Chapter 1: A Weasel Returns

“Well, I’ll be! That sounds like quite the colorful provenance,” the middle-aged customer remarked after hearing about the strange investigation centered around the store’s item.

He attempted to hide his interest in the antique mantle clock, but the shopkeeper recognized an interested buyer when he saw one. The burning level of interest meant there wouldn’t be a discount on this 19th-century find. Now, the antique shop owner only needed to get his expert out the door before he screwed up the sale. It wasn’t unheard of with this expert.

“Thank you very much for your time, Phineas. Do you have a business card? That way, if Mr. Smithson has any questions about the mystery involving his new clock, he can contact you for further details.”

“We don’t use those cards any longer, Mr. Warkentin,” Phineas Farris replied, referring to Busybody, Inc., his old junior high school detective agency. He and his partner, Jake Magnum, had discontinued the brand after another member of their trio, Dusty Pinder, moved away several years ago.

“That feels like an oversight you need to correct, my boy,” the antique dealer commented, shaking his head at the eighteen-year-old. Reaching down, he pulled out a long desk drawer to dig around inside. Once he found the faded, bent card, Mr. Warkentin double-checked the phone number.

"Yes, we still use that one. Um, just leave a message, and I'll get back to you," Phinn said, wondering when he last checked their clubhouse's phone for messages. Mr. Warkentin had called his house directly the previous day. That call had proven to be a stroke of luck, as his mother finally relented on his grounding.

"Thank you, thank you! What a marvelous trip this turned out to be!" the pleased customer exclaimed, vigorously shaking the teen's hand.

“See ya around, Mr. Warkentin,” Phinn responded, uncomfortable shaking a stranger’s hand.

Without waiting for a response, the bespectacled brown-haired teen fled Rusty Trinkets. When it came to providing an opinion or backstory for an item, Phineas preferred dealing with the shady clientele of Castaways and the pawnshop’s even sleazier owner than the chatty, wholesome patrons of Rusty Trinkets. Still, keeping in Warkentin’s good graces was necessary, as they occasionally needed the legitimate business.

Stepping out under the bright sun, Phinn froze momentarily as he took in his surroundings. Squinting up at the sky, the teen used his peripheral vision to scan the downtown street and sidewalks. He took in the passing cars and walking pedestrians. Turning right, Phineas checked for traffic before crossing the side street.

Continuing forward several steps, he stopped in front of a shiny, tinted window of an old brick office building. Using the near mirror-like surface to check his hair, Phinn pulled his glasses off to gauge their cleanliness. Satisfied, he placed them back on before rechecking the window. A nod to himself chose his next stop.

Bypassing the corner crosswalk, Phineas continued down the sidewalk of the main street. Roughly halfway down the block, he abruptly stepped off the curb to enter the usually busy street. Checking for traffic, the teen moved diagonally across the street, pausing once for a car to pass by.

“Stupid kid!”

Ignoring the irate driver or a potential jaywalking charge, Phinn hopped onto a slightly ramped door stoop to enter one of his favorite locations in his hometown of Edgewater. A prominent, regionally known bookstore dating back over half a century, Novel Nebula had new releases and an extensive selection of used books. While prices might be cheaper at Page & Reade, the national chain store located near the highway, Novel Nebula had the dingy, packed, but friendly atmosphere many bookworms preferred.

The cool temperature of the air-conditioned store met Phinn as he opened the second of two doors. A decent-sized space, the front section of Novel Nebula was by far its most open area. Once you entered one of the two main aisles, the store became a maze of bookshelves and tables stacked with any book category imaginable.

“Hey, Phinn,” a seventeen-year-old with short auburn hair and eyeglasses greeted his friend and classmate. “What’s up? Galen’s down in the basement if you’re bored.”

“No time. Watch,” the junior investigator replied, gesturing behind him with his head.

Pleased that Ethan Eldred, not his grandfather, Emmitt, worked the counter on a Monday morning during their summer break, Phinn chose the left-side aisle before making another sharp left turn after only three steps. Quickly climbing a spiral metal staircase, Phinn stopped on the open section of the second floor that looked over the ground floor.

The bell over the door rang as Phinn listened intently.

