I So Don't Do Spooky by Barrie Summy Page B

just know my mom’s doing the hair-twirling thing again. “It doesn’t fit any profile I’ve ever seen. Obviously, there’s a mix-up with the flowers,” she says, “but I doubt it’s related to the stalker. And I don’t think we need to pursue it.”
    Grandpa’s small beak opens. “I need to pee.”
    Which is totally random unless he really said, “I agree.”
    â€œHow does this sound for our surveillance schedule over the next couple of days?” Mom lists it off. “Anything else before we adjourn?”
    â€œWait. I wanna know what happened in Sedona,” I say. “Did Grandma figure out about Grandpa?”
    Ironically, Grandma went all the way to Sedona to take a new age class on how to talk to the spirit world when she’s got Grandpa in her own backyard. Poor Grandpa keeps racking his birdy brain to come up with ways to make contact with her. Those two just can’t seem to get it together.
    Grandpa looks down at the ground. “No contact.”
    â€œSorry.” I rub his scraggly elfin head. “I wish I could help you out.” But he understands that I can’t tell her. Academy rules. Even though Grandma’s like the one person who’d believe right off in the ghost stuff.
    The branch we’re sharing bobs up, like it lost a passenger.
    â€œSherry, you okay if Grandpa and I go over to the tire place now?”
    â€œAnd then you’re going to practice for the Ghostlympics?”
    â€œAbsolutely,” Mom says.
    â€œSure. You guys take off,” I slide down from the tree and head to the front yard. It’s not that I really think the stalker will come back today, but I promised Dad I’d be vigilant. So, a quick tour around the house, then I’m heading inside to my room, to chill with my fish.
    As I round the corner, kicking the odd-shaped gray stones we have instead of a water-sucking lawn, the sun glints off our big ugly bush. Odd. I stop and stare. It happens again. There is nothing silver or glinty or flashy about that bush. Once a year it covers itself with tiny berries. But even then, they’re a dull brick red. I walk over to the bush.
    I gently pry apart the outer branches. A few shriveled leaves fall to the ground. I peer in.
    There, plunged way deep in the heart of the bush, is a knife.

chapter
thirteen
    A nd not just any old knife’s stuck in the middle of the ugly bush.
    It’s a knife I recognize.
    The Ginsu kitchen knife Dad ordered from TV for The Ruler. The long, pointy, never-needs-sharpening, $19.95, shipping-and-handling-extra Ginsu knife.
    The stalker used one of The Ruler’s knives! From our kitchen! The stalker was in our house! Ack. Eek. Ike.
    I gulp air for a few minutes, then pull myself together.
    I march into the kitchen, straight to the drawer with the Saran Wrap and tinfoil and plastic bags, and grab a pair of disposable gloves. The Ruler uses them when handling raw meat. Basically, with her in thehouse, we’re equipped for every kind of emergency. In this case, we’re talking about picking up a piece of evidence without smudging the fingerprints. Thanks to my prior detecting experience, I know all about fingerprints.
    Yanking on the gloves, I march back to the big ugly bush. Then I plunge both arms in.
    Yikes. The knife’s totally stuck in the bush. With some heavy breathing and a hefty pull, I free the knife.
    Then I’m stumbling and waving the knife in the air, trying to catch my balance.
    Just as The Ruler and Sam and Grandma Baldwin pull into the driveway.
    The Ruler leaps out of the passenger side of Grandma’s car. “Sherry! Are you okay? What’s going on?”
    Grandma follows. She stops to pull up her knee-socks and slide her feet into her Birkenstock sandals.
    Sam climbs out slowly, his eyes on the knife.
    I lower it to my side. “I think this is what the person wrecked the tires with.”
    The Ruler reaches me.