The Second Adventure (5 page)

W
e're lost.”

Logan slumped against a tree, unable to go on.

“We're not lost.” Melissa's hair concealed the fact that she was rolling her eyes. “We're going the right way. It's just a little bit farther.”

Two days had passed since they'd tailed Swindle's agent back to his summer home. Now, finally, the coast was clear. E. J. Smith was with the Ta-da! campers and counselors in the performance center, watching video of the various musical numbers and dramatic scenes of their revue. It was a little nerve-racking that Luthor was in the attic directly above so many people, including a professional dognapper. An accidental slip of the wrist could send the Doberman on a steady whirring descent into the midst of the entire population of the camp.

It wasn't very long before the path rounded a dense grove of pines, and there it was, a small cottage of log and stone, nestled against the hillside. It looked exactly like Smith's cover story — a summer residence in the woods, perfect for a city dweller to get away from it all. What it did not resemble was a dognapper's lair. But they knew the truth.

Logan was getting cold feet. “Don't ask me to pick the lock. I'm an actor, not a burglar.”

Melissa tried the door, but the knob didn't budge. They examined the windows. All locked.

“If we break a window,” Logan reasoned, “he'll know someone's been inside.”

Frowning, Melissa raised her head until she found herself looking at a small window in the low A-frame attic. The sash was clearly raised a few inches. “There,” she said. “That's the way in.”

“If you're a squirrel,” said Logan, following her gaze. It was an awfully small window. “A baby squirrel.”

“Ben climbs into smaller places than that,” Melissa pointed out. In addition to being Griffin's best friend, Ben served as the team's tight-spaces specialist.

“Ben's half the size of me,” Logan protested. “He goes in there because he fits!”

“Fair enough.” Melissa sighed. “I'll do it. Just give me a boost to the porch roof.”

“Oh, right!” snapped Logan. “Leave me standing here for when E. J. Smith comes back!”

At last, Melissa ended the argument by forming a basket with her interlaced fingers. Logan stepped aboard, and she heaved him upward.

The disaster unfolded quickly. He got his hand onto the roofing shingles, but floundered there, unable to find anything to hold on to. As he wriggled, his free foot kicked Melissa in the mouth. She went down, leaving him unsupported. He tried to hoist his leg onto the roof, but succeeded only in getting it tangled in the chain of a hanging pot. The chain snapped. Down came the pot, and Logan with it, landing hard beside Melissa and the shattered planter. Clay shards and dirt scattered everywhere.

“Look what you've done!” he accused Melissa. “No way can we hide that we've been here now!”

“What
I've
done?” And then she saw it, half-buried in the fallen earth — a well-worn key. “We're in!”

The house was small and neat, with wood-paneled walls and handmade rustic furniture. Over the fireplace hung a painting of E. J. Smith himself, with a velvet jacket and silk Ascot tie. It gave Melissa a moment's unease.

“If he's only here to go after Luthor, why would he bring a picture of himself to hang over the mantel?”

Logan peered into the single small bedroom. “Let's just find the computer and get out. If we get caught, we'll be sent home. And all those hours in a warthog suit will be for nothing.”

They found the computer on the kitchen table, and Melissa wasted no time booting it up. “You know, this is really slow,” she commented. “He should defrag his hard drive. And an anti-malware scan wouldn't hurt. Who knows how many viruses he might have?”

“I don't care if he has the black plague,” Logan retorted. “That painting is freaking me out! It's like he's watching us ransacking his house.”

“It's not my fault he neglects basic computer maintenance,” Melissa said crossly. “Okay — I'm opening his e-mail program.”

And then a voice from outside the house announced, “Blasted raccoons! Look at the mess!”

Logan froze. “E. J. Smith!” he croaked.

Two pairs of eyes flashed to the front of the house. Through the window, they could see Smith, bending over his broken planter.

A moment later, the doorknob was turning.

“Hide!”
It was barely a whisper, but no syllable ever resonated louder. Logan knew that an actor must always be able to think on his feet, because anything could happen in live theatre. But at that moment, the only action that came to him was a frantic dance in the middle of the living room.

The door began to swing wide. In a second, the dognapper would be upon them.

It was Melissa who grabbed him by the arm, hauled him across the living room, stuffed him behind the sofa, and squeezed in after him. She ducked her head out of sight just as the bearded man came into the living room and flopped down on the couch.

“Man, what a scorcher!” By the third breath, he was snoring.

Trapped behind the furniture, Logan motioned that they should make a break for it. Melissa shook her head, and mouthed the words, “Not yet.” It was too risky with the dognapper inches away from them.

“But we can't stay here forever!” Logan squeaked.

The sound jarred Smith awake, and he looked around for the source. Then his eyes fell on the computer. “Did I leave that on all day?” He got up and walked into the kitchen.

Melissa and Logan crouched in uncomfortable misery while Smith phoned tech support, and tried to convince the agent that his computer had been on for six hours and hadn't yet gone to screen-saver mode.

