Absolutely Truly (24 page)

I tried to imagine Lieutenant Colonel Jericho T. Lovejoy making cupcakes for my friends. Nope. No way. Not even before Black Monday.

“If the clue is somewhere in the steeple clock, how are we going to get up there to look for it?” I said a few minutes later, pulling a stool up to the island in Calhoun's kitchen. I selected a vanilla cupcake piled high with chocolate frosting.

“It's a church, duh,” said Jasmine. “It's open to the public.”

“I know
that
,” I replied, stung. My grandparents were members of Pumpkin Falls First Parish Church, and we
always went with them when we visited. “What I meant was how are we going to get into the
steeple
?”

“Don't look at me,” said Cha Cha, whose family was Jewish. “We go to the synagogue in West Hartfield.”

“Maybe we can ask for a tour?” Jasmine suggested.

“Reverend Quinn is really nice,” said Lucas. “I'll bet he'd take us up there.”

“It's settled, then,” I told my friends. “We'll meet at the church on Sunday.”

Lucas shook his head. “Reverend Quinn won't be there. He had dinner at Lou's last night and I heard him tell my mother that he was going away this weekend to some conference.”

“Well then, that gives us a week to make plans,” I said. “We can schedule another meeting of the, uh, Pumpkin Falls Private Eyes.” My cheeks grew pink as I said this, knowing it would prompt a smirk from Calhoun. Which it did.

“Hey, bro!” A dark-haired girl poked her head into the kitchen. She was dressed in a cheerleader's uniform, and I recognized her from Danny's last wrestling meet.

“Hey, Jules,” Calhoun replied.

“Make sure you and your friends clean up when you're done,” she told him. “You know how Dad is about the kitchen being messy.” She turned to walk away, and I noticed her name emblazoned on the back of her uniform: Juliet Calhoun.

Not Jules—
Juliet.
I didn't know much about Shakespeare,
but even I knew the title of his most famous play. I glanced across the kitchen island at Calhoun, who was absorbed in chocolate frosting.

No way.

No one would do that to their kid! Not unless they were nuts about Shakespeare.

Calhoun's father was nuts about Shakespeare.

I'd just figured out Calhoun's first name.

I heard it before I saw it—a soft fluttering in the pine tree branches overhead. I held my breath and waited, arm extended, palm up, standing absolutely still.

Was I finally going to witness some backyard magic?

It was just barely light out. The rest of my family was still asleep, including my father, which was highly unusual. Lieutenant Colonel Jericho T. Lovejoy doesn't do sleeping in. But for once, he'd taken a day off from the bookshop and gone along to Hatcher's wrestling tournament yesterday. It was way upstate in Lancaster, and what with the snow and everything, my family hadn't gotten home until nearly midnight.

After the movie, I had spent the remainder of the afternoon at the bookstore with Aunt True. She'd unofficially hired me to be her Story Hour helper, and we worked on organizing craft supplies and making treats—little bullfrogs made out of kiwis, with grapes for eyes, since she was planning on
reading
Frog and Toad Are Friends
at this morning's event.

“Right now it's just for glory, but we should be able to pay you soon,” Aunt True told me. “Business has picked up a bit, thanks to the
Hello, Boston!
feature.”

Even though
Charlotte's Web
was still missing and we only had a few weeks to go until Dad's deadline, Aunt True was thinking positively. I liked that about her.

Ella Bellow had come in as we were setting out cushions on the children's room floor.

“Brought your mail,” she said, which I learned was code for
I've got some hot gossip
.

“Thanks, Ella,” Aunt True replied. “Just set it on the counter.”

“Did you hear about the Mahoneys next door?” the postmistress said, unwinding her black scarf. “They got picked to be on that TV show about antiques.
Attic Treasures
, or some such.”

My aunt and I exchanged a glance. Ella was so predictable.

“By the way, I saw Bud Jefferson at the Savings and Loan yesterday morning,” she continued, not even waiting for a reply. “He seemed worried. He headed straight for the loan department.”

“Is that right?” murmured Aunt True, not paying the slightest bit of attention.

Ella's eyes glinted behind her black-rimmed glasses. “How's business for you folks?”

Aunt True's face flushed. She really hates having to fend off Ella's nosy questions. “Fine,” she said shortly, and changed the subject. “By the way, any word on when we can expect that January thaw?”

“Nope. Longest I've ever had to wait for it, with February just around the corner.” The postmistress shivered, rubbing her arms. “This cold is seeping into my bones.”

Aunt True sprang into action. “I have just the book for that!” she said, suddenly all smiles. She handed Ella a copy of
Retirement in the Sunshine State.
“It just came in, and it's selling like hotcakes.”

This was an overstatement. We'd sold exactly two copies.

Ella's mouth pruned up as she leafed through it. “Florida does sound tempting this time of year.”

“It's always good to keep one's options open,” Aunt True agreed, nodding sagely. She looked over at me and winked.

I smothered a smile. Word around town had it that our postmistress was thinking about retiring—maybe Aunt True was hoping to help spur it on.

Ella bought the book, which I took as a hopeful sign.

Later, after we closed up shop, Aunt True had come over to the house to stay with me.

She'd made us blueberry pancakes for dinner, with maple syrup from Annie and Franklin's family farm, and then she'd taught me how to play cribbage. While we played, we talked. We talked about swim team tryouts, which were on Monday,
and which Dad still hadn't made up his mind about, except to tell me to quit bugging him, and we talked about the movie. It turned out that
High Noon
was one of Aunt True's all-time favorites.

