Even so, my friends and I still wound up in Lola’s art studio. It was beginning to feel like a clubhouse of sorts. Calhoun came too, tagging along behind us on the walk home from school. Even though curiosity won out in the end, he was careful not to get too close so people wouldn’t think we were together. He wanted to make it clear that we were the dorks and he was still the cool one.
“You are not seriously calling yourselves the Pumpkin Falls Private Eyes, are you?” Calhoun said when I called the meeting to order.
I could feel my face flush. Calhoun was almost as infuriating as Scooter Sanchez. “So do you want to see the first letter we found or not?” I snapped.
“You don’t have to bite my head off,” he said. “And, yeah, I do. I wouldn’t have come otherwise.”
I passed the envelope to him, explaining how I had found it at the bookstore.
He scanned the letter. “This is from Much Ado too,” he told us. “ ‘February face’—cold and stormy, get it? Whoever is writing the letters is trying to get someone not to be mad at them. They’re trying to say they’re sorry.”
My friends and I looked at each other. Who was this guy, and what had he done with Calhoun?
“So why make up some elaborate scavenger hunt? Why not just pick up the phone and call, or send flowers?” asked Cha Cha.
Calhoun shrugged. “Don’t look at me. I didn’t write the letters.”
“Um, so B and B are nicknames, then, right?” said Lucas, who was sitting scrunched up on the floor, as far away as possible from Calhoun.
We all nodded.
“That means they could be just about anybody.”
My friends and I looked at each other. Lucas was right. Making a list of people with B names hadn’t narrowed down the field at all.
“We don’t stand a chance of solving this,” I said glumly.
“Don’t give up yet,” said Cha Cha. “We still know what year the stamp was issued. That makes a difference, doesn’t it?”
“And figuring out this clue’s gotta help too,” added Jasmine. “What did it say again?”
I recited it from memory. “ ‘Wednesday the third, B-4.’ Anybody have any ideas?” I glanced around the room. Nobody raised a hand, not even Calhoun this time.
So much for the Pumpkin Falls Private Eyes. We were back to square one: completely clueless.
CHAPTER 20
“Hatcher Lovejoy, that’s your fifth piece of pizza!” exclaimed Aunt True, looking at my brother in disbelief.
He grinned at her.
“Sixth for me,” said Danny smugly, taking a big bite out of the slice he was holding. Danny loves Friday nights. Pizza is his favorite food, and Friday nights have always been pizza night in our family.
My aunt shook her head. “I don’t know how your parents do it—it’s like raising goats.”
Lauren and Pippa thought this was hilarious, especially when Hatcher and Danny stuck their forefingers up on top of their heads like horns and started bleating.
No one seemed to notice that I was on my fifth piece too. Invisible as usual—that’s me.
Someone kicked me under the table. I looked up. Hatcher passed me another piece of pizza, then held up six fingers. I smiled. Not so invisible after all.
My brother and I were speaking again. He’d barged into my room before school this morning to apologize. Well, sort of.
“I hate it when you’re mad at me,” he’d said, standing in the doorway in his bathrobe with his arms crossed.
“Like it’s my fault!” I’d retorted, sitting up in bed.
“You know I didn’t mean for it to slip out.”
“Yeah, well, it’s a little late for that!”
“C’mon, Drooly—please?”
“Don’t call me that anymore,” I’d snapped, but Hatcher looked so droopy and hangdog that after a minute I added, “Fine. Whatever.”
“I’ll tell Scooter to keep it quiet, okay?”
I’d nodded, knowing it wouldn’t do any good. And it didn’t. A nickname like mine was far too irresistible for someone like Scooter.
I was doomed to be Truly Drooly forever.
I sighed and took a bite of pizza. We were at Aunt True’s apartment. It was a pretty cool place, I thought, looking around. She’d painted the dining area and living room a warm color she described as “halfway between Golden Retriever and sunset,” and the walls were crowded with interesting stuff from her travels: wooden masks, tribal rugs, sculptures, bright beadwork, and art from just about everyplace imaginable, plus photographs. Tons of photographs—Aunt True teaching school in Kenya; Aunt True in a dugout canoe in the Amazon rain forest; Aunt True beside a reindeer in Lapland and planting trees in Nepal and standing in front of the Taj Mahal in India. She had stories to go along with every picture too.
