Skylar Robbins: The Mystery of the Hidden Jewels, Carrie Cross [positive books to read TXT] 📗

“Yeah I found it. The whole school watched me find it.”

“What?” She looked over her shoulder to check the traffic, and then glanced at me. “Where was it?”

“Up a tree.”

“A tree? How did it get—”

“Don’t ask. The janitor got it down for me.” I turned to look at her. “Everyone clapped.”

I didn’t get any sympathy. “Well at least you don’t have to buy a new one. And I’m sure you’ll be more careful with your things from now on.”

I wanted to tell her that Emelyn Peters had stolen it off the back of my chair before she flung it into the tree, but I was sick of arguing with my mom and bored with the subject of my pukey sweater. I decided to let her win this one. “OK, Mom.”

After escaping from the garage, I ran up the stairs to my room and climbed the spiral staircase to my office. Homework could wait until later. I’d been looking forward to working on the third clue all day. Pushing my chair back over to the desk, I sat down and turned the yellowed envelope over in my hands. I pulled out the paper and unfolded it.

The drawing looked like a cross between an algebra problem and an optical illusion or a puzzle. I flipped through my math book and looked at the symbols in the geometry chapters. None of them matched the design on the clue. After staring at the tattered paper for a few minutes, I turned on my iPad and opened my Hidden Jewelry Box notes. After I took a picture of the clue I counted the squares, and then typed in: Bottom row, 9. Next row, 6. Second row 4. Top row, 1.

The diagram looked a little like a weird stairway or something you could climb, so the next thing I did was enter the directions the squares seemed to take to get from the bottom to the top of the puzzle: 4 to the left, up 1. 1 more to the left, up 1. 3 to the left, up to the top. Now I was at the top of…what? I blew out my breath. I was usually good at puzzles and math, but this didn’t make any sense at all.

What could it mean? I posted a picture of the clue on my website, then sent out a tweet asking for my agents to check in and help. I hoped agent # 010 Star Dancer or # 002 Hidden Shadow might be online to post their ideas on my site under clues.

Next, I typed just the numbers of the squares in each row: 9 6 4 1

“Nine minus six is three, and four minus one is three.” Then I added the numbers up. “Twenty squares,” I said, looking at the equation on the clue. “U plus arrow plus four equals twenty. Sixteen plus four equals twenty, so U plus arrow equals sixteen. But what does that mean?” I groaned in frustration. “Nothing,” I answered myself.

I grabbed my head with both hands. Now what do I do? I had no idea what the third clue meant, or where to look for the next one. I stared at the frayed paper.

That’s when I saw it. A curly black hair, resting innocently on my desk. Except there was nothing innocent about it. My dad’s hair was light. My mom and I didn’t have hairy arms or legs. Therefore this came from someone else. Someone with dark curly hair, like Sledge: the guy in the construction crew gang who was working on our rain gutters.

Crew Gang, I thought. Good name for that bunch of creeps.

I stared at the little hair and my face got hot. What was he doing in my office? No rain gutters up here, no reason for him to be in this room at all. Unless he was snooping. Searching for something, like when I’d watched him peek into the gazebo and look into the corners of our backyard. I clamped my hand over my mouth as the truth dawned on me.

Those guys are looking for the hidden jewels too.

Xandra Collins’s missing jewelry box had been all over the news since her disappearance. It made perfect sense that the men working on our house would be searching for her jewelry box. And there was a whole gang of them. Only one of me.

I had to beat them to it. I was one step ahead of them, and I needed to stay that way. Picking up the hair with my tweezers, I dropped it into a small Ziploc baggie and stowed it in my detective kit. DNA evidence, in case I needed it.

The clue sat there, challenging me.

What did the squares stand for? Could they represent a building? And if they did, how would I find it? I didn’t have a truck like Smack. No way I could search all of Santa Monica on my bike. Fortunately Alexa and a gang of secret agents were on my side. The Shirley Lock Holmes Agency could track a clue faster than anybody. Girls Secret Agency had gone dormant, but hopefully some of the members would weigh in. I was looking forward to checking my website and reading their posts on what the clue could mean.

My brain needed a break. I shut down my iPad, opened my detective kit, and took out my fingerprinting materials. After picking out the clearest print in the dust on the windowsill, I covered it with a strip of clear tape and pressed it firmly down. I didn’t have to brush on fingerprinting powder. The dust had done the job. I carefully peeled off the print and pasted it onto a Case Solution card.

Using my invisible marker I labeled it, “Turret Windowsill.” Then I pulled out the box I had bought to hold fingerprints and clues, slipped my first Case Solution card inside, and closed the padlock. By the time the Skylar Robbins Detective Agency had solved its first big case, no doubt the box would be full.

Suddenly I heard a loud noise in the backyard and looked out my office window. Sledge was about to install our new rain gutters and I watched him for a minute. He walked through the side yard and out to the street, grabbing long sections of metal from the back of his truck. As he came back across the lawn his head swiveled back and forth, looking around. After he dumped the new rain gutters on the lawn in a big pile, he trotted back across the grass and stuck his head inside the greenhouse. Like he was searching for something. Of course he was.

