CHAPTER SEVENTEEN ~ OPERATION: COOKIE CUTTER by B. A. Linhares

“You dreading the drive to the airport?” I ask, as we clump down the stairs side by side.

“It’s cool. Although I was hoping we could keep going on our Crime Science project. We better plan on another study date tomorrow to get up to speed with the rest of the class.”

This makes me smile.

At the bottom of the stairs, I glance at the Cuckoo clock. It’s 6:45.

I look at Josh. “Uh, are you sure you won’t join us for dinner…um…we usually eat around 7:30-ish.”

“Thanks, but my Dad and I usually grab a burger on the way home. He’s not crazy about airplane food.”

“Okay.”

I push open the kitchen door with Josh on my heels. On the island are appetizers, a stack of dishes and folded napkins.

Josh eyes the layout. “Wow, fancy-smancy!”

“Help yourself. Pop likes to show off when we have company. Forever the chef.”

“Works for me,” Josh says, and holds up his hands. “I should wash my hands.”

“Right. Well, there’s the downstairs bathroom or you can just use the sink.” I gesture toward the kitchen sink and he goes over to wash up. I wasn’t sure if he needed to go potty or just wash his hands.

Through the kitchen nook's pane glass window, I see the portable television flickering in the corner of the patio near the big brick grill, but no Pop. I wondering where he is. Then I see him coming down the walkway toward the grill. The roof of the utility van is visible above our fence. Was he talking to whoever is in it? I wave and he waves back. Then he turns up the TV’s volume so loud we can here the fans yelling. He puts on his KISS THE KOOK apron, slides on a mitt, and picks up a long grilling fork all the while his eyes are on the game show on the little TV.

Josh comes over shaking his wet hands. “What’s he watching?”

“Football,” I say with a British accent. “Actually soccer.” I take a clean dishtowel out of the drawer and hand it to Josh.

He dries his hands and I move in front of the sink and wash my hands out of habit––even though I just did. Josh isn’t shy. He goes over and helps him self to the food. “Makes sense he’s Irish,” he says, munching on a baby carrot. “I’m not a big sports fan. Drives my dad nuts that I don’t get all crazy while watching a Skins game.”

“Me neither,” I say, drying my hands on the same towel Josh used. “I watch soccer some of the time, but Pop’s a freak! He rarely misses a match. During Ireland’s endless soccer season, he rolls his portable TV on the cart around as if it’s an appendage. I'm used to it.” I hang the towel on a hook, go over, and open the back door to say ‘hi’ to Pop. A blast of smoky humid air mixes with the kitchen’s cooled air. I step out on the patio and Josh comes out with his saucer piled high with appetizers and veggies covered with dip.

Pop has his back to us. He puts a hand on his head and tugs at his curly red hair, which is damp from the humidity and yells, “You bloody idiot!” Then he jabs at the roast with a long pronged fork. “Ah, what a bunch of pusses! You let ‘em miss the goalie by a mile!”

“Yo! Pop!” I bug my eyes and clear my throat.

Pop jumps, sees us standing there, and reaches out turning down the volume with the remote. “Oh, hey you two.” He gestures at the TV with the fork. “Wanna watch this sissy game with me.”

“Sounds like Ireland team isn’t winning?” Josh asks, moving next to Pop to watch the game.

I ask, “What’s the score?”

Pop looks up for a second and slides his eyes from me to Josh. “Zero-six. But I haven’t given up hope, yet.” His eyes go right back to the soccer players running around on the little television screen. “You watch football Josh?”

“American football,” Josh says, while munching on a celery stalk stuffed with cream cheese and dill. “I’m a Skins fan.”

Pop shouts, “There you go… Score!”

I shout, “YEA!”

They go to a litany of commercials and Pop mutes the volume. Then he checks the roast once more, and then shuts the grill’s lid and lays the fork on a platter. Pop says with candor, “Well Josh, I understand the concept of American Football is to move the ball down the field, but I never grasped all of the NFL rules and regulations,”

“Not at all,” Josh says. “I read a book on them.”

Pop says, “Hey, why don’t you come over some weekend, we can watch a Skins game together. You can walk me through the rules.”

I shake my head and go back inside to get some drinks, leaving the door wide open so I can hear what they say. I don’t want Pop talking Josh out of helping me. I smile and make myself a plate of snacks. Then I take two ice-cold, twist-top Pepsis from the fridge.

Josh says, “Actually my dad is the real expert…”

“Bring Wayne too. We’ll have a tailgate party.”

