I took my binoculars out and watched idly as the postman made his rounds along Maple Street. Miss Marple, who had serious postman radar, knew he was on his way even without binoculars. She woofed and ran downstairs to sit by the door as he came up the front path. Another woof announced that our mail had whooshed through the slot and landed on the entry hall rug.
“Truly!” my mother called a few moments later. “You’ve got mail!”
I never got mail, unless it was my birthday, which it wasn’t. Puzzled, I went downstairs where I found a postcard and a letter waiting for me. The postcard was from Glacier National Park, where Zadie had somehow gotten wind of The Pirates of Penzance. “Break a leg—or a tail!” she’d written on the back, which I knew from the fountain of knowledge that was Calhoun was theater-speak for “good luck.”
The letter was from Delphine.
Dear Grania,
I did it! I signed a lease on a restaurant space and will be opening a café in Brewster this fall! I’m calling it Mermaid Crossing. My mother is trying to get Carson Dawson to feature me on Hello, Boston! Fingers and flukes crossed! I hope you’re having a great summer, and that you come visit next time you’re on the Cape. I’ll make Mermaid Chip Cookies just for you.
Love,
Delphine
PS How is the shimmertail doing?
I tossed the letter onto my bed. Hanging in the back of my closet, I thought. I wasn’t looking forward to wearing the tail—or the clamshell bra—again in public.
Later, at dinner, I stared glumly at the red-circled dates on our kitchen calendar. We had our next-to-last rehearsal tonight before the sneak preview of The Pirates of Penzance at Camp Lovejoy. After that, it was just ten days until opening night, when I’d have to watch Calhoun kiss Cha Cha Abramowitz.
Hatcher was working for Lobster Bob again, and Danny was at the movies with his girlfriend, so it was just my parents and me at the table. My father basically pretended I wasn’t there. He read the newspaper while he ate, and my mother’s few attempts at conversation fizzled.
“Are you going to drive her to rehearsal tonight, J. T., or should I?” she asked finally.
My father grunted.
“How about we both take her?” my mother suggested. “We’ll drop her off, then swing by the General Store for ice cream. It seems to me you could use some cheering up.”
My father grunted again, but it was an “okay, fine” kind of grunt. I slanted him a glance. Was it possible there was a thaw in the ice?
“We’ll be back promptly at nine to pick you up,” my father told me as they dropped me off at the Grange. “No dawdling.”
“Yes, sir.”
Inside, I discovered that Elmer and Belinda had been busy. The set was nearly done! The two of them had stopped by for a couple of hours earlier in the day to finish painting the black-and-white-checkerboard pattern on the floor covering. It was almost dry.
“What do you think?” asked Belinda.
“I think it looks awesome!”
She looked pleased.
The ROCKIN’ MERMAID sign was done too, so I turned my attention to putting the finishing touches on the mural. I still had a trio of larger-than-life sundaes to complete. As I painted, I hummed along with the cast, who were hard at work practicing the songs that they were scheduled to sing at tomorrow’s sneak preview performance.
During the snack break—lemonade and Dr. Calhoun’s homemade cowboy cookies—I had a few minutes to catch up with my friends. There’d been no new developments in the missing trophy case. The photos they’d been circulating around town had brought nothing but blank stares.
“And there’s more bad news,” said Cha Cha. “We saw Amanda Appleton heading out of town toward the lake again this morning with her kayak.”
If Dr. Appleton found the treasure before we did, I’d never forgive myself! It was my own dumb fault that she had such a big head start on us, though. If it hadn’t been for my pigheadedness in disobeying my father, I might have been free to rejoin the Pumpkin Falls Private Eyes by now.
I returned to my stage crew chores feeling discouraged.
An hour later, Belinda declared the paint on the floor dry enough to finish putting the set together. While Bud and Lucas nailed my ROCKIN’ MERMAID sign over the fake door at the back of the stage, Belinda corralled Augustus into helping Elmer move the diner booths and jukebox and red Coca-Cola machine into place.
“Now this,” said Belinda when we were done, “is what I call a showstopper!”
“Indeed,” Augustus agreed, slipping an arm around her waist.
“All we need are some smaller props on the shelves and counters,” she continued. “Plates, glasses, sundae dishes, that kind of thing. Maybe an old-fashioned milkshake mixer. Elmer!”
Elmer cupped his hand behind his ear.
“Do you have anything that could go on the shelves?”
“WHAT’S THAT ABOUT ELVES?”
“SHELVES, ELMER, SHELVES!” Belinda repeated. “WE NEED STUFF TO DISPLAY ON THE SHELVES!”
“YOU DON’T HAVE TO YELL! I’LL CHECK MY BARN WHEN I GET HOME.”
“Gather round, people!” Calhoun’s father called a few minutes later. “Our sneak preview performance is tomorrow. Since it’s a Saturday, we’ll be able to squeeze in a run-through first thing in the morning. Let’s plan to meet back here at the Grange at nine a.m. sharp, okay?” He turned around and waved an arm grandly at the stage. “And how about a big round of applause for the stage crew for bringing our marvelous malt shop to life!”
The hall burst into cheers, and Belinda and Bud and Elmer and Lucas and I all took a bow.
Belinda crossed to the jukebox and punched
