Meerkats and Murder Page 9

  Once we were outside, I stopped. "What's all that about? Where are your parents? Why did you tell them you were staying with me?"

  Betty grinned. "Mom and Dad went to Chicago for work. My dork brother is staying with friends. Mom wanted me to stay with the old lady who lives next door. I forged the documents, changing it to you, because Miss Lee is boring and smells bad."

  "Betty," I said as we started down the sidewalk. "I don't see how you can stay with me for three whole days. I've got stuff to do."

  She nodded. "I know about the break-in at your house and the murder at the zoo."

  "How could you possibly know about that?" It wasn't in the twice-a-week paper or on the Des Moines news. Rex kept these things close to the vest.

  She reached down, unzipped her backpack, and pulled out a police scanner. Was Riley handing them out to my troop now?

  "I can help! It'll be great! We'll be partners!"

  A thought occurred to me. "You didn't attack Sharon so you could run around with me, did you?"

  She shook her head. "No. I attacked her because that girl is evil. She's in my class, and ever since her first day, she's been causing stuff."

  "I'm sure it's not that bad."

  "Oh yeah? Two of the Kaitlyns aren't talking to the other two Kaitlyns!"

  That was bad. The four Kaitlyns had acted like a set of quadruplets since the moment I'd met them. It was months before I found out they weren't related.

  But I had to put on my responsible adult hat. "Yes, but what if you'd hurt her or even killed her?"

  Betty thought about this. "I just wanted to scare her into being nice. To let her know we weren't going to put up with it."

  We walked into the house I shared with Rex. It was eleven in the morning. I didn't know what you did with kids at this hour. Except for camping, I'd never been around kids during a normal day.

  I showed her the guest room, and while she unpacked, I called Rex. Thankfully, the call went straight to voice mail, and I was able to tell him Betty was moving in for a few days and then hung up.

  Philby appeared and stopped in her tracks when Betty opened the door. Normally, my cats liked the girls in my troop. However, Betty had been one of the perpetrators who'd dyed her pink once and covered her in makeup another time. The cat hissed and went back into our bedroom, presumably for her second eight-hour nap of the day.

  There was so much I had to do. What was I going to do with Betty? I couldn't drag her along on my investigation. She would know too much. Then again, with a police scanner, she probably knew too much on a daily basis.

  "How about some lunch?" I asked. "Do you like Pizza Rolls?"

  A few minutes later we were in the kitchen, and I was microwaving those little fried pillows of meat and cheesy goodness. Betty took to them as if she hadn't eaten in days. I gave her a glass of water to go with it and a bottle of ranch dressing for dipping, 'cause, duh!

  "What are we doing after lunch?" the girl asked between bites. "Interrogating the scum of the earth? Kidnapping and torture? Black bag drops? I hope it's black bag drops."

  "We are doing none of that." I took out my cell and made a call.

  Linda Willard, my former fourth grade teacher, answered, "Hello, Merry! Do you have a puzzle for me?"

  I looked at Betty. Technically she was a puzzle. Linda had helped me on a case a few months back that involved crossword and sudoku puzzles. The national news caught wind of her talent, and she currently had a four-book crossword puzzle book contract with a major publisher.

  But mostly I called because she was a former fourth grade teacher and Betty was a current fourth grader. Linda had a skill set to deal with this kind of thing.

  "I was wondering if you could babysit one of the girls? Her parents are out of town and she got in a little trouble at school, so I have her during the day. And I've got a lot to do."

  "Usually," Linda said, "I'd say yes. But tomorrow is the deadline for my first book, and I've got a lot more to write. I'm sorry."

  She knew it was Betty. Dammit. That woman was smart.

  "That's okay," I said, not meaning it. "Good luck!"

  She hung up.

  That's when I noticed that during that first call, Betty had created a huge murder board and taped it to the wall. She had all the suspects, and she included Philby and me. Red yarn crisscrossed the poster board like a bleeding spider.

  "What," I said, "is that?"

