Feeding Frenzy Read online

  The waitress looked over at Joe. He ordered every dessert on the menu, plus three sides of French fries. “I’m in the stomach-stretching camp. And if you can’t have fun stretching your stomach before the contest, why even do it?” he asked.

  Jordan was the only one who seemed to think that was funny. No one else cracked a smile. The contest was clearly way too serious for them to joke about.

  The waitress turned to me. “I’ll have two bowls of cooked cabbage and three bowls of oatmeal,” I told her. “And can I have a pitcher of water?”

  “Classic high-fiber, low-fat, high-water stomach-expanding technique,” Kyle observed. “Classic, but way too safe to beat me.”

  “I think we may need to move you to a bigger table,” the waitress told us. “There’s not going to be room for all the plates, even with three of you not eating. I’ll see what I can arrange.” She hurried off.

  “Maybe Kyle’s ego could sit by itself,” said Angie. She began unwrapping fresh sticks of gum—some watermelon, some peppermint. “That would clear up some space.”

  That got a laugh from everyone. Everyone but Kyle.

  “Jordan, Joe, and I were talking about the hotel before the rest of you got here,” I said. I still wanted to find out if the others had gotten death threats.

  “Yeah,” Jordan jumped in. “Did you guys know you can get DVDs of the old Super Bowl games at the front desk? right before dinner I was watching highlights from Super Bowl Eleven. Willie Brown made this awesome interception. I’ve gotta watch it again before I return it. It’s a thing of beauty the way he got it before Fran Tarkenton and took it seventy-five yards for a TD. Seventy-five yards! Nobody broke that record for twenty-nine years!”

  “We have the newest Xboxes in our rooms too. Did you see that?” I added quickly. I’d already figured out that Jordan was a guy who could talk about football a lot. Which would usually be great. But Super Bowl facts weren’t going to help Joe and me solve the case.

  “Yeah, that was a cool surprise,” Joe said. “Although we got another surprise that wasn’t so good….”

  I glanced around. Angie had lowered her glasses again to stare at Joe intently. Vern and Douglas suddenly looked especially interested.

  “What kind of other surprise?” asked Angie.

  “The artwork was kind of, uh, gross,” I told her. “Usually hotels have pictures of flowers or boats on lakes, but our room was covered with—”

  “Pictures of David Cole in his coffin!” Vern burst out.

  Suddenly everyone at the table was talking.

  “You too?” Angie exclaimed.

  “I wasn’t saying anything. I thought maybe they’d cancel the contest,” said Kyle at the same time.

  “I didn’t want to say anything either. If my parents knew, they’d have me home yesterday,” Jordan added. “And there was no way I was missing the Super Bowl.”

  “And anyway, it was just somebody’s lame attempt at psychological intimidation,” Kyle said. “Probably somebody at this table.”

  “Yeah, it’s not like somebody offed David to get him out of the contest,” said Angie. “He had some weird food reaction.”

  The fact that David had been murdered hadn’t been made public yet. ATAC was keeping it quiet until Joe and I finished our investigation.

  “I’m not going to let some jerk with a copier scare me away,” Douglas said, speaking more loudly than he had all night.

  Kyle knocked on the table until everyone got quiet. “So it’s obvious we all want to keep this to ourselves, right?” He looked from person to person. “We don’t want to risk the contest getting canceled, right?”

  One by one, we all gave the same answer: “Right.”

  My heart started to thump against my ribs. Everyone at this table was in serious danger—except for the one person who was the killer.

  Joe and I were going to have to keep a close watch at all times to make sure no one else ended up in a coffin like David Cole.

  As all the contestants piled into one of those stretch SUVs for the beach trip the next morning, I did a quick evaluation of the group. No one looked like they’d spent the night sitting up in bed with the lights on, terrified that they might get killed. The pictures of David and the threats hadn’t shaken them up too much.

  I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. A little fear might help keep them safe.

  A silver-haired man with a little mustache was the last one on board. “Hello, kids,” he called out. “I’m Edward Poplin, owner and CEO of Football Franks.”

