Finding Zola Read online

  DJ knelt down and pulled out the tape. Next she hauled out a flat package wrapped in a green, flowered bath towel. She propped it up against the bed. When she drew off the towel, I gasped. The colors were stunning, mostly pale shades of blue. It was a painting of Dad in faded jeans and a blue plaid shirt, working on a stone sculpture. The only touch of strong color was a deep purple handkerchief peeking out from his back pocket. This was David and Goliath, the missing painting Mom had been searching for.

  “It’s supposed to have a silver frame,” I said.

  DJ crouched down again and peered under the bed. “Nope. Nothing else here.” She stared at me. “What’s wrong? Not what you expected?”

  “No, it’s not that.” I stared at the painting, feeling glad we had found it but bothered by it, too. “I just don’t understand why Gran would have taken the painting out of its frame and then stuck it under the bed.”

  Later that night, the phone rang. I hurried to answer, relieved to hear Mom’s tired voice.

  “Hi, Cryssy! How are you doing?”

  “Fine. DJ’s here.”

  “You and Zola getting along?”

  “Zola never came over, Mom. It looks like she forgot all about me and went on a trip to the Grand Canyon instead.”

  “Wha-at? How could she do that? Oh Cryssy, I’m sorry. I should have made other arrangements for you.”

  “I’m fine, Mom. Don’t go worrying about me. DJ is here. Everything is fine.” I glanced down the hall toward my room. “We found the missing painting.”

  “You did? That’s great!”

  “But there’s no silver frame with it. Why would Gran have taken it out?”

  “I can’t imagine. Where did you find the painting?”

  “Under a bed in the guest room.”

  Mom sighed. “I don’t know. That’s an odd place for Gran to put a painting. With her arthritis, she could barely stoop over.”

  I hesitated, my mind racing with questions, wondering who else could have put it there. “At least we found it,” I said. “We’ll save the mystery of how it got there for later.”

  Chapter 9

  THE DREAM WAS BACK. I WOKE UP GASPING, AS IF I’d been running from something I didn’t want to see. I lay there staring into the dark, trying to make some sense out of it. Once again I’d been in the white Jeep, zooming along the mountain road. Only this time I was the one driving, not Dad. I remember thinking, I don’t want to go here. I have to turn around before it’s too late. But then the Jeep slowed to a stop. A man with dark hair and paint-spattered clothes stood at the side of the road. I asked if he wanted a lift. He smiled. As he opened the door, a bright blue light flooded into the cab. Then I was out of the Jeep, running away.

  I fumbled for my blanket, suddenly feeling cold. I had an uneasy feeling that I wasn’t alone. A thin shaft of moonlight filtered through the shuttered window. A faint shape moved in the shadowy corner.

  “Is someone there?” I whispered, my voice shaky.

  The shape leaned forward into the moonlight. A man dressed in faded jeans and a blue shirt sat with his hands on his knees. I squinted at him, trying to make my eyes focus better. The man shimmered in a thin blue glow. I could see right through to the block wall behind him. A rush of air swirled around the room, lifting my hair and carrying with it a soft voice. Raniiiiita …

  My whole body turned to ice. I knew that voice. I knew that silly nickname, too. Dad used to call me his little frog, or ranita, when I was four or five, because I was always hopping on him. I stared at the figure in the chair, especially the touch of gray at his temples, the neat mustache that had always tickled when he kissed me. My eyes wandered to his big sculptor’s hands, rough on the outside but gentle in their touch.

  I gulped. “Dad? Is that you?”

  The breeze in the room died down. He nodded and smiled. The blue halo of light pulsed around him. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and then spread them open, as if sending me a hug.

  “Can’t you talk to me?”

  He held his fingers about an inch apart in a “little bit” sign. I glanced over at the painting, leaning against the wall. “You led me to the painting of you, didn’t you?”

  The blue light around him pulsed.

  “Have you been here all along?”

  The ghost nodded.

  “Did Gran see you?”

  He nodded again, but as he did, he shimmered and changed. Now he was a young boy, the boy Gran had raised.

