Burned Read online

  Who’s C. D. Burns?

  Then it hit me. C. D. Burns was the person who paid Julian to mass-produce CDs. He was the mastermind behind an illegal crime ring.

  “All done.”

  Julian spun around in his chair and handed me the new mixed CD. He had even printed a label for it, listing all the songs and bands.

  “Thanks, man. This is great.”

  Julian was about to say something—but then he spotted the notebook at my feet.

  “Let me know what you think,” he said, standing up. He reached down and picked up the notebook. “If you’re into one of the band’s songs, I can copy the whole album for you.”

  He opened a dresser drawer and slipped the notebook inside. For a split second, I thought I saw something else in the drawer.

  A bunch of one-hundred-dollar bills.

  Money to burn.

  Julian turned around and looked me in the eye. “There’s just one last thing, Joe.”

  I held my breath. “What?”

  “Promise you’ll never tell anyone about this.”

  I nodded and promised.

  “I could get into a lot of trouble,” he added. “You could get into a lot of trouble too.”

  Is that a threat?

  “Don’t worry about it, Julian,” I said.

  “I mean it, Joe. Seriously.”

  The look on his face made me nervous.

  For the first time, Julian Sanders actually seemed scared.

  8.

  Mega Madness

  “I wish you could have swiped Julian’s notebook,” I said to Joe. “Then we’d have our evidence.”

  My brother leaned back against a Team Spirit poster in the school hallway. “I don’t know, Frank. I don’t think Julian Sanders is the real villain here. He’s working for C. D. Burns.”

  I glanced around to make sure none of the other students were listening. “Well, maybe the police should question Julian about C. D. Burns,” I whispered.

  “Julian wouldn’t reveal his identity.”

  “How do you know?”

  Joe looked me in the eye. “Because he’s scared, Frank.”

  “He didn’t sound scared on the recording.”

  “You didn’t see his face.”

  “But Joe…”

  I just couldn’t convince him. For some reason, Joe didn’t want to turn Julian in. Not yet, at least.

  But the guy’s guilty. We ought to tell the police.

  The school bell brought an end to our discussion. Third period classes were starting, so Joe and I decided to talk about it later.

  I walked down the hall toward the science lab. On the way I passed the empty computer room.

  Maybe I should ask Mr. Conner what to do.

  I stuck my head inside. “Mr. Conner?”

  He looked up from his desk. There was someone next to him too.

  Belinda Conrad.

  The girl who thinks I’m a heartbreaker.

  “I… I’m sorry to interrupt,” I said, stammering. “I can come back another time.”

  Mr. Conner shook his head and waved me in. “Wait! Come in, Frank! I wanted to talk to you. Belinda and I are finished up here.”

  Belinda winked at me.

  “Do you understand everything now, Belinda?” the teacher asked her.

  “Yes, thank you, Mr. Conner,” she said, brushing past me. “Hi, Frank. Bye, Frank.”

  Trying not to blush, I turned to Mr. Conner. He offered me a seat.

  “I wanted to tell you what I learned about those stolen CDs,” he said. “I informed Principal Foxworth about their disappearance, and guess what? It was all just a shipping error.”

  “A shipping error?”

  “Yes. The computer supply company accidentally sent us a shipment that was supposed to go to Riverview High School. They came early yesterday morning to take them back. Our CD shipment will arrive on Monday.”

  That’s bizarre.

  “Why didn’t they just send that shipment to Riverview and let Bayport keep the ones we got?”

  Mr. Conner shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe they use a different brand than we do.”

  I wasn’t buying it.

  “Principal Foxworth told you this?”

  The computer teacher nodded.

  “Do you believe him?” I asked.

  Mr. Conner started laughing. “Frank, I think you’re trying too hard to come up with a good story for your journalism class. Shipping screwups happen all the time.”

  “I guess so,” I said.

  But I still didn’t believe it.

  Is Principal Foxworth in on the whole thing? Is he really C. D. Burns?

  “What did you want to talk about, Frank?” Mr. Conner asked, breaking my train of thought.

