Bob’s mother told them Bob was working at his job at Rock-Plus talent agency, so they called there. They got the agency’s answering machine. For a few seconds all they could hear was loud rock music. Then Bob’s voice, straining to be heard over the beat, told them to leave a message.
“He’s probably out looking for some band’s drummer,” Pete said. “He says all drummers are crazy.”
“We’ll try again later,” Jupiter said. “Right now, we’d better go and talk to Aunt Mathilda about Ty.”
They headed across the yard to the office. Aunt Mathilda looked up anxiously as they entered the crowded little cabin.
“Where’s Ty?” she asked.
“They took him downtown to be booked, Aunt M,” Jupiter answered.
He and Pete described what had happened at the bodega — except Jupiter’s judo triumph.
“Then he did steal that car!” she exclaimed angrily.
“We don’t think so,” Jupiter said. “We think Torres is lying. We have to get Ty out of jail so he can help us prove it. He’s the only one who can identify Tiburon. Will you call your lawyer, Aunt Mathilda?”
She shook her head. “Not yet, Jupiter. I mean, what do we really know about Ty? Is he even my cousin? Before I do anything else, I’m going to call Cousin Amy in Babylon and check on his story.”
“Hurry, Aunt M, or the trail could get cold,” Jupiter urged. “We’ll be out in my workshop.”
They headed back across the yard to the workshop Jupiter had always had in a corner of the salvage yard, next to the HQ trailer. But now it was roofed over and expanded into a complete electronics shop. Jupiter had installed an extension telephone from the trailer, put a satellite dish antenna on the roof, and crammed the shop with all the detective equipment he’d built and bought.
“Let’s try Bob again,” he said as they got to the workshop.
“Let’s not,” Pete said. “Look!”
An ancient red Volkswagen bug wheeled into the yard. A pair of girl’s legs stuck out the passenger window. The bug was followed by a shiny new VW Rabbit convertible with two more teenage girls in it.
One of the girls in the Rabbit was sitting on the back of the front seat, waving a beach towel. Both girls scrambled out and ran to the bug as it stopped near the workshop.
Bob Andrews stepped out of the driver’s side of the bug and waved to Jupiter and Pete. Three girls in shorts and halter tops poured out of the passenger side of the ancient VW.
“We’re setting up a beach party, guys,” Bob said, the girls trooping behind him. “Get your jams and let’s go.”
“Beach party?” Jupiter stared at the five girls crowding around Bob.
“Your friend’s cute, Bob,” the shortest of the girls said. She moved closer to Jupiter. A bare five feet two, even with small heels on her sandals, she was slim and perky. She had short blond hair and wide blue eyes that smiled at Jupiter.
Jupiter, five feet eight and a whole three quarters of an inch tall, liked short girls most of all. But he always turned beet red when one smiled at him. “I–I — ”
“I’ve got a karate class today, Bob,” Pete said. “Anyway, you know Kelly hates big gangs at the beach.”
“It’s spring break, Pete. You can skip karate. We go to the same class, remember?” Bob laughed. “Come on, tell Kelly you’re going to do something you want to do for once. When she gets there, she’ll love it.”
“It’ll be so much fun,” the short girl said, still smiling up at Jupiter. “With your friends and all.”
Jupiter turned from red to white. “I… we… I mean — ” He gulped hard. “I mean, Bob, we’ve got a new case! The police think Aunt Mathilda’s cousin Ty is a car thief. They’ve arrested him and put him in jail. We’ve got to find the real thieves and get him out.”
“A case?” Bob’s eyes lighted up. “Car thieves?”
“Aunt Mathilda’s lawyer will get Ty out of jail,” Jupiter continued. “Then we’ll investigate Ty’s whole story.”
“Story?” Bob said.
“Unless Ty turns out to be a fake, Jupe,” Pete said. “I mean, maybe he’s not even your cousin.”
“Fake?” Bob cried. “Story? Is someone going to tell me the whole thing or what?”
“Gosh,” Pete said innocently, “what about your big beach party?”
A tall redhead who’d been with Bob in the bug and stood closest to him now said, “Bob, are we going?”
“The guys have a case, Lisa,” Bob said.
“Are we having a beach party or not?” another girl said.
The short girl spoke to Jupiter. “Don’t you want to go to the beach with us?”
“We… we… have to help my cousin,” Jupiter stammered. “Maybe later we can… ”
“Jupiter’s right, girls,” Bob said. “We’ll do the beach party tomorrow, okay? I’ve got to help out my friends right now. We’re a team of investigators.”
“We came in your car, Bob,” Lisa complained. “How do we get back to the coffee shop?”
“Karen has room for you all,” Bob said. “I’ll see you all later. Okay, Lisa?”
The girls weren’t happy. Bob walked them back to the Rabbit convertible and waved to them as they drove off. Four of the girls waved back. Only the tall redhead, Lisa, seemed really annoyed. Bob hurried back to Pete and Jupiter.
“Okay, let’s hear it, and this better be one real humdinger of a case,” he said. “Those girls’re all mad at me now, especially Lisa.”
Lean and handsome in khakis and a bright yellow polo shirt, Bob had obviously come from his job at Rock- Plus, Inc.
“You’re sure you don’t have to get back to work?” Pete said. “On your way to the beach, I mean.”
Ever since he’d quit his part-time job at the library, exchanged his glasses for contact lenses, and found the job with Saxon Sendler’s talent agency, Bob had been too busy juggling work and his social life to hang around the salvage yard. That really annoyed Pete, and the two often quarreled about it. Jupiter had to be the peacemaker to keep the team working.
“Your mother told us you were at work,” Jupe added quickly.
“I was,” Bob replied. “But Sax had to go to L.A. for the rest of the day and didn’t need me. I stopped at the coffee shop and ran into the girls. Now, come on, tell me what’s going on.”
Jupiter filled Bob in on what had happened, including Ty’s story of how he happened to be driving the Mercedes when he had obviously hitchhiked across the country and didn’t even have money for a cheap motel.
“It is a pretty lame story,” Jupiter admitted. “But he couldn’t have made up a name like Tiburon. Tiburon means ‘shark’ in Spanish. Now who would have a name like Tiburon?”
“Maybe the guy knew the car was stolen and disguised his real name,” Pete suggested.
“Well, I don’t know,” Bob said. “There’s a guy right here in Rocky Beach named Tiburon. El Tiburon and the Piranhas!”
Jupiter and Pete stared at their partner. “Who, or what,” Jupiter demanded, “is El Tiburon and the Piranhas?”
“Not is,” Bob said, “are. There’re five of them. A Latino La Bamba band that plays a lot of salsa but some regular rock, too. El Tiburon is the lead guitar and singer. They’ve got another guitar, a bass, a drummer, and a keyboard.”
“One of your boss’s bands?” Pete asked.
Bob shook his head. “Jake Hatch, Sax’s major competitor around town, handles them. Sax thinks they’re terrible, but they get a lot of work playing small clubs and private parties. They also do relief band gigs and backups, especially in the Latino clubs.”
“Are any of them older guys?” Pete asked. He described Joe Torres from the bodega.
“No, they’re all pretty young. El Tiburon’s probably the oldest, and he’s only maybe twenty-two or —