“Good morning! Can I help you with anything?” Ethan greeted, sounding extra chipper at the person’s appearance.

“No, thank you. I’m merely browsing,” the newcomer replied politely.

Without looking, Phinn heard the person's soft footsteps on the hardwood floor below. With a choice of two main aisles and both halves of the store to choose from, he heard a pause before the person took the left side. Waiting ten seconds, Phinn swiftly moved across the catwalk-like bridge separating the second floor's two front sections until he reached the opposite staircase. Swiftly descending in a spiral fashion, Phinn popped out from behind an old magazine rack.

“Hey, Phinn—”

Phinn cut off Galen Nowicki’s greeting with a throat-slashing gesture to his neck. Ethan’s best friend immediately winced before he searched their surroundings.

“One?” the brainy investigator asked.

“Wow!” Ethan exclaimed, nodding. “Isn’t that–”

He abruptly shut up as Phinn gestured to be quiet and mouthed that they’d talk later.

With a wave, Phinn retraced his steps and departed Novel Nebula. However, once he walked out into the daylight, a luxury sedan approached the curb while slowing down. Although the vehicle featured tinted windows, Phinn shivered as he knew the driver's identity.

“Of course,” the teen detective muttered, quickly walking down the sidewalk in the opposite direction.

Passing one storefront, then another, Phinn abruptly jumped inside the third doorway he passed. Stepping inside an establishment that would’ve fit in a century ago, the casually dressed teenager drew several eyeballs. An elderly man with a tape measure wrapped around his neck might have spoken if not for the packet of needles between his teeth.

“Good morning, Mr. Cembi. No need to worry. I’m not here for a tailoring of my finest. Just passing through,” Phinn greeted, waving to the elderly tailor as he briskly walked deep into the shop.

Bypassing several oversized dressing rooms, Phinn nearly collided with a shocked, somewhat younger version of Mr. Cembi as he entered a private back door. Surprise shifted to recognition before the owner’s sixty-ish son growled.

“You can’t be back here, Farris.”

“Don’t mind me, Junior. I’m almost gone,” Phinn replied, weaving around several shipping crates before entering a short hallway.

“Magnum already left.”

Popping his head back around the corner, Phinn inquired why his best friend and partner had been at the tailor shop.

“Beats me. Dad rechecked his measurements.”

Brushing aside his curiosity, the high school gumshoe pushed the door open to enter the alley. Taking a left, he walked an additional forty feet before crossing a side street to continue down the alley. After another hundred feet or so, Phinn turned right down an alley intersection.

The teen paused to check his buzzing phone. Rolling his eyes, Phinn ignored the question from the annoying wannabe influencer. Instead, he entered the wider alley, but didn’t travel far before he reached a van outside an open loading door. Grabbing the handrail, the teen swung onto a short cement set of stairs near the loading zone.

Walking through a propped-open door, Phinn heard a shot from inside the van. That yell alerted another worker pushing a tall rolling cart of baked goods. Looking over, the worker told the teen he couldn't be in there before ordering him out.

“Don’t worry. I know the owner.”

Walking into a large kitchen, Phinn waved hello at two shocked bakery employees before a third blanched near a huge oven. The man immediately threw his hands out.

“I-I didn’t d-do anything…this time. I-I swear!” the baker protested.

“I’m not here for you,” Phinn reassured before exiting the kitchen to enter the front of the bakery.

Making a beeline for the glass display cases, Phinn stepped around one counter into an area reserved for employees only. Using a piece of wax paper, he grabbed a fresh croissant. Sliding the glass door shut, Phinn continued walking behind the counter, greeting another stunned employee before saying hello to one of the owners.

“Good morning, Ms. Nansen. I’m only purchasing one today.”

"Phineas, you can't help yourself. We have food safety guidelines to–"

“I’ll pay Lizzie on my way out,” Phinn interrupted, fishing into his pocket for the precise amount as he continued moving. “You really should hire help. Liz looks swamped.”

After slapping several bills and coins down on the counter, Phinn cut past the waiting customers before exiting Tummy Tamer. As soon as his feet hit the brick walkway, the teen took a brief moment to decide where to head next in Market Square while munching on his late breakfast.