  Betty looked at it. "It's just something I whipped up last night. Granted, I don't know everything. I'm sure there's a CIA connection and that you've talked to Riley. But my bugs weren't working."

  My jaw dropped open. "You bugged me?"

  She shook her head. "They didn't work. But I was able to track your whereabouts. And I know you saw that realty lady and Riley. So it must have something to do with the CIA and your house."

  Once I scooped my lower jaw off the floor, I fumed. "Betty! You can't do that! We're dealing with someone dangerous here! And you can't do that!" I repeated.

  Kelly always said that this might happen. I never thought she'd be right. My extracurricular activities were turning this girl into a seasoned criminal. Or a spy. But since the CIA didn't take ten-year-olds, this girl was paving a road to juvie.

  "It's okay." The girl waved me off. "I can help."

  I shook my head. "No, it's too dangerous."

  She folded her arms over her chest. "This is my dream. I wanna be a spy like you. You are my hero. You aren't going to kill my dream, are you?"

  "Um…no?" I wasn't exactly sure what the right answer was.

  "And you are running out of time, and I'm out of school for three days…"

  "You did do this on purpose!" I accused.

  She cocked her head to one side. "No, that was lucky. I really did attack Sharon."

  I didn't say anything for the longest time. If I had to have any kid's help, I'd probably pick Betty. But I wouldn't pick her for this. I'd pick her for finding a missing hat or secretly videotaping Robby and Stewie so I knew what the hell was going on.

  Still, there was a lot to do. Maybe she could help a little, tiny bit. But no. I was not going to involve a nine-year-old in a murder investigation that involved dangerous spies. If something happened to her, how would I manage to continue as a leader? What would I do without Betty in the troop?

  "You went to see that lady who sold you the house, right? So, something is going on with your house," Betty said matter-of-factly.

  "Okay." I gave in. "Come with me." I pointed at the wall. "And bring your murder board."

  Philby sat between us and the front door, something she always did when she wanted across the street. I scooped her up, and in seconds we were inside my house. Now that my attacker was dead, it was safe. Well, safer.

  We set up the murder board in the kitchen on an old easel I'd found in the garage. I did not give her details. The less I told her, the better. She didn't need to know everything. Mainly because I didn't know everything.

  "What are we doing?" Betty asked eagerly. "Tapping phones? Going to a shootout?"

  I shook my head. "Nope. We're going to look for something."

  Betty pouted. "That's it? Just looking for something?"

  "Somewhere in my house—in a place I've never thought of—is a super secret Russian file. We need to find it and fast."

  The little girl perked up a little. "There are spy secrets hidden in your house? And you don't know where you put them?"

  I shook my head. "I didn't put them anywhere because they were put here by another spy before I moved in. A spy who lived here before me."

  Betty's eyes grew wide. "Another spy lived here? For real? That's epic! I wish a spy had lived in our house!"

  I wished I could share in her enthusiasm, but the fact that I'd been snowed by the Agency and Riley was a sore spot for me still.

  "I'll take the basement," Betty offered.

  Hmmm…I kept weapons in the basement, from the mint tin grenades to the tampon flamethrower. "No, I'll tak
e the basement. You start here in the kitchen. But don't dismantle or destroy anything without calling me up first."

  She stomped her foot and whined, "I don't want to do the kitchen! What fun is the kitchen?"

  "I don't know. It could be in this room," I mused. I left out the part about how there might be nothing here after all.

  "And look for the word 'Nye.'" I said. "That might be important.

  Betty stopped whining. She stared me in the eye for a few seconds and then went straight for the hall closet.

  "What are you doing?" I followed her. "I said start in the kitchen!"

  Betty didn't listen. She started tossing coats, hats, and scarves at me. I struggled to catch everything and laid them out on the breakfast bar. When you have cats, the minute a garment touches the floor, it's covered in enough hair to qualify as an additional bonus cat.

  The closet, now emptied, looked different to me. I watched as the girl crawled on her hands and knees to a back corner. She pulled up the carpet, pried up one of the floorboards, reached under, and pulled out a large envelope.