Melissa's mind raced. What to do? Ordinarily, she took a lot of guidance from The Man With The Plan. But she couldn't remember Griffin ever being stuck in a spot like this. She tried to troubleshoot the problem logically, as she would a technological glitch. But people were not predictable like computers. Would Smith turn away long enough for them to get out the front door? It was risky, but if they couldn't get out of here, sooner or later, they would be missed back at camp. When would the point come where the consequences of
that
outweighed the danger of being caught here?

Logan shifted his position, and something fell out of his pocket, hitting the floor with a soft thud. It was a large candy caterpillar left over from the last “Hakuna Matata” rehearsal. Timon and Pumbaa had to eat bugs while singing. Yes, it was a stage prop, but at that moment, Logan was grateful for something to snack on. He carefully bisected the gummy creature, and he and Melissa enjoyed an early meal.

The time ticked by with agonizing slowness. After an hour, Logan indicated that he was leaving, no matter what. They had a totally silent screaming match, complete with red faces and arm gestures.

By then, Smith was cooking dinner, and spicy curry fumes were making their eyes water. At last, nearly ninety minutes into the ordeal, a break! E. J. Smith left his creation to simmer on the stove, and stepped into the cottage's small bathroom.

Melissa and Logan did not wait for an engraved invitation. They burst from behind the couch and blasted out the front door, never risking a backward glance. Stiff-legged and cramped, they staggered through the woods and down the mountainside, tripping over exposed roots and getting caught up in low branches.

Back at the cabin, E. J. Smith emerged from the bathroom to a peculiar sight. His sofa was pushed away from the wall, and his front door was ajar. Maybe he'd been absentminded about leaving the computer on, but he'd definitely closed the door. He walked over to the couch, and was about to push it back into place against the wall when he saw it — a gummy candy in the form of a caterpillar. He never ate candy. It was bad for the waistline and the complexion.

The evidence began to add up: the broken planter, the working laptop, the out of place couch, the foreign candy, the open door.

Someone had been in his house.

I
've worked here fifteen years, and this summer's revue is the best I've ever seen! Give yourselves a hand, people!”

Wendy's praise brought cheers from the entire population of Camp Ta-da!

“The Showdown is scheduled to begin at three o'clock tomorrow,” the head counselor went on. “The buses from Camp Spotlight should arrive around noon. We'll begin with the traditional barbecue lunch, and then we'll start to get into our costumes. As the visitors, Spotlight will go on first. And then we get last licks. The weather forecast is perfect, we've got a great show and a lot of talented performers. This is the year we break the streak — I can feel it in my bones!”

The campers liked the sound of that.

As the ovation died down, one of the junior counselors rushed up onstage and whispered in Wendy's ear. A moment later, Mr. Worling, the camp director, appeared in the company of none other than E. J. Smith.

In the back row, Logan and Melissa held their collective breath.

Mr. Worling stepped forward, his face grave. “I have a serious matter that can't wait. One or more of our campers was where they shouldn't have been yesterday. The woods are off-limits beyond camp property, but this goes deeper than that. This goes to the level of breaking and entering and trespassing on private property.”

“Don't worry,” Melissa whispered to Logan, who was draining of all color. “He never saw us. There's no way anybody could know who it was.”

E. J. Smith joined the camp director. “The culprit left
this
on the floor behind my couch.” He held up what looked like a colorful fat shoestring.

All the air came out of Melissa and Logan. It was a gummy caterpillar.

“A piece of candy?” Wendy exclaimed. “That could have come from anybody. Who knows how long it's been there?”

“Oh!
Oh!
” Mary Catherine's hand shot up. “That's one of the caterpillars Timon and Pumbaa eat during ‘Hakuna Matata'!”

“Well, it couldn't have been Timon,” Wendy reasoned. “Bobby was sitting right next to me for the videos yesterday. Who plays Pumbaa?”

Mary Catherine was on her feet, pointing. “Logan! Logan did it! It was Logan!”

“Don't admit anything!” Melissa hissed. “They have no proof!”

But it would have taken a lot more than that to settle Logan down. A cornered animal will either attack or play dead. Not Logan Kellerman. He could be counted upon to launch into a dramatic scene.

“All right, I did it! And I'm proud! That man is not who he says he is! E. J. Smith went down with the
Titanic
a hundred years ago!”

There was a buzz of confusion. What did the
Titanic
have to do with gummy caterpillars?

“We were protecting the poor man's privacy!” Wendy tried to explain.

But Logan was not to be stopped. “He's no ‘poor man'!” he thundered. “He's a ruthless, low-down, slimy dognapper!”

To the crowd, this made even less sense than the
Titanic
. Why would there be a dognapper in the middle of the woods, where there were no dogs?

Wendy's eyes bulged. “What dog?”

Logan opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment, Melissa tackled him to the ground.

Mr. Worling's face was a thundercloud. “Have you all lost your minds? This is no dognapper, and he's certainly not the captain of the
Titanic
! Take a good look at him! He's Mickey Bonaventure, the famous actor, and every year he summers in these woods! And to show the kind of good neighbor he is, he's volunteered to be the judge of the Showdown!”

Melissa squinted at the bearded man. No wonder he was so familiar! Mickey Bonaventure had been a major movie star back in the '80s. His movies were still on TV, if you stayed up after midnight. The person before them was thirty years older now, and the beard covered part of his face. But there was no question that this was the same guy.