Market Square sat on the boundary between Edgewater's Old Downtown and the Harbor District. It consisted of three blocks of Franklin Avenue closed to traffic. The decision to close the streets and turn the area into a walking mall had been a **** attempt in the late 1980s to save the remaining downtown businesses. After the shopping mall near the highway on the west side of town opened in the late 1970s, a steady stream of business closings added up to a rash of empty storefronts. The effort to return people and businesses to downtown was ultimately successful, although it took many years.

The torn-up street now featured oversized brick sidewalks, benches, and planters filled with trees and bushes. A dazzling fountain stood at the center of one former intersection. Others featured the city’s Christmas tree and Santa’s Village every winter. Those latter spectacles weren’t around in the summer, but an assortment of kiosks and performers filled the former intersections.

Walking past several stores, Phinn picked The Messy Canvas, an art supply store with a basement and an exit for that level. After using that path, Phinn paused to consider taking a break in Pocketcade, an old arcade and pool hall that had been a favorite growing up. However, the teenager decided to grab a treat and sit down to wait.

Another text message came in. This one demanded to know why Isla Insley was covering Jake’s event. Wanting to avoid another half-dozen or dozen messages, Phinn wrote back that he knew nothing of the influencer’s South High rival’s whereabouts or activities.

Nearly two-thirds through the cup of ice cream he’d purchased from a kiosk, Phinn halted the wooden spoon mid-air as a person stopped beside him. With a head motion in the opposite direction, the junior sleuth slid the spoon between his lips.

“Ah, I began to wonder if I lost you.”

“Hardly. I have a knack for tracking people.”

“I wouldn’t call you a huntress. I’m sitting at one of the market’s main intersections, all out in the open.”

“I didn’t take a shortcut. You stepped in several puddles, flour, and what looked like paint. I followed your footsteps.”

"That's right. Didn't you win a badge for being a manhunter or maneater?" Phinn asked sarcastically. He omitted mentioning the several girls he noticed milling around the market who likely helped reveal his path.

“I earned one for animal tracking.”

“Same thing,” Phinn replied, watching a street magician approach the young pair. A thin smile formed as the performer handed a balloon animal to the stunned person beside him.

"What's this?" the redhead queried once the street performer walked away.

“Apparently, the best weasel he can make,” Phinn chuckled, looking at the oddly shaped balloon. “Oh, well. It’s the thought that counts, isn’t it? Now, where were we?”

“You were mocking my tracking skills,” the young woman reminded.

“No, I mocked your badge-earning skills.”

“So says the kid who couldn’t earn a single one,” the redhead pointed out. “Aren’t you embarrassed for setting Camp Little Weasel’s record for ineptitude?”

“Yes, I’m still haunted by my lack of caring,” Phinn remarked dryly. “Although you’d think they’d give me one for solving the mystery.”

“You had plenty of help,” Leighton Ledford reminded.

“True, but Jake and Dusty are essentially extensions of my mind.”

“I meant the Sasser sisters.”

“Ah, right,” Phinn nodded.

Five years ago, Phinn and his two best friends were sent far from home to a summer camp in the Northwoods for nearly seven weeks. A regular summer experience of his father's childhood, Pamela Farris loved the idea of sending her eldest son up to visit his grandparents near Chicago for a week before starting camp. As kids who enjoyed the outdoors, Jake and Dusty had fun despite issues with other campers.

However, Phinn’s summer appeared to be filled with misery until a mystery developed. Instead of suffering from mosquito bites and annoying fellow campers, the brainy bookworm enjoyed matching wits with another group of junior detectives. The so-called Sassy Girls turned out to be the rare fellow investigators that Phinn respected. Of course, the way they went about investigating hadn’t pleased the camp owners.

One complication in the case had been the young woman standing beside him. Approximately a year older, Leighton had long, wavy, bright copper red hair, blue eyes, and medium-to-large breasts. Unfortunately, while she lived in Chicago, Leighton had a family connection to Edgewater.

“Have you finally returned to gloat over having Camp Little Weasel all to yourself?”

“I did not get you banned!” the redhead insisted. “And I last saw you two summers ago.”

“I was not banned. We were merely asked never to return again,” Phinn clarified.