  “I have a friend who seems to be mixed up in something really bad. I think he’s burning thousands of music CDs for an illegal distributor.”

  Mr. Conner rubbed his beard. “Do you have any evidence?”

  “No, but I’m pretty sure my friend is involved. I just don’t know if I should tell the police about it.”

  The computer teacher lowered his head for a minute, then cleared his throat. “That’s a tough call, Frank. Maybe you should wait until you’re absolutely sure what’s going on. You don’t want to get your friend in trouble, do you?”

  “No. You’re right.”

  I thanked Mr. Conner for his advice and headed off to the science lab. I couldn’t concentrate very well, though. For the rest of the school day, one question kept eating away at me.

  Who is C. D. Burns?

  • • • •

  “I don’t get it,” said my brother. “Why are we here at the Bayview Shopping Mall? You thirsty for an Orange Jupiter?”

  “No. We’re investigating,” I answered.

  “Investigating what? A drug deal at Dippy Donuts? A holdup at Hats ’n’ Things?”

  Joe snickered for a while, then stopped to admire a suede jacket in the window of Checker King.

  I grabbed his arm. “Come on. We’re here to snoop, not shop.”

  I started dragging Joe through the mall. A group of teenage girls pointed at us and giggled.

  “At least tell me where we’re going,” he said.

  “Do you have Julian’s CD with you?”

  “Yeah.” Joe pulled out his portable player and popped out the CD.

  “Where did Julian get the blank CD? What’s the brand name?”

  Joe studied the label. “Mega Mart.”

  “And what store are we standing in front of right now?”

  Joe looked up. “Mega Mart.”

  “Congratulations, Joe. You could be a master detective someday.”

  “And you can be a major dork sometimes.”

  We gazed up at the giant green Mega Mart sign above the store entrance. The phrase DOUBLE M MEANS DOUBLE SAVINGS glowed in neon lights below the logo.

  “The CD section is that way,” I said, pushing Joe inside.

  We walked past row after row of merchandise, all marked with little signs: REDUCED! and 50% OFF! and SPECIAL CLEARANCE!

  “So what do you expect to find here?” Joe asked. “Besides unbelievable bargains.”

  “I want to talk to a manager,” I explained. “I want to know if anyone has been buying blank CDs in bulk.”

  “What about the CDs stolen from the school?”

  “I don’t know what to think. Maybe it really was a shipping error. Julian used a Mega Mart CD, after all, to burn that music for you.”

  We reached the music CD section—and were instantly accosted by a creepy-looking manager with thinning hair and an oily mustache.

  “Are you boys here for the Mega Madness sale?”

  “Mega Madness?”

  “Twice the music for half the price!”

  “No. We’re here to ask you—”

  “It’s for a limited time only.”

  “Cool, but I just—”

  “You just can’t beat our prices. They’re the lowest around!�
��

  I wanted to scream. The guy sounded like an angry bulldog.

  I glanced at his tag. Next to his gruesome ID photo were the words ARTIE J. KLUMP, MANAGER, CD & DVD SALES.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Klump? Mr. Klump!”

  Finally I got his attention.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m doing an article for my school paper about illegal CD burning. I just wondered if a lot of high school kids come here to buy blank CDs.”

  Mr. Klump looked at me as if I were insane. “Of course they come here! We have the lowest prices around! Guaranteed!”

  Then he tried to sell us the new Britney CD.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Klump!” I said, interrupting him again. “Have you noticed any high school kids buying an unusually large amount of blank CDs?”

  He seemed annoyed by my question.

  “No!” he barked at us. “Nothing unusual. Nothing unusual at all! HEY, YOU!”

  He turned his attention to a young stock boy unloading crates of blank CDs from a pushcart.

  “What are you doing with those?” the manager yelled. “Take those CDs back to the stockroom! They’re reserved! TAKE THEM BACK! NOW! MOVE IT!”

  The stock boy trembled and fumbled with the boxes, reloading the pushcart as fast as he could.

