The Mystery of the Zorse's Mask (11 page)

I glance over to see if Leo is going to help, but he's wandered off somewhere. Scooting beside Becca, I reach into the box. I toss aside wigs and masks and weird clothes, like a hairy vest and tie-dyed underwear. But when we reach the bottom, there's no mask.

“Drats,” I mutter as we put everything back in the box.

“Maybe it's the wrong box,” Becca says. “Let's ask Frankie.”

We walk over to his desk (the long board propped on boxes), where he's staring at a photo of an elephant costume on the computer screen. When I tap him on his green cap, he jumps with a start. “What now?” he snaps.

“We couldn't find the mask,” I say. “Is there another box?”

He shrugs. “Only one I picked up.”

“But the mask wasn't there,” Becca says with a flip of her ponytail. “The thrift store records listed the fly mask in the box they gave to you.”

“Then you didn't look good enough.” Frankie goes over to the box and tosses each costume, mask, and prop out until there's a pile on the floor beside him. When he reaches the bottom of the box, he looks up at us. “Definitely not here.”

“Has anyone else opened this box?” I ask.

“Nope.” The pink curl across his forehead sways with the shake of his head. “It's been sitting here since Saturday when I picked it up.”

“Did anyone else touch the box?” Becca persists. “Another volunteer maybe?”

“The others left before I got the box. There wasn't anyone here … well, except—” He breaks off, an odd look crossing his face.

“Except who?” I prompt.

“When I picked up the box, I wasn't alone. But that's crazy. She wouldn't … or would she?” He looks down at the box, then back at us. “Izzy took your mask.”

Chapter 12

Dizzy Izzy

“Is Izzy your girlfriend?” Becca asks Frankie.

He bursts out laughing. “No way. She's too young for me.”

Since Frankie is a seventh grader like us, Izzy must be in sixth grade.

“Is she in the drama club?” I ask.

“Not officially, although she's been in a few plays. She's quite a little actress.” Frankie smiles as he sits down in a night-black chair painted with silver stars. “Yup, I'm sure Izzy took it.”

“But why?” Becca taps her pink-tipped nails on the thrift store box.

“She likes to hang out in here. But after I caught her playing catch with a glass Cyclops eye, I forbade her to touch the props. She never listens though and must have opened the thrift store box while I was sewing feathers on a headdress.”

“We need to talk to her,” I say. “Where's her homeroom?”

“She doesn't go to school here.”

“Is she homeschooled?” Becca guesses.

“Not exactly.” Frankie smirks like he's enjoying a joke.

“So how do we find her?” I ask impatiently.

“You'll have to talk to her mother.” Leo grins. “Izzy is only three.”

My mental image of Izzy shifts from a girl my age to a kid barely out of diapers. Did she take the mask home or hide it in this crowded room? My gaze sweeps over shelves, boxes, and piles of props. It'll take hours—or years!—to find a small mask hidden in this big mess.

“Sometimes I babysit Izzy. She's cute but spoiled,” Frankie explains. “She loves twinkly things—
twinkly
is her latest favorite word. And when she likes something, she won't let it go.”

“The fly mask has twinkly jewels,” Becca says. “If I were three, I'd want to play with it too.”

“Do you have her mother's number?” I ask.

“It'd be quicker to go to her classroom. Mrs. Ross isn't just my drama teacher—she teaches eighth grade English too.”

“Oh, I know her. She's coolness,” Becca says with shining, dark eyes. “I heard she performs scenes from each book she assigns. I hope I'm in her class next year.”

“I talked to her once in the library,” I add, then stop before I reveal a secret.

“She has the cutest purple unicorn tattoo on her ankle,” Becca adds.

That's not her only tattoo
, I think, smiling to myself.

It was only by chance I found out about the other tattoo. I was searching the school library for a modern retelling of
Romeo and Juliet
for a book report. A pretty teacher with black dreads dangling like snakes down her back offered to help me. When I told her what I needed, she recommended a book titled
Scribbler of Dreams.
As she reached to a high shelf for this book, her blouse rose up her lower back, revealing a tattoo of a red heart with a name inked inside: Diarmad Bearnard.