“Yeah, that’s a ban,” Leighton pointed out.

“Whatever. What brings you here to bother me?”

Suddenly, a second person slid in to stand at Phinn’s other side. This person caused the teen to shiver again in the hot air.

"Brrrr!" Phineas sounded, exaggerating the shiver. Raising his nearly finished cup of ice cream, he said, "Either this gave me a body freeze, or the ice queen of the south side has appeared."

“Is that so, Soon-to-be-Dead Boy Detective?” Paisley Ellison challenged.

The South High ice queen was an ethereal beauty undermined by an arrogant, uptight attitude. She had long, pale blonde hair, blue eyes, and medium-sized breasts. The only thing going for Paisley in Phinn’s mind was that she attended his rival high school rather than his own. She also happened to be the offspring of a relatively wealthy local family and Leighton’s cousin.

"I'm not averse to having a restraining order issued against you," Phinn warned.

“I told you this is a waste of time. Why bother asking the sidekick first? Just find Magnum and get it over with,” Paisley told her cousin.

Phinn smiled as the uppity rich girl probably wouldn’t set foot inside Jake’s current location.

“Look, we need help. Our aunt is mixed up with some strange people,” Leighton began.

“Yvonne has always been weird! She’s into astrology and crystals.”

“Pais, let me explain,” the redhead responded.

"Gladly," the pale blonde responded, actually turning her nose away from the bemused detective.

"Aunt Vonnie is our…my favorite aunt," Leighton stated after checking her cousin's expression. "She's a little quirky. Okay, maybe eccentric, but she's a sweetheart. Unfortunately, her sweetness and innocence attract gold diggers."

“Jean-Paul Flamand! That’s his name! I can’t stand the creep,” Paisley screeched, unable to stay quiet.

“You suddenly don’t like Frenchmen? Oh, no! Did something happen between you and the exchange student from Paris? Did you break up?” Phinn rattled off, acting like a gossip.

“He’s Belgian, not French. Or at least he claims to be,” Paisley explained until she caught Phinn’s smirk. “I’m talking about Flamand, not my boyfriend!”

“Pais, let me handle this. Why…Why don’t you go find something to wear to the beach?” Leighton suggested, gesturing to The Sun Shop.”

Clenching her fists in frustration, the ice queen glared at Phineas before marching off.

“Gawd, you’re getting worse every year,” Leighton commented, shaking her head at Phinn before sitting beside him. “Look, we could use your help. This Flamand guy is up to something. Aunt Vonnie has taken to hosting his other friends or whatever at our family’s summer home.”

“Ask the Sassers. They live near you,” the teen detective suggested. “Or are you worried about Cassidy giving you a bloody nose again?”

“That drama is in the past, and I do get along fine with Camryn. However, they live near me back home, not down here. My aunt lives at our family’s property west of Darlingport. So you and Jake are the closer detectives.”

“Absolutely not!” Phinn exclaimed once he fully realized what she wanted.

“Why not?”

“You have a lot of nerve to ask me that question after what you did to Dusty at Little Weasel!” Phinn spat.

“I apologized and made up with Dusty, and you know that,” Leighton reminded.

“As if saying you’re sorry makes up for it,” Phinn shot back heatedly. If anything riled up the anti-social teen, it was protecting one of his two best friends. “Besides, even if I were willing, there are plenty of cases around here for us to investigate.”

“Oh, really. Like what?” Leighton challenged.

“There are many mysteries afoot,” Phinn declared, attempting to think of one. “There is a report of a weird creature scaring people on the bike trail down by Bentworth College. Or the Coast Guard claims people on boats at sea are filming pornography.”

“Did you overcome your fear of water?”

“That’s none of your business. We’ve also been meaning to re-investigate the rumored hauntings at Melhorn Manor. Since our last time there, ghost hunters have flocked to that old mansion. Not to mention, we need to look more into the gang of the guy I shot the other week–”

“Yep, Dusty was correct. You don’t have a case right now.”

“What? You talked to Dusty?” Phinn questioned.

"Sure. We message each other occasionally," Leighton revealed, smirking at Phinn's horrified expression. "So what do you say? Wanna investigate a guy who claims to be a crystal healing and enhancement expert?"

