Sammy Keyes and the Showdown in Sin City by Wendelin Van Draanen Page A

Grace.’ ”
    “Definitely not.”
    “ ‘Love Me Tender.’ ”
    “Bingo.”
    He lets out a heavy sigh. “I just got a call. There’s been a sighting.”
    “There
has
?”
    “Uh-huh. Inside the Miracle Mile Shops. They’re at Oyster Annie’s having lunch.”
    “Oyster Annie’s?” I was picturing a girl in a big rubber hat and boots. It sounded like the last place on earth my mother would go.
    “Yeah. Now go catch her, would you? The King needs his beauty rest.”
    “Thank you!”
    I click off, and once again I’m so excited that I forget who I’m working with. “There’s been a sighting!”
    “There
has
?” Candi asks all bug-eyed, and even Heather perks up.
    “Do you know where the Miracle Mile Shops are?”
    “Yes!” Candi says. “It’s a giant mall on the Strip.”
    “Well, let’s go!” I tell them. “They’re at Oyster Annie’s.”
    “Oyster Annie’s?” they say with disgust.
    I laugh. “It’s a restaurant.”
    Candi squints at me. “Warren doesn’t eat
oysters
.”
    And I’m so excited that we’ve got a real lead that I joke back with “Probably my mother’s bad influence?” which makes Candi roll her eyes, but a little grin does actually break through.
    But heading back to the car, I start thinking that I really
can’t
picture my mom eating oysters. Or going anywhere … oystery. And then I start worrying that maybe it’s a false sighting. Maybe we should stay and stake out the Marriage Bureau. Or maybe we should split up, with one of us waiting here and the others going to the mall.
    But … who would go where?
    Not an easy thing to figure out when you factor in the possibility of being backstabbed—something Heather’s a master at.
    But before I know it, we’re back in the car, and we’re zooming down a street, blasting past giant billboards about bail bonds and half-price lawyers.
    “Look at all these stupid wedding chapels,” Heather grumbles after we’ve gone a few blocks. And she’s right—every other building is a wedding chapel. And since I’m kinda leaning forward again so I can see better, it’s easy for her to turn and tell me, “Getting married here is cheap. And tacky.”
    “And legally binding,” Candi says, stepping on the gas.
    I just sit there for a minute, and finally I say, “What I don’t get—”
    “Don’t talk to us, you get
that
?” Heather snaps, turning all the way around in her seat.
    “Fine!” I tell her, sitting back. “I was just feeling sorry for your mom, okay?”
    Candi eyes me in the mirror. “Why’s that?”
    “ ’Cause you’re obviously still in love with him.”
    “You are
so
out of line,” Heather says. “And stupid!” She looks at her mom. “Can you
believe
her?” She vultures around at me. “Now stop talking to us!”
    “Fine.” Then I mutter, “But your mom’s still in love with your dad.”
    “Stop it!”
    “Fine.”
    But even when I’m quiet, Heather can’t seem to let it go. She stays vultured and finally points at me and says, “Stop it!”
    “What? What am I doing?”
    “Stop thinking that!”
    “What am I thinking?!”
    “You know what you’re thinking and so do I, so stop it! You don’t know anything about anything!”
    Now, this whole time Candi hasn’t said a word, but she has glanced back at me in the mirror.
    Like six times.
    Which is a lot, considering how she’s darting through traffic.
    But what’s really weird about the whole situation is that what I said seems to be news to Candi, too. Like she really thought she was here to stop her ex from marrying the mother of her daughter’s archenemy for her
daughter’s
sake.
    And then we’re squealing through a parking structure, going up, up, up, until Candi finds a slot she likes and nose-dives into it. “Let’s go, girls,” she says, flying out of the car and over to the elevators.
    The Miracle Mile Mall is huge—like an enclosed little city of shops. But Candi’s jaw’s not dropped like mine. She beelines