Free Fudging the Books by Daryl Wood Gerber Page B

your theories if I were you.”
    “My—” I cocked my head. “Dad, they’re your theories. Why don’t you tell her?”
    “And incur her wrath for sticking my nose in where it doesn’t belong? Not on a bet.” My father laughed heartily. Usually he had a reserved laugh closer to a snicker. Perhaps Lola, with her lusty laugh, was rubbing off on him. Yay! “Please, if you see any of Alison’s family, pay my respects. Now”—he cleared his throat and struck a pose—“I’ll be off to work, mateys.”
    “Not you, too, with the pirate-ese,” Aunt Vera said.
    “Aye, ’tis Pirate Week, sister. I’ve got my . . . me . . . yes,
me
chores mapped out.” My father unfurled the tube of paper he was holding. It looked like a pirate’s map. X marked the spot at the rear of the shop. “I’ll start with the squeaky door.” He stopped chortling as he disappeared through the break in the drapes and muttered under his breath, “What is this world coming to?”
    “Jenna, dear.” Aunt Vera ambled from behind the counter. “Even if your father won’t, I am going to talk to Cinnamon. While I’m gone, why don’t you spruce up the window display?”
    “Is something wrong with it?”
    “I’d like the sign reading
Children’s Pirate Day
to be bigger. I’ve had a few parents calling about the event, but not as many as I expected. It is being held tomorrow, after all.” She wiggled her fingers in the direction of the display. “And take a look at the fresh load of books we received in this morning’s shipment.
Pirate Boy
and
Pirate Pete
seem awfully cute. The artwork in both is terrific. They’d be charming in the display. Perhaps add a couple more chocolate cookbooks, too.”
    I winked at her. “I’m on it.” My aunt had brought me in to be the marketing brain of the operation, but she had been adding her two cents more often. “By the way, did you see the
Luscious Chocolate Desserts
cookbook?”
    “I did.”
    “Did you peek inside?”
    “How could I resist? You know what a fool I am for agood layer cake.” Aunt Vera gathered her purse, left her turban, and headed to the exit. She paused short of the door. “Silly me. I almost forgot.” She dug into her purse and pulled out bags of foil-wrapped chocolate coins. “I picked these up yesterday.” She flung them at me. “Yo ho!”
    I caught them and flashed on last night’s thievery. “Aunt Vera, wait. Have you heard anything from the mayor about the missing pot of doubloons?”
    “Not a word. The playhouse people are quite distraught.” The Theater on The Pier had put the pot of doubloons on display. “But don’t worry your head about it. Mayor Zeller will set things right. I’m off.”
    She exited, and Tito Martinez swaggered into the shop, looking tanned and sporty in a fedora, plaid jacket, pale yellow shirt, and jeans. I was surprised he wasn’t wearing pirate gear. Given his flair for the dramatic, he seemed like a perfect candidate.
    Tito stopped next to the vintage table and whipped off his fedora. “
Hola
, Jenna. Forgive me for listening in, but I know something about the missing pot.”
    “I heard the photographs of the pot on Mrs. McCartney’s porch went viral online.”
    “
Sí. Sí
.” Tito scanned the area, obviously on the hunt for Bailey. “There have been two other sightings. One on the front steps of the fire station.”
    “The fire station?”
    “This time the note read:
Help!
”
    “Did the thief create the note using cutout letters from magazines?”
    Tito nodded. “He also erected a fake blaze using something that looked like opaque orange crinkly paper. Quite elaborate.”
    “And the third sighting?” I asked.
    “The pot was photographed hanging from a rooftop. Think of it. Three sightings, all in the same night. What a feat.”
    What a fiasco
, I thought.
    “I’m surprised the thief isn’t advertising a link to a website or something,” Tito added. “It’s a great publicity stunt.”
    “Publicity for