Pop would love to have a bunch of guys over to watch a game. So would I. It’d be fun. I stand in the doorway for a moment, listening to them scheming. Pop takes a sip of his iced tea and then sets it down on the ledge next to the grill. His eyes glued to the TV.

Josh shoves a whole crab roll in his mouth. “These crab rolls rock!”

Pop nods. “Tell you what, I’ll provide the dip and chips and cook up a batch of hot buffalo wings that’ll burn off a layer of skin in your mouth.”

“Now, you’re talking Mr. B!”

They high-five. I roll my eyes and put our drinks on the little glass table and have a seat on the lawn furniture set around the patio. I spread out a linen napkin on my lap and set my appetizers on top to protect my new top.

Pop opens the grill’s lid, pokes the humongous roast with the fork, checking for doneness. He takes a sharp knife and slices a thick piece off the edge exposing the light pink meat underneath. He hands the forked meat over to Josh to taste.

Josh sticks the meat in his mouth, chews, and then says, “I’d have to say it’s perfectly cooked! My dad likes his meat still mooing.”

Pop laughs. “To each his own.” Using a special grilling utensil, Pop cranes the massive roast off the main rack, and onto the large platter sitting on a nearby ledge. He shuts the grill’s lid and picks up the platter and turns to go back inside the house. Pop returns with the tray of crab puffs sets them down between us and winks at me. I feel my face grow hot. What’s he up to?

“Don’t forget to let me know when the next game is on Josh.”

“Will do, Mr. B. I think Dad told me that pre-season games already started,” Josh says, filling his plate. He sits down in the lawn chair next to me and lift his plate of appetizers. “Thanks for the snacks Mr. B.”

Pop nods and rolls the TV cart inside the kitchen and shuts the door.

I turn my head and see that Josh is busy eating. His eyes are darting around the backyard. I wave my hand at the drinks on the table between us.

“Pepsi?”

He takes one of the bottles and I seize the other one, twist off the cap, and take a long drink. My throat feels so dry and tight from our discussion that the carbonations burns and my eyes water a little. Josh notices me wiping the tears away with my napkin.

“Carbonation,” I explain, hoping I can keep down the massive burp I feel building inside by stomach.

Josh just nods and sits forward his legs straddling the lawn chair. “That was a nasty storm that blew through early Wednesday morning. I was up watching it and thinking that it was a going to blow our roof off.”

“Yeah,” I say, recalling my episode or whatever it was that happened to me. “It woke me up too.” I sit forward and see that our yard is all cleaned up and newly mowed. Nice work Pop. I crane my neck, looking at the puzzling utility van. “Josh that strange van is out there if you’re interested in checking it out.”

He looks at me. “I thought you said it was the Neighborhood Watch.”

I shake my head, pick up my Pepsi, and wash down my food. “I assumed that it is…I don’t know for sure. However, I’m starting to question why I thought it was even relevant.” I sit back and rest my head on the chair. The lump on the back of my head is still a little bit tender. I pop another crab puff in my mouth.

“I can have my dad check it out.”

I look at Josh. “Really?”

“Sure. Piece of cake. When I leave, I’ll drive by and get the plate numbers.” Josh narrows his eyes and inspects our backyard while nibbling on a broccoli floret. I imagine Josh is thinking that I’m a loony paranoid chic. Then unexpectedly he ask, “Was your neighborhood hit like ours with the branches down and debris everywhere?”

I nod and cover my mouth with my napkin while chewing. I finally swallow my food and comment, “Big time. Plus, we got a lot of rain and wind. Pop’s been cleaning up the mess.”

Josh says, “Luckily, we don’t have as many trees on our street.” He drinks some more of his Pepsi, and asks, “Is that your cat?”

I squint and follow his gaze. “No, we don’t have any pets.”

“Well there’s either a cat over there in the bushes––or a big ass rat.”

“Rat?” I put my plate on the table and lean forward. “Where?”

Josh pokes a cherry tomato in his mouth, and then holds out his arm indicating with the plastic bottle. “Near those rose bushes.”

I see something duck under the first giant rose bush on the right. “What the heck?”

Josh puts his food down on the table and rises up slowly. “Stay here, I’ll check it out,” he whispers over his shoulder, and tiptoes across the patio. Hunching over, he moves cautiously across the lawn to the rose garden, and then crouches down next to the rose bush with his back to me.

My curiosity gets the better of me. I sip my Pepsi and saunter over, almost draining the bottle on the way there. I whisper, “What is it?”