I couldn't stop thinking about the tattoo. So I did what I always do when I have a curiosity attack—I searched online. Mrs. Ross was born Sarah Ann Reid, married Bowen Ross four years ago and they have a daughter, Izzabella. Nothing out of the ordinary—until I looked up Diarmad Bearnard.

Wow! Thousands of fan-site hits for a handsome Scottish actor. One photo of his shirtless back showed a red heart tattoo with a name etched inside: Sarah Ann.

I printed the photo and filed it away:
secret twenty-six.

“I'll talk to Mrs. Ross,” Becca is saying when I look up from my thoughts. She's smiling gratefully at Frankie. “Thanks, you've been a great help.”

“About time someone appreciated my work instead of treating me like a stage prop.” He grimaces as he stands up from the painted-star chair. “I get bossed around a lot.”

Becca nods sympathetically. “My mom treats me like that sometimes.”

“A simple thank-you means a lot,” he adds.

“Exactly,” Becca says, then glances around. “Hey, where did Leo go?”

“Over here,” comes a muffled reply from behind a towering shelf.

We find Leo kneeling on the floor, assembling mechanical giraffe legs.

“How did you put the leg together so quickly?” Frankie's jaw sags open. “Those pieces are like a crazy puzzle and I can't figure it out.”

“It's easy,” Leo says, then proceeds to explain in technical terms that sound like a foreign language. Frankie seems to understand and asks so many questions that Leo tells us to go on without him.

As Becca and I leave the auditorium, the first bell rings.

Becca scowls. “‘No time to stop by Mrs. Ross's room now. I'll have to wait till break or lunch—I just hope it's soon enough. I need the fly mask before Zed is gone.”

“How long do you have?” I ask uneasily.

“Caleb said he wouldn't leave before I got home from school. He was going to check the thrift store for the mask until I told him our drama club has it. I didn't tell him we already searched the thrift store,” she adds with a wry twist of her lips. “But I promised to bring it to him today.”

“And you will,” I assure her. “We know who has it.”

“Yeah,” Becca says, brightening. “Mrs. Ross is super nice, so she'll want to help. I'll talk to her during break.”

Homeroom is fun now that Becca, Chloe, and Sophia include me in their whispers. As we bend our heads together before class starts, our crescent-moon necklaces shine silvery, and I feel a glow of belonging.

During my next classes, I can't focus on anything except the clock. I stare up at the wall and wish the clock hands would speed up to lunchtime.

Finally, fourth period ends. I race to my locker, spin open the lock, and grab my lunch bag. A whiff of sugary cookies trails along with me as I race through the halls.

Just as I reach the cafeteria door, a hand grabs my shoulder.

“Gotcha!”

I whirl around to find Becca giggling. “You startled me!” I accuse.

“Did you think I was the shadow dude coming to get you?” she teases.

I swat her shoulder. But she's right—that was exactly what popped into my mind.

“Come on, brave spy girl.” Becca tugs me away from the crowd of kids swarming into the cafeteria. “Wait till you hear what I found out from Mrs. Ross. Let's go somewhere private to talk,” she adds, leading me around the side of the building.

“Is Leo joining us?” I ask, glancing around.

“No. He texted me that he's helping Frankie, but he'll meet us after school at the bicycle rack.”

“So what did Mrs. Ross say?”

Becca's face lights up. “When I told her the fly mask belongs to an elderly woman who is sick, she was really sympathetic and said we could talk to Izzy.”

“Great!” I say and we high-five.

“The only problem is that Mrs. Ross doesn't think her daughter took the mask.” Becca rolls her eyes. “According to her, Izzy is a perfect child who never does anything wrong.”

“That's not what Frankie told us.”

“Exactly.” Becca nods. “Little kids love to play with things that don't belong to them. I'm sure Izzy has the mask. The hard part will be getting it from her.”