  She strutted out of the closet and placed the envelope in my hands. On the outside in red Sharpie was one word. NYE.

  Oh, man.

  CHAPTER TEN

  I stared at the envelope. "How did you know about this? Why did you know about this?"

  Betty shrugged. "We were playing hide and seek in your house during a meeting, and I ended up in the closet."

  "And for some reason," I asked, "you knew to tear up the carpet in that corner, pry up the floorboards, and look inside?" How many places in my house had this girl done that to, and what had she expected to find?

  "I had my cell phone with me for light. I noticed the floor creaked in that corner and looked. And I saw this." She pointed to the envelope.

  Here I was, thinking I'd have to tear down my house nail by nail, and this ten-year-old kid found it in seconds. I was losing my touch. I've often wondered if I could recommend the fourth grader to Langley for some sort of Junior Spy program. Someday I'd have to follow through.

  "I didn't even know the carpet was loose in there," I mumbled as I turned the thick envelope over in my hands. "Why didn't you tell me about it then?"

  Betty shrugged and leaned closer. "Let's open it!"

  The envelope was eleven by seventeen inches in size and about two inches thick and had been sealed with sturdy duct tape. I started to tug on the tape when I remembered that I was opening a top secret Russian doomsday plan that had already gotten at least one person killed.

  "Hey, why don't you go get…" Where was she? The girl had vanished.

  And that's when I felt that old familiar feeling of a gun in my back.

  "Oh, for crying out loud!" I stomped. "What is it with you people?"

  "I'll take that!" a voice hissed. It was impossible to know if it was male or female.

  "I don't think so." I started to turn around.

  The gun dug into my spine. "Stop! Don't turn around."

  Had Betty seen this guy and beat it? I hoped so. The last thing I wanted was for her to come out of the bathroom and into the line of fire. Especially since this person wasn't too keen on being seen.

  I stood still, holding the envelope. I really, really, really wanted to see what was inside. Then again, I was so mad at the CIA for duping me, part of me didn't care what happened to it. Still, there was that patriotic duty and all.

  "I said," the voice hissed in my ear, "give it to me! I'll shoot!"

  On the other hand, I didn't really feel like dying today over something stolen from the Russians years ago. I handed it over my shoulder.

  The gun pulled away. I didn't turn around. The most important thing was to get this guy out of my house before he spotted Betty.

  "Are you still there?" I asked. No reply.

  Turning around slowly, I saw that the front door was wide open. The new attacker and the envelope were gone. How were these people getting in? When Joel was murdered, I thought that would be the last of it. But nooooooo…

  "It's about time." Betty came down the hallway. "I thought she'd never leave!"

  "Good job running and hiding," I said with a smile. "That was really smart."

  She nodded. "I fled once I saw the doorknob turning. I thought we'd locked it."

  "We did. They picked it," I suggested as I walked over to the door and looked out. Whoever took the file was gone.

  "Or they had a key," Betty added.

  That stopped me cold. They had a key? Of course! I would've heard someone tinkering with the lock. And if they had a key, that might explain how Joel was able to come in and out. Was he working with someone, or was my key just handed out to everyone who came into town?

  Who had a key to my place that shouldn't have a key? Riley! That bastard! Was he in on this? He had to be! He was involved back in the day when I first bought this place. Had Riley held me up for the file? Or Joe Hanson! I couldn't remember if I'd had my locks changed when I moved in. If not, he'd have a key.

  Wait… "Did you say 'she' earlier?"

  Betty nodded.

  "How did you know it was a woman?" I asked.

  The kid rolled her eyes. "I may be ten, but I know that when someone has boobs, they usually aren't a dude."

  I stared at her. "I thought you were nine!" As soon as I said it, I realized I didn't know why I thought that. Most of my troop were either nine or ten. I guess her diminutive stature made me think that.

  Betty shrugged. "I'm kind of halfway. That counts."

  "Did you see anything else?" I knelt down and gripped her shoulders. "Hair? Eye color?"

  "No," Betty answered. "She had a ski mask on with sunglasses."

