Long Shot - Stine Megan - Страница 2

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“Huh?” Pete asked. “Since when?”

“Amanda was just trying to make Carl Thames jealous,” Bob explained. “And since Carl is the dumbest guy in school, she figured the best way to make him mad was to flirt with the smartest guy in school.”

“Oh,” Pete said, and laughed. “Did it work?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Jupiter said, holding his stomach and wincing.

“You’re lucky Carl just hit you in the gut,” Bob said. “I thought he was going to rip your head off and go bowling with it.”

Jupe sighed and changed the subject. “Who was that guy in the purple jacket?” he asked Pete.

“Coach Duggan, the basketball coach at Shoremont College.”

“Did he come to say how totally awesome you were tonight? Because you were,” Bob said, imitating a jump shot with an imaginary ball. “You won the game and made Terry Nolan look like a total geek all in one radical play.”

Pete smiled as he remembered the final seconds of the game. “Yeah, I was pretty good, wasn’t I? And are you guys ready for this? Coach Duggan just offered me a full scholarship to play at Shoremont College. He said I could play as a freshman.”

“Wow!” Bob said. “That’s incredible!”

Jupe pinched his lower lip in thought. “A full college scholarship just to play basketball?” he said. “To throw leap shots and make layouts?”

“To shoot jump shots and make lay-ups,” Pete corrected his friend.

“Okay, so I don’t know everything about sports,” Jupe said. “But I do know one thing. If one school thinks you’re that good, Pete, other schools will too. I’d advise against making a hasty decision.”

“Other schools?” Pete repeated. “Jupe, I can’t handle this. I’m going to take a shower and meet Kelly. See you guys tomorrow.”

In the locker room all by himself, with the cold water beating on him, Pete replayed the game in his head. And he thought about what Jupe had said. Other teams interested in him? How many? Five? Ten? Wouldn’t it be unbelievable if there was a bidding war for Pete Crenshaw, basketball superstar?

When he was dry, cool, and dressed, Pete stepped out of the locker room.

“Pete!” shouted Kelly Madigan, running up and throwing her arms around his neck.

“Hey, babe,” Pete said, giving his girlfriend a hug.

“Do you know how fabulous you were tonight, Pete? On a scale of one to ten, you were a twenty!”

Pete smiled. “Come on, Kelly. Let’s drive. I’ve got something to tell you.”

Pete wanted to get behind the wheel of his car because that’s where he was always happiest around automobiles. When he wasn’t solving mysteries with Jupe and Bob, Pete bought old cars, fixed them up, and then usually sold them at a profit.

On the way to the parking lot, Pete told Kelly about the college coach who was waiting for him after the game. He was just finishing the story when they reached Pete’s latest car, a twenty-year-old Cadillac Fleetwood. Pete had only had it a month, but Kelly had already nicknamed it the Ark. It was badly in need of repairs, which Pete couldn’t afford to make. He had picked the car up as another one of his $700 if-you-can-make-it-start, you-can-drive-it-away specials.

Pete opened the door for Kelly — not just to be a gentleman but because he was the only person strong enough to open the passenger door. When he got in on the driver’s side, Kelly handed him an envelope.

“Hey, what’s this? It’s not my birthday, babe,” Pete said.

Kelly shook her head. “I found it on the seat.”

Pete snapped on the overhead light and looked at the envelope. It hadn’t been there before the game.

On the front it had Pete Crenshaw typed in capital letters. Pete tore open one end of the envelope and shook the contents out.

“What?” Pete and Kelly gasped at the same time.

Hundred-dollar bills tumbled out of the envelope. A lot of them. As Kelly scooped up the money and counted it, Pete read the note that fell into his lap. It said:

“Shoremont needs you. Play basketball for Shoremont and you’ll be rewarded beyond your dreams. This is only the beginning.”

“Pete,” Kelly said. Her face was confused and a little scared. “This is three thousand dollars!”

For a long time Pete and Kelly sat in Pete’s old Cadillac. They stared silently at the $3000, all crisp new hundreds, fanned in Kelly’s hands.

“What does it mean?” Kelly finally asked.

In answer, Pete started the car.

“Where are we going?” Kelly said.

“I’ve gotta tell Jupe and Bob,” was Pete’s answer. He floored the accelerator, and after a pause the big car lurched and chugged out of the parking lot. Pete gunned it, heading for Titus Jones’s salvage yard.

Jupiter Jones lived with his Uncle Titus and Aunt Mathilda in a house across the street from their large junkyard. At one side of the yard was an abandoned trailer that years ago Jupe had taken over as The Three Investigators’ headquarters. Now that the Three Investigators were in high school, though, the guys usually hung out in Jupe’s electronics workshop, which adjoined the trailer. Bob called it Dr. Frankenstein’s lab because Jupe brought old electronic equipment back to life in there.

Pete used a remote-control unit to open the big iron gates at the front of the junkyard. His old Cadillac rolled in and skidded to a stop. The engine died with a coughing fit.

Pete and Kelly opened the door to the workshop and found Bob sitting on a stool, listening to blaring music and reading Billboard magazine. Jupe was busy at his workbench.

“Hey! Listen!” Bob said when he saw Pete and Kelly. “This is the new band I might be managing!” Bob worked for Sax Sendler’s Rock-Plus talent agency after school and on weekends. It often kept him too busy to work on mysteries when they came along. “What do you think?” Bob asked, nodding toward the speakers.

But before Pete could answer, Jupe snapped off the music. “They didn’t come here to listen to music. Something’s obviously the matter.”

 “How can you tell?” Kelly asked.

“Because Pete walked in holding your hand, which he doesn’t do here in the office. And from the whiteness of his knuckles, I know he’s gripping it very tightly.”

“Jupe’s recently become an expert on holding hands,” Bob joked.

Pete smiled. He felt better already. Jupe always figured out everything. “Look at this, you guys,” Pete said, throwing the envelope, the typewritten note, and the money on the table.

Bob and Jupe zeroed in on the cash.

“Wow!” Bob whistled as Jupe dropped the tiny screwdriver in his hands. Jupe picked up the note, holding it by the corner.

“Too bad you didn’t check for fingerprints before you opened it,” he said.

Kelly laughed. “Jupe only you would check for fingerprints before opening your mail.”

Jupe didn’t laugh. Instead he held the note up to the light and examined the paper’s watermark.

“Do you guys know what I could do with three thousand dollars?” Pete said, beginning to pace and talk. “I could practically restore my car to mint condition. I mean, the rear suspension is shot, I gotta grind the valves — ”

“Pete,” Kelly interrupted him with a push. “That money is a bribe. You can’t take it.”

“Hey, I know that, babe,” Pete said. “But you can’t shoot me for thinking about it.”

“Man,” Bob said, “you read about sports recruitment scandals at colleges, but you don’t think it’s going to happen here. Not in Rocky Beach, California.”

“So what do you think, Jupe?” Pete asked. “It was probably Coach Duggan from Shoremont, huh? I mean, one minute the guy is saying ‘come play for me,’ and twenty minutes later I come out and my car looks like a cash machine.”

Jupe put the note down. “Did Coach Duggan say anything to you about giving you money or leaving money for you? Did he look like he wanted to hand you any money?”

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