Sandapalooza Shake-Up, Page 3

  Suddenly, we heard a scream.

  It came from our motel.

  Up on the second floor.

  Lilly’s mother, Lady Pettybone, raced out of the Cassie McGinty Suite.

  “Lilly!” she shouted from the balcony. “Thank goodness you’re unharmed! Something ghastly has occurred.”

  “Mum? Whatever is the matter?”

  “Someone stole the Twittleham Tiara!”

  Lilly, Gloria, and I ran up the sloping sand toward our motel.

  I texted Mom on the way:

  TROUBLE! Royal suite. Someone stole !

  “This is dreadful!” cried Lilly as we raced past the poolside restaurant.

  “Dudes?” shouted Jimbo. “What’s up, man?”

  He was coming out of his storage room with a big plastic bin filled with burger buns, pickle jars, and ketchup bottles.

  “Um, minor emergency,” I told him, putting on a smile and trying not to freak out the guests who were splashing around in the pool or wolfing down Jimbo’s food at the Banana Shack. “Don’t worry. We can handle it.”

  We dashed around the pool and hit the staircase to the second floor. I saw Clara, our head housekeeper (and one of my favorite human beings ever), pushing her supply cart into the laundry room on the first floor.

  “P.T.?” Mom tore around the corner from the front office. “What happened?”

  “Someone stole Great-Grandmama’s crown!” shrieked Lilly, who seemed to have totally blown that whole “Keep Calm and Carry On” thing the British are so famous for.

  Mom clunked up the steel steps behind us.

  Lord Pettybone met us outside room 227.

  “Have you summoned the authorities?” he said the instant he saw me.

  Oops. Guess I should’ve called 911 after I texted Mom.

  “Yes,” said Mom. “They’re are on their way.”

  I looked around Lilly’s dad and into the room.

  The butler, Digby, was holding the lockbox, showing it to Lady Pettybone. A chain ending at an open handcuff dangled from its side. Its lid was up. The insides were cushioned with dark green velvet. Other than that, the box was empty.

  “I had it chained through the ornate legs of that iron table beside the sofa,” Digby said to Her Ladyship. “I just now unlocked the cuffs.”

  “Lilly?” said Lady Pettybone. “How could this have happened? Where were you?”

  “Down on the beach. But I made certain that the tiara was secure before I left to take in the fireworks and sand sculpture displays.”

  “When was that?”

  “Goodness, I’m not certain. An hour ago?”

  “And you locked the door when you departed?”

  “Positively.”

  “Of course she did,” said Lord Pettybone, walking over to pat Lilly on the head. He turned to his wife. “The door was locked when we returned from the art museum, was it not, dear?”

  “Yes.”

  “Lilly would never jeopardize the safety of our most prized family heirloom, would you, dearest?”

  “Of course not, Father,” said Lilly.

  “Did any of you give a room key to someone else?” asked Mom.

  “Heavens, no,” said Lord Pettybone.

  “No one else has had access to this suite,” added Lady Pettybone.

  The butler cleared his throat. “Except, of course, if I may, the motel cleaning staff. In most establishments such as this one, I believe they have a master key to all the rooms.”

  Lord Pettybone snapped his fingers. “Yes! Of course. The maid. Who cleaned our room today, Ms. Wilkie?”

  “I don’t know if I would use the word cleaned, milord,” sniffed Digby.

  Mom ignored the butler. “I sent up my most trusted employee when you went out for breakfast this morning.”

  “And who, pray tell, is that?” demanded His Lordship.

  “Our head housekeeper, Clara.”

  “Aha! We have our thief!”

  Clara was more than our best, most trusted, and favorite employee at the Wonderland.

  She has always been like a second mom to me. Her family has been like my second family.

  I remember the party we all threw around the pool when her daughter, Isabella, got into med school at the University of Florida. It was awesome. Even though Clara’s daughter isn’t a doctor yet, Grandpa calls her on a regular basis, especially when his lumbago is acting up.