  I tried to remember what I’d heard about ghosts. Didn’t they hang around when they couldn’t rest? Was Dad a restless spirit?

  “Why are you here? What’s bothering you?”

  The boy hung his head. When he looked up, he was older again. He shook his head, his eyes sad. He pointed to my wheelchair.

  “The accident? It was all my fault! I made you look away from the road. I’ve been wanting to tell you how sorry I was, but—”

  He jumped up. He waved his arms and shook his head no. Then he pointed to his chest.

  “What are you trying to say?”

  He held out his hand toward my legs as the air in the room swirled around me again. “I’m sorry!” he whispered.

  I wanted to rush into his arms and say it was all right. “Don’t be upset, Dad. Look at me. I’m getting along fine.”

  He nodded and then folded his hands, as if begging something from me. The blue light pulsed brighter than ever, and the air whooshed by me, carrying with it the words, “Be careful, Ranita!”

  With that, the blue glow faded to black and Dad was gone. I sat there holding my breath, staring at the empty chair until it, too, melted into inky puddles of darkness.

  Chapter 10

  WHEN I WOKE IN THE MORNING, MY FIRST thought was, What a crazy dream! But had it been only a dream? It seemed so real, and I was sure I hadn’t been asleep. Little details came back to me, like the way the wind had sifted through my hair and the soft tremble in Dad’s voice. Just thinking about it gave me goosebumps again. As I got dressed I considered talking to DJ about it, but I was afraid she’d just laugh at me. Besides, I wasn’t sure I wanted to share my experience. Real or not, Dad’s visit was mine, all mine.

  After breakfast Mom called again, needing reassurance that we were okay. I was not going to tell her about my ghostly “visit” from Dad. That would really worry her.

  “So, how’s the show going?” I asked. “Sold any paintings?”

  “Yes! One sold right away—that one of the lighthouse that you liked. Then an art critic came by. He wrote a nice piece in the paper …”

  As she rambled on, full of excitement about the show, I glanced out the window toward Zola’s house. A man ducked out of her front door, hugging a brown shopping bag to his chest. He had a wide-brimmed straw hat on, so I couldn’t see his face.

  “… and today I already got offers on two more. How about that?”

  Her question whizzed right by me. The man hopped in a golf cart and chugged down the street.

  “Cryssy?” Mom’s voice brought me back.

  “That’s great news! Maybe you’ll see him—I mean, sell them.”

  “I hope so. Take care now. Call me if there’s any news about Zola.”

  I put down the phone and hustled out the front door. By then, the man in the golf cart was nowhere to be seen. I went back inside just as DJ came down the hall, brushing her hair.

  “Some guy just came out of Zola’s place,” I told her.

  “Really? Who?”

  “I don’t know. I was on the phone with Mom when I saw him. I think he’s stolen something.”

  “Let’s go see.”

  We hurried across the street, but now Zola’s door was locked. The man must have set the lock when he shut the door. Such a careful, thoughtful thief.

  “Rats! How will we get in?”

  DJ grinned. “Pick the lock?”

  “No, wait. Didn’t the neighbor hacking at her tree say she had a key to Zola’s house? Run over there and see if she�
��s home.”

  In a few minutes DJ was back, a brass house key dangling from her finger. “We’re in business, chica.”

  As we eased into the living room, things looked different. A chair sat straighter. The towels had been picked up. It almost looked normal. Then I noticed the sofa. Zola’s pink dress was folded neatly beside her overnight case. But something was missing.

  “Her purse is gone!” I cried.

  “You’re right. Stay here. I’m going to take a quick look-see through the rest of the place.” DJ disappeared down the hall.

  “I’ll check outside,” I called after her. My face and arms felt prickly as I inched across the room. I scanned everything as I went, looking for anything else missing. Outside, the patio looked cozy and quiet. Two cactus-filled clay bowls nestled in one corner. A wrought iron table and one chair were in the other corner. The second wrought iron chair was blocking my way, and I had to maneuver around it. A hummingbird buzzed over my head, making me look up. He poked his long beak into a red feeder suspended from the overhang. A lopsided basket of plastic flowers hung nearby, their once–bright red color now faded to pink from the sun.