Josh slides his hand in his pocket and takes a small penlight out. He clicks it on and shines it on a little scrawny gray kitten with a huge fluffy tail.

“Awe, a kitten…” I squat down next to Josh and he glances over at me. He stretches and rubs his rump against one of Mom’s overgrown rose bushes. I laugh. “Geez, you’d think he’d impale himself on the thorns.”

“Does that feel good little feller?” Josh coos and the kitten tromps over to him. “Hey, little fella.” Josh scratches under the cat’s chin.

“Awe, he’s so cute,” I say. “He looks like he needs some nourishment. His poor little ribs are showing.”

“Yeah, his tail is bigger than he is.”

“It looks like a bottle brush.”

The kitten attaches himself to Josh’s hand using its claws. “Ouch!” Josh laughs and carefully detaches his hand. “Playful aren’t ya. Now, let go!”

I hear the back door open and see Pop peering out at us.

“Come over here and see!”

He calls out, “What are you two looking at?”

I turn my head and shout, “A kitten!” I wave him over.

Pop closes the door and strolls across the lawn. The kitten immediately rubs up against Pop’s legs. I can’t tell if Pop likes it or not, he’s just standing there with his hands on his hips, looking down at the feline.

“Hey little scalawag what are you doing in our yard?”

Josh glances around. “He must know how to climb fences with those claws.” Josh inspects the pin holes in his hand.

“Well show him the way out,” Pop says, and turns to go.

“Wait, Pop, can we feed him something first? The poor little feller looks starved.”

Pop shakes his head. “If we do darling, I’m afraid we’ll have us a pet.”

“Come on. Just this once won’t hurt. He’s most likely just passing through the neighborhood.”

“What...on an incredible journey?”

Josh laughs and looks over at me.

I smile tightly at him. “Don’t encourage him,” I say, then look up at Pop and stick out my lower lip in a pout.

The kitten sits sit down at Pop’s feet with his big fluffy tail wrapped around his paws like a muff. He looks up at Pop like a little soot-colored angel. Pop shakes his head. “Okay, okay, I’ll carve off some roast nibbles for him. After that, put him out in the alley with his buddies.” Pop heads back inside.

The kitten must have understood because he follows at our heels as we head over to the patio. A few minuets later, Pop opens the door holding a tray with a saucer of meat, and a bowl of milk and the kitten tries to dash inside.

Pop puts out his foot, blocking the kitten. “Not in my house pip squeak!”

Josh and I take our seats and watch the kitten play with a rolled up ball of aluminum foil. I tell Josh in a low voice, “Pop has a soft spot for hungry critters.”

Pop shuts the door with his hip, and as he bends to place the dishes on the patio floor, the kitten rises up on his hind feet and starts doing a cha-cha dance. “Eat up little beggar,” Pop says squatting the dish of meat scraps on the patio decking. “Cookie here thinks you’ve got a long journey ahead of you.”

Josh and I make comments about how cute he is and Pop gives us wary stares. Within mere seconds, the kitty has lapped up every morsel and starts licking the surface of the plate. Pop nudges the bowl of milk closer and the kitten takes the hint.

I smile at the kitten. “I wouldn’t mind having a pet. Hey, Pop why haven’t we ever owned a pet?”

“Your mum was allergic to dander.”

“She was?” Another fact about Mom I didn’t know.

“It was awful,” Pop tell us as he gathers the plates and the other things he was using, and piles it all on the tray. “She’d start sneezing even when you mentioned the word cat.” Pop pauses. “I’ve got to go back inside and finish dinner.” He motions toward the kitten with his head. “See ya Beggar.”

“Beggar,” Josh echoes, “it’s the perfect name for him.”

Pop puts his hand on the door knob, turns his head sideways and eyes the kitten. “Do we know if it’s a him or a her?”

I shrug. “I haven’t looked that close.” Is Pop is softening?

Josh points with his empty Pepsi bottle. “The name Beggar works either way.”

Pop laughs. “And it suits him.”

“Hey, Pop, isn’t there an Irish proverb that says if you name something it’s automatically yours?”

Josh and I bust out laughing.

At that, Pop just shakes his head and goes inside.

Josh leans toward me and whispers, “Um, looks like you own a cat.”

I smile.

We watch in silence while Beggar meticulously grooms himself with his little pink tongue. When he starts in on his private parts, Josh says, “That answers that.”

That’s not something I want to observe with Josh.

“Um, we should give Beggar some privacy.”

“Good idea.”