“Maybe we can trade her one twinkly thing for another.” I point to the yarn flower I'm wearing on my shirt. “I'm sure Sunflower Mary wouldn't mind if I offered to trade my flower for the mask.”

“Or Izzy might like one of my hair ties.” Becca touches her ponytail, then grits her teeth with determination. “Whatever it takes, I'm not leaving Izzy without the fly mask.”

I'm determined too, but when the last bell rings, my stomach twists in knots. I've had too much time to think of everything that could go wrong. Izzy might refuse to talk to us. She may have lost the mask. She may have thrown it away.

Becca is waiting at the bicycle rack. While we wait for Leo, she shows me a map on her phone with directions to the Ross house.

“They live near downtown,” I say, trailing my finger on the map. “We'll pass Sunflower Mary's house on the way.”

“I wish we had time to see her sunflower garden,” Becca says. “Mrs. Ross has drama club after school, but her husband knows we're coming. So all we have to do is get the mask from Izzy and give it to Caleb.”

Sounds easy, right?

A few seconds later, Leo rolls up on his gyro-board. Balancing with one foot, he glances nervously over his shoulder. “Is Frankie still following me?”

“Why would he do that?” Becca asks, with a sharp glance around the school buildings and parking lot. School just let out, so kids are swarming like a human hive.

“I don't see him,” I say, peering beyond Leo. “And a tall, skinny kid in a green hat would be hard to miss.”

“He may not be there now, but I spotted him following me,” Leo says.

“Why would he do that?” I ask.

“It's my fault.” Leo hangs his head sheepishly. “I told him I was meeting you after school. I should have realized he'd be curious. He asked how we became friends, and I couldn't think of a lie.”

Becca gasps. “Did you tell him about the kittens?”

“Or our club?” I ask.

“No. I didn't reveal CCSC information—which made him suspicious. When I left, I saw his reflection in a window and realized he was following me.”

“We can't let him find out our secrets,” I warn. “Stay away from Frankie.”

“But I like helping him,” Leo argues. “I promised to come back tomorrow to assemble an elephant.”

“Frankie can make his own elephant,” Becca says firmly as she lifts her bike off the rack. “Protecting our club is more important.”

“Affirmative,” Leo says with a sad sigh.

Becca and I take off on our bikes, and Leo zooms ahead on his gyro-board. Galena Park is across the street from the Ross house. Becca and I roll into the park and prop our bikes by a bench where Leo is already waiting for us.

“Target house sighted.” Leo points to a boxy, two-story brick home with a huge oak tree in the front yard reaching higher than the roof.

Becca peers across the street. “Kelsey and Leo, you should be my lookouts. Izzy might be scared if we all questioned her, so it's better if I talk to her alone.”

“You're our social operative,” Leo agrees.

“Okay with me,” I say, but I'm a little disappointed to be left outside.

“If I need anything, I'll text Leo,” Becca says as she takes out her phone.

“Texting isn't covert enough,” Leo tells her. “Give your phone to me.”

She hesitates, then hands over her glittery, pink phone. Leo pulls out his phone from his pocket. Placing the phones side by side, he taps keys on each phone. His fingers move so quickly, I can only glimpse flashing images. Finally, he seems satisfied and returns Becca's phone.

“Our phones are synced—like a Skype—so we'll be able to hear and see what's happening in the house,” Leo explains. “Your phone is muted, so no one can hear us. Hold your phone so the camera faces Izzy and the speaker isn't covered. Like this.”

Becca nods and copies his hand position; then she heads for the Ross house.

Sitting close on the bench, Leo and I stare down at his phone, which shows pavement as Becca crosses the street. She lifts the phone to a view of the front door and we hear a chime. A thirtyish bearded man with dark-rimmed glasses opens the door. He wears a navy-blue jacket over a long-sleeved shirt and jeans. Behind him, a little girl clutches a red-haired doll to her chest as she spins like a ballerina, her white-blond hair flying.