“If you liked Grace Kelly, you should watch
To Catch a Thief
,” she'd said. “Trade Gary Cooper for Cary Grant, the Wild West for the French Riviera, add in Alfred Hitchcock's trademark suspense, and—well, I won't spoil it for you.”

I'd promised her I'd watch it.

My aunt told me about growing up in Pumpkin Falls, and stuff that she and my father had done when they were my age. It was a great place to be a kid, she'd said, but just like Dad she couldn't wait to go experience more of the world.

“I left the day after high school graduation, and I've only been back for brief visits in the years since,” she'd told me. “This is the longest stretch of time I've spent here since I was a teenager, in fact.”

“Are you planning to leave again?” I'd asked, surprised at how anxious that thought made me feel.

She'd hesitated. “Not any time soon. I'm actually having fun running the bookstore. I'd forgotten how much time I spent there when I was your age. It used to be my job to tidy up every night before closing. Plus,” she added, “I know it's helping your father.”

She and my mother kept saying that, so I figured they must be right, even though I hadn't seen much sign of it.

“Cha Cha's father said that Dad was really brave for moving here. Do you think that's true?”

Aunt True considered this. “There are all different sizes of brave, Truly. There's warrior brave, of course, and there's everyday brave, and everything in between. I happen to think Mr. Abramowitz is right. Your father is one of the bravest people I know. And not just because of what happened in Afghanistan. It's not easy to completely change course in life the way he has—especially when it wasn't his choice. I'm very proud of him.”

I thought this over for a moment. “What about the bookstore—do you think it's going to make it?” Again, I was surprised at how anxious the thought of it failing made me feel. I'd spent a lot of time at the shop this past month, and most of it had actually been fun.

Aunt True hesitated again. “Well, I won't lie to you, we were really counting on selling
Charlotte's Web
. But Lovejoys can do anything, right?” She smiled. “We'll pull through somehow.”

And if we didn't? I had wondered later, upstairs in bed. There was only one way to make sure we did, and that was to get
Charlotte's Web
back. It was time to catch a thief. The Pumpkin Falls Private Eyes already had one mystery to solve, though, so I decided to tackle this one on my own.

Which was why I'd gotten up early this morning. I had some work to do.

My grandfather's hat slipped forward, slightly obscuring my view. I was tempted to reach up and adjust it, but I knew I'd ruin everything if I did. So I continued to stand in the middle of the backyard and wait, the only movement the rise and fall of my chest and the steady puffs of my frosty breaths.

And then it happened. Backyard magic. There was another flutter of wings followed by the very lightest touch as a chickadee landed on the palm of my hand. It cocked its head and regarded me for a couple of seconds with a bright black eye—probably wondering who the stranger was wearing Gramps's hat—then it plucked a sunflower seed from my mitten and flew off.

A huge smile spread over my face. I wanted to laugh out loud, but I resisted the urge, hardly daring to breathe now for fear of scaring away the winged visitors that began darting toward me in a steady stream.

I glanced over at the house and spotted a face in one of the upstairs windows. It was my father. His eyes met mine and he smiled. A flutter of a smile, like bird wings. Then, swift as flight, it was gone and so was he.

I fed the birds until my toes were numb. Then I went back inside to have my own breakfast, get ready for Story Hour, and figure out how I was going to catch that thief.

“His name is
Romeo
?” Mackenzie gaped at me from my laptop screen, incredulous. The two of us were talking while I got ready to go to the bookstore. “Are you sure?”

I nodded. “Pretty sure.” What I wasn't so sure of was whether I was going to say anything to Calhoun. It was obvious that he didn't want anyone to know. I wouldn't either, if my name was Romeo. That was even worse than Truly.

“I guess it's kind of romantic, if you think about it. Tell me more about him,” Mackenzie coaxed. “What does he look like?”

I sat down on the edge of the bed to pull on my socks, and frowned. “Why?”

“Is he cute?”

“I don't know! He's—Calhoun.”

“What color is his hair?” she asked, as I started to brush my own.

“Kind of blondish-brownish, I guess.”

My cousin heaved a sigh. “You're impossible!”

I grinned at her. Not only could Mackenzie describe the exact shade of Mr. Perfect Cameron McAllister's hair, she could probably tell you the exact number of hairs on his head. The difference was, she had a crush and I didn't. Absolutely truly not.

She tried one last stab at it. “Is he short? Tall?”

“Tallish,” I told her.

“Ish? What's ish? Is he as tall as you?”

I grinned again. “Nobody's as tall as me, Mackenzie.”

Walking downtown a little while later, my thoughts turned from Romeo Calhoun to the missing copy of
Charlotte's Web.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized how many people might have had a motive for taking the book.

For starters, there was Mr. Henry, the children's librarian. He'd flat-out said he would give anything for an autographed copy. Carson Dawson seemed pretty interested in it too. So was Aunt True, but she didn't count, of course. The Mahoneys could have taken it, I supposed, to show off on the TV show Ella told us about yesterday. And then there was the tidbit she'd shared about seeing Bud Jefferson at the bank looking worried. Was she right about him talking to a loan officer? Maybe he was in trouble and needed money. It would have been an easy thing to slip a book into his jacket pocket. Which reminded me, what about the man in the green jacket
who was always hanging around outside the bookshop like he was casing the joint?