“Absolutely not!”

“Flamand claims to use crystals for extraordinary powers.”

“No!”

“The guy warns his evil counterpart will arrive soon to cause chaos.”

“I’m not interested,” Phinn declared, despite a flicker of interest appearing. “Why don’t you ask Jake? He’s the lead detective.”

“I’m not a fool, Phineas. Unlike my cousin, I know how your old agency worked. You’re the brains,” Leighton stated, walking away. “I’ll pick you up at seven tomorrow morning.”

---

“Oww!”

"Adam!" the thirtyish woman exclaimed while a group of fifteen and sixteen-year-old girls gasped.

Rubbing his mouth, Jake swiftly hid a small streak of blood on the back of his hand. Rather than draw attention to the embarrassing evidence, the star football player threw out his other hand.

“Why did you punch me?”

“I am so sorry, Jake,” the mortified mother apologized. Turning to look down, she grabbed her son’s arm before scolding him. “That was naughty, Adam. You don’t hit people. Why would you do that?”

“Cause I wanted to see if he’s a ghost like you said. You lied, Mom!” the angry eight-year-old accused.

“I did not. I said that Jake dressed up as a ghost to catch the bad men,” the attractive mother explained. “You saw the pictures from the newspaper. Now, apologize!”

“No!”

“Adam, don’t be a brat. He’s a real-life hero. Apologize!”

“It’s fine. He doesn’t need to say anything, Mrs…uh…” Jake trailed off. While she appeared somewhat familiar, he couldn’t place her name.

"Alice. You can call me Alice," the shapely brunette stated with a winning smile. Reaching forward, she placed her hand lightly on the teen's arm. "Adam isn't usually like this, but he gets cranky when his father is away on business. And my husband often leaves us alone for long stretches."

“Um, I guess I can see how loneliness can do that,” Jake replied, feeling a bit weirded out as the woman’s gaze intensified.

“Yes, I bet you do. You’d never ever leave your woman all by her lonesome, would you?” Alice questioned, her fingers lightly sliding down Jake’s arms until they danced on his hand before pulling away.

“Um, no?”

His response caused Alice’s tongue to lick her lips before retreating. Jake squirmed in his chair as the neglected mother bit her lip while meeting his gaze.

“I want my candy! You promised!” Adam demanded.

“After your behavior? I don’t think so,” his mother responded, turning away sharply from the locally famous teen.

Jake’s eyebrows shot up as the eight-year-old descended into a full-blown temper tantrum. The only positive from the kid dropping to the floor while kicking and screaming came from his mother leaving Jake.

What the hell was that? I feel like a piece of meat out here. Jake leaned back in his seat to pull out a tissue for the drying blood on his hand. Damn, that kid can punch!

“Need some ice? I thought you might,” Yasmine Greco said before Jake could reply. “Only do you need it for your mouth or groin?”

“Don’t start,” the linebacker/tight end told the cheerleader.

“Damn, the cougars sure came out today for their hero cub. That’s at least the third one I saw practically eyefuck you,” Yasmine whispered, leaning in close.

Fighting to hold back a flirty comeback, Jake proved successful as he chanted his ex-girlfriend’s name repeatedly in his mind. A slender incoming high school senior, Yasmine had all the proper curves on her tight, lithe figure. However, as a cheerleader, that made her squadmates with Tara Hartel, Jake’s scary ex. Any hint of interest in a cheerleader might be enough to light the Tara-Bomb’s fuse. It wasn’t really fair in Jake’s opinion, as Tara had started dating a new beau months ago.

Mesmerized by Yasmine’s toned ass departing, Jake shook his head after remembering his whereabouts. Glancing around Durand’s, the stocky detective took stock of the gift store’s sights. Filled with every tourist’s imaginable need, the shop also featured a slew of knick-knacks. As a kid, Jake had been a regular customer, often buying his mother’s gifts at the store locally known as Johnny Durand’s, after its founder.

An old-fashioned lunch counter sat along one side of the overflowing store. Lunch might not be served these days, but snacks, ice cream, malts, and milkshakes were. Stacy Pellinger and her clique of freshmen and sophomores sat on the counter's stools while she watched her long-time crush. The daughter of business owners across the street from Marvin Magnum's sports bar, Stacy might be Jake's number one fan, but she had competition.