Glancing at the mantel, I noticed that she’d framed our family Christmas card. This year’s was particularly awkward. It wasn’t just the matching sweaters my mother always forces us to wear—a Gifford tradition we keep begging her to ditch—it was me. I was smack-dab in the middle of the lineup as usual, only this year I towered over everyone else.
“I thought we’d go downstairs to the bookstore after dessert,” Aunt True said, pulling my attention back to the table. “I need your help with something.”
“Can we have dethert now?” asked Pippa, eyeing the cupcakes on the sideboard. No Tibetan spices or yak milk lurking in those puppies—they were in a box that said LOU’S on it. Memphis was seated beside it, a great big black lump of furry fury. His tail lashed back and forth as he glared down at Miss Marple. Memphis didn’t think much of the fact that a dog had been invited home for dinner.
“Of course,” said Aunt True. She reached for the box and passed it around the table. We each took a cupcake. As Danny started to take another, Aunt True snatched them out of his reach. “Not so fast!” she said. “Follow me if you want seconds.”
We trailed downstairs after her, Miss Marple bringing up the rear. A circle of folding chairs was waiting for us and we each took a seat, along with another cupcake. Miss Marple settled onto the floor nearby, keeping a hopeful eye on us, and our dessert.
“Here’s the thing,” said Aunt True, wiping some pink frosting from her lips. It matched her outfit, which Pippa had helped her choose this morning—pink leggings, a pink-and-white striped sweater, and pink clogs. “Two weeks ago, your father set a six-week deadline for turning this business around before we throw in the towel.”
This was news to my siblings, and while it sailed right over Pippa’s and Lauren’s heads—especially Lauren, who was surreptitiously reading A Little Princess—my brothers looked shocked.
“I posted an ad for the first edition of Charlotte’s Web on our website,” Aunt True continued, “and we’ve had some nibbles, which could make all the difference in being able to pay back the bank loan. Meanwhile, though, I think there’s more we can do to make this next month count.”
Hatcher and I exchanged a glance. Aunt True had something up her sleeve.
“What I’m talking about”—she paused dramatically—“is a makeover!”
We looked at her blankly. Aunt True didn’t wear makeup. Was she planning to start? I didn’t see how that was going to boost sales. But it turned out she had something much bigger in mind.
“This is where you all come in,” she explained. “You know how your father always says that Lovejoys can do anything? I want us to prove that to him this weekend! He won’t recognize this place by the time we’re done with it.”
She was talking about a bookshop makeover.
“This is a family business, and the only way it’s going to work is if the whole family is involved,” she continued, pacing back and forth in front of us. “First, I think we should list the store’s strengths and weaknesses. You kids have a different perspective, you might zero in on things I’ve missed.” She paused and looked at us expectantly.
“Um, I’m not sure what you mean?” said Danny.
??
?You know, like for instance the fact that the store has great windows,” she explained, with a sweeping gesture toward the front of the store. We all swiveled around and stared. The display windows looked pretty ordinary, if you asked me, which nobody ever did. “What other things does it have going for it?”
We glanced around, then looked at each other, then shrugged.
“There’th a lot of bookth,” offered Pippa, and Danny snorted.
Aunt True ignored him. “Excellent observation, Miss Pippa.”
“The ceilings are really high,” said Hatcher, craning his head back. “Maybe you could use the wall space above the bookshelves for artwork and stuff.” He was thinking of her apartment, I suspected, nearly every inch of which was covered with something.
“Interesting,” said Aunt True. “I hadn’t thought of that. See what I mean about a different perspective?”
I raised my hand.
“Truly?”
“This isn’t a strength, Aunt True,” I said, “but it’s dark in here.”
“That’s because it’s nighttime, you moron!” scoffed Danny.
