The Incredible Polly McDoodle (The Polly McDoodle Mystery Series Book 4) Read online

  Darrell and Sydney Dell wheeled by on their mountain bikes, slowly, as if they were heading to one of the local shops. One had a canvas duffel bag in the cart attached to his back wheel.

  This was a great place to sit if you wanted to observe the neighbourhood without being seen. No one seemed to notice Polly was sitting there. Just then Mrs. Dobson entered the bank, her left hand grasping a cane with funny tri- cornered metal and rubber feet. She was dressed in her purple coat and paisley scarf with the jaunty purple tam on her white hair.

  “You’ve got a new cane,” Polly said.

  “Hello, my dear,” said the old woman in a frail voice.

  Polly leapt up and offered Mrs. Dobson her seat. “Let me take your coat. How have you been? Did your great-granddaughter get her money, Mrs. Dobson?”

  The old woman beamed. The wrinkles around her eyes folded like a crumpled paper. “Well, let me tell you. She surely did. She bought earrings like you said she might. Have you heard anything about the nasty robbers? The neighbourhood is in an uproar.”

  “Isn’t it awful? I’m sure the police are working on it.” Polly decided not to tell Mrs. Dobson everything she knew. She might get more upset.

  “I’ve been having my own sweet time, haven’t I,” sighed Mrs. Dobson. “Didn’t someone charge a whole bunch of stuff on my credit card. The credit card company said they sent me a new one in September. I never saw it.”

  “What are you going to do?” asked Polly.

  “Cancel my card. Stick to cash and cheques. All this new technology boggles my mind. Used to be everyone in the bank knew who you were so no one could get at your money but you. I’m not sure we’ve made progress.”

  Polly listened while the old woman chattered on about banking. Through the window she watched Mr. Stone go by with his overstuffed black satchel and a bag of groceries. The girl walking beside him looked something like him, round-faced with brownish short hair, but weighing less than her brother. She was dressed in very colourful stylish clothes and wore dark glasses. She carried two bags from the IGA. Wendell Stone should take lessons from his sister on dressing.

  “Polly McDougall,” the receptionist said. A short but neat young man in a grey business suit with a snazzy grey and blue tie and a blue shirt stood beside the receptionist at the front counter.

  “So you want to open an account?” he asked in a lilting tenor voice as he led her down the hall to his office. Polly noticed that the sign beside his office door said Ben Bhatia.

  Polly sat in another plum tweed chair and licked her lips. She really had two things she wanted. She wanted to open an account—to save for her trip in the future, the one that would take her somewhere in the world other than Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. But also she wanted to ask a banker how mail robberies worked and how they hurt banks and people like Mrs. Dobson.

  She had brought her birth certificate and her school ID card with her to prove she was who she said she was. She had a signed note from her dad saying her parents approved of her having a savings account. Her folks banked at the Commerce too, only at the Oliver branch.

  “I am so impressed with your deep desire to save money for travel and education. How valuable that is. I myself traveled here from India when I was just such an age as you. Saving money. It is oh so worthwhile an enterprise.” Mr. Bhatia shook her hand again and wiped his warm forehead with a pure white hankie, folded so neatly it looked like a small sheaf of art paper.

  Then he helped Polly fill out the form and took the papers away to be processed. Polly gave him the forty dollars she had made taking care of George and Isabel’s apartment. He came back to join her as she waited for her bankbook and deposit slips.

  Polly blinked fiercely. “Mr. Bhatia, I want to ask some other questions.”

  “By all means, feel free to ask questions. How else do we learn in this world if not by asking questions? I myself am curious about many things.”

  “Do you know how mail robbers get money out of banks?” Polly braced herself for a negative or huffy response. She felt quite daring. Her head throbbed.

  “What a strange little person you are. What an interesting question you have. It is something that just recently became quite a problem right here in our beautiful city on the banks of the wide rushing river. Such a rash of robberies and who can stop them. That’s what I myself wonder.” He shook his head and twirled in his chair.

  “How do they get money out of the bank?”

