Grandma's Red Convertible
Book 6 Mosquito Creek Detective Club - chapter 1...
CHAPTER 1
MIA’S MAGIC…
[Email via America Online, September 2000]
Hey Patrick, we’re back at school! But that wasn’t the only reason I haven’t emailed for a few weeks. I couldn’t get to a computer with AOL. But - before that almost everyone in our entire town was occupied with a massive search just before the Labor Day holiday here.
As I wrote before, in July it had been real quiet, like fall asleep-standing-up kind of quiet, since New Years.
And I don’t understand why, but for a small town in the foothills of Montana - Mosquito Creek seems to search for missing people a lot. Maybe you heard about it on the news over there - or maybe not.
I’ll mail a copy of our newspaper and the Helena Independent Record, and a USA TODAY copy. Yeah, we made it into a national paper again cause this was pretty major – again!
Previous Month August 2000…
Just before sunrise, two shadowy figures pushed a small red car from a dark garage into an alley. Soundlessly the hinged garage doors were reclosed and then bolted from the inside.
To the east a thin pink line formed by a new sun that hinted at a perfect August day to come.
The shadowy figure on the left side of the car pressed a button and the black canvas top began to fold into a neat pleat. With the top down the figure on the left and the figure on the right continued pushing the car in the direction of the slowly rising sun.
When both figures pushing the car had reached the end of the alley, the person on the driver’s side of the car turned the steering wheel to the right. The car was pointed in a new direction. With the hill out of town below them, both figures hop into the front bucket seats to coast another three blocks away from the garage. At the bottom of the hill the driver started the engine of the little red car.
With a high-five slap Joey Salas and Leif Anderlund realized their secret operation was a success and they had made it completely undetected. The driver accelerated toward the county road that paralleled Lost Creek.
After reaching the county road the driver turned north, while to the east the pink line faded and began to widen to a streak of deep orange.
They thought their cover story gave them a good eight-hour head start. That was more than enough time because they would be back long before diner and no one would even notice the car was missing.
…………
“I’m going to do everyone’s astrological chart.” Mia Cho had abruptly opened the back door. She stood in the doorway of the combination mail-room lunchroom of the Mosquito Creek Review newspaper office.
Gordon McKenna was filling the paper tray of the photocopier. He couldn’t have been more surprised if, with her unannounced arrival, she had shown up with her long, straight black hair dyed a bright pink.
“Do you suppose I could write a horoscope column in the paper, say each month?”
Gordon frowned, brushing back his thick dark red-brown hair before collecting the receipts he’d copied for his grandfather. “Man, you must be bored if you’re looking to do horoscopes. Those things are bunk.”
She followed him into the long, wide newsroom of the weekly newspaper. Gordon’s grandfather Park Sullivan was leaning over the fifteen-foot layout table that occupied most of the area in the center of the room, spacing ad copy.
The forty foot by eighteen-foot room had a drafting table, file cabinets against the south wall beside shelves crammed with reference books, maps, and past editions of the paper.
A counter for customers was just inside the west facing front door.
The editor’s office was on the north-west corner of the building. Next to the office, was a former closet turned photography dark room and then the lunchroom, with fridge, coffee pot, photocopier, and postage supplies.
Wide double doors at the back of the newspaper office led to a narrow shipping dock to the east side for loading and unloading bundles of papers ready for delivery.
“Good morning Mr. Sullivan.”
The newspaper editor looked up. “Mia, nice to see you. Gordon, do know where Philip’s gone to?”
Gordon had a growth spurt after his fifteenth birthday and was only three inches shorter than his grandfather’s six feet. “I think he might be at his dad’s hardware store, or Mr. Hawkins’ house.”
“Philip and Eric Molosky have a job painting Mr. Hawkins’ backyard fence.” Gordon filed the copied receipts into that month’s expense folder.
Park Sullivan looked down at the mockup pages before him with his hands on his hips. “They better do a good job. It won’t go well if they mess up their science teacher’s fence.”
“Please, give the store a call, I need Philip back here. This photo for Wally’s Pool & Pizza ad is too blurry. I need him to reshoot it.”
The newspaper office was in a low brick building on the far northeast corner of Main Street that ran north and south through Mosquito Creek. Mayor Peters’ hardware store was two blocks south and then another two blocks west on the corner of Center Street.
