I So Don't Do Mysteries by Barrie Summy Page B

pass wooden
fruit-and-vegetable stands and signs for an ostrich farm. The closer we get to the Park, the more
all-business Kendra gets. She practices parts of her speech out loud. I learn that rhino horns are worth
a lot on the black market. People buy them for dagger horns and quack medicines. Kendra’s
emotional and angry when she says this part.
    She’s very single-minded when it comes to the rhinos. Seems like
Damon’s very single-minded about his movie. Too bad they aren’t single-minded about
the same thing.
    We turn up the drive to the Park, and Kendra pulls into a spot in the parking lot. Then
we hurry up the hill to the entrance, where she flashes her ID and I hand over one of the free passes.
Next we hustle along until we reach what looks like a small African village with a little picnic area and a
bunch of grass-roofed buildings. By the wooden signs I can tell they’re restaurants and gift
shops.
    â€œThis is Nairobi Village, where the ceremony will be. I better check in.”
Kendra glances around. “Let’s get you settled in a front-row seat.”
    I don’t think staying for the ceremony is a good plan for me. No, I definitely
need to poke around the Park. And buy a coffee to call my mother with. “I’m going to
look around first.”
    â€œWell, okay, but don’t take too long, or you’ll miss the
beginning of the ceremony,” Kendra says. “I’ll be done in a couple of hours.
Do you need a ride back to Coronado?”
    â€œDefinitely.”
    She flips her wrist to see her watch. “See you after the speech. Let’s
meet at the picnic area.” And she takes off.
    I wait till she’s out of sight before heading over to one of the little hut places for
coffee. When I get to the front of the line, I ask, “What’s your largest
size?”
    The woman, decked out in the same unattractive safari outfit as Kendra, holds up a
Styrofoam cup.
    I frown. I mean, we’re many miles away from downtown San Diego. I
don’t see how my mother could find me from that cup. “Nothing bigger?”
    Safari Waitress frowns. “It’s a large. Twenty ounces.”
    I look at the stuff displayed around her window. “How about the bucket for the
kid’s meal?”
    â€œYou want me to fill the children’s meal container with coffee?”
From her tone, you’d think I asked her to spend the night in the tiger exhibit. With hunks of
raw steak as a pillow. “That’s a lot of coffee.”
    I shrug. “That’s how I roll.”
    She shakes her head like it’s all too bizarre. “I don’t have a lid
that’ll fit.”
    â€œNo problem. I’m extremely coordinated.” I smile wide.
“And could ya make it strong? No milk or whipped cream or sugar.”
    Across her little ledge, Safari Waitress passes me the bucket of coffee, still shaking her
head. “Be careful. It’s hot.”
    â€œWhich way are the rhinos?” I grip the flimsy handle with both
hands.
    â€œThe rhino exhibit’s quite a walk from here. You’d be better off
taking the monorail.” She frowns. “After you finish your coffee. No drinks allowed on
the train.”
    â€œOkay.” I’m all noncommittal.
    Clutching the bucket to my stomach and trying not to slosh, I lurch in the direction she
indicated. This sucker is heavy. I hope my mom shows up soon. Before my arms fall off.
    Suddenly, bobbing in the middle of the crowd up ahead, I spy a familiar head of orange
orangutan hair.
    The familiar head of Monkey Man!

It’s detecting time. An eye on Monkey Man, I cram
on my floppy hat and grasp tight with numb fingers to the bucket of coffee.
    I fight my way through the people until only a few families separate us. Not easy while
juggling a gazillion gallons of steaming caffeine. When Monkey Man joins the monorail line, I drop back
and hide behind a