Swiped (7 page)

“It's not Mrs. Pringle,” Robyn argued. “I still think Ms. Thorsen's been acting weird.” We walked back down the hall toward the library.

“It could be Ms. Thorsen,” I agreed, “but really, it could be anyone. The principal, for instance.”

“That's dumb,” Robyn said. “Why would Ms. Beaudry take the books?”

“I'm not saying she did. I'm just saying that we have no proof, and the best way to find those books is to search the Internet auctions and see if someone's put them up for sale. Nick, do you know how to do that?” I pushed open the library door.

Nick shook his head. “I know how to do searches, and probably find those
auctions, but I have no idea how to find buyers and sellers.”

I thought for a minute, then spotted someone logging onto one of the library computers. “I know someone who does.”

“Oh yeah?” Robyn said skeptically. “Who?”

“Cray.” I motioned toward the computer station, where Cray had sat down. “Cray knows how Internet auctions work. He said so, that day I found the Gretzky book. He said he'd bought hockey stuff over the Internet.”

“No way!” Robyn exploded. “Not Cray! He's a suspect!”

“Not anymore. Come on, Robyn. So the guy ripped off some food—he was giving it to kids who don't have much for lunch.”

“I still don't trust him.”

“We don't have much choice. We can't exactly go to a teacher and tell them that we suspect two of their friends of rare book fraud,” Nick said.

I walked over to where Cray was working. “Hi,” I said.

“Hey.” Cray didn't look up.

“Nick and Robyn and I need your help.”

“Yeah? That's a switch,” Cray said.

“I know...but it's really important.” I explained about someone stealing the detective series from the school.

“If Mrs. Pringle was going to give the books away anyhow, who cares?”

“That money should belong to the school. It could help buy books, or maybe start a lunch program for the kids you were trying to help,” I said.

Cray finally glanced at me. “Really?”

“Well, maybe. But, first we need to find the books.”

“Okay.” Cray sighed. “What do you need me to do?”

“Search the Internet auctions, see if you
can find out if they're up for sale.” I told him the name of the series.

“No problem.” Cray punched a few buttons on the keyboard. I pulled up a seat and watched. Robyn and Nick had drifted over and now were looking over my shoulder.

“This one's not bringing much up,” Cray said. “There's some of the books you want, but I'll try a Canadian site. We might have more luck there.” He tapped away for a few seconds, and then waited as the computer whirred.

“Bingo!” Cray pointed at the screen. “The full series.” His eyes widened. “They want fifty-five hundred dollars for it?”

“Yeah. That'd buy a lot of Twinkies,” I said.

Cray grinned. “You got it.” He double-clicked on the listing. “This sale is from hre in Calgary, and the auction closes in two hours, eleven minutes. This is probably your guy,” Cray said.

“Or girl,” I added.

“What do we do?” Nick asked Cray.

“So now Cray makes all the decisions?” Robyn spat. “This is so stupid.”

“You asked for my help, princess. I can log off any time.” Cray leaned back in his chair.

Robyn glowered at him but remained silent.

“Place a bid,” I said. “And tell whoever it is we want to meet today to close the deal. Can you do that, Cray?”

“Sure. I'll just send an e-mail with the bid. What do you want to offer?”

“Six thousand dollars. That way no one can scoop us,” I said.

“But a bid is a legal thing, man. Where are you going to come up with six grand if this guy's for real?” Asked Cray.

“Say we need to meet and check out the condition of the books before we buy, but that we would offer six thousand dollars, “ I said, “Then we're not stuck with it.”

“Okay. Where do you want to meet?” Asked Cray.

“The mall, after school today,” I said. “It's public and busy, and we can get out of there
if we need to.”

“Done.” Cray clicked the mouse.

“Shhh. Get down!” Robyn put the flat of her hand on top of Nick's head and pushed him behind a potted palm. “We don't want anyone to recognize us.”

“No one will recognize you, that's for sure,” I said. Robyn wore a toque pulled down over her ears, her winter coat with the collar turned up, and sunglasses. “Aren't you hot?” The mall must have been at least a hundred degrees. People were wearing T-shirts inside. We were stationed behind a pillar with several plants, watching the food court. Cray said in the e-mail that we would meet the seller in front of the pizza place.

“What if they didn't get the message?” Robyn worried.

“They will,” Cray said. “If the auction closed today, they'll be checking the bids.”

“Well then, what if someone bids more than—” Robyn stopped as I nudged her with my elbow. Someone wearing a winter jacket and toque was carrying a large box toward
the pizza place.

“This is it!” Nick whispered.

“Let's go.” I bolted out from behind the pillar. When I was behind the person, I cleared my throat. “Hey!”

The figure turned, and I recognized who it was immediately. It wasn't Mrs. Pringle. It wasn't even Ms. Thorsen.

“Blake!” Robyn gasped. “What are you doing here?”

Blake Pringle nearly dropped his box of books. “Wh-what's up, guys?”

“Nothing. Just a little detective work, if you know what we mean,” Nick said, plucking one of the novels out of the box.

Blake paled. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Oh, yeah? Six thousand dollars is a lot of money, Blake. What were you going to do with it?” I asked.

