The Bungled Bike Burglaries (The Gabby St. Claire Diaries Book 3) by Barritt Christy & Applebee Kathy

Author:Barritt, Christy & Applebee, Kathy [Barritt, Christy]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: River Heights
Published: 2014-07-31T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 20

Pete’s bike was chained to the street sign out front, the chain lock run through two front tires. And the second bike wasn’t mine.

Did it belong to Howie’s sister, Tyasia, the girl with braids and purple beads?

I felt as awful as if I’d seen him holding hands or kissing someone else. I’d thought locking our bikes together was not just romantic but an exclusive “us” thing. Me and Pete. Not Pete and whoever.

It had to be Tyasia’s bike.

They were meeting here, behind my back.

Since Pete had never had detention, he probably was unaware it was closed on Fridays. He thought I would never find out.

Curiosity, outrage, and a cold, knifelike emotion I had no name for slashed across my heart. I started to blink and realized I was fighting back tears. I felt exposed, like a humongous red, flashing neon arrow was pointing at me, telling the world: look at the dummy.

I, Gabby St. Claire, was going to get to the bottom of this. No matter what it cost me.

I chained up my bike around the corner, where it couldn’t be spotted from Page Turner’s. Casually and cautiously I approached the used bookstore, staying close to the walls of the nearby businesses so I couldn’t be seen from inside. My heart was thudding, but I didn’t know if it was from the anxiety of what I’d seen or what I was doing.

I would not jump to the conclusion that it was Pete’s bike without proof. Solid proof from a close examination. A covert and undercover exam.

When I got to the corner of the store’s front window, I squatted down like cops do on TV shows and eased just my eyes over the edge to peer inside. A quick scan turned up no familiar faces, so I stood and scouted more thoroughly, keeping half of my face and body out of sight.

College Guy was at the register checking out a mom and her three preschoolers, but no one else was in sight. I stood on tiptoe to get a final look at the comic book section and satisfied myself Pete was nowhere to be seen.

While the coast was clear, I scurried to the two bicycles to get a quick peek. The bikes were parked so close together they were touching. Glancing left and right one more time, I squatted down so that the bikes would partially shield me from view if anyone looked out the store windows.

Pete had a blue 820 hardtail. This bike was a blue 820 hardtail.

I gritted my teeth.

Pete’s bike had a red chain lock. So did this one.

A squiggle of sour taste crawled through my mouth.

Pete’s bike had a couple of dings on the front fork. This one had dings in the same area. My stomach knotted up.

Whoever had chained these up had used the same MO—cop talk for same method. My vision blurred, and for a moment, the chain resembled a red cobra preparing to strike. I blinked and the chain reappeared, although my heart felt like it had been pierced by fangs.

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