  “Look,” I said, “let’s not jump to conclusions. Let’s just wait for the deputies to arrive.”

  “P.T.’s right,” said Mom. “I’m sure there’s a logical explanation. Perhaps you’d all be more comfortable waiting for them down in the lobby?”

  “Actually,” said Her Ladyship, “I’d be most comfortable if our priceless tiara were still safely locked inside its box! What sort of establishment is this?”

  “Ma’am, this room is now a crime scene,” said Gloria, because I’ve sort of hooked her on a bunch of those CSI shows. We watch them together while her dad’s working nights at the television station. “The forensic investigators will want to comb this suite for evidence.”

  “Very well,” said Lord Pettybone. “We will await the arrival of the local constabulary in a more appropriate location.”

  “Um, is the constabulary the same thing as the police?” I asked.

  “N’yes,” said Lord Pettybone, inspecting me as if I were a gnat swimming in his tea.

  “Do you know where this housekeeping person is?” asked his wife.

  “Downstairs,” said Mom. “In the laundry room.”

  “Do not allow her to leave the premises!” demanded His Lordship.

  “Indeed,” added the butler. “Your charwoman must be considered our prime suspect.”

  “Wait a second,” I said. “Clara cleaned this room while you guys were out having breakfast, correct?”

  “We went to the Pancake House,” said Lilly. “The chocolate chips in my stack were absolutely smashing.”

  “And when you came back from breakfast, was the room clean? Were the beds made and the towels fresh?”

  “N’yes,” said Lord Pettybone with more of his snooty ’tude. “What, exactly, is your point, young man?”

  “The tiara. Was it still locked in its box when you came back to the room after breakfast?”

  “Heavens, yes,” said the butler.

  “Well,” I said, “if the crown was still here after Clara cleaned your room, then she wasn’t the one who stole it.”

  Gloria cleared her throat.

  “What?” I said.

  “She could’ve come back,” Gloria whispered. “She has a master key.”

  Oh.

  Right.

  Forgot that part.

  The royal family and their butler waited for the police downstairs at the Banana Shack.

  They did not eat Jimbo’s cheeseburgers, even though Mom said they’d be on the house.

  “Unfortunately,” said Lord Pettybone, “they would also be in our stomachs.”

  I really think His Lordship should change his name to Sir Snobbysnot.

  I offered them sweet tea. With ice.

  “Bad form,” said His Lordship.

  “Bad form, indeed,” echoed his wife.

  I had no idea what that meant.

  “Here we are,” said Digby, bringing over a pink teapot shaped like a flamingo that was usually one of Jimbo’s goofy Banana Shack decorations. “A nice cuppa.”

  He poured the Pettybones each a cup of tea.

  Piping-hot tea.

  Guess they didn’t realize they were in Florida.

  The three of them daintily sipped their tea (with their pinkies extended, of course) while Digby stood by, stiff as a cardboard tube, ready to refill their flamingo mugs.

  Deputies from the Pinellas County Sheriff’s Office finally arrived and took statements from Mom, Lord and Lady Pettybone, their daughter, and their butler.

  “We’ll want to talk to your head housekeeper,” one of the deputies told Mo
m, mostly, I think, because Lord Pettybone swore he’d “have his badge” if the deputy didn’t.

  “Of course,” said Mom.

  “I’ll find her,” said Grandpa, “and bring her around front to the lobby. You boys can chat with her there after you do your crime scene investigation mishegoss.”

  “Thanks, Walt,” said the older of the two deputies.

  Fact: Grandpa has lived on St. Pete Beach so long everybody knows him. They even understand him when he uses words like mishegoss, which is Yiddish for “foolish behavior.”

  “But before you gentlemen head upstairs,” Grandpa continued, “I want you both to know something: Clara Rodriguez has been my employee and friend since 1992. Nicest person in the world. No way would she ever take anything out of a room except the trash bags and dirty linens. She is the hardest-working, most honest person I’ve ever met. She’s even honest about Cel-Ray soda. She’s forever telling me it tastes terrible.”