  Joe and I stared at Mr. Klump.

  Sweat was pouring down his face and practically dripping from his mustache. The guy was absolutely fuming.

  SUSPECT PROFILE

  Name: Artie J. Klump

  Hometown: Bayport

  Physical description: Thirty-six years old, 5’7”, 200 lbs., or so, dark thinning hair, mustache.

  Occupation: Mega Mart manager, CD and DVD sales

  Background: Riverside Business school dropout.

  Suspicious behavior: Avoided questions about blank CD purchases, flew into a rage when stock boy brought out cases of “reserved” CDs.

  Suspected of: Supplying blank CDs for illegal trade.

  Possible motives: Extra cash on the side.

  Talk about Mega Madness.

  After Klump’s temper tantrum, it was a relief to leave the music department of Mega Mart. Joe and I worked our way past all the bargain hunters and headed straight for the mall entrance. I couldn’t wait to get out.

  Joe nudged me when we reached the registers. “Check it out.”

  He pointed at a tall older man in a black ski cap and raincoat. He stood at the end of the checkout line, holding two large cardboard boxes.

  “So?” I said to Joe. “It’s too early in the year for a ski cap, but we’re not arresting people for fashion crimes.”

  Joe rolled his eyes. “Look at the box.”

  I looked. And Joe was right to point him out.

  The man had two full cartons of blank CDs.

  “Now why would a guy like him buy a thousand blank CDs all at once?” I wondered out loud.

  “Maybe he got swept up in the Mega Madness sale,” Joe suggested.

  “Let’s go talk to him.”

  “What? Wait! What are you going to say?”

  “Relax. I’m cool.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  I walked over to the registers and got in line behind the man in the ski cap. Joe came and stood next to me. Leaning forward, I gave the man a little push. He shot me a dirty look in return.

  “Sorry, sir,” I said. “Lost my balance.”

  He turned back toward the register.

  “That’s an awful lot of CDs you have there.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “I was wondering what you plan to do with all of those.”

  The man spun around slowly. He squinted his gray eyes and studied my face for a moment or two.

  Then he dropped the boxes on my foot and took off running!

  9.

  Shop Till You Drop (Dead)

  Unbelievable!

  For an older dude, Mr. Ski Cap sure could run.

  Look at him go!

  At first I just stood there staring in shock. But then my brother’s howl of pain snapped me out of it.

  “My foot!”

  The cardboard boxes had split open at Frank’s feet, hundreds of CD cases spilling across the floor. I didn’t know what to do first—help Frank or chase the running man.

  I decided to lend my brother a hand. But—surprise, surprise—he wanted me to carry on with our mission.

  “After him, Joe! He’s getting away!”

  I spun around and charged toward the mall entrance. Unfortunately I slipped on some CDs—and my butt hit the floor.

  Real smooth.

  I expected Frank to crack a joke or something. But when I looked up he was limping past the cash register and out into the mall.

  “Frank! Wait!”

  I picked myself up off the floor and bolted after him, nearly knocking over a woman at the Half-Hour Photo booth. Her vacation pictures went fluttering into the air.

  “Sorry, lady!”

  Sprinting past the Pizza Pit and Shake Shack, I finally managed to catch up with my brother, who was limping as fast as he could.

  “He’s heading for the other end of the mall,” Frank said, wincing. “We’ve got to catch him before he reaches Renovation Station. We’ll never find him in there.”

  My brother was right. Renovation Station was one of the biggest home improvement stores in the state. I swear it was the size of several football fields.

  “Go, Joe! Don’t lose sight of him!”

  I looked up and spotted Mr. Ski Cap near the fountain. Glancing at me over his shoulder, he swerved around a trash can and ducked behind the Piercing Hut.

  I charged after him, full steam ahead. I didn’t even see the lady with the baby carriage until it was too late.

  Look out!

  My feet slammed down inches in front of the moving stroller—and my whole body went soaring, up, up, and over the screaming infant.

  Wham.