We push out of our chairs, standing at the same time.

Josh puts his hand on my shoulder and looks directly in my eyes. “I should take off pretty quick,” he says, sounding almost regretful.

I like that he’s so touchy-feely. I take a deep breath, let it out, and nod my head. “Right.”

Josh opens door and just before going inside, I turn around. “Where’d Beggar go?”

We close the door and cross the patio, searching the backyard. Josh points at the rose garden. “Maybe he went back in the rose bushes.” We run over and find him tucked underneath Mom’s rose bushes, curled up in a round furry ball. His bulging side rises and falls in slumber. I stare at the sleeping kitten, growing more and more attached to him. Unfortunately, Pop doesn’t seem too keen on the idea. I might be able to change his mind though.

“Beggars so cute,” I whisper. “I really hope we can keep him.”

 “He doesn’t have a collar with tags or anything. He must be a stray or belong to somebody in the neighborhood.”

“He’s so little. I don’t think he climbed our fence. I’m starting to think that somebody dropped him over it.” I rise up and look at the fence line. The doodads on the van are just visible.

Josh says, “Yeah, that thought crossed my mind too.”

I look down at Josh. He’s petting the little guy. “Do you want Beggar Josh?”

“Sure,” Josh says wryly. “Our Dobermans would love him––for a snack.”

“Ha-ha.” I push Josh playfully and he sits on the grass. I offer my hand and he takes it. After I help him up, we stroll back to the patio. I stack our dishes and Josh opens the door holding our empty bottles. I glance over my shoulder longingly. “I guess we just leave Beggar to fend for him self and see if he sticks around.”

“He won’t leave if you keep feeding him milk and roast beef.”

I rub my hands together. “Goodie!”

“Don’t get too excited,” Josh says, “I just felt something like a chip on the back of Beggar’s neck. It might be a tracking device put there by a Veterinarian incase the kitten is lost.”

I frown and stare down at the sleeping kitten’s neck. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Something doesn’t feel right, but I keep my thoughts to myself. Josh is going to think I question every little detail. But is that so wrong? Isn’t that what a detective does?

Josh consults his watch.

“I know you have to go.”

We go inside and find Pop standing by the sink with his eyes glued to the portable TV at the end of the counter. “Come on O’Conner steal the bloody ball away from the bloke and make the damn point!” He shouts and shakes a steaming colander of cooked creamers (red potatoes). He barely acknowledges our presences.

I rinse off the dishes and Josh places them in the dishwasher.

Pop grumbles under his breath then give his coaching expertise on how he would have played the last set.

I close the dishwasher and dry my hands on a dishtowel. “Thanks.”

We cross the floor. Pop is removing the potato skins, completely captivated by the soccer game, and doesn’t even know that we’re going. Josh’s eyes go to the chef clock on the kitchen wall. “I should probably check the status one more time before heading out.”

“Okay,” I say, pushing open the kitchen door. I pause and call over my shoulder, “Later Pop!”

Josh looks amazed that Pop is such a soccer nut.

“I told you.”

In the upstairs hallway, Josh takes out his cell, presses a few keys, and puts the phone to his ear.

“I’ll be right back.” I jab my thumb over my shoulder at the bathroom. I don’t need to go, I want to give Josh a moment to himself and make sure I don’t broccoli in my teeth.

Josh nods and goes over to my computer.

Ensconced in the bathroom, I stand in front of the mirror checking my teeth. Is the device on the kitten video taping us? I rehash the stuff Josh and I talked about. Is roll top desk linked to Mom’s ancestors or was it just something handed down because its old and rare? I sit on the toilet lid thinking about my childhood memories of crawling in the desk’s leg space. I wanted to be close to Mom while she worked at the desk, but I didn’t want to bother her. I’d take a flashlight with me and pretend I was inside a bear cave. I remember seeing writing above my head, on the bottom of the center drawer. A few minuets later, I enter my room in an almost trancelike state.

Josh glances over his shoulder at me. “Hey, take a look at this.”

I cross the room and stand on his left. My eyes go to the desk’s center drawer. But Josh is in the way. He has the Weather Channel’s website up and there are dark green, yellow, and red clouds drifting across an interactive map of Florida.

“Uh-oh,” I say, bending at the waist. I squint at the screen and say, “That can’t be good.”

Josh zooms in on the Tampa Bay area and points. “That little black dot is TIA, Tampa International Airport.”

 “The storm is on top of the entire area.” I feel my mouth drop open at the implications. I just hope I can continue our discussion without freaking out again.

