Mystery of the Phantom Heist by Franklin W. Dixon

had a lot to talk about, especially after what we’d heard at Colin’s.
    “You win,” I said, turning the car onto Bay Street. “Pizza, here we come.”
    Saturday was the busiest shopping day of the week, so I was lucky to find a parking spot right away.
    “Let’s go to Pie Squared, the place that makes those square-shaped pizzas,” Joe suggested.
    “Are the pepperoni square too?” I joked.
    Joe was too busy staring up the street to get my joke.
    “What is it?” I asked.
    “Check out who’s coming,” Joe said.
    Turning my head, I saw who Joe was talking about. Strutting toward us and swinging shopping bags from both hands was Lindsay Peyton. She was walking next to another girl, also armed with bags.
    “Good timing,” I said. “Let’s see what she knows about Colin.”
    It wasn’t sunny, but the two girls were wearing huge dark sunglasses. One of Lindsay’s bags smacked into my leg as the two breezed by.
    “Hey!” Joe called after them. “Remember us?”
    Lindsay peered over her shoulder. “Oh, it’s you two,” she said in a voice as cold as ice.
    “I’ve heard friendlier greetings at the Haunted Mansion,” Joe said as we walked over.
    “It happened to be an appropriate one,” Lindsay said, raising her chin. “You know, my dad had to get me a new car.”
    She turned to her friend and said, “Not that that was a bad thing, right, Grace?”
    “Right!” Grace laughed.
    The friends readied to high-five, only to realize their hands were full.
    “If you’re still saying we keyed your car, you’re wrong,” I said. “It was already keyed when we got to the parking lot.”
    “Whatever,” Lindsay said with a shrug.
    “You heard about all that gang stuff going around, didn’t you?” Joe asked.
    Lindsay stared at him. “Are you serious?” she said. “Do you know what tomorrow is?”
    “Sunday?” Joe said.
    “Omigosh, tomorrow is Lindsay’s Sweet Sixteen!” Grace said as if we’d just touched down from another planet.
    “Who has time to think about anything else?” Lindsay asked. She tilted her head and said, “So are you kicking yourself for not working my party?”
    Joe shook his head. “Togas aren’t my style.”
    Lindsay clicked her tongue in disgust. She and Grace were about to turn when I said, “Wait!”
    I couldn’t let Lindsay leave before asking her about Colin.
    “I heard you didn’t invite Colin Sylvester to your party,” I said quickly.
    Lindsay’s shoulders drooped at the mention of Colin. “Did he tell you that?” she asked.
    “No,” I said. “We must have overheard it somewhere. Can’t remember where or when—”
    “We just want to know why he’s not invited,” Joe cut in. “That’s all.”
    Lindsay pushed her sunglasses up on her head. She narrowed her eyes and said, “Because Colin Sylvester is a psycho creep—that’s why!”
    “Colin’s been trying to ask Lindsay out since middle school,” Grace said. “He even tried to get into our clique at school.”
    “And you kept turning him down?” I asked Lindsay.
    “I wouldn’t go out with Colin if he looked like an Abercrombie model,” Lindsay snapped. “I’m just glad he has a girlfriend now—maybe he’ll leave me alone.”
    “Who is she?” Joe asked.
    “Who?” Lindsay repeated.
    “Colin’s girlfriend,” Joe urged.
    “Is she bad news like him?” I asked.
    Lindsay wrinkled her nose and said, “What are you guys—some kind of investigative reporters?”
    “Sort of,” Joe said.
    “Whatever, I can’t talk now,” Lindsay said impatiently,dropping her sunglasses over her eyes. “I have a ton of stuff to do before my party tomorrow.”
    “Like having your eyebrows waxed in ten minutes!” Grace reminded her.
    “Gracie!” Lindsay complained as the two hurried away. “Like, thanks for letting them think I have a unibrow!”
    When the girls were out of earshot, I said, “Well, I guess it’s true that Lindsay hates Colin—he sounds like a creep.”
    We continued up the