The Incredible Polly McDoodle (The Polly McDoodle Mystery Series Book 4) Page 4

  “Polly,” she whispered, even though no one was around, “Brian and I are worried about Mandy. She doesn’t seem to be eating much. Will you keep an eye on her at school? I packed a really good lunch. She likes yoghurt and fruit. I put in a veggie wrap.” Polly thought of her own hastily slapped together cheese sandwich and apple.

  “Sure, I’ll do that,” she said. “But I’m no police officer.”

  “No, oh no, I don’t want you to say anything,” Karen rubbed her chin. “We’re leaving in fifteen minutes.”

  Polly raced to Isabel’s door and knocked. “George, walkies.” Then she giggled thinking how she would hate to have her classmates hear her baby talking to the dumb dog, especially that Harvey Newhouse. She clipped George’s leash on and let him pull her down the stairs and along the laneway to the pocket park. He was perky, black and white with floppy ears and a waggy tail.

  A squirrel scolded and George barked. Two kindergarten kids ran giggling into their yard. The sun shone in puddles from last night’s rain. It was a typical late September day in Edmonton. Polly whistled a tune from the musical Oliver: “Consider yourself one of the family.”

  The terrier cooperated and did his daily dump. Polly cleaned it up and headed across the street. A mail truck pulled up to the corner. The driver loaded a bag of mail into the green drop-off box, then drove away.

  “Anyone watching that would know when to break into the box,” Polly said to herself. “I bet they drop it off at the same time every day. Would the end of the month be a good time to steal the mail? Is that when people get cheques? That’s when mom and dad are paid.”

  Polly headed back to the apartment building and handed George over to Isabel, who thanked her for walking him. She ran to fetch her backpack.

  Polly bent and kissed her dad goodbye on the top of his salt and pepper curls. He was munching a big bowl of Cheerios with sliced banana and a mound of brown sugar, and reading the paper. Her mom was still in the shower.

  “See you later, Polly Wolly Doodle all the day,” her dad sang, looking up with a grin on his face. Some things, some people never change, thank goodness, thought Polly.

  She climbed in the back of Beamishes red Escort station wagon. Karen waited until Polly had buckled up her seatbelt and then she drove off. Polly bit her lip. After all that talking about lunches and stuff, she realized she’d left hers sitting on the counter. The Absentminded McDoodle didn’t say anything about it. She was too embarrassed. She’d have to buy something to eat from the cafeteria or go to the IGA.

  When they got to school the two girls headed opposite directions to their lockers. Kyle was leaning on the wall near Polly’s locker, obviously waiting for her. “You’ll never guess what I found.” His ears blushed red.

  A surging throng of students surrounded them. The first bell rang. Polly picked up her language arts and social studies binders and the two of them walked towards their homeroom.

  “Tell me.”

  “The music teacher’s paper recycle box was full. So on the way out he asked me to consign it to the receptacle in the schoolyard near the boiler room.”

  “Consign it to a receptacle?” Polly laughed. “Oh, Kyle, he’s a man after your own heart.”

  “So, do you want to hear or not?”

  “Speak, oh word master.”

  Kyle took his hand from behind his back. A stack of envelopes that had been opened and emptied were clutched in his right hand. “Our mail thieves used the recycle bin out back to throw away their discards.”

  They studied the return addresses on the envelopes. They were from addresses around the school. None more than a block away.

  “Now what do we do?” asked Polly.

  “It’s my turn to tell the vice-principal. We don’t want him thinking you are investigating on your own. I’ll take these to the office. Ms. Jaffer needs to know about them.”

  They reached the door of their classroom. Kyle was joined by two of the musical types and they made their way to the back of the class.

  “Noon in the cafeteria,” Polly said.

  “Aren’t you too young to have a boyfriend, Dolly?” Harvey asked as he bumped her shoulder on the way to his seat. “Or is he a crime victim?”

  Polly gritted her teeth to stop herself from snapping back a reply. No sense descending to his level. Mr. Stone was standing at the front of the class frowning. He had on another nerdish outfit—brown wide pants that were two inches too short, and a mustard-coloured sweater with stretched sleeves. His brown hair hung limp as cold linguini. He’d missed a sprout of hair on his chin while shaving.