“Yeah,” Josh says smiling wide. “The controllers in the tower must’ve told the airlines to change their statuses. According to the air travel status page my dad’s flight was cancelled all together.” He lays his hand over his cell phone. “I tried to call both of my parents and was sent to their message centers. They must be talking to each other.” Josh clicks out of the website and scoots the chair back and stands up.

This is awesome! I step back from the desk and cross my arms trying to contain my joy.

“So, I guess I’m all yours until I hear differently. I figure we can work some more if you’re up to it.”

I nod silently and think ‘all mine’ huh?

“That is if you want me to stick around…”

“Of course!” I smile. “Um, does this mean you’ll join us for dinner?”

Josh’s smile fades and he shakes his head in the negative.

“No?  How can any red-blooded carnivore turn down Pop’s roast and mashed creamers?”

Josh looks perplexed. “I was just thinking that Dad might’ve caught a different flight. But I doubt it because the storm is tracking northeast. I’ll try calling Mom again.” He flips open his cell and pushes a button and puts the phone to his ear. He walks over to the window.

I look around for something to do and remember what I was thinking about in the bathroom. I move the chair back some more and pull the narrow center desk’s drawer all the way out. I carry it over to my bed, flip it over, dumping the contents. I sit down with the desk on my lap and reach over to flip on the bedside lamp. Sure enough, there’s an inscription on the bottom panel.            

1896 B. A. Artamonov

Josh slides the cell in his front pocket. “She was talking to Dad.” He walks over and I just stare at the inscription and nod deftly. “She’s going to call me back.”

I look up and ask, “So what’s the verdict?”

He looks pained. “Dad is on a list to catch another flight. He’s waiting to hear his name called over the intercom.” Josh looks at the pile of odds and ends dumped on the bed. “What the heck are you doing?”

Forget it, I’m not going to bring up dinner again. I push the stuff aside and pat the bed. Josh sits down and I lay the drawer upside down on his lap. He runs a finger over the inscription. Josh studies the marking.

Josh says, “Looks like a date and name. Probably the carpenter who made the desk.”

“I guess all the talk about when I was a kid made me remember seeing that was on there.” I look at the roll-top desk. “Should I pull the side drawers out and see if there are any other markings?”

Before Josh can comment, his cell goes off. His ringtone is You're Beautiful by the Goo-Goo Dolls. “Sorry,” he says, quickly setting the drawer on the bed. He jumps up, his cell already open and at his ear. “Hi, Ma, what’s the story?” He watches me and I think that he’s telling me that he’d like some privacy. I turn to go, but he hold out his hand moving the phone away from his mouth. He whispers, “Nuh-hun, stay put, this won’t take long.”

I nod agreement and go back to checking the other drawers.

“Mom…hey…so what your saying is Dad’s stuck in Tampa pretty much indefinitely? Well that bites!”

I perk my ears to hear what’s going on with his dad’s flight. His mom seems to be doing all the talking. I can just hear her voice on the other end of the line. I don’t mean to eavesdrop but I’d like to know if he’s sticking around or not. In the corner of my eye, I see Josh stroll to other side of my room. He stops in front of my bookshelves and runs his finger over the book spines. None of the other drawers have markings. I plop back down on my bed and pick up the center drawer again, keeping one eye on Josh.

One by one, he picks up and examines the framed photographs sitting on the top shelf of my book case. He looks over at me and points to a picture, and then gives me the thumbs up sign.

I make a face and shake my head. I think the picture he’s pointing at is the one taken at the GHS pool after the state swim competition my freshman year. I’m the freckle-faced twig in the royal blue Speedo holding the first place trophy over my head while standing in-between the second and third place winners. I recall being so excited that I took first place, I almost peed myself.

Josh picks the photo up and holds it up to the light.

Geez. What is he looking at so closely? I drop my eyes and look at the name or whatever it is, inscribed on the bottom panel. Huh, is this one of my relatives? It could just be the manufacturer or the carpenter who made the desk. I flip the drawer around looking for any other markings. Nothing. I set the drawer near the head of the bed, propping it on my pillow, and look over at Josh wondering if he’s staying or leaving.

Josh switches the phone to his other ear and says, “So there’s no telling when Dad will get out of Tampa,” he says unhappily, as he strolls over and plops down on the bed so close to me the bed shakes and I feel the mattress rise up. His mom’s voice sounds like a Peanuts phone conversation.  I freeze and stare down at the tight dark gray material covering his right thigh and touching my leg.

