The Case of the Christmas Counterfeiters: The North Hollywood Detective Club

By Mike Mains

Two teen detectives. One criminal mastermind. And two billion dollars in counterfeit currency. What could possibly go wrong?

 

While the rest of the world prepares to celebrate Christmas, Jeffrey and Pablo uncover a plot to flood Los Angeles with billions of dollars in counterfeit currency. Their investigation leads them to a master criminal, his hoodlum son, and a mysterious 15-year-old girl who holds the key to the entire puzzle.

 

Classic Books for Boys; Mystery Books for Kids

 

Teen Mystery Books; Young Adult Mystery Books

 

The first mystery book for kids that I read was a decades-old Nancy Drew book that I found in the school library back in the 4th or 5th grade. It wasn't the best mystery book for kids, but it got me hooked. Since then, I've been a fan of mysteries, thrillers, and detective stories. Whether they are written specifically as books for boys is irrelevant. All I want is a good book.

 

If you're the same way, then pour yourself a cup of hot chocolate and nestle into your favorite easy chair, or curl up in bed or in front of the fireplace, and get ready to enjoy this new mystery book. For boys, for girls, for anyone who appreciates the turn of a clue and the thrill of the chase.

 

The North Hollywood Detective Club books are popular mystery and suspense books for young readers. Thousands of fans around the world have thrilled to these stories of mystery, detection, and danger.

 

The Case of the Hollywood Art Heist: The first book in the North Hollywood Detective Club series. Teen detectives Jeffrey Jones and Pablo Reyes must solve the mystery of a stolen painting to free an innocent man from jail.

 

The Case of the Dead Man's Treasure: Hired by their teacher to find the driver responsible for a hit-and-run auto accident, Jeffrey and Pablo stumble upon a search for an ancient treasure, and a ruthless treasure hunter who will stop at nothing to get his hands on the prize.

 

Here's What Readers Are Saying:

 

"My 10 year old son has enjoyed all 3 books. He just finished The Case of the Christmas Counterfeiters and loved it. He says 'It is intriguing and leaves you in suspense. When it seems that there is no hope, something cool happens! I highly recommend this book!' "

 

"I loved the action and the mystery that he used. Like how it was one mystery than the book changed and then there was another mystery."

 

"My 13 year-old daughter loves this series."

 

"I bought this book for my son and read a few pages just to check it out. A funny thing happened, though. I couldn't stop reading it. Every chapter is a cliff hanger and I had to keep turning the page."

 

"My 12 year old read this on my old kindle & he loved it!"

 

Middle grade mystery books, teen mystery books, books for boys, books for girls, mystery books for kids, mystery books for boys, mystery books for girls, mystery books for teens, adventure books for kids!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mike Mains
• Release date: Dec 21, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393633242

Book preview

Locked in an Airtight Vault

I offered you an opportunity to partake in my little enterprise, but you wouldn’t listen. Very well. Now you’ll have to die.

With those words, the one-eyed man stepped out of the vault and swung the heavy steel door.

Wait, cried Jeffrey Jones, but it was too late. He heard the door slam shut and the combination lock turn. He and his friends were locked in the airtight vault.

Pablo Reyes rushed to the inside of the vault door and grabbed hold of the cold metal handle. The cordlike muscles on his forearms strained as he pushed, pulled, twisted and turned, but it was no use. The door wouldn’t budge.

He stopped and stepped back, his face flushed and his chest heaving. We’re trapped, he said. Trapped like rats.

At least until somebody finds us, said Marisol Rodriguez. She brushed black hair back over her ear and looked from one boy to the other. I mean, eventually someone will have to find us, won’t they?

Jeffrey slumped against the side of the vault and slid down to a seated position on the concrete floor. It’s worse than that, he said.

Marisol watched him carefully. What’s worse?

Jeffrey felt a sick churning in his stomach. He looked into the hopeful eyes of his young friends, but he didn’t have the heart to tell them what was going to happen next.

Pablo kneeled down next to him. What is it, Jeffrey?

He said we have to die. That means he set the timer.

Timer?

Jeffrey straightened his glasses. This vault comes with a safety mechanism. It’s designed to go off in case of a break-in, but it’s also connected to a timer which can be set in the next room. When the safety mechanism is activated, the vault is flooded with poison gas.

Marisol gasped and covered her mouth. Pablo’s face glazed white as a sheet. An intercom buzzed and they heard the voice of the one-eyed man coming from a loudspeaker. Can you hear me, boy? If you can, press the intercom button on the wall.

Jeffrey leapt to his feet and pressed a red button on the wall by the vault door. I can hear you. Pablo and Marisol crowded in close behind him, shoulders touching. They waited for the man’s response.

I’ve set the timer for midnight, exactly fifteen minutes from now. That’s all the time I need to make my escape. If not, I can use your young lives as leverage. Of course, at this point, I fully intend to get away. The man chuckled softly. I wish I could tell you that the gas is painless, but it’s not. It’s excruciatingly painful. I could describe to you the unspeakable agony you will soon experience, but perhaps it’s better if you imagine it for yourselves. No one will save you and no one will hear you scream. Goodbye.

