her age?”
“I’m ten.” Keisha ran her finger along the bookcase. Did they ever dust up here? She sneezed. Mama wouldn’t like it at all. Even with all the animals and people in and out, Mama made sure the Carters kept their house as neat as a pin.
“Goodness gracious.” Keisha looked down to see Sister Mary-Lee peering up at her. “What is Keisha doing on that ladder? Is it perfectly safe?”
“Nothing is perfectly safe, Sister Mary-Lee,” Grandma said. “Even standing outside this building.” The way Grandma looked over at Jim, Keisha thought her guess about who had dumped the snow on them was right.
“It was me who snowed them,” Jim said, twisting his hat in his hands. “I said sorry.”
“I don’t understand.” Sister Mary-Lee looked to the president for clarification, but he was trying to help Keisha find the right place.
“I think we’ll need to move the ladder a little. Shakespeare would be in Drama, just over here, next to English Literature.”
“Well …,” Sister Mary-Lee continued. “I will leave you to your work. I forgot to get the proofs for the Alumni Magazine. And you know how particular Mr. Fahey is about typos.”
“I see. Jim, I notice that Keisha’s fingers are covered in dust. I’ll hold this ladder steady while you get some wood polish and a dusting cloth. Any progress up there, young lady?”
Jim left the room with his head down. The poor guy keeps messing up, Keisha thought.
“Not yet.” Keisha went back to examining the shelf. Nothing had touched down on these shelves for a long time. A cold draft of air blew by her cheek. She looked up to see a ceiling vent with the metal cover hanging loose.
“Or maybe …” Keisha leaned over and tried to push the cover back into place. Crumbles of plaster fell onto the president’s Persian rug.
“What’s going on up there?” Grandma wanted to know. “Is that the cold-air register?”
“Oh my, oh dear …” Sister Mary-Lee was at a loss for words. “I’ll get the dustpan.”
Keisha started down the ladder. As she hopped off, Sister Mary-Lee returned, pan in hand. There was a flurry of activity as the president and Sister Mary-Lee worked to clean up the plaster.
“It would be much safer to examine that register from the floor above,” Sister Mary-Lee said. “And that’s where I need to go. I’ll take you two ladies there on my way to get the proofs.”
“Wait a minute, Sister.” Grandma took the dustpan out of her hands and picked through the plaster. She held up a powdery peanut shell. “President Kellogg, I doubt you eat peanuts and throw the shells on the floor.”
“I can’t have that near me.…” President Kellogg backed away. “I most certainly do not. I am mildly allergic to peanuts. I never eat them.”
“Well, squirrels do. And if you have a peanut allergy, it’s even more important that we get to the bottom of this”—Grandma pointed up—“by going to the top of this.…”
“Oh, Mrs. Carter,” said Sister Mary-Lee. “I’m not sure a woman your age—”
“Not the ladder. The building, as you suggested. We’re right behind you.” Grandma emptied the pan into the president’s waste can.
“I’ll take this as well,” she said, and carried the trash can along with her. “We may find more clues. Keisha? Coming?”
Keisha followed the older ladies out the door.
“I can’t imagine …,” Sister Mary-Lee fussed as they got into the elevator. Grandma pushed the button. Keisha noticed she pressed #4, not #2, but she didn’t say anything. Grandma must have a plan. “There haven’t been peanuts in the building since … We all know not to bake anything with peanuts.”
Grandma and Keisha glanced at one another as the elevator went up. These peanuts were their biggest clue so far.
“And even with the whole ones, we never went anywhere near the president’s office. Oh dear,” she said as the elevator doors opened. “This is the fourth floor.”
“Well, as long as we’re here …” Grandma stepped out of the elevator. “I know you’re busy, Sister Mary-Lee, but we need to have a look. I’m sure President Kellogg would approve. Keisha?”
“Me too.” Keisha took Grandma’s lead. “If peanuts make the president sick, then we really have to keep them out of this building.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say sick, but they do make him flush. He gets red from his chin to the top of his head. But how will being on the fourth floor help?”
“Take us to the room that would be above the president’s office.”
“But the president’s office is on the first floor. We’re on the fourth.”
“Is this the top floor?”
“Why, yes it is.”
“And can we get out onto the flat part of that roof?” Grandma asked, peering out the window in the hall.
Once again, Keisha wondered what Grandma was up to … the thought of going out on the roof must give Grandma the willies.
“Oh, I don’t know about that. I’ve gone out there, of course, but not since …” Sister Mary-Lee stopped herself. She looked as if she’d just been caught doing something wrong.
“What is it, Sister Mary-Lee?” Grandma handed Keisha the wastebasket and took the sister’s hand. “What is it you’re not telling us?”
“Well, on a nice summer day … or even sometimes in the winter, I used to climb out and toss peanuts down to the squirrels. We have bird feeders on the campus. Why not squirrel feeders? It doesn’t make sense. The poor things. I believe they’re all the same in God’s eyes. And I’m not the only one.”
While Grandma and Sister Mary-Lee were talking, Keisha fished around in the garbage can. Amidst the balls of crumpled paper, the plaster dust and a few broken pencils, she found a piece of tar paper. That was strange. And it looked like it had been nibbled! She jammed it in her pocket to discuss later with Grandma.
“But you stopped feeding them, didn’t you?” Grandma prompted Sister Mary-Lee.
“Of course. It was a direct request from the president.”
“And what did you do with the peanuts?”
“I don’t remember. I must have asked Jim to bring the barrel down.”
“Are you sure?”
“Well, yes, I think I’m sure, but when I get very busy … I don’t know … things sometimes slip through the cracks. Maybe I didn’t.” She paused. “Oh dear. If it’s up there now, it will be under a foot of snow.”
Unless someone found it when they were clearing off the roof, Keisha thought, someone who liked the little fellers a lot.
Grandma undid the window latch and pushed up the window. “Keisha, dear, be a good girl and lean out this window. Tell me if you see any peanut barrels lying around.”