“Bye Mom.” Josh says and closes his phone, poking it in his pocket. and then picks up the drawer. “You heard that Dad’s stuck at the airport?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Not your fault that there’s a storm,” Josh says, looking at the desk drawer.

“I know,” I mutter, and scoot over a little and pick through the items. There’s a pack of Post-it-notes, movie ticket stubs, receipts, pens, pencils, a box of day-glow paperclips, an open pack of gum—no telling how old it is. I get up and toss the gum into the trash can and remain standing. I bend over and start separating the junk from the keeper stuff in the pile.

“Sorry, it sucks not knowing.” He bumps my arm with his shoulder. “Cookie, mind if I take some pictures of your desk and the drawer?”

I shake my head. “No, I don’t mind.”

“I’ll print them out on my computer later.” Josh twists around, using his cell phone to take pictures,

“Good idea,” I say, and avert my gaze to a spot on my carpet and breath in the smell his cologne and the fabric softener his mom uses. I deduct that the spot on the carpet is spilt Pepsi.

“Anyway this name is interesting…it might tell us a lot or it might mean zero.”

I reach over and touch the markings. “Yeah. So you think the name is important?”

Josh frowns. “It very well could be. The letters look like they might be either burned into the wood or stamped with permanent ink or dye.” He lifts the drawer up to his face, sniffing the wood.

“What are you doing?”

“Seeing if it smells burnt.”

“Well?”

Josh shakes his head. “Just smells like wood.” He runs his finger over the name again. Then he turns the desk around in his hands and stares at the markings again. “Assuming “1896” is the year the desk was made, it would make it one hundred and ten years old.”

I lift my shoulder. “Mom said the desk was handed down from a long time ago. Do you think B. A. Artamonov is one of my ancestors?”

“Good question.” Josh looks at me with a strange expression on his face.

I frown. “Now what?”

“Just thinking that you might be a descendent of Russian Royalty. This desk looks like it came out of a castle.”

“A castle?”

“Maybe a mansion or a manor.”

My eyes roam over the desk. “Well, nothing would surprise me when it comes to my mother’s past. Just saying, she was secretive about it.”

Josh picks up a tiny pink Barbie doll shoe and raises an inquisitive eyebrow.

I can’t help smiling. I still have my Barbie-dolls and all of their accessories carefully packed away in my closet. I can’t bear to depart with them. They’re like my children. “Don’t tell me you didn’t keep some of your GI Joes.”

“Touché!” Josh says, and hands me the shoe. He looks at the decorative paintings on the drawer’s face.

I push around the pile of stuff looking for the other Barbie shoe. “You done with that?” I ask gesturing at the drawer.

Josh hands it to me and asks, “So what made you remember the writing on the drawer, I mean after all these years?”

“It just came to me.” I get up and slide it back in the slot and put things in orderly this time. “You know how it is when you think stuff through. I picture a big dusty file cabinet in my mind and if I think long and hard enough I can remember almost everything that’s happened in my life.”

“Synchronicity at play,” Josh says, nodding his head in all seriousness.

Whatever that means.

Josh flips through the pages of his little notepad. Then he gets off the bed and searches through the papers on the floor. “B. A. Artamonov.” His eyes explore the terminology. “Hum, I wonder what B-A stands for?”

I crouch down and wave my hand over the strewn papers. “If there’s nothing here perhaps Pop know more about the desk.” I stand up. “Want me to go ask him?”

Josh opens his mouth and You're Beautiful plays on his cell, yet again. “Sorry,” he says, getting off the floor to take out his phone. He flips it open and puts it to his ear. “Hi Mom. Yeah, I can hear you, what’s up?”

My eyes follow him as he strolls over to my full length mirror and turns his head side to side checking his reflection. He rakes his fingers through his black hair.

“You’re sure?” He spins around. “Excellent!”

Josh smiles and karate chops the air with the side of his hand. The instant he sees me watching him, I drop my eyes, and pick up my miniature stapler. The other Barbie shoe stuck inside it. I open the center drawer and retrieve the other high-heel and look at them sitting in my palm. I loved my Barbie-dolls and I’d play for hours with them. I’d have imaginary get-togethers: dates, parties, weddings, we’d go on make-believe trips all over the world, even the Moon. I spent most of my childhood by myself, playing alone. I didn’t have a best friend until kindergarten when I met Char MacDoogal. My dolls were my best friends when I was little, and I’d pretend they were a part of my family and my social life. Would my life be different if I’d had a stay-at-home-Mom?