I grabbed my pink Super-Zoom binoculars, turned off the light, and crouched down by the window to watch him. My binoculars rock. They were so strong I could see the hair on the back of his fingers as he picked up a section of metal half-pipe. A skuzzy blond guy picked up the other end, and they climbed up a couple of ladders and attached the new rain gutter to the house.

The hair on Sledge’s arms was dark and curly.

Busted. I bet that was his hair that I found on my desk. So what was he doing in my office? There was no reason for him to be inside the house at all, unless he was looking for Xandra’s clues. And what could I do about it?

Nothing. Yet.

My parents were totally impressed with Smack and his gang. I had to admit they were doing a great job remodeling our house. My mom was raving about them, even though she complained to my dad that they smelled “ripe,” and she hated their snake and skull tattoos. I hated the fact that they were trying to find Xandra’s jewels before I did.

But that wasn’t going to happen. I hoped.

After dinner I had too much homework to work on clues, and started the problems on my algebra worksheet.

72 = 9 x B

550 km = Xmm

4A = 64

17.5 yards = Z feet

I got a tingling feeling. In every equation, one thing stood for something else. I penciled in my answers with my brain ticking. The next section showed a bunch of different shapes, and asked whether or not they represented a polygon. I looked at each shape, circling yes or no. I finished the worksheet with my mind on something else. A similar problem, with a much more important solution: The squares on the third clue equaled—what?

My favorite detective show was about to start so I recorded it. Trying to forget about the mysterious clue, and the fact that a bunch of hostile men were right behind me in my search, I picked up my science book and read a chapter on anatomy. I put Mr. Bidden’s signed permission slip into my backpack with a sinking feeling in my stomach.

12

The rest of the week flew by and before I knew it, it was Friday. I barely made it through lunch, I was so nervous about what would happen in Science. We had studied anatomy all week and I knew what was coming. My insides felt like I’d swallowed a grasshopper. Mr. Bidden collected our permission slips, making sure he got one from every single student. Then he passed out instruction sheets, smiling evilly at the class, showing off his long yellow teeth.

Dustin leaned toward me as we read the directions, and my heart flip-flopped. We were so close I could smell the fresh scent of his hair. Then Mr. Bidden passed out the dead frogs and I smelled something else. Something rank and rotting. Dustin took a plastic tray with a dead frog on it from the teacher, and I put my hand over my nose. The frog’s skin looked rubbery and it really stunk. Cindy covered her mouth with one hand and leaned far back into her chair, staring at the frog with a horrified look on her face. Mark Oglethorpe gave Dustin a thin smile and said, “You go ahead.”

“OK,” Dustin agreed, “how about if I remove the organs, Skylar assists me, and you guys takes notes?” They both nodded their heads fast, relieved that they didn’t have to touch any frog guts. Dustin looked at the little frog and picked up our scalpel. I hoped that when I assisted him our hands would brush past each other’s and touch. Maybe he’d even let his rest against mine for a minute. I wish! Reality check: my fingers might land in rotten frog. I glanced at my anatomy notes and prayed I wouldn’t throw up. My new cherry-scented lip gloss combined with the frog stench was making me sick to my stomach.

“Can you pull his legs apart a little?” Dustin asked, but I just sat there. “Don’t worry, he won’t bite you.” He smiled at me with those straight white teeth and I melted.

The frog’s tiny feet felt bony and sticky as I gently spread them apart. Dustin looked at me seriously, like a surgeon about to perform an operation. He sliced the dead frog down the middle and I recognized its heart, stomach, liver, and intestines from the diagrams I’d studied in my science book. The smell got stronger and I felt lunch rise up in my throat. “I’m sorry—” Dustin looked surprised when I suddenly screeched my chair back.

I bolted from the room and ran down the hall with Cindy Kowalski right behind me. Fortunately the bathroom was nearby. Shoving the door open, I slammed into a stall and knelt over the toilet bowl. Looking into the water, my face got sweaty and saliva filled my mouth. I spit into the toilet but I didn’t throw up. Cindy retched into a toilet at the end of the row of stalls.

“Hey, are you guys OK?” a familiar voice asked.

I stood up and opened the door a crack. “Alexa?”

“Skylar?” We looked into each other’s surprised faces.

“What are you doing in here in the middle of class?” she asked, frowning.

“Not ditching, if that’s what you think. We were dissecting a frog and I almost barfed on Dustin.”

Alexa burst out in a loud laugh and looked at the floor. “I’m sorry. That’s not funny,” she said. Her lips were still twitching like she was holding back a giggle.

Cindy walked out of the stall and rinsed her mouth in the sink. She left the bathroom without looking at us.

“What about you?” I asked.

Alexa looked at me like she was trying not to smile. “I just started my period.” It