The intercom buzzed and went dead.

Marisol screamed.

Pablo leaned over Jeffrey’s shoulder and jammed the red intercom button. Hey! Hey! Come back!

Jeffrey took off his glasses and covered his face with his hands. There was no way out. He was going to die and his friends were going to die and it was all because of him. He felt himself panicking and his mind went blank. How did it happen? How did they get there? Then he remembered . . .

Chapter One

Jeffrey and Pablo were raking leaves in Mrs. Martin’s backyard when they found the body. Jeffrey stumbled back, lost his footing, and fell on his backside into a pile of red and brown December leaves. Pablo stood completely still and stared at the man’s body. Is he dead? he asked.

Jeffrey rose from the crumbling leaves and shook his head. A harsh morning breeze blew sharply across his face. From Mrs. Martin’s decrepit old house at the far end of the yard, came a scratchy rendition of O Tannenbaum (O Christmas Tree). The elderly German woman lived there alone, hidden behind the peeling paint, the creaky front porch, and the old wooden shutters that banged against the house when the wind howled. The entire property was covered by trees and vines and overgrown bushes, everything dark and hidden and in the shadows. To Jeffrey, it was the perfect place for a murder.

He approached the body cautiously, leaves crunching under his shoes.

He looks dead, Pablo said.

The man was face down and half hidden under a layer of leaves. The boys kneeled at his side and shook him gently. When they received no response, they rolled him over, making a crackle among the leaves and dead twigs and found themselves staring into the face of a young Asian male in his early twenties. Leaves and small twigs clung to the sticky blood that matted his shirt. Underneath, two enormous bullet holes perforated the young man’s chest, leaving only a bloody pulp.

Jeffrey felt a rumbling in his stomach and a rush of putrid hot liquid flooding up to his throat. He turned to the side and choked on the vomit that stuck in his throat.

Pablo winced at the sight of the man and the smell of blood that twitched at his nostrils. He said to Jeffrey. You okay, man?

Jeffrey coughed and nodded. I’m okay, he said, though his face was pale and glistening with sweat. He straightened his glasses and studied the young man’s face.

He’s Chinese.

You can tell?

Jeffrey nodded. He’s a gang member, too.

Pablo’s eyebrows went up.

Jeffrey pointed to three tiny dots tattooed on the man’s face, just below the corner of his left eye. The first dot stands for life, like a lifetime commitment. The second dot stands for prison. The third dot stands for death. By joining the gang, he’s agreeing to a lifetime of prison and death.

Pablo grimaced. Man, that’s messed up.

That’s how some people choose to live.

Not me.

Jeffrey reached for the man’s wrist. He felt a faint pulse and his eyes widened behind his glasses. He’s alive!

In a second the boys were sprinting across the four-acre yard to the old house where Mrs. Martin lived. Pablo reached the porch first and leapt up the wooden steps. He banged on the frame of the screen door. Then he jammed the doorbell, again and again. The German Christmas music coming from inside the house was deafening.

An old woman’s muffled voice shouted, Who is it?

It’s me! Pablo!

Jeffrey caught up and stopped at the foot of the porch steps. He was unaccustomed to running and heaved for air.

She’s coming, Pablo told him.

Jeffrey nodded. He bent at the waist, took off his glasses and wiped his face with his sleeve. Using the handrail, he climbed the creaky steps.

A phonograph needle screeched across vinyl and the music stopped. Floorboards creaked inside the house, followed by the unfastening of a door chain, the turn of a deadbolt, and the unlocking of the door. It swung open and old Loretta Martin, dressed in a ratty yellow bathrobe, faced them from behind the screen door.

We found a body, Pablo began, breathlessly.

He’s alive, Jeffrey added, and pointed across the yard. Call the police and tell them to send an ambulance.

Mrs. Martin stared back at them. You found a body?

Yeah, he’s covered with blood, Pablo said.

Call 9-1-1, Jeffrey told her. Hurry.

Mrs. Martin stood staring at them.

Did you hear me? Jeffrey said. Call 9-1-1.

The woman blinked.

Why are you standing there? Jeffrey shouted. Call the police.

The old woman gasped and disappeared in the house. Jeffrey craned his neck and peered past the screen door to see where she went.

You’re scaring her, Pablo whispered.

She should be scared. There’s a body in her backyard. He saw Pablo’s disapproving look and added, If one of us had a phone, we wouldn’t have to do this.

Pablo nodded. Neither his parents nor Jeffrey’s would allow them to have a phone until they turned sixteen.

Jeffrey shouted into the house, Are you calling the police?

A scraggly voice called back. I’m calling my grandson.

What? No! Jeffrey banged on the door frame.

Pablo grabbed Jeffrey’s arm and steadied him. He called inside the house. Mrs. Martin, why don’t you let me in? I’ll call the police.

The woman appeared back behind the screen door, looking frail and frightened.

Who are you?

It’s me, Pablo. We’re cleaning your yard, remember?

Jeffrey shook his head.

Pablo said, Look, there’s a man in your backyard who’s hurt. Would you let me in so I can call the police?