“Sorry Mia.” The editor smiled. “What brings you here?”
“You’re gonna be sorry you asked Grandfather.” Gordon picked up the phone receiver at the front counter.
“So this is a business visit, then.” The tall, slim grey haired man took off his bifocal glasses and tucked them into his white shirt pocket.
“Well yes I guess it is.” Mia carried two thick, worn and old looking books. “I had an idea for a new column that might be fun for our readers…”
“Our readers?” Gordon interrupted then the line at the hardware end of the phone was answered.
Mr. Sullivan suppressed his impulse to smile.
Mia shot Gordon an expression of impatience. “O-k-a-y Mr. Accuracy, the Review’s readers.”
“Anyway, I bought these fabulous antique books all about the stars, and cycles of the moon and the Zodiac from Dr. Howes’ garage sale in June.”
“After I read them, Mrs. Howes told me they belonged to her grandmother, who was very insightful. So, I thought I’d do the astrological charts of everyone in the Detective Club first and then write about them. When other people in town read them they would get the idea of what I was doing. Then, maybe the readers would write to the newspaper for their charts too.”
Gordon finished his call and replaced the receiver. “Mia, dearest, old, friend…”
Mia interrupted him. “No-o-o! Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare cop a sarcastic attitude with me…”
Gordon was undeterred. “…this is a newspaper, Mia. The operative word being - news.”
But then to his amazement Gordon saw his grandfather nodding. “You can’t seriously be considering this idea.” His changing voice went up an octave.
“Well yes, actually I am. Your grandmother and your mom wanted to start the recipe page again right after Labor Day. There’s only another two weeks before school starts, so I can use something new in that space until then. I’ve been setting in fillers like a crossword puzzle and short Associated Press features.”
“Let’s give it a try and see how it goes. If it does well then we can arrange regular space for it on the recipe page.”
Rarely was Mia Cho speechless, but at this moment she stood mute looking from Gordon McKenna to Mr. Sullivan with her mouth open.
“Okay young lady it’s Monday morning,” the editor checked his watch, “at 9:36 AM. Your deadline for weekly submissions is noon every Wednesday in order to make our Thursday print day and then Friday’s distribution.”
“Mia!” Gordon clapped his hands. “Do you need oxygen or something?”
“No, wise guy.”
Mr. Sullivan continued. “Every Wednesday morning, I expect one typed eight by eleven sheet of paper with between 200 and 300 words. I’ll pay you fifteen cents per published word to start.”
“Each week?”
“Yes, each week. That’s approximately $30 to $45 dollars for each column.”
“Guess I better get to work.” She hugged her prized garage sale books on astrology and tarot card reading.
Mr. Sullivan teased. “Guess with crime a little slow these days for the seven of you sleuths, all of you need to find legitimate work, huh? Though I admit Gordon’s been valuable help since school ended in May and so has Philip.”
Mia nodded. “Yeah, it’s been a real quiet eight months. I’m at my aunt’s fabric store every Saturday, but not at mom’s flower shop, only Niki works there during the week.”
“And it’s been a stupendously boring summer! My Dad keeps me busy in his office, but just Thursday and Friday.”
“Oh, that reminds me,” Mr. Sullivan interrupted to write accounting on a yellow Post-It. “I’ve got some receipts to get to your dad this week.”
“S-t-u-d-e-n-d-o-u-s! I like that word.” Philip Peters stood grinning just inside the newspaper office front door. His slight lisp caught on the beginning and ending ‘S’. “That’ll be my new word today.”
Philip’s brown curly hair was almost completely covered by a white painters’ cap. Over his t-shirt and jeans he wore coveralls blotched by various shades of old dried paint. The overalls were three sizes too big. With the wide pant legs rolled up several turns, he had a distinctive penguin walk.
“You look like some kind of weird party balloon.” Mia frowned
Philip waddled to the layout table. “It’s for painting. My Uncle Bruce found it in the back of Dad’s store.”
“Well he should have left it in the back of the store.” Mia was feeling proud and quite self important at the moment.
Mr. Sullivan decided to step in. “See this ad photo here?”
Philip leaned closer. “Oops it’s out of focus.”