  Everybody let out a cheer in greeting, and Mr. Poplin smiled. “I apologize for not having dinner with you last night. I hope the hotel staff made sure you had everything you wanted and needed. You should feel free to call on them—or me—day or night.” He turned his head toward the driver. “We’re just waiting for one more, Wilson.”

  Wait. Had I missed somebody?

  “We’re all here,” said Kyle.

  “Douglas’s sister is coming with us,” Mr. Poplin explained. “She’s around the same age as all of you. And besides, I’m renting surfboards for anyone who wants one. Candi’s a professional surfer. I’m sure she’ll be happy to give any of you tips if you need them, right, Doug?”

  Douglas gave a weak smile. “Yeah, I guess,” he mumbled.

  “What do you mean, you guess?” a girl with sun-streaked brown hair asked as she climbed into the SUV-limo. “Of course I will. Sorry I’m late, you guys. I couldn’t find my board wax for a minute.”

  Wilson, the driver, shut the door, and a moment later we were driving down one of Miami’s palm-tree-lined streets.

  “I have everyone’s lunch order for the picnic. Now I just need a head count on the boards. Who’s surfing?” Mr. Poplin asked.

  He got a yes from everyone except Vern and Angie.

  “I don’t exercise before a competition,” said Angie. “Walking down to the beach is more than I usually do. Mostly I exercise by thumb texting or clicking the TV remote.”

  “I try to sleep as much as possible when I’m prepping for a big eat. If I can’t sleep, I try to stay very still,” Vern explained.

  “The Praying Mantis does two hours of aerobic exercise a day,” Kyle told them. “It keeps her metabolism on fire.”

  Angie gave him what I’d decided was her fallback response. She popped her gum in his direction. Vern just shrugged.

  Our hotel was practically on top of the beach, so we’d barely gotten on the road before we stopped in front of Miami Phil’s Surf Shop. Mr. Poplin led the way in and rented boards, wet suits, umbrellas, lounge chairs, and an inflatable sea horse. I wasn’t sure who that was for. Maybe Mr. Poplin.

  He also bought up one of every kind of sunscreen, some visors, and some floppy sun hats. “I don’t want anyone getting heat stroke,” he told us. “I want you all in top eating form for tomorrow.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me. I live in top form,” Kyle—who else—answered.

  Joe elbowed me. “I’ve been discovered by the local talent,” he said quietly. He jerked his chin toward two girls in bathing suits and flip-flops. They did seem to be checking Joe out.

  “Here they come,” he added under his breath. “You think Mr. Poplin would mind if I—”

  The girls walked up to Joe—then passed him and kept right on walking. “You’re Candi Carney, right?” the taller girl asked Douglas’s sister.

  Candi smiled like someone auditioning for a toothpaste commercial. “I sure am.”

  “Can I get your autograph?” The taller girl held out a copy of Surf World with Candi’s picture on the front.

  “Absolutely.” Candi pulled a purple pen out of her pocket and signed the magazine cover with a flourish.

  “Congratulations on winning the competition in L.A. last Friday,” the other girl said. “We watched you on ESPN. You were outrageous on that last wave.”

  “My parents are always joking that they’re going to have to buy a bigger house so they’ll have a place to k
eep all my trophies.” Candi laughed. The girls did too. I noticed that Douglas didn’t.

  “They might have one of mine after this weekend,” he said.

  “That’s my brother, Dougie,” Candi explained to the girls. “He’s going to enter a contest tomorrow to see who can eat the most hot dogs. You should see how hard he’s been training.”

  That did get a little smile out of Doug, until his sister added, “Every Tuesday night, no matter what, Dougie would trudge down to the all-you-can-eat buffet at Clucky’s Chicken House and eat until he almost puked. It’s been so, so hard for him.”

  That got the girls and Candi laughing again. And in an at-Doug way. Not in a with-Doug way.

  “Okay, troops, we’re heading out,” Mr. Poplin called from his spot in front of the cash register. “Everybody grab something and take it out to the SUV. We’ll have you in the water in ten minutes, tops.”

