I wasn’t wrong.
The routine was this weird blend of dance and cheer, some girls doing tumbling passes while others did the famous zombie dance behind them. It was all out of sync and the audience wasn’t entirely sure how to take it. There was some clapping, some nervous laughter and some confusion. The girls were admirably trying to hold the routine together, but even they didn’t even seem sure as to what they were trying to accomplish.
Greta Mathisen was still rigid on the bleacher bench, but I could see her eyes were flitting around, gauging the reaction of everyone in the stands. I wasn’t an expert, but I knew she couldn’t have been pleased. The energy that had permeated the gym during the earlier performances had dissipated. Slowly, her plastered-on smile flattened out. Her lips clamped together as she realized that her team – and the routine she was responsible for – wasn’t going over the way she’d probably hoped.
The finale to their act was a basket toss – Brenda was helping me with the lingo – and when the girl in the basket got tossed, she did another zombie pose high up in the air. I’m sure at some point, Greta Mathisen thought it might look different or unique, but to me, all it looked like was that she’d lost her composure and was flailing in the air.
When the music stopped and the zombies froze, the gym was quiet for a moment. Painfully so. And then a few hands clapped together and the applause started. But the genuine screaming and hooting and hollering that I’d witnessed from the bleachers with the other teams was not there.
“Told you,” Brenda whispered in my ear. “Interesting.”
“Uh...yeah.”
I watched Greta Mathisen rise stiffly from the bleachers and follow her kids out of the gym. She may have been slightly off her rocker, but I was sure even she had felt what everyone else in the gym did.
The routine hadn’t worked.
And by the way she walked, her shoulders slumped, a look of resignation on her face, she’d probably known it coming into the competition. Despite her boasts and predictions about winning and finally taking home the trophy, there was no way she could have thought that routine was going to trump all of the others, even if Moose River had been weakened by Amanda’s absence.
As the last team came out to perform, decked out in purple and yellow cheer outfits, bouncing around on the gym floor, it occurred to me that I could eliminate another suspect from my list.
If Greta Mathisen knew her team genuinely had no shot, there was no way she would’ve risked taking Amanda Pendleton.
THIRTY FOUR
Detective Hanborn was right.
That’s what kept running through my head as we drove home from the cheer competition. We’d stayed for the awards. Moose River Fusion came in second. Greta Mathisen, Maddie and their Cheerlicious Cheetahs came in next to last. Which, in retrospect, seemed like somewhat of a victory in itself. But as we drove home, I just couldn’t shake the idea that all of my conjecture about Amanda having been kidnapped was probably all wrong and Hanborn had been right to smirk at me and dismiss me like I had no clue what I was doing.
“Mom, can we get pizza?” Will asked.
“No. I’m making dinner.”
“Please?”
“No.”
“How about French fries?”
“Oh, fries sound good,” Sophie chimed in.
“And a shake,” Grace said. “No, wait. A smoothie. Mom, can we get smoothies?”
“You all act like I haven’t fed you today,” I said.
“Lunch was hours ago,” Will said. “And we already had to buy our own snacks…”
“Yeah, my candy cost a whole dollar,” Grace said. “And Sophie’s charging incense so I really own her a dollar and ten cents.”
“Interest,” Will corrected her.
I wondered if someone had stuck a sign on me, indicating what buttons to push to get what they wanted. Guilt always worked wonders. And all of these kids knew it.
I pulled into the first fast food restaurant I saw and got into the drive-thru lane. All three kids cheered loudly and, for a split second, it sounded like I’d been transported back to the arena and the cheer competition.
“Shh,” I said, eyeing them in the rearview mirror. “If they can’t hear me, I can’t order.”
They piped down immediately and I ordered them fries and smoothies. Not the best of dinners, but at least there was fruit in their drinks. I hoped.
As we sat idling in the line waiting for our food, I couldn’t fight off the feeling of dejection. I’d been wrong about Madison and Eleanor Bandersand. I’d been wrong about Greta Mathisen. I’d been wrong about everything.
I’d started to warm to Jake’s idea of getting my private investigator’s license. But if I’d missed so badly on this, if my guesses had been completely wrong, I didn’t feel very confident about people eventually paying me money to solve their mysteries. Being curious was far different than being a detective. I was good at being curious, but I wasn’t sure I would be any good at being a detective.
We reached the window and I handed cash out the window to the disinterested clerk. She took it, handed me my change back and told me it would be just another minute.
“Why do they call it fast food if it’s not fast?” Grace asked.
“Because it’s supposed to be fast,” Will answered.
“But it’s not. It’s slow.”
“Yeah, it’s not you like you just drive up and its ready and we can reach in the window and grab it,” Sophie said.
“They should call it slow food,” Grace said.
“That’s dumb,” Will said. “It’s called fast because you pull up, you order, they make it and you pay for it and you drive away. It’s not like when we’re at home and we have to wait forever for Mom to make dinner.”
That got my attention. “Forever? Really?”
“Well, yeah. Sometimes, I’m starving. But if dinner is in two hours, then it’s not fast. But if I drive over here, then it’s fast because I can get it right away.”
“We don’t even have our food yet,” Grace said, frowning in his direction. “So I hope you’re not starving now. Because this is not fast.”
“Fast would be if you ordered French fries and they just handed them to you,” Sophie said. “Before you even paid.”
“Oh whatever,” Will said, leaning his head back. “You don’t even get what I’m saying.”
“Yes we do,” Grace answered. “You’re saying you don’t know the difference between fast and slow.”
She and Sophie high-fived and Will just shook his head.
I smiled. Their conversation had been nonsensical and almost pointless, and I’d loved every second of it. It felt to me like I hadn’t been privy to many of these kinds of conversations lately, the kinds of conversations that were only possible if you were siblings, determined to win an insignificant argument while demonstrating your superior knowledge. They weren’t important and they weren’t life-changing, but they were a part of our daily life and I’d missed them. I loved to hear their bantering and serve as referee when necessary.
My smile disappeared. I knew why I’d missed out on them – and it wasn’t because they’d all magically gotten along for the past few days. I’d missed out because I’d been caught up with the Bandersands and Amanda Pendleton and the play program and a whole lot of other things that weren’t nearly as much fun as my kids.
The drive-thru clerk came back to the window and handed me the smoothies first, then the bag of fries. I passed them back to the kids and pulled away from the window.
“Thanks for the not-so-fast food!” Grace yelled.
“Thank you,” I murmured, turning up the radio.
I was the one who had something to be thankful for.
I’d realized where I needed to be and what I needed to be doing.
And it didn’t involved solving mysteries or getting licenses.
THIRTY FIVE
“I couldn’t ask Jake to take me,” Emily said. “That would be horrible!”