I So Don't Do Mysteries by Barrie Summy

serious. “Don’t be late.”
    I watch the elevator doors close and the floor numbers light up. With each rising
number, my spirits climb. I am so handling this mystery. And I’m going to be
resourceful—love that word—one more time tonight. I walk to the reservations desk.
    â€œMr. Lopez?” I ask.
    He comes over to me straightaway. “Yes, Sue.”
    â€œDo you have any copies of the
Union-Tribune
?”
    â€œCertainly.” He pulls out a perfectly folded newspaper from under the
counter. He slides it toward me. “Do you need anything else? The
New York Times
?
LA Times
?
London Times
?”
    Times, Times, Times
. Sounds like someone got a little lazy when coming up
with a name for their newspaper. “I wouldn’t mind a couple of those free-ice-cream
vouchers.”
    I think I catch a hint of a grin on his face as he hands me a bunch of coupons.
“Take extra.” He pushes up a shirt cuff and glances at his watch. “The
café is open for another thirty minutes.”
    â€œThanks, Mr. L. Do you happen to know if they have sprinkles?”
    â€œYou’re welcome, uh, Sue. And, yes, I believe so.”
He’s definitely grinning.
    I pocket the coupons and pull out my cell. I know exactly who to invite.

    Seated next to the outdoor heater at the Hotel Del Café, I’m basking in
the furnace blast of warmth. I dig into a huge double-coupon bowl of chocolate ice cream with walnuts
and hurts-your-teeth fudge sauce.
    Across from me, Junie spoons up vanilla smothered in rainbow sprinkles. The two of
us have been serious ice cream addicts forever. I bet we’ve eaten the equivalent of a small
planet over the years.
    â€œGuess who’s coming to San Diego?” I say.
    Junie shrugs.
    â€œJosh Morton. On Thursday. And we’re getting together.”
    â€œSherry!” Junie stops eating mid bite. This says a lot about
Junie’s level of excitement for me. “That’s fantastic. What are you going to
wear?”
    â€œMy good-luck outfit.”
    Junie nods.
    I unfold the newspaper.
    â€œ
You’re
reading the newspaper?” Junie asks.
    I raise my hands in mock horror. “Absolutely not.” I push a couple of
sections of the paper toward her side of the table. “Don’t you kinda think
Rob’s a poseur?”
    She doesn’t hesitate. “No.”
    That’s the thing about Junie. She pulls off beyond-awesome grades at school. I
swear she knows more than most of our teachers. But when it comes to reading people, she sucks. I
say, “I wonder how many articles Rob wrote in this issue.”
    Junie unfolds a section. “Why?”
    â€œJust to know.”
    â€œYou’re on.” She starts reading. Junie and knowledge go
together.
    â€œYou don’t need to actually read the articles,” I say.
“Just glance to see who wrote them.”
    â€œYou mean look for the byline?”
    â€œUh, yeah. The byline.”
    There’s silence except for the crinkling of newspaper. More noise comes from
my side of the table because I’m turning pages faster than Junie. I think I may have a scanning
talent.
    â€œHere’s an interesting article.” Junie looks up.
    â€œIs it by Rob?”
    â€œNo, but it’s about Damon Walker and
Murder on the Beach
.
Apparently, he’s had trouble getting financial backing, but he believes in the movie so much,
he’s bankrolling a lot of it himself.”
    My mind whirs like a ceiling fan in the Phoenix summer. Damon was very down on the
rhinos. Any chance he’s running out of money? I wonder how much a rhino horn goes for.
I’ll quiz Kendra tomorrow about her boyfriend and money.
    I scoop up a spoonful of ice cream. “No Rob Moore bylines. You find
any?”
    â€œNone for me either,” she says. “So?”
    â€œSo? Rob totally lied about being a big-time reporter.” I pull the used