  "How did you see her if you weren't here when she entered?"

  "I was watching out the window in that back bedroom when she left," Betty said. "If she'd shot you, I was going to brain her with your iron."

  And that's when I noticed the girl was holding my iron.

  "You saw her leave?" I asked as I gently took it from her.

  She nodded. "Yeah. She ran and got into a black SUV. A huge one."

  A large black SUV. That had government written all over it. Was this someone from the CIA? If so, they did me a favor by taking that damned thing off my hands. Too bad I couldn't find whoever it was. There were a number of black SUVs in town. Rex had one.

  And so did Riley.

  "So, she got away," I murmured. Was it that redheaded receptionist? Did he put her up to it?

  Betty grinned. "Not really. I memorized the license plate number. Want to hear it?"

  I gave the girl a huge hug, and then I ran to get a pen and piece of paper. As I wrote down the number, I wondered if giving this to Rex was a bad idea. On the one hand, it was related to his case, but on the other hand, it was a matter of national security and the CIA would just take over the investigation anyway.

  "We aren't going to mention this to Detective Ferguson, okay?" I held out my pinky for the most solemn oath in all of history.

  Betty linked her pinky with mine and nodded. "Pinky swear."

  I knew this girl wasn't going to talk even if she was tortured.

  "Come on," I said as I grabbed my purse. "We'll drop Philby back at the house and go get some ice cream."

  Betty squealed and followed. We picked up some ice cream cones and decided to sit in the park downtown. I needed to think things through. The first thing to do would be head to Riley's to check the number against his plate. And then I'd need to find out if the redhead had a black SUV.

  But why would Riley steal it from me? Didn't he know I'd happily hand it over to get the Agency off my back? Was he hoping to resolve something he'd botched back in the day?

  Argh! I needed a distraction so my thoughts could settle. I looked at Betty, who was halfway through a scoop of mint chocolate chip on a sugar cone.

  "Why are you trying to kill Sharon?"

  She rolled her eyes. "I'm not trying to kill her. I'm trying to destroy her."

&n
bsp; This would've been a great time to be an adult and talk to her about why we don't kill other girls, etc. But I didn't really think Betty wanted her dead.

  "You know," I said as I wiped a drop of chocolate off my shirt, "there really isn't much difference between the words kill and destroy."

  Betty thought about this. "I guess so. I didn't think about it like that. I just like the word destroy. It's so end of days."

  "You want Sharon to suffer," I said. "Why?"

  The little girl polished off her ice cream and sighed. "She's evil. Evil has to be destroyed, right? That's what you did all those years as a spy."

  I'd never really told the troop about my exploits, but word got around two years back, so no doubt they'd heard some embellished stories.

  "As a rule"—I finished off my cone—"I didn't kill kids. Maybe Sharon isn't as bad as you think?"

  She looked me right in the eye. "You don't like her either. Neither does Mrs. Albers."

  While that was true, I was hardly going to admit it. "She's only been here a week or so. Give her a chance."

  Betty shook her head. "That brat stirs stuff up for fun. Half the girls in school are mad at each other. She's mean and a liar. The sooner she's gone, the better."

  I understood what she was saying, "Beating her up won't make her leave. All it will do is get you expelled and possibly sent off to juvie. You don't want that." I didn't want that. I loved having Betty in my troop.

  The troop has always gotten along pretty well. As far as I knew, there'd been no conflicts since we started in kindergarten. It made sense that they saw Sharon as a huge problem. When I did my training as a leader, I remembered a video where several well-behaved girls sat in a circle in a fake meeting. One raised her hand out of turn and was taken out and shot by firing squad.

  Okay, that didn't happen. Something even more unbelievable did. The leader took the girl into some sort of study, where she quietly showed the girl the error of her ways, and the penitent girl apologized and ran off to join the troop.

  So, obviously, I didn't get any real training on that. How did they expect us to lead a troop without any psychological training? Wait! I knew someone who could help! I dialed Susan, my therapist, and she agreed to meet with us immediately.