The men changed that tire super fast, and before I was ready, I was strapped back in my seat again. Chuck peeled out, whipped a U-turn and headed back in the direction of the airport.
“Samantha Special, comin’ right up!”
We drove for about five minutes, and as we passed the airport, this time I noticed the sign: Glacier International Airport. I started wondering again if we were in Alaska. Then we turned into a Dairy Queen parking lot. I really hoped that had something to do with the Samantha Special.
“You stay here, Riley,” Flip said. “Gotta keep our location secret for a couple more days. I don’t want you asking any questions.”
Fawn noticed my frown and whispered in my ear. “Don’t worry, it’ll be worth the wait.”
They all went into the Dairy Queen and left me in the car to do some snooping. This would be a breeze, figuring out where we were. I’m not a Nancy Drew fan for nothing. What would Nancy do? I looked through the window of the Dairy Queen and noticed that our group was already ordering. Nancy would hurry up, that’s what.
I thought about getting out of the car, but I saw Flip watching out the window. Rats. Better stay in. No problem — the scenery would give me some clues. First I checked for road signs. I couldn’t see any, except two on the corner that said First and Spruce. No help there. It would have been great if I’d seen a sign that said, “Welcome to Colorado or Welcome to Arizona,” although I figured by all the towering mountain peaks that we weren’t in Arizona. I also remembered the flight to Arizona being much shorter than the one we took here. But maybe Colorado . . .
Just then, a semitruck drove into the parking lot with a Colorado license plate. Yep, that’s what I thought! That would make sense. I sat back in my seat and grinned at my cleverness. I couldn’t wait to inform my group that they couldn’t fool Riley Mae Hart. I looked back through the Dairy Queen window just as an employee was handing an ice cream cone to my dad. Yum. I hoped that was the Samantha Special. Another car zoomed into the parking lot — this one with an Idaho license plate. The motorcycle that followed in behind it had an Alberta license plate. Isn’t Alberta in Canada? Great, this strategy wasn’t working. I wanted to get out of the car and look at the license plate of Chuck’s car, but — there was Flip, still staring out the window.
Think, Riley. What can you find in the car?
I looked all around, but Chuck’s car was the cleanest I’d ever been in. Not even a paper scrap anywhere. But there was a glove compartment. I crawled over the seats for what seemed like a mile, and I stretched my hand out to pull the lever to open it. I expected a ton of junk to fall out — like what happens when we open the one in our minivan. But Chuck’s was practically empty. Only two things were in there. A thick book of some kind and another piece of paper. My parents keep a registration slip hidden in all the junk in our glove compartment. I hoped that’s what this paper was.
“Whatcha doin’ up here, kiddo? I thought you were too busy having a stress attack to snoop.” Flip stared at me from outside the passenger side window, drinking something, but it looked like he was having trouble with his straw. His lips were all puckered up, and his cheeks were sinking in. He finally gave up.
“Aww, I need a spoon.” He turned to go back inside the Dairy Queen. I reached for the paper with one hand while keeping both eyes on him. I just needed one second to look to see if it was the registration . . .
“Got your Special, ma’am!” Chuck opened the driver’s side door and handed me a big, heavy cup. I had to let go of the paper to grab it.
“Oh wow, thanks.” I pulled out the spoon that was sticking out of the hole on the plastic lid. It was covered with chocolate ice cream and a bunch of chunky stuff. “What is this?”
Fawn and Eric jumped into the back seat. I was being swarmed by adults.
“Double-fudge Brownie Blizzard with Oreos and Snickers. I invented it — the Samantha Special.”
I took a big bite, which wasn’t a good idea.
“Ice cream headache!” I pressed my fingers hard into my forehead, and then onto the sides of my nose. I can never tell exactly where that ice-cream-headache pain comes from.
“Drink this, quick!” Eric grabbed the Blizzard out of my hand and replaced it with a Styrofoam cup with a straw sticking out. I took a sip. Lots of syrup was in there. Not enough fizz. And I couldn’t tell what brand of soft drink it was. So I took another sip. “What is this, a suicide?”
Eric shook his head. “Not quite. It is a mixture, but I only use caffeinated drinks.”
“You know that I’m hardly ever allowed to drink this kind of stuff, right?” I looked back at Fawn, who was supposed to be my personal assistant or trainer or something like that. She thinks it’s her job to keep me from eating and drinking unhealthy things. But instead of frowning like she normally does when I eat junk, she was smiling.
“Take another bite of your Special,” she said.
Dad walked up to my side of the car and saw me push a huge spoonful of the Special into my mouth. “How do you like it?”
I couldn’t say anything since the chunks and the ice cream filled every corner of my mouth. I held it all in there for a minute, letting it melt down my throat, since I didn’t want to swallow so fast and get the ice cream headache again.
“Ya doin’ better now, little lady?” Chuck shoved a big bite of something purple in his mouth and grinned.
I nodded. And then I felt it.