  I landed hard—and stumbled harder—on top of the Plush Planet display. Dozens of tiny stuffed animals showered down on top of me. Pushing a bug-eyed monkey off my face, I scrambled to my feet and raced toward the Piercing Hut.

  Here I come, Mr. Ski Cap.

  Crouching down, I circled around the safari-style booth, ready to wrestle the guy to the ground.

  Where’d he go?

  “Need your ears pierced, sir?”

  A young woman with a tube top and navel ring held up her piercing gun.

  “Two-for-one sale,” she said with a smile.

  “Did you see a guy in a black ski cap?” I asked.

  She stopped smiling. “Yeah. He went into Sportz Nutz.”

  She pointed at a small sporting goods store about forty feet away. Its sign featured cartoon peanuts with arms and legs playing basketball, golf, and other sports. I dashed to the entrance and stopped.

  I need backup. Where’s Frank?

  I glanced back to see my brother limping after me. He opened his mouth to say something, but I held a finger to my lips. Nodding toward the store, I tiptoed to the entrance and went inside.

  Frank mouthed something silently before I went in. Be careful.

  Sportz Nutz was overlit, overcrowded, and noisy. But maybe it just seemed that way because of the flat-screen TVs tuned to different sports channels. The roars of cheering fans echoed throughout the store.

  Squatting down, I crept slowly along a row of golf clubs and tennis rackets. Then I turned the corner and…

  Whap!

  Mr. Ski Cap jumped out of nowhere, slamming me in the gut with a tennis racket.

  “Ooof!”

  Doubled over in pain, I watched the man run past me down the aisle. I started off after him.

  That’s when he started throwing baseball bats at me.

  “Think fast, kid!”

  I jumped to the side and ducked. One bat clattered to the floor next to me, the other bounced off a golf bag and knocked over a display of tennis balls. With a huge crash, the whole thing collapsed. Hundreds of yellow
balls bounced down the aisle.

  Mr. Ski Cap laughed.

  I gritted my teeth—and went after him.

  Two more baseball bats came hurtling through the air.

  Man! Why do people keep throwing things at me?

  I dodged one bat, then the other. Golf balls and tees went flying everywhere.

  Mr. Ski Cap turned around and ran. I darted down the aisle after him, my feet skidding and rolling over the balls on the floor.

  “Whoops!”

  I was down.

  And up again. But I wasn’t fast enough.

  Mr. Ski Cap bolted out of the store.

  He’s getting away! Frank’s going to kill me.

  But no.

  Frank was out there waiting for the guy.

  “Freeze!”

  Riding the back of end of a shopping cart, my brother rolled across the mall like a NASCAR driver racing to the finish line.

  BAM!

  The front end of Frank’s cart plowed right into the man’s rear end.

  Direct hit!

  Even with a bad foot, my brother could kick butt.

  “Good job, Frank!” I yelled.

  The man rolled on the floor and moaned.

  Not wasting any time, Frank hopped off the cart to apprehend the suspect. But then he collapsed from putting all his weight on his injured foot.

  “Frank!”

  I ran to help—while Mr. Ski Cap made another run for it.

  “Frank! Are you okay?”

  My brother held his foot with both hands and groaned. I slipped my hands under his arms and propped him up against an Orange Jupiter stand.

  “We’ve got to get that guy, Joe,” he said, gasping. “I don’t know who is he is, but he’s definitely guilty of something.”

  “I’ll get him, Frank,” I said. “Which way did he go?”

  Frank pointed down the mall toward a rainbow-colored storefront. “I think he ducked into the Yarn Barn.”

  “Okay. Stay here. Rest your foot. I swear I’m going to catch that guy.”

  I stood up to leave. Just then a blond teenager stuck her head out of the Orange Jupiter stand.

  “Frank? Is that you? Are you hurt?”

  It was my brother’s not-so-secret admirer—Belinda Conrad.

  “Drink this, sweetie. It’ll help you feel better.”

  She handed him an extra-large Tangerine Tomato Slush.

  Gross.

  Turning away in disgust, I hurried off to the Yarn Barn.