  “Oh yes I see how you might worry your little head about this. Is your money safe? Oh yes oh yes my dear girl. We take good care of your money. Banks are insured against fraud.”

  Polly waited as he twirled his chair and wiped his forehead. If he dressed less formally he might not be so hot. He was a really proper banker. But he was a friendly man. He made Polly feel important.

  “I must confess that I myself have been fooled by a thief who opened an account at another branch I was working in,” Ben Bhatia sighed. “He opened an account using faked documents and deposited two cheques. They turned out to be the victim’s pay cheques. A few days later I was on holiday and the same fellow came in and cleaned out the account, taking all the money in cash with him. It was so embarrassing. I am more careful now, believe you me. No one will touch your savings.”

  The saddened banker shrugged his shoulders and went for her documents. Then he handed Polly a brand new bankbook, a bank card, and a folder with details about banking and money for kids her age. He took her to the ATM to enter a secret PIN number that no one else would know.

  Polly fumbled with the bank card the first time she tried using it. She blushed. On the second try she was able to punch all the right buttons. The machine printed out a small slip of paper with her account balance.

  “Thank you very much, Mr. Bhatia.” Polly shook his hand like she had at the beginning of her interview. “I hope nothing has happened to Mrs. Dobson’s money.” She could see the older woman talking to the bank manager in the big office.

  “Such a lovely old lady she is. I myself have an old granny at my house. Don’t worry, we will make sure no one else gets at her money.” Mr. Bhatia walked with Polly to the front of the bank. He opened the door for her. It made Polly feel very special. She was now a person with a bank account.

  Polly hurried across the street to the bus stop. She had just missed the Number 9 so she sat on the bench with the insurance ad on it and prepared to wait for some time. Mrs. Dobson came out and crossed at the light. She was leaning on her cane as if she was tired. Polly spoke up.

  “Did you get everything straightened away?”

  “Yes. It seems the manager was suspicious of the young man who helped me fill out my deposit slip and cheque. They think he got a copy of my signature and my credit card number and sent some woman to buy things using a phoney card and forging my name.” She groaned as she sat on the bench beside Polly. “I even had him in for tea. He seemed like such a friendly young man. Said he lived near here with his girlfriend. That’s what they do nowadays, isn’t it? Live together. He seemed so young, so innocent.”

  Polly shook her head in sympathy. “If you see him again you should point him out to the police.” Then she added, “Or tell me and I’ll get the cops for you.” She gave Mrs. Dobson her phone number. “My friend Kyle and I have been trying to help them solve the mystery.”

  The old woman seemed so frail and trusting. It must be hard to keep everything straight—just like Polly having a struggle with Junior High, Mrs. Dobson was having a struggle with being old.

  The city bus came snorting and sneezing up to the stop like a ramshackle Saint Bernard. “I’ve got to hurry home and walk George,” Polly said.

  “Is he your little brother?”

  “No, he’s my neighbour’s dog.”

  “Pat his head for me. I used to have a dog.” Mrs. Dobson waved as the bus pulled away.

  All the school kids had already left, so instead of battling crowds Polly was able to sit in her favourite spot, the first doubl
e seat behind the side door. She stared out the window as the bus headed downtown past the university, the hospital, the river valley with its golden woods and bright red shrubs, string of golf courses, and the dumb old power plant pouring who knew what from its towering stacks. The bridge across the river hummed and sang as the giant bus wheels rolled over its slippery metal mesh surface.

  She had many questions tumbling in her head. Who would rob a nice old lady? How did they get into the mailboxes and how did they know who to steal from? Stealing from Polly wouldn’t get them much. She had no credit card. She couldn’t buy anything on credit. She was the Incredible Polly McDoodle. Bad joke, Polly. She chewed her lip.

  She had a feeling that the answer lay in the neighbourhood around Kirby School. If so then she and Kyle could help—after all they were there one third of their waking hours.