  Mr. Poplin’s prediction was accurate. In nine minutes, everybody was in the warm Miami Beach ocean, except Angie and Vern. I could see them on the beach as I straddled my board in the lineup. That’s the spot just outside where the waves are breaking. Surfers wait there for their rides.

  Angie had to be broiling sitting out in the sun in her sweat suit. But she claimed that sweating, without burning calories by exercising, was part of her regimen. Vern was stretched out in a beach chair with a massive jug of aloe vera juice at his side. The only thing he wanted to do was doze and get the juice down before lunch.

  I turned my head, checking out the waves that would be coming in. A flash of something gray not too far from Joe caught my eye. A dolphin? We’d heard that sometimes they came up to swimmers. Getting some up-close-and-personal time with a dolphin would be pretty cool.

  I squinted, raising my hand to block some of the sun. There. I saw the flash of gray again. A fin. But not the right size or shape.

  The skin on the back of my neck began to crawl. That wasn’t a dolphin.

  “Joe!” I shouted as loudly as I could. “Behind you! Shark!”

  6

  Black Eyes of a Great White

  Flat on my belly on the board, I paddled for shore as hard as I could. A beautiful monster wave was rising up underneath me. I felt the back of the board lift. Oh, yeah!

  “Shark!” I heard Frank yell. “Behind you!”

  Automatically, my body continued through the surfing motions. I pushed up and popped to my feet. Then I managed a glance over my shoulder as I started to ride down the wave’s face.

  The first thing I saw was Jordan, starting his own ride. Then I saw it. The three-foot dorsal fin. Moving in on Jordan.

  To the shark, I knew Jordan—in his dark wet suit—had to look like a nice, juicy seal. I had to get to him. Fast.

  Before my patch of wave flattened out too much, I started my turn. I leaned back a little but kept my board flat. I didn’t want to lose any speed.

  Do it! now! I told myself. I pressed down on my heels, lifted the balls of my feet. My board reversed directions. I brought my body around with it.

  Then I did the thing they teach you never to do, starting with your first surfing lesson. I aimed myself at Jordan. I struggled to keep on my feet as the wave’s force hit me.

  My board hit Jordan’s with a sickening crunch. And then we were both in the water. I yanked off the leash connecting me to my board. Yanked off Jordan’s, too.

  Now where was the shark? I couldn’t have knocked Jordan very far out of its path. And it had been powering straight at him.

  The sea salt burned my eyes as I stared through the water. A shadow flicked past me on the right. I whipped toward it. And I saw the great white’s blank black eyes on me.

  They began to roll back. Showing some white. I knew that’s what happened right before a shark struck. Gills, I told myself. Go for the gills. I curled my hands into claws and kicked hard, moving in.

  An arrow of green lasered through the water. It ran across the shark. Found one of its eyes. And stayed there.

  With its tail thrashing, the shark retreated. I goggled, hardly able to believe what had just happened.

  What are you doing? I screamed at myself. Get out of here!

  I whipped around and I followed the laser to its source. Frank. Holding the latest ATAC underwater gadget. We’d never had the chance to try it out before.

  He pointed toward shore. Jordan didn’t need more than that. He started swimming. Frank and I were right behind him.

  I had to sit down as soon as I made it out onto the beach. It was like my entire body had gone the consistency of a jellyfish.

  A few people were still scrambling out of the ocean. Lifeguards had put out the alarm. They were getting everybody back on the shore.

  “Everybody from our group in?” Mr. Poplin called.

  “Yeah,” Angie answered. She turned to Frank. “Vern and I heard you scream, and we got the lifeguards. They were on it so fast.”

  “Good.” Frank dropped down next to me.

  Jordan stayed on his feet, staring out into the water. “Where is it? Where’d it go?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s already heading back out to deep water.” I didn’t see its fin anywhere.

  “What was that thing you used on it?” Jordan asked Frank.

  Frank pulled out the laser. It didn’t look like anything more special than a large waterproof pen. “It’s a laser pointer that scuba instructors use to show things to their students. Green is the color that shows up best underwater. I just shined it in the shark’s eyes. Their eyes are really sensitive.”