  “Take your seats, ladies and gentlemen,” he said.

  “Where to?” Polly wanted to ask.

  The announcements came over the loudspeaker. “Tryouts for the chorus for Oliver take place at 12.30 today. Ms. Shantz is looking for altos. Report to the music room. Prior experience isn’t necessary.”

  Polly decided to go. It made her heart jump into her throat but she wanted to sing. It was a cinch she couldn’t dance like Mandy or play trumpet like Kyle, but she had a pretty decent voice.

  After class Polly saw Kyle heading to the office. She and Mandy entered the girls’ changing room. A gaggle of talking, laughing teenage girls pulled on jogging shorts, white tube socks, green school T-shirts, and sneakers. The class would be running outside. Polly shuddered just thinking about running. That was what her mom and dad did. She was a clumsy, awkward, bumbling kid. The Unathletic, Uncoordinated McDoodle.

  “What’s the matter Polly?” Mandy asked. “You look bummed out.”

  While she pulled on her shorts and T-shirt Polly told Mandy about her less than perfect body. “If I could get out of gym I would,” she finished.

  “Run beside me,” Mandy said. “I’ll show you how to pace yourself. It won’t be so bad. Me, I have to run so I can keep dancing. If a dancer gets too heavy, she’s done for.”

  Polly shrugged her shoulders. “I’ll never be a dancer, let alone have a body like one.”

  “Oh, Polly, you’re fine the way you are,” said Mandy. “You’ve got everything going for you. Me, I’m the one that needs radical work.” She shoved her hand through her tousled hair as if she was trying to shove her troubles away.

  Polly didn’t know what to say. Maybe everyone felt like they needed a makeover. Then she had a brainwave. Maybe if she got Mandy involved in school life, she’d feel more at home. “Are you trying out for Oliver?”

  Mandy shrugged and bent to tie up a loose lace.

  “I’m trying out for the chorus. You should dance. Then all three of us would be in the show. The big three from 109th Street. I like it.”

  Mandy turned and looked at Polly. Her forehead wrinkled. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  The coach blew her whistle and the girls jogged outdoors and started warming up for their run through the neighbourhood.

  As they moved off in pairs Polly noticed Mrs. Dobson coming out of the bank. She recognized her humped back and the purple coat. A younger person was waiting for her outside the bank and walked with her towards the IGA.

  Alarm bells went off inside Polly’s head. Hopefully that wasn’t some con artist or crook with Mrs. Dobson. She was a pretty vulnerable old person—far too trusting. Not like Polly’s friend Isabel—now there was a sturdy, smart lady. It was hard to believe she was going to be seventy-five next week. Isabel said being old was a lot like being young. Some people don’t see you. You become invisible. But not Isabel, she’d never let it happen to her.

  Polly had to finish that sketch of George so Isabel could take it with her to Mexico to remind her of who was waiting for her in Edmonton.

  Polly glanced over at Mandy. She ran as if she was really at home in her own body. Polly didn’t feel like that. But she did feel at home on 109th Street in her own bed, in her own room, in her own apartment, in the co-op apartment, in the neighbourhood around Kingsway Garden Mall. She was no refugee. She had belonged and she knew it.

  Everyone needed a home base.
Shawn, Erin, even Mandy were away from home. Polly’s family could visit Shawn and e-mail him to make him feel connected. Erin had her mother with her and relatives in Winnipeg. She had a home and friends to come back to here. But Mandy didn’t know where she was going to be next year or the year after that. Her parents were halfway around the world working with other displaced, homeless people.

  Polly had to find a way to make sure that Mandy felt at home in Edmonton, for as long as she was here. That wasn’t going to be easy.

  6. Farewell to Isabel

  Polly sat on the stuffed chair in the corner of Isabel Ashton’s bedroom while she packed for Mexico. The room smelled of lilac sachet. Polly rubbed her bare feet across the gold wall-to-wall carpet, massaging the itch in her instep. “I thought you liked painting here—in your own studio.”

  “I do.” Isabel folded a pair of jean shorts and put them on top of a red Tshirt in her black rolly suitcase. “But I need a change of landscape. I’ll be with other artists. The weather will be warmer. I’ll come back with fresh eyes.”

  Polly nodded her head. An unruly red bang fell over her forehead. She swept her wavy hair out of her face and sighed.