  9. What’s the Story About?

  Kyle’s mom drove the three seventh graders to school the next day. She was wearing a green tweed pantsuit and sturdy brown suede walking shoes. Polly liked Alice Clay but thought she was too serious. She didn’t seem to have any laugh track. It wasn’t that she frowned or anything, just that she was focused on fixing all the social problems in the world. She’d probably get along with Mandy’s folks really well. It wasn’t any wonder Polly had to keep teasing old Kyle. She didn’t want him turning out to be a terminally and totally serious person. There were enough of them around.

  “I’ll be at the bookstore helping my friend pack books for the Edmonton Symphony Book sale,” Mrs. Clay said.

  Her friend owned a second hand bookstore in the same strip of stores as the bank and IGA. Brutus, Kyle’s Springer Spaniel, was sitting between the two girls in the back seat of the green SUV.

  Mrs. Clay pulled into a Tim Horton Donuts and ordered a box of Timbits and coffee at the drive through window. “Any special requests?”

  “Nothing for me. I’m watching my weight,” said Mandy. Polly shook her head and looked at the thin girl with the pale skin and hollow cheeks.

  “What are you doing for Thanksgiving, Polly?” Mrs. Clay asked as she passed out treats to Polly and Kyle.

  “We’re going to see Shawn play hockey in Regina. What about you?”

  “We’re going to Small Shadow Lake,” said Kyle.

  “Brian and Karen are taking me to see the Rocky Mountains.” Mandy stared out the window. “I’d rather stay in the apartment.”

  “You’ll have to eat if you’re with them.” Then Polly said what was on her mind. “Starving yourself isn’t going to bring your parents home or make you a better dancer.”

  “It’s none of your business, Polly.” Mandy’s voice trembled.

  “Okay, kids, take it easy. What’s this about anyway?” Mrs. Clay took a long sip of coffee as she sat at the next red light.

  Mandy stared out the window trying to ignore them. Her chin was quivering, though.

  Polly felt awful. Unconsciously, she patted Brutus and tickled him on his chest. George would be jealous when he sniffed her at home, thinking she’d forsaken him for another dog. She wished she hadn’t spoken to Mandy like that. The Mainly Mouthy McDoodle putting her foot in her mouth again. But she couldn’t help being worried about her new friend. She’d read a teen magazine article that talked about girls starving themselves so badly that they died. She shivered thinking about it. But upsetting Mandy wasn’t going to help.

  As they joined the long line of cars pulled up on the side street by the school Polly sprang out and hurried away. She needed some time alone. Up ahead at the corner the postie was taking the large canvas bag from the green box.

  “Mrs. Kim, what are you doing on this route?” Polly asked her old schoolmate’s mother. “I thought you delivered mail on the north side.”

  “I got transferred two months ago,” the woman said as she straightened, closed and locked the box. She tucked her keys in her pocket. “It takes a while to get accustomed to a new neighbourhood.”

  “Did they catch the thieves who robbed this storage container and the mailbox?” Polly asked.

  “How did you know about that?” Mrs. Kim was shaking her head. “So much trouble. I wish I’d never left my old route.”

  “Is this area hit worse than others?” Polly asked.

  “Up to your old tricks, Polly? You and Kyle Clay still solving crimes?”

  “We just like to help, that’s all.”

  “I’ve talked to your mom at the gym. Boy, is she fit. She worries about you sticking your nose into something dangerous.” Mrs. Kim started putting the mail from the canvas bag into her sack.

  “I think the crooks live near here.” Polly told her about the discarded junk mail, the robbery at the corner, and what she had seen.

  Mrs. Kim sighed long and loud. “It’s worse than that. I misplaced my keys, the ones that open all the apartment mailboxes, the master keys. Every one of them has to be replaced. I can’t forgive myself. I’ve retraced my steps so many times.”

  “When did that happen?” Polly asked.

  “The third Monday in September.” It was nearly mid-October now.

  “The same day as the first robbery?

  “Yes.”

  The first bell rang. Polly waved goodbye and hurried into the school.

  Kyle was standing by her locker.

  “You have a big mouth, Polly.”