After their last case, Jake’s picture appeared several times in the newspaper and on local television stations. The center of attention, because Phinn hated the spotlight, Jake was still surprised when the owner of Durand’s made him an offer. Fifty dollars plus free ice cream or milkshakes for a three-hour meet-and-greet appearance. Stunned, he’d agreed without understanding what the appearance might entail.

So far, the level of interest had surpassed Jake’s minimal expectations by a wide margin. Although he knew most people who stopped by to talk to him were likely already there as customers, Jake could tell a decent number came solely to meet him. The bulk were either parents or grandparents bringing children to meet him, or girls a few years younger than Jake, who whispered and giggled amongst themselves.

Realizing a line had formed, Jake motioned to his assistant to let the next person approach. Fifteen minutes passed as the hero detective signed autographs and took pictures with his fawning admirers. Then, another attractive young mother stepped forward. Jake ran his eyes up and down the auburn-haired beauty until they spotted a shy little girl with light brown hair hiding behind her mother’s legs.

Standing up, Jake approached the pair, then knelt.

“Hello,” the friendly athlete greeted, causing the girl to peek around her mother’s leg before hiding again.

“It’s okay, Robin. Jake won’t hurt you,” the mother said.

“Your mom is right. I won’t hurt you.”

“Are…Are you a ghost?” the six-year-old asked, peeking again.

“I’m definitely not a ghost,” Jake replied, smiling.

“You swear?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” Jake promised, holding his hands up to show he wasn’t a threat.

Although Robin didn’t appear frightened any longer, she still seemed wary.

“Arr, matey! Don’t be afraid. If he be truly a phantom, I’ll hand the bloody scallywag!”

The sudden appearance of a female pirate shocked Jake enough that he fell backwards onto his butt. What the hell? Whoa! She’s hot, Jake noticed. His focus left the sword to scan the long, lean tights-encased legs, bosom-straining corset, and gorgeous face barely impacted by her sneer.

“Sadie Jade!” Robin screamed, clapping several times in joy.

“Sadie Jade?” Jake repeated, watching the pirate copy him to kneel toward the little girl. Only Robin darted out to hug the dangerous-looking swashbuckler.

“Great performance today,” the auburn-haired mother commented.

“Thanks, Ruby. I see you stopped to see a real hero,” Sadie Jade remarked, moving to offer her hand to Jake for help in getting up.

“Sadie’s a real hero!” Robin insisted, showing Jake a dubious expression.

“I’m sorry. Who are you?” the stocky detective questioned.

“Slipping due to fame, aren’t you?” Phinn commented, walking over. “You know Sadie Jade, or I should say that you know Quinn Rusch. Nice outfit.”

“Thanks,” Quinn replied, watching Jake’s shocked expression.

“Quinn? You’re Quinn?”

Phinn shook his head at his partner’s bewilderment. He could partly understand Jake’s confusion. Quinn Rusch was a South High bookworm who usually wore glasses and slightly baggy clothes. Although considered the hot nerd girl around Novel Nebula and Villainville, the football player usually didn’t spend much time at either establishment. Still, Phinn felt disappointed that Jake couldn’t see through the costume’s illusion to recognize an acquaintance.

This can be a teachable moment for him.

“Yes, I am,” Quinn admitted.

“No, you’re Sadie Jade!” Robin insisted, causing Quinn to kneel again.

“Shhh, even Sadie needs a secret identity,” the teenager whispered, causing the six-year-old to admire her with additional awe.

“I…I don’t…How?”

“She’s dressed for those Library Park readings that Zelda organizes in the summer,” Phinn explained to the stammering Jake.

Zelda Imhoff was the assistant head librarian of the Dillingday Library, often providing vital assistance to the boys in their investigations. In her role, she organized community events to inspire children to read. One such event was the summer reading series in Library Park, where the Dillingham was located. Local actors often dressed up as regular characters to help hold the kids’ attention.

“If you’re finished, I’ll escort the wee one to her carriage,” Quinn offered.

“Thanks! I just need to purchase two items,” Ruby responded.