  It was a little more than that, but the explanation seemed to work for Jordan.

  “Yeah, I heard that about their eyes,” I added. “I read that they roll them back in their heads when they’re going to attack, to protect them.” That’s how I’d known the great white was this close to taking a bite out of me before Frank swam to the rescue.

  “Lucky you had that thing,” said Douglas, joining us near the edge of the water. Candi and Vern came with him.

  “Really lucky. I ordered it online and I thought maybe I’d have a chance to try it out during the trip. Maybe in the hotel pool!” Frank answered.

  “I think the pool is where we should all be right now,” Mr. Poplin said. “What about the rest of you? Should we move this party poolside?” His voice was cheery, but his face was still pale.

  “I don’t know if I want to be in a pool right now. Would it be okay if I went to my room and watched some more Super Bowl DVDs?” asked Jordan.

  “Whatever you want,” Mr. Poplin said. “Kyle, we’re going to get packed up,” he called. Kyle stood about twenty feet down the beach. He didn’t turn toward Mr. Poplin or give any indication that he’d heard.

  “Kyle!” Mr. Poplin called again.

  Kyle slowly bent and picked up something at his feet. Then he turned toward us and held it up. It was Jordan’s surfboard. And it had been bitten in half.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off the board as Kyle walked over to us. All I could think about was those same jagged tears in Jordan’s body. There’s no way he would have survived.

  Kyle silently handed the board to Jordan. I think it was the first time since Frank and I met him that Kyle had done anything silently. Something metallic on the board caught the sun, and the glare blinded me for a second.

  “What’s that?” asked Angie. She reached out and fingered the metallic object on Jordan’s surfboard. “It’s vibrating.”

  “That’s weird. I’ve never seen anything like that on a board before. Does anyone else have one?” Frank asked. He got no’s and head shakes from the group.

  “It’s not anything I’ve ever seen,” Candi added. “And I’ve seen everything anybody’s put on a board.”

  Frank leaned close to the metallic device. “Angie’s right. It’s definitely putting out vibrations.”

  “Maybe that’s why the shark went right for Jordan,” said Candi. “One of my surf instructors told me that sometimes motorboats r
unning at slow speeds get attacked by sharks. That’s because the motor is giving out vibrations that are like the ones wounded animals make. The sharks think something is dying and come to check it out.”

  Mr. Poplin took the board out of Jordan’s hands. “I’m taking this to the surf shop right now. I want to know exactly what this device is and why it was on this board. I’ll send Wilson back to help you get everything loaded up.”

  “Can I go with you?” Candi asked. “I want to hear what they say.”

  “If you’d like.” He strode off toward the wooden steps that led to the parking lot. Candi trotted behind him.

  “There’s no way the surf shop had anything to do with that thing being on the board,” Kyle said. He’d found his voice again.

  “Kyle’s right. Somebody knew the vibrations would attract a shark,” Vern put in, shoving his long bangs out of his face. “Somebody wanted it to happen.”

  “You’re saying somebody wanted to kill me?” Jordan burst out.

  “Don’t act so surprised. Did you forget those death threats we all got in our rooms?” Vern asked.

  “We all decided those were just scare tactics,” Jordan protested. He paced around in a tight circle. I could practically see all the excess adrenaline in his body looking for a place to go.

  “Maybe we were stupid,” said Angie. She blew a big bubble, so big it almost touched the lenses of her glasses.

  “So then that means somebody killed David Cole!” Vern cried, his voice about twice as high as usual. “Who’s going to get killed next?”

  “Easy, guy,” I said. “We all have to stay calm.”

  “Why?” Vern demanded. “Am I supposed to just stay calm so one of you can kill me?”

  “Wait. One of us?” asked Douglas, folding his arms across his chest.

  “Of course one of us,” Vern shot back. “Who else but one of us cares enough about the competition to kill somebody?”

  “Makes sense to me,” Kyle said. “And you know who I think the most likely killer is? Somebody who didn’t go into the water. If I tried to sic a shark on somebody, I’d definitely keep my behind on the beach.”