“Precisely my number one photographer,” the editor pursed his lips.
Philip looked up at the editor with his hands in his pockets. “I think I’m your only photographer.” He tried to wink but both lids closed.
“Regardless, I need you to give Wally a call and tell him you must get back there, now.”
“But I’m ready to meet Eric. Uncle Bruce is delivering the paint to Mr. Hawkins!”
Mr. Sullivan took a deep breath. “Well take off this ships’ sail you’re wearing, get back on your bike and swing by the Hawkins’ house on your way to Wally’s. Let Eric know you’ll be starting late. But, after you’re done at Wally’s come directly back here with all of the cameras. My photo first - then Mr. Hawkins’ fence second.”
Philip’s Down syndrome rarely prevented him from tackling almost anything, but his instructions always needed to be specific.
The editor needed to finish his work. “Mia, don’t you need to be doing something somewhere too? And - Gordon, don’t you have an interview with the mayor at ten o’clock?”
Philip was out of the painter’s coveralls, but still wore his cap as he checked the film in his camera bag. “My dad’s not at the town hall. He’s working at the store with Grandpa Molosky and Uncle Bruce today.”
The editor returned to his page layouts.
Thirty minutes later when the editor’s wife Lorraine and his daughter, Gordon’s mother, Maureen returned from selling more newspaper ad space – Park Sullivan was working at the layout table in total peace and quiet.
………..
Sonia Molosky was answering her mother’s office phone when Mia burst through the door as if she was chased by hornets.
With her dark blonde hair pulled into a high ponytail Sonia listened to her mother’s business caller with her eyes closed so she wasn’t distracted by Mia’s panicked expression and hand gestures. “When did you want to list your house to sell Mrs. Hollings?”
“Do you need to buy something smaller, or rent?” Sonia carefully wrote her mother a detailed note. “Okay. Let me take down your phone number. I expect Ursula Molosky back in the office in about another hour. Yes, she’ll be able to call you back by 4PM, Mrs. Hollings. Thank you for calling Molosky & Molosky Real Estate ma’am.”
Sonia replaced the receiver. “Are you having a brain spasm or something!”
“You can’t do that when I’m here, on my mother’s office phone! I need to be professional on this phone or my mother will make my life even more like a bad case of stomach flu than my younger brothers do!”
Mia’s response was a flustered stream of words shot like bullets. “I can’t reach Joey!”
“I can’t find him anywhere in town!”
“I can’t find Leif either!”
“Nobody’s seen them all day!”
“Joey told his Granddad Salas, and Leif told his dad that they were painting Mr. Hawkins’ back fence!
But only Philip and your brother Eric are in Mr. Hawkins’ back yard...” Mia voice faded as she slumped into the chair at a table with the office computer.
Sonia looked at her best friend confused. “O-kay?”
“You remember my horoscope column idea?”
Sonia nodded.
“Mr. Sullivan liked it, so I decided to do Joey’s chart first and he’s in a lot of trouble.”
“No! He’s actually in danger! According to the position of his opposing planets he’ll be confronted by a very negative energy that could reverse all of his plans.”
Sonia shook her head. “I knew it. I just knew this would happen when you started reading that stuff. That’s not doing a horoscope Mia that’s fortune telling and unless you have some Chinese gypsy ancestors – I’m pretty sure you don’t have-the-gift.”
Mia sat up defensive. “I only went where the stars pointed.”
“Well what about Leif, is he in danger too?”
“I only just started his chart. But so far his sign and Joey’s sign aren’t compatible.”
“That shows you right there that where those stars are pointing is questionable.”
“They’ve been best friends since Pre-School – we all have. If our signs aren’t compatible by this time, it’s too late cause we’re in grade nine and ten now. Does our horoscope say we should dissolve the Club?”
Mia looked uneasy. “It wasn’t just Joey’s horoscope…”
“No, don’t tell me. You pulled out those Tarot cards again, didn’t you?”
Mia nodded. “But it’s not just the stars or the cards, I’m sure something’s wrong. I have a really bad feeling about Joey, actually both of them.”
“Leif was supposed to work at his dad’s market. Joey was supposed to help at his granddad’s restaurant. But for some reason they both lied to everyone.”
A single tear slid down Mia’s cheek. “Joey lied to me!”
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