  “Too many changes in your life, Polly?”

  Polly felt a lump forming in her throat. She gulped it down. “You’re going away. Shawn’s in Regina. Erin Darby is in Winnipeg. I’m in a strange school. Kyle’s hanging out with a bunch of music experts and computer addicts. The old tree fort is gone.”

  “Enough, all ready, oh Moaning McDoodle,” Isabel chuckled. “Sounds like pretty good things are happening, kid.”

  Polly frowned and shook her head.

  “New school, new opportunities,” said Isabel. “Kyle has a chance to make friends with kids like him. You have your folks to yourself now that your brother is away. That new bike shed in the backyard is strong enough to support all you rambunctious teens up there on the roof.”

  Polly sprang from her perch and moved to the bedroom window. Isabel wasn’t going to give her any sympathy. Polly stared out the window, grabbed her sketchbook, and started to draw. Antonio DeCosta was putting his bike away. Polly’s mom and dad were leaning against the white siding on the bike shed doing stretches after their run. The Beamishes were carrying a gas barbecue up to the rooftop patio for Isabel’s birthday bash tonight. Kyle’s folks were hauling white plastic chairs across the parking lot, going to the same destination as the Beamishes. Mandy was headed down the alley toward the mailbox, probably with another long letter to Africa.

  Isabel joined Polly at the window. “Pretty busy place, Polly. I’ll miss you. Time will pass fast, you’ll see.” George leaped beside her, intent on seeing out. Isabel lifted him up. “You’ll have to be good for Polly.”

  “He will be.”

  “I’m still worried about your brother’s allergies.”

  “He’ll be playing hockey in Saskatchewan all fall.”

  “Right.” Isabel walked toward the door. “You’ll have to water my plants and take in my mail. Here are stamped brown envelopes with my address in Mexico. Send on the bills and I’ll pay them. Don’t want my phone cut off. All my friends use e-mail so I’m not expecting much snail mail.”

  “Don’t send real money in the mail whatever you do Isabel. There are mail thieves.” Polly lined the envelopes up beside the phone message pad.

  “Any more clues?”

  “I told you Kyle found discarded mail?”

  “Yes.”

  “The boys who helped Dell’s Construction live near our school. Mr. Clay said something about their dad. He’s in jail for passing bad cheques. I guess he got greedy. Their uncle is a good guy, though.”

  “Their uncle seems nice. He did a great job on the bike shed. He’s working with the boys.” Isabel went into the kitchen and put dog kibble in George’s bowl and mixed a quarter tin of wet dog food into the mess. It smelt like stale sausages. The dog tore into the food like it was filet mignon.

  “Have you told our neighbourhood cops?”

  “Kyle and I reported to the post office official, Ms. Jaffer. Then we saw Patrick Connelly in his cruiser in the back lane. We told him.”

  “What did he say?”

  Polly imitated Patrick’s deep voice. “Keep the Student Crime Stoppers posted as to any developments.” She stood straight and tried to look big and serious. Her friend Patrick was a great cop, just a little on the stern side. “These particular perpetrators are extremely intelligent but totally unethical.” Polly laughed at Patrick’s use of fancy language. He and Kyle were both into big words.

  “Did I tell you I saw your substitute teacher at the casino? The guy you pointed out the other day when I drove the three of you to school again,” Isabel asked. “He really does wear odd clothes. He had a mustard sweater on with ratty looking sleeves.”

  “That’s him. That’s Mr. Stone. What was he doing?”

  “Well, he wasn’t a volunteer, that’s for sure. Our Art Club was raising funds. I was a runner. He was at the black jack table.”

  “He gambles. Mr. Stone gambles?”

  “Lots of people in Alberta gamble.”

  “Even teachers?”

  Isabel nodded. “It’s addictive.”

  “Like smoking?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I wonder where he gets the money to gamble with. He’s only a substitute. And he dresses like he’s broke!” Polly’s mind slipped into investigation mode, the Snoopy, Suspicious McDoodle. “He lives in the Kirby neighbourhood. How much do we really know about him or his sister?”

  Isabel turned as if to move to her studio. “I need to pack up my paints and paper.”

  Polly gulped. “I’ll miss you.”

