Kid vs. Squid Read Free Page B

business.
    The girl offered her hand. “I’m Trudy McGee, by the way.”
    We shook. She had a strong grip. “I’m Thatch—”
    â€œThatcher Hill,” she interrupted. “I know. You’re Griswald’s nephew.” And then, before I could sayanything, she corrected herself. “Great-nephew, I mean. So, I heard you had some excitement at the museum last night.”
    â€œGuess word gets around fast in Los Huesos. Griswald said he wasn’t going to bother with a police report. He said the cops around here aren’t very motivated.”
    She smiled a little. “Some things get around fast. Other things don’t get around at all. Did the thief get anything good?”
    â€œJust the
What-Is-It??
And before you ask, I don’t know what it is. Could be a genuine human head. Could be a mummified honeydew melon.”
    â€œThat’s all he took? No cash? No valuables?”
    â€œJust that. And the thief was a she. About our age, I’d guess, or a little younger.”
    Trudy gave me a laser-focused look. “You saw her?”
    â€œYeah,” I said, going on to describe my hot-foot pursuit.
    Trudy stopped at the rail overlooking the beach. I stood beside her. The tide was out, leaving the broad, debris-strewn beach exposed.
    â€œThis is a very curious case of breaking and entering,” she said, more to herself than to me. “Not the typical burglar profile for Los Huesos. And taking something of little or no value? It doesn’t make sense. Unless,” Trudy added, turning to face me, “the
What-Is-It??
does have value. You say you lost her on the beach?”
    â€œYeah, in the rocks. Why are you so interested in the break-in?”
    â€œI’m a busybody,” she said, all business.
    She took off down a rickety set of wooden steps to the beach and moved briskly over rocks and sand. Limping on my sore foot, I struggled to keep up, navigating around piles of kelp until I caught up with her at the bird-poop-splattered rocks where I’d lost the girl-thief. Shallow waves smacked against them, even at low tide. Between two of the largest rocks was a narrow, half-submerged tunnel opening.
    â€œReady to get wet?” Trudy asked.
    â€œWhat, you want to go in?”
    She looked at me, eyes wide in disbelief. “You
don’t
? The thief stole something from your own uncle.”
    â€œ
Great
-uncle. And like I said, he didn’t even call the cops. Besides, all she made off with was some nasty piece of junk. One less thing for me to dust.”
    I thought she’d argue with me, but she just shrugged.
    â€œOkay, Thatcher. Nice meeting you. Maybe I’ll see you later.” With that, she removed her shoes and stowed them in her backpack before splashing into the foamy seawater.
    If she’d said it angrily, or snottily, I probablywould have let her go. But she didn’t seem to care one way or the other if I went with her, as if none of this really concerned me, as if I was a bystander, free to involve myself in the mystery of the
What-Is-It??
heist or not.
    I thought back to the jellyfish boys. They’d asked if I was flotsam.
    Somehow, I’d become involved in
something
.

CHAPTER 4
    I took off my shoes, rolled up my jeans, and stepped into the churning, cold water. When I looked down I couldn’t see my feet. I thought about stingrays. Did they even have stingrays in this part of the world? I remembered hearing the best way to treat a stingray sting was to pee on it, but I couldn’t remember if that meant you were supposed to pee on the stingray or on where you got stung. You know you’re having a bad summer vacation when you’re trying to remember if you should pee on yourself.
    We paused at the tunnel opening in the rocks. Water soaked me up to my waist.
    â€œI can’t see anything,” I said. “It’s too dark.”
    â€œGot it covered,” Trudy said, taking a flashlight