  “We all say that,” I reminded him.

  “But Clara said it first! I’ll go find her.”

  Mom went to the lobby, probably so she could call our lawyer. I think we have one of those. Maybe not. We’d never really needed one before.

  Gloria and I led the pair of deputies up to the second floor and room 227. I couldn’t wait for the CSI van to show up with a team of forensic investigators. Maybe they’d even bring one of those dogs that can sniff stuff and lead you to the bad guy.

  Or not.

  Because while Gloria and I waited on the balcony, the two sheriff’s deputies basically looked around for a couple of minutes, came out, and tugged on the doorknob to make sure it was locked.

  “Did you find any clues?” I asked.

  “Not really,” said one.

  “Did you dust for fingerprints?”

  “No,” said the other. “We don’t really do that for missing items in motels.”

  “So, um, what do you do?” I asked.

  “We file a report that the victim can send to their insurance company.”

  “You didn’t find any unusual hairs or fabric fibers?” said Gloria.

  “How about grass clippings?” I asked. “Grass clippings are good.”

  Both deputies sighed. “You kids watch those CSI shows?”

  We nodded.

  They looked at each other and rolled their eyes.

  “I’m sorry to bug you guys,” I said, “but Clara’s my friend and this is my family’s motel. I’d hate for something like this to hurt Clara or ruin our reputation.”

  “Did you offer to let those British people store their tiara in your safe?” asked the older deputy.

  “Yes.”

  “And did they refuse to give their personal property to you for safekeeping?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then don’t worry. This is a tourism state. Florida law protects operators of public lodging from liability when something disappears from a room.”

  “Really?” I said. “Even if it was a priceless antique that used to belong to King Arthur’s wife?”

  “The guy with the round table and the sword in the stone?” asked the younger deputy.

  I nodded.

  “Oooh. I’d like to have seen that….”

  “Look,” said the older deputy, “even if you guys were negligent, your guest cannot recover more than one thousand dollars for jewelry or cash left with a hotel for safekeeping. It’s a state law. So don’t worry.”

  “Whew,” I said. “That’s a relief.”

  “But,” said Gloria, “you still have to consider the business ramifications. A theft like this could seriously tarnish the Wonderland’s brand image. This incident could turn into a public relations nightmare.”

  Gloria, of course, was right.

  Fact: she usually is.

  “We need to head downstairs and talk to Mrs. Rodriguez,” said the older deputy. “If we don’t, Lord What’s-His-Name might challenge me to a duel.”

  “Hello, Marco,” Clara said to the younger of the two deputies. “How’s your mother?”

  “Fine, thank you, Mrs. Rodriguez.”

  “Will I see you at church on Sunday?”

  “I’m, uh, you know, thinking about it, ma’am.”

  “Bueno,” said Clara, patting the deputy’s folded hands.

  We were seated around the linoleum table in our coffee room/business center. The two deputies were eyeing the nearly empty tray that held a few sliced-in-half doughnuts and crumbly coffee cake left over from our breakfast buffet. We’re talking eight hours stale. Gloria, Grandpa, and I were at the table with Clara for moral support. Mom was in the lobby, covering the front desk.

  “We need to ask you a few questions, Mrs. Rodriguez,” said the older deputy.

  “I understand.”

  “If you need legal advice,” said Grandpa, “I’m right here.”

  Clara smiled. “Thank you, Walt.”

  “No problem.” Grandpa burped. Again.

  “So, uh, Mrs. Rodriguez,” said the younger deputy, “did you steal anything out of that royal family’s room today?”

  She gave him a look. “What do you think, Marco?”

  “I think you know that stealing is wrong.”

  “And who taught you that in Sunday school?”

  “You did, ma’am.”

  “I rest my case,” said Grandpa, taking a triumphant swig from his Cel-Ray can.

  The sheriff’s deputies asked Clara a few more questions. She showed them her clipboard with notes about what time she cleaned each room on her list.

