I So Don't Do Mysteries by Barrie Summy

mug between his
hands and shuffles like an old man into the living room.
    I wait till he’s on the couch and zoned out in front of the TV, then shove open
the sliding door. If I don’t hurry, I’ll find myself trying to explain to Dad and The Ruler
why I’m up a tree with a cup of coffee.
    Once outside, I follow my routine from before. Hey, why mess with success? So I get
comfortable on my branch, wave the mug around over my head, then set it above me in a hollow in the
trunk and think about my mom.
    Within seconds, there’s a humongous thud, probably measurable on the Richter
scale.
    â€œLanding, landing,” my mother says.
    Squawk. Squawk. Squawk.
    I look up. It’s the same beady-eyed wren I’ve been seeing around our
yard. He’s hugging the trunk with his wings.
    â€œI’ve got to work on that.” Mom says from the branch right
above me. “Looks like my rough landing scared your grandfather.”
    â€œHuh?” It’s like my brain suddenly empties of live
thoughts.
    â€œThe wren. It’s Grandpa Baldwin.” She pauses. “You
hadn’t figured it out?”
    â€œNo one figures that kind of stuff out.” I shake my head.
“Why’s Grandpa a bird?”
    â€œHe chose the animal option. Your grandparents, as you know, have always
been bird lovers. Which is why he went with a wren form.”
    â€œWay weird.” My life is veering deeper into insanity country. What
happened to normal stuff like dying and getting buried in the ground? And staying there?
    Mom’s branch creaks. “Grandpa spends most of his time in
Grandma’s backyard. He likes to be near her. Plus, she keeps the bird feeder full.”
    I have many memories of Grandpa. He loved to wear hugely nerdy leather shorts and
polka-dot suspenders, then belt out embarrassing German songs into a bratwurst/microphone. He often
had a parrot on his shoulder. And he was always tossing back a handful of sunflower seeds. And never
sharing, I might add. Well, except with my brother, who takes accordion lessons.
    â€œGrandpa has offered to help us in San Diego,” Mom says. “If
he can fly that distance. You know, given his age.”
    I groan. I don’t need an ancient wren that, in human form, never really liked me
and now specializes in shooting me the evil eye. Besides, we’ve already got Junie and my
mom’s study group.
    â€œHe’s pretty smart for an old bird, and we need all the help we can
get.”
    â€œFine. Any new scoop from the snitch? Like the names and addresses of
suspects?”
    â€œPolice work isn’t usually that straightforward. But he did learn that the
poacher is experienced. And even though the snitch hasn’t given us much, we have my study
group. They are truly brilliant.”
    Mom clears her throat. I bet she asks about the wedding.
    â€œHow did yesterday go?”
    I knew it.
    â€œI couldn’t find my way here,” she says. “Didn’t
they serve coffee?”
    â€œNope. Lemonade.”
    â€œThat must have been tough on Mrs. Lucas. She rivaled me in the number of
cups she drank a day.”
    â€œYeah.”
    My mom sniffs a couple of times. “I bet you and Sam looked
great.”
    â€œSam looked good. I looked like a dork.”
    â€œOh, Sherry, I’m sure that’s not true.” She sighs.
“I really wanted to see you two dressed up.”
    I feel a tickle like a cotton ball or feather brushing my cheek. It’s Mom.
She’s right by me. I close my eyes and just feel. I concentrate really hard. There’s a
sensation of pressure, like she’s rubbing my shoulders. Then the light, feathery feeling again,
but this time under my chin.
    â€œIs this a rash?”
    â€œYeah. From stress, apparently.”
    â€œMakes sense,” she says. “The wedding, the mystery challenge,
probably some school worries in there somewhere. Anything