  “I know.” Polly grabbed her book and shoved her lunch into her locker. “But someone had to talk to Mandy.”

  “Be a little gentle. She’s got a lot to work out.” Kyle rattled a bag of sunflower seeds in his pocket and offered Polly some before tossing a handful into his own mouth. “It’s probably a phase she’s going through. Leave her be.”

  Polly was tempted to suggest that Kyle mind his own business, that he didn’t understand girls, that he didn’t understand how serious anorexia nervosa was. He was just a computer geek and doorknob. But she bit her lip and headed towards Mr. Stone’s class.

  “By the way I told mom we’d help her friend box books after school for the Symphony book sale.”

  “What?”

  “The books she doesn’t want she gives to the Symphony to sell.”

  “You could have asked me.”

  “I thought you might want an excuse for hanging around the Kirby neighbourhood after school.”

  Polly nodded. “Good idea.”

  “We could do some investigating.”

  “Makes sense,” she had to admit. She didn’t have time to tell him about poor Mrs. Kim. Tommie Lee smiled as she entered the language arts class. She had a new haircut, a fancy outfit, and earrings that nearly reached her shoulders.

  Harry Newhouse tried to trip Polly with his huge foot by sticking it out in the aisle. “Good morning Lolly.”

  Polly frowned. Sometimes she wished she were a big bruising football player. Harvey didn’t tease them. She tossed her books into her desk and opened her Language Arts binder. Without thinking she started doodling keys on a chain.

  The mail thieves had the keys. Polly was sure of it. That’s how they were getting away with cheques and credit cards.

  The question was—could Polly and Kyle help the police and Ms. Jaffer of the post office solve the crime? She had reported everything to the Student Crime Stoppers.

  When she and Kyle got back from the Thanksgiving weekend they’d have to get serious about staking out the neighbourhood.

  One advantage kids had, as Polly knew, was that they were invisible to most adults. Kids could be snooping around a neighbourhood and no one would get suspicious or dream that they were investigating a crime.

  Mr. Stone meanwhile was droning on about the theme of the short story they were currently reading. Polly stared over at the fancy earrings and brilliant pink T-shirt that her friend Tommie Lee was wearing. Where was she getting the money for all these new clothes? Her mother had not been very cooperative in the drugstore when Polly had questioned her. Could they be involved in the mail thefts? She hoped not.

  “
What is the nature of the conflict in this story, Polly?” Mr. Stone asked. “Is it between the protagonist and nature, others, or himself?”

  Polly glanced up with a start. She sent her mind scrambling for the answer. There was a long pause as the whole class stared at her and Mr. Stone tapped his broad fingers on his cluttered desk.

  Polly made a stab at an answer. “It’s really a problem he has inside himself.” Most stories for teenagers were like that. Polly hadn’t read this one yet.

  “Did you read the story?” Harvey Newhouse asked out loud. “The boy and his dog. It’s about death. The old dog is dying. That’s nature. We all die, Dolly. The boy is over against nature.” He looked away suddenly, out the window.

  Tommie Lee whispered, “Harvey’s cat just got run over.”

  “So the boy is feeling bad inside,” Polly said quietly. “That’s his problem.”

  Mr. Stone sat on the edge of his desk waving his leg into the aisle. He had on really clutzy looking brown leather shoes more suited to a retired person than a youngish man. “So the story is about…”

  “Death,” said Harvey. “That’s nature. We all die.”

  “Grief,” said Tommie Lee. Her earrings clanged against her head as she shook her head. “The boy’s grieving.”

  “Loss,” Polly said. She was going to have to read this story. Maybe missing Shawn and Isabel and Erin Darby the way she was, was her own experience of loss.

  “Abandonment,” said Mandy. “His folks have left him in charge. He’s on his own. He has to decide what to do about the dog on his own. What’s a kid to do? Everything is out of control. He has no power.”

  Polly was staring at the story without seeing a word. She should apologize to Mandy for saying things about her not eating. Was she just the Insensitive. Insulting McDoodle?