Josh tells his Mom, “Yes, tell Dad I’m on my way. Bye Mom.” He clicks off and comes to see what’s caught my interest. “Looks like I’m out of here.”

“That fast?” I watch him gather his stuff and put it in his book bag. “I found the other Barbie high-heal,” I say, and the tiny pair inside a roll-top desk cubbyhole. “So your dad caught a flight?”

Josh nods. “Yeah, turns out the data on the Delta website was incorrect. They hadn’t updated the data. Anyway, to make a long story short the plane took off about a half-hour ago so if I leave now he won’t have to wait.”

 “Oh, wow, that’s great,” I say, trying to disguise the disappointment in my voice. “You guys should get home at a decent hour then.”

 “Yeah, if there aren’t any more delays…” Josh walks around my room, making sure he has everything, and I move out of his way. He adds, “I thought about something while I was on the phone just now.”

“What’s that?”

He consults his watch. “Uh, I don’t have time to get into it right now. I’ll call and tell you about it later.” He pauses. “If it’s not too late.”

I think about all the homework I still need to do. “Don’t worry, I’ll be up late. I have a report I need to tweak.” I was hoping Josh could read it and let me know it could be better.

Josh just stands in the middle of my room  with his hands on his hips looking as if he has a millions thoughts running through his head. He comes over and looks at me. “You and I should go to the Library of Congress and research your family ancestors on the NARA database.” Josh picks up my Science notebook. “Mind if I write in here?”

“Of course not,” I shake my head and turn to watch and listen.

“The LOC has a database called the National Archives and Records Administration,” Josh explains as he flips to a blank page and starts jotting down a list. “Let’s go in the next day or so.”

Josh bends over the desk and I watch him sketch the name just as it looks on the bottom of the drawer. He’s a pretty good artist.

“Okay.”

Josh’s head is bowed as he writes rapidly in my notebook. He tells me, “I’m writing down all three surnames: Sheahan, Sheahan, Blakely, and Artamonov. If you have the time tonight, research them on the internet, maybe set up an account with a genealogy sites and post a few blogs.” 

 “I’ll will. Oh, Josh—just to let you know—we may hit a wall trying to find any records on my mom at the LOC. On my birthday we received our obligatory phone call from the CIA human resources manager, he told me Mom’s personnel records were sealed as ordered by the President of the United States.”

Josh pauses and looks as me. “Hum...that totally sucks.” He writes some more and then says, “Just another roadblock thanks to our government’s lack of transparency.” He closes my Science notebook and turns around to face me. “If you don’t mind, I’ll talk to my dad and see if he can help us.”

I turn my mouth down. “No, of course not, I need all the help I can get. So, what’s the plan? I mean…where does that leave us with our crime investigation assignment?”

 “At this point, our main objective is to find out as much as we can about your mother’s life. We can gather any articles on her in magazines, newspapers...and so on.”

“Pop and I clipped a bunch of stuff out of the newspapers and started a scrapbook. I’ll see if I can find it.” I don’t tell him that it became too depressing so we stopped. Pop might’ve tossed the whole thing.

Josh pauses and smiles at me. “Cool, that’ll really help. Like I said, I’ll check with my dad. He can trace international names on the law enforcement databases. He knows a night clerk who’s worked on the graveyard shift in data entry at the LOC for years. Dad and I’d go there when I needed to research a report. The old guy liked to look up cold cases and ask my dad about them. If he’s still there, he’ll have a vast knowledge of their computers. The LOC database is mammoth he can help us plow through it faster. Thing is we’d have to go after hours. I’m pretty sure the library closes at five.”

“Hey and we’re both seventeen that means we can stay out after curfew in DC now.”

Josh laughs. “I never worry about any dumb curfew with my dad on the force.”

“Ah.” I nod feeling totally syked about everything Josh’s is saying. “Alright, so when do we go?”

“Let me set it up. Anyway, in class tomorrow we should put together a timeline.”

“Sounds like a plan.” I rise up on my toes and glance out the window. It’s dark and the yard lights are on. “Josh, that van is still out there.”

Josh picks up his bag comes over and looks outside. “I’ll get the plate numbers and have Dad run them ASAP.”

“Thanks. What’s weird is they switched the cable company sign to a florist company.” I wish Josh had more time so we could go outside and spy on the van together. I would do it by myself but I’d feel safer with someone nearby.

“You’re certain it’s the same van each time you see it?”