  “Thank you for your cooperation, Mrs. Rodriguez,” said the older deputy. “That’s all we need.”

  “But we still have to find out whodunit,” I said.

  “Not really. I’m sure our visiting royals have some pretty heavy-duty tiara insurance. The company will make a nice settlement.” He glanced up at the sand-dollar wall clock. “Maybe we should all stay in here a little longer so Lord Petticoat doesn’t give us any more grief.”

  “That’s fine by me,” said Clara with a small laugh.

  “Would you boys like a sandwich while we wait?” asked Grandpa. “I could go whip up a few bologna- and-mustards on white bread.”

  Both deputies said, “No thanks.” But they did help themselves to the leftover doughnuts. We sat around for fifteen minutes, talking about the Tampa Bay Rays’ chances this season. Since Gloria’s dad is a sportscaster, she knew more about the team and their stats than anybody else at the table.

  * * *

  Lord and Lady Pettybone were not happy when the deputies went out to the Banana Shack to tell them that they should file an insurance claim.

  “Surely you’re arresting the scullery maid!” said Lady Pettybone.

  “No, ma’am,” said Marco. “Her alibi checks out.”

  “This is completely unacceptable,” fumed Lord Pettybone. “We must locate the Duchess of Twittleham’s tiara. Its arrival is eagerly anticipated at Disney World!”

  “I agree, Father,” said Lady Lilly. “Mickey Mouse will be ever so disappointed.”

  That made me smile—but only on the inside. I could picture the whole funny scene playing out in Orlando. A weeping Mickey. A crushed Cinderella.

  I wasn’t smiling so much on the inside or outside ten minutes later.

  Digby marched into the lobby and demanded that we send up a bellhop as soon as it was “most convenient.”

  The royal family was checking out.

  “However, they shall be remaining close by for several days to monitor the progress of this criminal investigation. If, by chance, your housekeeping staff should come to their senses and discover the missing tiara, please inform us immediately.”

  “Of course,” said Mom. “Where will you be staying?”

  “Next door,” said Digby. “In the royal suite at the Conch Reef Resort.”

  I, of course, was the bellhop on duty that night, so I had the great displeasure of going up to the Cassie McGinty Suite and piling the royal famil
y’s mountain of suitcases and trunks and makeup bags on a cart to push to the Conch Reef Resort.

  At this point, you might be wondering how, exactly, I was planning to roll the cart down the staircase to the first floor.

  I wasn’t.

  I was just going to load a baggage cart on the second floor, push it to the steps, unload the bags and carry them down the staircase two at a time, and then reload them all on our first-floor baggage wagon.

  Good times.

  “Deliver the luggage to the Conch Reef Resort,” bellowed Digby, loudly enough for everybody enjoying Jimbo’s burgers on the patio to hear.

  Then he launched into what sounded like a speech from Shakespeare.

  “And whilst in transit, do not dare steal anything else from Lord and Lady Pettybone! We have taken a strict inventory of all items secured in those several suitcases and will know immediately if you, bellboy, like your nefarious housekeeping staff, pilfer anything!”

  Yep. Everybody downstairs heard that rant.

  “The housekeeper stole something?” I heard somebody ask.

  “Indeed she did!” said Digby dramatically, turning to address his rapt audience below.

  “No she didn’t!” I cried, but my voice didn’t boom the way Digby’s did. It sort of whined.

  “The housekeeping staff in this establishment is a blight upon all those who nobly toil in service!” decreed the noble Digby.

  He made a grand exit.

  I pushed the wobbly cart.

  As I jounced it along the balcony, I could hear the rumblings of a major panic bounce from café table to café table like a pinball trapped in the blinking bumpers.

  “Did they fire the maid?”

  “They should’ve.”

  “I’m missing a sock,” said a woman.

  “Me too!” said another.

  “We found it in the dryer, Mom,” said her son.

  “That doesn’t matter. If the staff is stealing things, I really don’t want to stay here anymore!”