Left alone, Phinn surveyed the setup along with Jake’s slightly younger flock of teenage groupies.

“Should we get some glossy 8x10s made for you to sign next time?” he inquired sarcastically.

“Already written down,” a third voice noted, holding up a small notebook.

Phineas didn’t need to turn around to know that the voice belonged to their neighbor.

“You brought Corky with you?”

“Having him work as my assistant seemed like a job suited for him. He is our–”

“We’re not getting pictures made up for you,” Phinn stated, interrupting Jake.

“Don’t say no yet. Corky has great ideas about expanding our merchandising or fanbase reach,” Jake pointed out.

“I’d worry about how your effort to expand our reach is pissing off Johanna. Are you crazy? Why is Isla covering this event for her pages?” Phinn questioned. “Zay has been blowing up my phone for the last thirty minutes.”

“Whoa, what?! I didn’t ask for her to cover anything. Isla just showed up. It’s a public place,” Jake declared.

"No, it's a private business. You could've asked her to leave, which I immediately did upon entering," Phineas revealed. "Sure, she'll complain online about it, but you still owe Johanna a dinner and date."

“You made that deal with her!”

“And we needed her equipment, didn’t we? We would’ve been shit out of luck without them in the cemetery,” Phinn speculated about their previous case.

“Uh, guys, I think you need the pictures,” the twelve-year-old said, finally drawing Phinn’s attention with the interruption. “The Case of the Phantom Diver is drawing regional, not just local, attention.”

“He’s right,” Jake hurried to agree. “It’s been covered in Anchor Rock and Darlingport.”

“And it’s growing. You guys hit the big time,” Corky announced, pulling out his tablet.

“No! Put that away,” Phinn ordered, spotting the website on the screen.

“Huh? What’s wrong? Oh!” Jake sounded, reaching the same conclusion.

“It’s already linked several of the local articles, and the word is that The Phantom Diver will be the featured story for July’s issue,” Corky revealed, causing Phinn to groan.

“Are we ranked?”

“Jake!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Jake apologized, while gesturing at Corky to add any information he knew.

“I don’t know. The rankings won’t be revealed until the new issue.”

“First off, we don’t care about rankings. We don’t care, Jake,” Phinn insisted, noticing his hemming and hawing. “This isn’t like football.”

“Well, yeah, but–”

“No buts!” Phinn persisted. “Second, you shouldn’t waste money on subscribing to this trash. I’m afraid we’re going to have to notify your parents.”

“My parents renewed my subscription for Christmas,” Corky pointed out, causing Phinn to take off his glasses to pinch his brow. “The Wicked Riddle is the only website or online magazine dedicated to junior investigating. It’s not like you haven’t been mentioned before as a group to watch.”

“No, that was The Crime Confessor. They called us prospects to watch four and a half years ago, right before they went out of business,” Phinn clarified. “The Confessor was a solid publication; The Wicked Riddle is not. It's a trashy tabloid funded by…Do your parents know about the photo spreads?”

Corky’s grimace gave away the truth.

“C’mon, the centerfolds are suggestive, not pornographic. You should’ve seen Venus–”

“How much longer do you need to be here?” Phinn inquired, forcing a subject change.

“About forty minutes,” Jake said, checking the time. “Hey, do you want a milkshake or malt?”

“No, I just had ice…You know what, can you get me a milkshake, Corky?” Phinn asked, seeking a private moment.

The bespectacled sleuth waited for Jake to greet another person before he leaned over.

“We got a problem.”

“Stop it. Corky isn’t going–”

“I’m not talking about Corky. Leighton Ledford is in town.”

“What?!” Jake exclaimed, sitting up straighter.

“She used Paisley’s minions to track me down while I was downtown.”

“Oh, fuck. I just shivered,” Jake admitted, hearing the ice queen’s name.

“I had her hovering over me,” Phinn replied, his tone insisting he had it far worse. “They think a gold digger is after their aunt and want our help.”

“What did you say?”

“What do you think? No fucking way! Not after how they treated Dusty. I might add who also sold us out by telling Leighton we’re not busy.”

"What? Why would Dusty do that or even know we don't have a case? Why are they talking?"