  DJ came out, her hands on her hips. “Nada. Anything out here?”

  “You’re tall, Deej. What can you see over the walls?”

  She peered over the left wall. “Tuckers’ patio. Not much there.” She moved to the back wall. “Swimming pool.” Then the other neighboring wall. “A fake putting green, golf balls, patio furniture, and a small table.”

  I looked back to the chair and noticed that it was directly under the basket of flowers. Why was it there, when the table was across the patio? Had Zola had used it to put something in the basket for some reason?

  “Check that hanging basket. See if there’s anything in it besides those dumb flowers.”

  She climbed onto the chair and fumbled in the basket. Her eyes widened as she pulled out a roll of film.

  “Looky here! How did you know?”

  I shrugged. “That chair. It didn’t look like it belonged there, right in front of the patio door.”

  DJ tossed the roll of film around in her hand. “Think Zola stashed it there?”

  “Probably.”

  “But why?”

  I drummed my fingers on my armrests, trying to imagine what would make Zola want to stash a roll of film. It didn’t seem like something she would do because she was forgetful. If she was just confused, she might have put it in the refrigerator or the oven. No, this had the feel of a deliberate act, an attempt to hide it from someone. Maybe that someone was the man I saw sneaking out of her house.

  “Let’s call the cops and report the prowler,” I said. “Then we’ll drop that film off at the drugstore to be developed.”

  One benefit of a small town is that the cops come right away when you call them. Maybe they just didn’t have enough juicy crime to keep them busy. The officer who met us at the door was short and compact, with thick black hair swept back from his face. Under a shiny badge, his name tag read “Mike Lawrence.”

  “Thanks for coming so fast,” DJ said, opening the door wide so I could go out.

  He took out his pad and pen. “You reported a prowler?”

  “Yes, coming out of our neighbor’s house over there.” I pointed across to Zola’s place. “We’re worried about her, too. Her name is Zola Waselewski, and she’s been gone since Sunday.”

  “Are you a relative?”

  I gave a brief explanation of how we knew Zola and told him that she was a friend of the family who was supposed to be staying with me. And I explained about finding her house empty.

  The officer frowned at us like we were the criminals, not the ones who had called him. “Why were you in her house?” he asked.

  I took a deep breath. “The man I saw come out of there had a brown paper bag in his arms. We checked to see if anything was missing, and there is. Zola’s purse is gone.”

  “Can you describe the man? Old, young, short, fat?”

  “He was tall. Definitely an adult, but I couldn’t tell how old. His face was hidden by his big straw hat. He left in a white golf cart, if that helps.”

  The officer scribbled more notes in his book, flipped it shut, and tapped the cover with his pen. He squinted at us, looking down his nose. “You girls stay out of that house from now on. I’m going to have a look around. You could have run into real trouble, you know.”

  “We had to check!” I snapped back. His attitude was not making me a fan of the police.

  He put his hands on his hips and glared at me. “Prowlers don’t like being surprised. Let the police handle things from now on. I’ll have a talk with the other neighbors, to see if they saw anyone suspicious.” He fished a card out of his shirt pocket and handed it to DJ. “If anything else happens, call 911 or this number at the station.”

  We stayed by the front window to watch what he did. Officer Lawrence walked around the outside of Zola’s place, checking the door to make sure it was locked. Then he went to Mr. Andrews’s house. A few minutes later, he crossed over to the Tuckers’ place.

  “Maybe we should have told him about the film,” said DJ.

  “Uh-uh. Not until we see what’s on it.”

  I looked out the front window again. He’d finished talking with the Tuckers and was headed back our way. We met him at the door again.

  The officer jerked his thumb across the street. “The neighbors say Mrs. Waselewski told them she was going with her brother to the Grand Canyon. So apparently she’s not missing after all.”

  I shook my head. “But Zola never said anything about her brother coming or about going away. She promised my mom she’d stay with me.”