“Daniel,” Aunt True chided. “I’ve noticed the same thing, Truly. The place needs brightening up.” She stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. “We should probably invest in better light fixtures eventually, but these still work, and they have a nice retro flair. We can certainly wash the glass globes on them for starters.”
Crossing to one of the windows, she grabbed a handful of the dark green material that was hanging beside it and gave it a shake. A big cloud of dust flew up. “These drapes have got to go, don’t you think?” she said, as we all started waving our arms and coughing. “Your father claims they protect the merchandise from fading, but I say they block the light. The more we can open this place up, the better. Who votes for taking them down?”
I raised my hand. So did Hatcher and Pippa. Danny and Lauren looked uncertain.
“Can Mith Marple vote?” asked Pippa, slipping the dog a bite of cupcake.
“Technically, she’s family, so yes, she gets a vote,” said Aunt True, and my little sister hoisted Miss Marple’s paw into the air.
“So that makes four in favor—five if we count Miss Marple—and two against,” my aunt continued. “Or maybe more on the fence than against. The ayes have it!”
“Um, Aunt True,” Danny began, “don’t you think you should wait and ask—”
Aunt True flapped a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry. Your father and I don’t always see eye to eye on everything, but he’ll love it. So, any other comments?”
“The walls could probably use a new coat of paint,” said Hatcher.
“Can we paint it pink?” Pippa looked hopeful.
“No way!” Danny and Hatcher burst out simultaneously. I shook my head too.
“Pink’s probably not going to work, Pip,” Aunt True told her. “But the walls definitely need painting, and they definitely need to be a cheerful color. You can help me pick one out, okay? Now, what else?”
“How about this?” said Hatcher, scuffing his foot against the carpet on the floor. “It’s gross.” He was right. The carpet was dark green like the drapes, and had been there for as long as I could remember.
My aunt made a face. “Hideous, isn’t it? Replacing it isn’t in my tiny remodeling budget, though.”
I poked my toe under a loose corner by the nearest bookcase. “Do we have to have carpet? Maybe we could just get rid of it instead of replacing it.”
Aunt True came over to where I was sitting and knelt down. Peeling back the loose corner, she inspected the floor underneath. “You may be on to something, Truly,” she said, her voice rising in excitement. “This is wide-plank pine, if I’m not mistaken, and it looks to be in pretty good shape.” She stood up again, brushing off her pink leggings. “I doubt it’s something the six of us could tackle this weekend, though. It’s a big demolition job.”
My brothers perked up at this. “Demolition” is one of their favorite words.
“I thought you said Lovejoys could do anything,” Danny reminded her.
“Point taken,” said Aunt True.
My brother grinned. “What if we got some of our wrestling buddies to help?”
“Do you think they would?”
Danny and Hatcher both nodded.
“Well, then, why not? Let’s take the plunge!” Aunt True put her hands on her hips and looked around. “I think that about covers it, although I’d also like to make better use of our existing space. Rearrange some of the bookcases, freshen the children’s room, add a display table or two for new arrivals and sidelines—”
“What are thidelineth?” asked Pippa.
“All the stuff we sell that isn’t books, honey,” Aunt True told her.
Aunt True might call them “sidelines,” but my father calls them a word I could get into big trouble for repeating.
“I want a gift-wrapping station behind the counter too,” my aunt continued, “and maybe we could bring in some armchairs and lamps and set up a few cozy reading nooks.”
Hearing this, Lauren looked up from her book. “I like that idea.”
“You can be the reading-nook consultant, then.” Aunt True smiled at us. “It’s going to look like a brand-new store by the time we’re done!”
Her enthusiasm was contagious. I liked the idea of surprising our parents, and I could tell that my brothers and sisters did too.
“Do you really think we can pull this off?” I asked.
“We’re going to need some help,” Aunt True admitted. “But if there’s one good thing about small towns, it’s the fact that word travels fast on the grapevine. It’s time to activate my secret weapon.”
“You have a thecret weapon?” Pippa’s eyes widened behind her sparkly pink glasses.
Aunt True put her finger to her lips. “I certainly do. And her name is Ella Bellow.”
CHAPTER 21
Score one for the town’s biggest gossip.