  Isabel gave her a quick hug. “If you have any problem with forwarding the mail…”

  “I know, ask my parents to help.” Polly felt really proud that Isabel was trusting her with the job.

  There was a moment’s awkwardness as Polly and Isabel stepped apart.

  “We’ll catch up on art lessons when I get back.”

  “I should go and help Mom and Dad with the picnic,” Polly moved to the front hall. Then, as if it was a spur of the moment thing, she bent over her backpack and tucked away her sketchbook. She pulled out a large brown envelope. “I wanted to give you this, though. Sorry I didn’t wrap it. I didn’t want to make a big fuss at your party. Not sure I want everyone seeing…”

  Isabel held her hand out and took the envelope. A smile spread across her face as she slid the sheet of heavy artist’s paper from the envelope. A coloured pen and ink sketch of George appeared. He was sitting at the base of the willow that used to be the feature of their apartment parking lot, before the big storm ruined the tree and its fort last August. It seemed like ages ago but it was only a couple of months.

  Polly held her breath. Isabel nodded her head several times. She didn’t say anything.

  The quiet was too much for Polly. Like her dad she didn’t appreciate long periods of silence. “I couldn’t afford a frame or matting. I figured it mightn’t be good enough to keep. But I wanted to say…”

  Isabel reached out her freckled hand and put it on Polly’s left arm. “It’s a fine picture, Polly. I’ll frame it later. I’ll take it with me to Mexico. It will remind me…”

  “I better get going then.” Polly felt a blush flow up her neck to her face. She didn’t know what to do with her hands.

  “You’re incredible, Polly McDoodle.” Good old solid undemonstrative Isabel grabbed hold of Polly and gave her another quick hug. “Get going, kid. You can’t be late for my party.”

  Thank goodness the weather cooperated. A light breeze ruffled the plastic sign: “Happy Birthday, Isabel” in big green letters. Their near neighbours Mike Payne and his uncle had made it. Mike was enrolled in Grant McEwan College studying graphic arts thanks to Isabel. He’d done some pretty amazing graffiti around the neighbourhood last summer, until Polly and Kyle figured out who the graffiti ghost was.

 
; Polly’s art teacher Mrs. Specchio was there. Her husband had carried her up the flight of stairs. He settled her on a chair beside Isabel.

  “Hi, Polly.”

  Polly blushed. It was strange, meeting her art teacher in her own back yard. She felt self-conscious. “Can I get you a drink, Mrs. Specchio?”

  “Thanks. I’d love some iced tea.” Then she introduced Polly to her husband. Polly shook hands and escaped to get the tea. She also brought Isabel a second cup of coffee. By the time she got back she had calmed down. Trust Isabel to be friends with her art teacher.

  “Isabel, I want you to take the Kirby artists to Italy next April,” Mrs. Specchio was saying. “They need to see the galleries in Florence.”

  “I thought you were going,” Isabel said.

  “I’m afraid it’s beyond me. Too many stairs.”

  Polly thought of all her contest entries. One of them that was for an all-expense paid trip to Italy. No way her folks could afford an expensive school trip like this one. Maybe Polly wasn’t a gambler but she sure wished Lady Luck would shine on her contest submissions. She stood there, the cup of coffee cooling in her hand.

  “Earth to Polly! Earth to Polly!” Isabel beckoned her over. “I’ll take that.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Did you hear that Polly witnessed some mail thieves on the corner? The police said she gave a really detailed report. Trust an artistic kid from Kirby to notice lots of details.” Mrs. Specchio reached for a bunch of grapes on a tray of fruit.

  “I trained her,” Isabel chuckled. “Artists—and detectives need sharp eyes.”

  “Detectives?” Mrs. Specchio blotted her lips with a napkin.

  “Yes, she and Kyle helped the police find the vandals at Kingsway Mall last summer. Polly helped me with that mural project.”

  “A girl of many talents, I see,” Mrs. Specchio laughed.

  “So any mail thief in the vicinity should watch their step.” Isabel nodded at Polly.

  “One of the teachers said that her friend at the bank mentioned that somebody tried to forge a cheque. The teller recognized the name and knew the person wasn’t the signator. The young man ran away as soon as she questioned him.” Mrs. Specchio popped a grape in her mouth. Her husband brought her cheese and crackers.