“Don’t worry about that. We'd better watch it. Paisley’s minions are probably searching for you now. She thinks you’re the key rather than me,” Phinn explained. “Not only does your old car stick out like a sore thumb, but one of them has to have heard about this meet-and-greet. Paisley clearly hasn’t yet.”

“Shit,” Jake muttered, suddenly searching the crowd for anyone watching him. Unfortunately, numerous people watched the man of the hour. “What should we do?”

“Hope they don’t find us until you’re done. I’ll think of something while you play celebrity. Now, be quiet around Corky,” Phinn directed as their neighbor returned with a handful of desserts.

---

“But he’s the president of our fan club,” Jake pointed out while they exited his sedan, and Corky hurried down the street to his home.

“Dusty just said that to stop Corky from always following us. We don’t have a fan club,” Phinn reminded. “I’m not dealing with that shit just so you can butter up to his cousin.”

“I’m not using the kid. I like him. And no, that’s what Dusty and I told you about the fan club,” Jake admitted. “We kinda like him running it. It’s nice to be appreciated sometimes. The same with those rankings.”

“Oh, now you want praise from The Wicked Riddle? What’s next, a spot in that dumb tournament?”

“I do like to compete.”

“Never happening.”

Phineas and Jake entered the former's home through the back door into the kitchen. Thirsty from the hot day, Phinn whipped open the fridge to grab two cans of soda. As he popped one open, he heard an odd comment from his mother.

“Phineas doesn’t like the water, but I think he should have a pair of swim trunks.”

“Definitely.”

No, no, no! Phinn screamed internally while mouthing the words at a confused Jake. They nearly knocked each other over while rushing into the dining room. There, Phinn found his mother neatly folding clothes into a suitcase. Observing was a recently seen redhead.

“What the hell?”

“It’s about time, Phinny!” Pamela exclaimed. “But don’t you worry. I already have most of your things packed.”

“What are you doing here?” Phinn growled while Jake couldn’t get his mouth working properly.

“I thought I was meeting you here to discuss the trip with your mother. However, I beat you by a wide margin. I can’t believe you don’t have a driver’s license yet,” Leighton remarked, winking. “I guess you needed to wait for a ride.”

“Yes, that is something we plan to rectify soon. Jake shouldn’t always have to cart you around town,” Pamela admitted before revealing the reason she’d discouraged him from taking a driver’s class. “Still, it’s a better way to keep his meddling in check.”

“I fully understand, Mrs. Farris. That’s why I greatly appreciate your permission. My aunt will be forever grateful once she comes to her senses,” Leighton declared, laying it on quite thick in Phinn’s mind.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! I did not agree to help her, Mom. I turned her down," Phinn explained as Jake observed in silent horror.

“But only because you thought she wouldn’t let you. Great news! You’re no longer grounded,” Leighton cheered.

“I already knew that!” Phinn exclaimed, suddenly worried that his two-week grounding getting cut in half might be a horrible development.

“Don’t worry, Jake. I already talked to Justine, and she agreed. If the Ellisons need your help, we won’t stand in the way. Since this is Esmeralda’s day next door, she’s already packed you a bag,” Pamela revealed, referring to the Magnum family’s part-time housekeeper.

“You called my mom at her office?” Jake questioned in disbelief.

"She was happy I called and agreed that you need time away, too," Pamela recounted.

“We’re not going.”

"Phinny, while I usually discourage your snooping into other people's affairs, this time, you should lend a hand," Pamela said, causing her son to act like she'd grown an extra head.

“Did you know that our moms knew each other?” Leighton inquired, knowing damn well they did because it had been mentioned back in the Camp Little Weasel days.

“We rang in different circles at different schools, but Wanda was always friendly at parties. Plus, your father knew her father’s cousin fairly well while at college,” the meddling mother noted, smiling.

Oh, crap. She’s got one of her ideas brewing here.

“I’ll be sure to tell my parents about your help and kindness once they return from their trip,” Leighton said. “We just need Phinn and Jake to give their opinion on this new beau. Besides, it will be great to spend time with them as a mini-Weasel reunion.”

Jake groaned while wondering how his day had suddenly exploded.

“And Lumlow is such a tiny, isolated town, you can’t possibly get into trouble,” Pamela proclaimed.