Ella Bellow totally came through. By nine o’clock the next morning, there were two dozen people waiting for us on the bookshop doorstep.
Not only that, there was a news truck too. And not just any news truck, but the one from Channel 5 in Boston.
“Are you the owner of Lovejoy’s Books?” someone called out, shouldering his way through the crowd. I recognized the questioner’s face—well, his smile at least. Half the people on the planet knew that smile. A video of it flying across a room on its own and landing on a plate of cream puffs had been leaked onto the Internet a few years ago, and made him, his dentures, and his morning news show, Hello, Boston! famous.
Carson Dawson was smaller than he looked on TV—way shorter than me—and a lot wrinklier underneath his fake tan. In one leather-gloved hand he clutched a cup of coffee from Lou’s. In the other he held a microphone, which he thrust into Aunt True’s face. Peacock, I thought instantly. Showy and loud.
“Co-owner,” my aunt replied, unlocking the door.
“Is it true that your brother is a wounded warrior, Ms. Lovejoy? And that the two of you are struggling to turn around an ailing family business?”
Aunt True shot a sour look at Ella Bellow, who seemed to be fascinated by one of the buttons on her black coat all of a sudden. Our postmistress had been oversharing again. “Yes, it’s true,” my aunt admitted.
“I’d love to interview you!” gushed Mr. Dawson. “We’re in town to film the famous waterfall, and when we saw the crowd, we came over to find out what all the commotion was about. This would make a wonderful companion piece. You know, ‘small town pitches in to help wounded veteran.’ Our viewers love local color.”
Hatcher looked over at me and rolled his eyes.
“I’ll agree to do an interview on one condition,” Aunt True replied. Raising her voice to make sure everyone gathered on the sidewalk could hear her, she continued, “What we’re doing this weekend is a surprise for my brother and his wife. They won’t be home until Monday, and I don’t want the story getting ou
t beforehand.” She leveled a stern gaze at Carson Dawson.
He nodded, chuckling. “Got it. Mum’s the word.”
Aunt True asked Hatcher and me to hold the door open for everyone, then taped a piece of paper to the window. I inspected it as the waiting crowd streamed past. My aunt had posted a wish list—furniture, mostly, and other items for the reading nooks she was hoping to set up.
Lou was first in line, carrying a stack of boxes filled with donuts. He winked at me as he passed. “Gotta keep everyone’s strength up.”
Mrs. Winthrop was right behind him with a big coffee urn. Lucas was next. Annie Freeman, who’d come with her brother Franklin and their parents, was talking his ear off.
“Hey, Truly,” said Cha Cha as she trailed in behind the Freemans.
“Hey.” I waggled my fingers at Baxter, who was with her. He smiled shyly.
“My parents can’t come until after lunch,” Cha Cha told me. “They’ve got Cotillion practice sessions all morning.”
I was not looking forward to mine, but I didn’t tell her that. “No problem” was all I said.
The Nguyens filed in, along with the Mahoneys from the antiques store next door, Bud Jefferson from Earl’s Coins and Stamps across the street, and Reverend Quinn, the minister at Gramps and Lola’s church. Mr. Henry the librarian smiled at me as he passed, and so did Ms. Ivey and Mr. Bigelow. Mr. Burnside, our principal, had brought his whole family, and there were a bunch of other people I didn’t recognize.
“So happy to help Walt and Lola’s family,” said Mrs. Farnsworth, who ran the General Store with her husband.
Augustus Wilde swooped in after her, his silver hair brushed back from his forehead like the crest of a wave, and his trademark black cape fluttering in the chilly breeze. Hatcher looked over at me and grinned.
“We’re saved! Captain Romance is here!” he whispered, and I smothered a laugh.
Augustus was Pumpkin Falls’s resident celebrity. He wrote romance novels under the alias “Augusta Savage.” His books fill up an entire shelf in the romance section, or as Hatcher calls it, the shirtless-men-kissing-beautiful-women section. Augustus drops by at least once a week. He sneaks over to the shelf that holds his books and turns them face out when he thinks no one is looking.