Blake contemplated me for a second, then shoved the box at me and ran. I juggled the box, tripping over Nick's feet. Nick lost his balance and ended up sprawled on the floor. Robyn took off running, but her heavy
coat and flopping toque were affecting her speed. Cray took a flying leap, flung both arms around Blake's ankles, and brought him down.

“Thanks, Cray,” Robyn gasped as the three of us caught up.

“No problem.” Cray got up, brushing off his palms. Blake still lay in a painful heap, but he got up slowly, wincing.

“Don't run,” Cray warned.

“You can't prove anything,” Blake said defiantly. “I'll erase all the files from the auction. No one will ever know, and it'll be my word against yours.”

A mall security officer brushed through the small crowd of spectators that we had attracted. “Okay, kids. We don't allow fighting in the mall. I'm going to have to contact your parents. Come with me please.”

“Oh, no.” Cray cursed.

But a second figure pushed through the crowd. “What's going on, here?”

“Ms. Thorsen!” Robyn cried.

That teacher was like gum on our shoes. We just couldn't shake her. But this time,
I was really glad to see her.

“How did you know we were here?” Robyn asked.

Ms. Thorsen frowned. “I was already at the mall when I saw you kids, and I recognized the box of books. I thought I'd better see what was going on.” She turned to the security officer. “These are my students. I can take them home.”

The officer wavered, but then a call came over his walkie-talkie about a group of shoplifters in the drugstore. “Okay. But make sure their parents are aware of the situation.”

“I will,” Ms. Thorsen said grimly. She towed Blake and Cray off to the side of the mall. Robyn, Nick and I followed. “Explain.”

Robyn filled her in.

“Your mom's not going to be very happy with you.” Ms. Thorsen looked at Blake.

“Yeah, well...I did it to help her,” Blake muttered.

Ms. Thorsen looked startled. “Help her with what?”

“She might lose her job next year, and I know she's worried.” Blake frowned. “I just thought...well, six thousand dollars would help a lot.”

“But you were stealing!” Robyn said.

“I was not!” Blake flared. “The school was going to get rid of the books, anyway. So who cares if I took them?”

“That money should belong to the school, and you know it,” Robyn retorted. “Mrs. Pringle would never take that money.”

“How do you know? She isn't your mom!” Blake fired back.

Ms. Thorsen regarded Blake for a long moment. “Come on,” she said. “Let's get you kids home.”

“Nick, pass me the tape, would you?” Robyn called from the table where she was working. A whole bunch of kids, including Nick, Robyn, Cray and I, were helping with the week-long literacy fair. Since we still didn't know if Mrs. Pringle would be at our school next year, Ms. Thorsen decided to get things rolling. We were going to have storytelling, a used book sale and a carnival of reading games.

We had parent volunteers, whole classrooms digging up used books, posters, and an advertisement in the school newsletter. Mrs. Pringle had been right, it was a lot of work.

Robyn brushed her hands off on her jeans, leaving a trail of silver sparkles from the poster she'd just finished. “What do you think?” she said, showing me the poster. It was a picture of a kid reading a book, with a castle and dragon in a thought bubble.

“It's great,” I said. “But you got the date wrong.”

“What!” Robyn panicked and checked the poster. “I did not, you doofus!”

“I think it's wonderful,” Mrs. Pringle said, coming up behind us. “And I wanted to thank you kids for caring enough about me to try to find that hockey book. The school has decided to keep the Gretzky book, and it will go in a glass display in our library.”

“What about—” Robyn started, and then stopped herself.

“The detective series?” Mrs. Pringle finished. “Well, I've talked to the principal.
We've decided to sell the series and put the money toward a lunch program for kids who need it.”

“Really?” Cray perked up. “That's great!”

Mrs. Pringle smiled. “And whatever the literacy fair raises will go to new books for our library, so everything's turned out just fine.”

Robyn frowned. “Except that we still don't know if you'll be at our school next year.”

“It doesn't seem as important now, after what Blake did,” Mrs. Pringle said. “He worried so much about it—and look what happened.”

“Is he in a lot of trouble?” Robyn ventured.

“Enough,” Mrs. Pringle said grimly. “But the school isn't pressing charges. The truth is, I really would have tossed those books out, thinking they were worthless. So it's funny, if Blake hadn't taken them, the school wouldn't be getting any money.”

We were silent for a second, thinking about that.

“I'm hungry,” Nick said at last.

Robyn reached into her backpack. “I have half a pickle sandwich left from lunch.” She unwrapped the wax paper and held it out.

Nick looked at it with distaste. “Yuck, Robyn. You forgot the cheese again.”

Robyn took a bite with relish, but Cray grabbed his own backpack. “That reminds me. I brought a snack just for you guys,” he said.

Nick sighed with relief. Cray pulled a box out of his backpack and ripped it open. He grinned and held up a plastic-wrapped package.

“Blue Twinkies, anyone?”

Like her character, Trevor,
Michele Martin Bossley
loved reading mystery novels as a child. She still has her collection of books in the Trixie Beldon series. This award-winning author has written more than a dozen children's sports books, including
Jumper
in the Orca Sports series. Michele lives in Calgary, Alberta.

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Pigboy
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Queen of the Toilet Bowl
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Sewer Rats
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Spoiled Rotten
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Sudden Impact
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Swiped
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Wired
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Visit
www.orcabook.com
for more information.