  “And what about her purse being stolen?” asked DJ. “We did see a prowler come out of her house.”

  The cop tucked his notepad into his pocket. “I made a note of that, and we’ll keep an eye on the place. I’m sure Mrs. Waselewski appreciates your watching her house for her, but don’t you two start playing junior detectives. If she’s simply away on a trip, she’ll be back soon.”

  I shut the door with a huff. “He didn’t believe us at all!” I told DJ. “He thinks we’re just a couple of ditsy girls with nothing else to do. Come on, Deej. Let’s drop that film off.”

  Chapter 11

  THE DRUGSTORE OFFERED ONLY ONE-DAY service, but at least we beat the pick-up time for the film. I hoped we’d find out the next day why Zola had stashed it in that flower basket. Outside, we followed the aroma of fresh-baked cinnamon rolls into a small bakery. We bought a couple of gooey rolls and sat outdoors at a small table.

  DJ shoved the extra chair aside so I could wheel close in. “I bet when we get those photos back, there won’t be anything weird about them,” she said.

  I set the brakes and thought a moment. “Then why would Zola hide that film?”

  DJ took a big bite of her cinnamon roll. “Because she’s mixed up,” she mumbled, her mouth full. “No one else seems to think that her being gone—at least for a while—is all that unusual.”

  “What about the guy I saw coming out of her house?”

  She shrugged. “Zola could have asked him to check her place while she was gone. He did make sure the door was locked when he left.”

  I picked at the frosting on my roll. “You think I’m overreacting?”

  “Maybe. While we’re sitting here worrying, she’s probably up in the cool high country having a great time.”

  I took a deep breath and looked out across the parking lot. Fat gray doves waddled around in the shade, trying to stay cool. One sipped water from a small puddle that had been made by the sprinkler. For Zola’s sake, I hoped DJ was right.

  As we cruised down Manzanita Avenue, I still kept my eyes open for a little old lady wandering down the street. When we passed a small strip mall, a familiar face caught my eye.

  I grabbed DJ’s arm. “Slow down a minute.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “I just saw Matt going into that pa
wn shop.”

  “So?”

  “Why would he go to a pawn shop? It’s not exactly a kid hangout.”

  She slowed the car, made a U-turn, and pulled into the parking lot. The pawn shop sat next to a used clothing store. Bars covered the windows, and bright streamers—the kind used car dealers have—flapped from the roof.

  DJ grinned. “I’ve never been in a pawn shop. Maybe it’s time to find out what they’re like. You know, in case I lose my scholarship.”

  We had to ring a buzzer by the front door just to get admitted. Inside, it wasn’t anything like a regular store like Wal-Mart or Target. Long glass cases lined the walls, jammed with guns, knives, jewelry, and cameras. Stacked behind the counters were televisions, VCRs, computers, and small appliances. It had the jumbled look of a garage sale times ten.

  The scariest thing was seeing the clerk wearing a gun. He was talking to Matt when we came in, then went in the back for a moment. From the ceiling, security cameras monitored our every move. Matt moved to a rack of bicycles and checked out a sporty mountain bike.

  I edged up behind him. “Hey, stranger. Fancy meeting you here.”

  He turned, surprised. “Same to you.” He pulled the bike out and looked it over, rolling it back and forth. “Cool, huh? I need some kind of wheels while Dad is at his office. What are you guys up to?”

  I shrugged. “Nothing much.”

  Matt went back to fiddling with the bike, trying out the hand brakes and checking the tread on the tires.

  DJ suddenly grabbed my chair and turned me around. “Hey, Crystal, look up there!” She pointed to something hanging on the wall above the jewelry counter. “Is that the silver frame you were looking for?”

  I followed her gaze to a silver frame, my hopes soaring. But it was just an ordinary silver painted frame, not the fancy one Gran had.

  “Nope, not it. Gran’s was real silver.”

  The clerk was watching us all the time, probably trying to decide if we were real customers or just shoplifters. He ambled over. “Help you kids with something?”