“Positive. I have some binoculars…” I turn to go to the bathroom to retrieve them.

Josh consults his watch. “Oh, man, sorry, I really need to go.”

I stop and walk over behind him. “Go,” I say pushing him toward the door. “I’ll follow you out.” Did I say, I’m just happy to have him helping me.

Josh dashes out the door and I grab the Space Bag off my bed remembering to hold it by the corner. I call out, “Hey!” He halts and I almost bump into him. “You almost forgot this.”

He reaches for it. “Oh, yeah.” 

“I’ll carry it for you,” I lower my voice as we head down the stairs. “Just wondering…what your thoughts are on why that strange van keeps showing up in my neighborhood.”

“Maybe it belongs to a neighbor. I’ll drive by it on my way out and try to see what’s up. We’ll know once Dad runs the plate number through the computers.”

“Thanks.”

We pause in the foyer and Josh turns to me. I flip on the overhead light, hold up the Space Bag and look at the pretty design in the yellow yarn. If at all possible, I’d like to have it back, Mom knitted it herself. She gave the things she knitted as gifts. I remember she called this her “lucky charm”…kind of ironic, huh?”

Josh takes the Space Bag from me and turns it over in his hands.

“So you think your dad can have forensics check the substance on this too?”

“I don’t see why he wouldn’t.” Josh seems distracted and he sounds irritated. He isn’t looking forward to the drive to the airport in all the DC traffic. “The fact that you have this makes me think the Austrian police screwed up the crime scene and botched the investigation.”

“What do you mean?”

“The law authorities that swooped down on the Alpine Chalet Resort should’ve secured suite 406. And the forensic crew were supposed to strip the place of any and everything linked to your mom’s investigation.”

“Well, maybe they do things differently in Austria.”

Josh shakes his head. “Any forensic inspector on the planet knows that if there’s a hint of a possible criminal act at a crime scene, you’re supposed to collect every little speck of evidence. If you miss vital clues behind it can be fatal in solving an investigation.”

“Dang O’Dell, you sound like a pro already.”

The cuckoo bird pops out of the German clock hanging on the wall behind us and announces the quarter hour.

 Josh look the clock. “Hey, I better haul. Maybe you can come over at my house tomorrow?”

“Sure, whatever, I’m free all week.”

Josh keeps talking, “I think once we get a little more direction from Uncle Dolph tomorrow and we should go to the LOC as soon as possible.

I feel my eyebrows go up. “Uncle Dolph, what, are you guys related?”

Josh laughs. “No. Inside joke. I started calling him Uncle Dolph after he and my dad became friends…oh, forget it, it’s dumb. Note to self, call him Mr. J in class or he’ll give me hell.” Josh shakes his head and reaches for the door knob.

“Whatever. Hang on.” I reach out and punch in the code on the security pad unarming the alarm, then step out of the way. “All clear.”

Josh look at me and smiles. “Bye.”

I mirror his smile. “Bye.”

Josh opens the front door and steps outside on the front porch.

I step outside and watch him stroll down the walk to the driveway swinging the Space Bag. I suddenly feel the need to be completely honest with him.

“Josh, wait!”

I run after him and grab at his arm. I feel his muscle flex as he turns around and looks down at me. I let go of his arm and stare up at his handsome face. My heart knocks against my rib cage. In the soft yard lights Josh’s dark eyelashes and five o’clock shadow make him look older. He looks like a man. Nothing like the dorky little kid, I watched throw-up on his shoes in CB’s parking lot.

He frowns at me. “What wrong?”

“Josh, it’s my fault that the Austrian police don’t know about Mom’s blanket. I didn’t know any better. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I just wanted to preserve something that belonged to her.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “I feel like by taking it that makes me responsible for screwing up everything.”

“Look, what’s done is done. Don’t sweat it.”

I nod and suddenly wish I could ride with him to the airport.. “Thanks again. I had to get that off my chest.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll explain everything to my father.” Josh squeezes my arm a little bit then lets go. I step back. I’ve delayed him long enough. He goes around to the back of his car and smiles at me right before he gets inside. “See ya.”

A swarm of butterflies fills my stomach. “See ya.” I wave and run back to the house. At the same time, I send up a little prayer thanking the big guy for Josh’s help. I hear his tires squeal on the asphalt as I close the door, lock it, and then engage the alarm. I dash over to the front room window and watch him disappear around the corner. He’s checking out the strange van.

Pop says, “Join me for dinner?”

I jump and feel my heart leap. I turn around and pat my chest. “Yes.”