Nickel Bay Nick by Dean Pitchford Page B

softly.
    â€œForgive me, Sam, if I don’t throw a parade every time you do the work you’ve been assigned. This morning, you did your job. No more, no less. When you go above and beyond what’s asked of you—if, for instance, you ever demonstrate that you’ve mastered the skill of pickpocketing—then Dr. Sakata and I will be the first to applaud.”
    I chew on my bottom lip, still steaming, but Mr. Wells changes the subject abruptly.
    â€œAll right, then! Tomorrow’s the fourth day of Christmas. And that’s
especially
important because it’s what?” He looks to me.
    I answer automatically, “The return of Nickel Bay Nick.”
    â€œPrecisely. Now, my housekeeper comes tomorrow, and I don’t want to take the chance of her seeing you here. So . . .” He rolls back to the worktable and indicates the store-bought items in front of us. “You’ll take these with you this evening and leave from your home in the morning. Do you understand?”
    I gulp. “You’re trusting me with all this money overnight?”
    He looks me in the eye. “I will trust you until you give me a reason not to. Do I make myself clear?”
    And though my stomach tightens at the thought of all those Nickel Bay Bucks in my care, I meet his gaze and answer, “Crystal.”
    â€œGood.” Mr. Wells pulls on his cotton gloves, I slip on my own winter gloves, and together we carefully load my backpack with more money than I have ever dreamed of having in my possession.

THE RETURN OF A LEGEND
    December 28–29
    The second I walk in the front door, my cell phone goes off. It’s Jaxon. “What do you want?” I bark as I remove my Rolex and hide it—along with my full knapsack—in the back of my bedroom closet.
    â€œYo, yo, Samwich!” Jaxon starts in, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. “Ivy and me, we’re gonna crash the new three-D movie at the Angel Street Cinema tonight. Wanna come be our lookout?”
    â€œBe your own lookouts,” I snarl.
    That makes Jaxon laugh. “Whoa! You’re not upset about that thing with the hair dye, are you?”
    â€œI had to buy a second box and pay for it myself!”
    â€œSo, sue me!” Jaxon squeals. “My dad’s a lawyer, and he’ll kick your butt all over the courtroom.”
    People in Nickel Bay whisper that Jaxon’s dad got famous and rich by keeping a lot of bad guys out of jail. Jaxon loves to drop that fact about a jillion times in every conversation.
    Just then, I hear Dad come through the front door. I close my closet and say, “I gotta go,” as I snap the phone shut.
    â€œHey, Sam,” Dad calls. “How was your day?”
    â€œOh, y’know,” I yell back.
    He leans into my bedroom. “No, I
don’t
know. That’s why I’m asking.”
    â€œWell, let me tell you, then,” I say, folding my arms. “Today I moved and alphabetized all the files starting with
F
and
G.
The
F
boxes were a real snooze, but, man! Those
G
files were mind-blowing!” I smile sweetly. “And how was your day?”
    â€œNo need to be snide,” Dad grumbles as he walks away.
    That night we eat mac ’n’ cheese without saying a word. After I take my seven-thirty pill, I hang out in my bedroom, pretending to read, but my gaze keeps drifting to my closet door. I’m so distracted that when Dad pops in just before bedtime and says, “Don’t forget . . .” I jump about three feet out of my chair.
    â€œJeez!” I yelp.
    â€œSorry,” Dad says. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
    â€œYou didn’t,” I sniff. “What did you say?”
    â€œDon’t forget,” he says, “we’ve got Mrs. Atkinson tomorrow.”
    â€œI didn’t forget.”
    The truth is, I had totally forgotten. The same way I forgot our last appointment in early