Mrs. Martin’s withered hand shook with age as she grasped the latch on the screen door and turned it. Pablo pulled the screen door open and stepped into the house.

"Not you," Mrs. Martin said to Jeffrey, and she led Pablo into the house.

Jeffrey stared back at the screen door, his nostrils flaring. He was mad at Mrs. Martin for being old and senile, and he was mad at his parents for not letting him have a phone. Just about every kid at his school had their own phone, but not him. If he had a phone he could be calling the police right now and possibly saving a man’s life. He turned away from the door and stomped on the wooden porch.

The screen door creaked open behind him. He turned to see Pablo stepping out of the house.

I called the cops, Pablo said. They want us to stay. Let’s get back to the body. He started down the porch steps.

Hold on a second. Let’s try to figure out when that guy was shot.

Pablo checked his watch. We got here at seven-thirty this morning and it’s eight o’clock now. That means he’s been laying in that yard for at least half an hour. He must have been shot early this morning, before we got here.

My guess is he wasn’t shot here at all, Jeffrey said. He was probably shot somewhere else and then dumped here. Otherwise Mrs. Martin would have heard the shots.

Not with that music playing. She had it blasting. Plus that body’s clear at the end of the yard.

Jeffrey nodded. Yeah, you’re right.

Mrs. Martin appeared back behind the screen door, watching them warily. Jeffrey turned to her. Mrs. Martin, did you hear any gunshots this morning?

The old woman shook her head.

How about last night?

No.

What time did you start playing music this morning?

Why are you asking these questions?

We’re trying to figure out what time the guy in your backyard was shot.

The woman took a step back and pulled her robe tighter around her body. Well, I had nothing to do with it. I have a gun, but it’s for my protection. I didn’t shoot anyone.

We know you didn’t, Jeffrey said. But we got here at seven-thirty and nothing has happened since then. So he must have been shot before we arrived.

The old woman squinted. Who are you again?

It’s me and Pablo, Jeffrey shouted, his face flushing red. You hired us to clean up your yard.

Pablo put a hand on Jeffrey’s shoulder to calm him. Mrs. Martin, we don’t mean to scare you, but this is very serious. There’s a man in your yard who’s been shot. We’re just trying to figure out what time it happened. If you had your music playing, the gunshots could have happened early this morning and you wouldn’t have heard them.

Nonsense, Mrs. Martin said. If there were gunshots in my yard, I would hear them, music or no music. My hearing is sharp, very sharp. A phone rang from inside the house. See? I can hear that just fine. She left the boys and went to answer the phone.

She’s deaf in one ear, Pablo whispered.

Jeffrey nodded.

Mrs. Martin returned and said, That’s my grandson. He wants to know what you boys want.

Jeffrey threw up his hands.

We’re here to clean up your yard, Pablo told her.

Jeffrey stepped up to the door. Don’t you remember anything?

The woman lifted a bony finger and shook it in Jeffrey’s face. I knew you were trouble the first time I saw you. I never should have let you onto my property. Now go home. She slammed the door closed and the boys heard the lock turn.

Jeffrey turned to Pablo with a disbelieving look.

The police arrived and took statements from both boys and from Mrs. Martin. The boys learned that the wounded man’s name was Kevin Wong. When the paramedics loaded the man into an ambulance, Jeffrey asked where they were taking him.

L.A. County.

Do you think he’ll live?

I doubt it, was the grim reply.

Chapter Two

The emergency waiting room at the county hospital was filled to capacity. Babies bawled, children shrieked and scuffled, and adults sat slumped in their seats, immersed in their smart phones or sleeping. Almost everyone there was Hispanic or black.

Jeffrey and Pablo sat on hard plastic chairs with their backs to the wall, and observed the chaos around them. Their chairs were connected with metal brackets to a long line of other hard plastic chairs and all of the seats were occupied.

Jeffrey glanced down the row of seats. A girl caught his eye and he peered at her from behind his glasses. She was one of only a handful of Asians in the room. She held a cell phone to her ear, listening intently and showing no emotion

Jeffrey nudged Pablo and nodded in the girl’s direction. Pablo saw her and whispered to Jeffrey, Chinese?

Jeffrey nodded.

You think she’s here for Kevin Wong?

Jeffrey nodded again.

Sister? Cousin?

Neither.

He saw Pablo’s surprised reaction and said, Remember the three dots? The guy we found was a gang member. Now look at the way she’s dressed.

Pablo looked again at the girl and observed her appearance. She looked to be their age, fifteen, perhaps a year older, with high cheekbones and a model’s face. Her hair was straight and black. She wore heels, a short black skirt, and a red school sweater with the letter M sewn on its front. Everyone else in the room sat slumped and stoop-shouldered, but the girl held herself ramrod straight. She stood up, long-legged and lithe, and strode to the attendant’s desk. The boys followed her with their eyes.

She looks rich, Pablo said. She doesn’t look like the type to be hanging out with gang members.

Jeffrey nodded. She’s not in the same league as a guy with a tattoo on his face.

The girl pocketed her phone and headed for the exit. Jeffrey tapped Pablo on the arm. The two boys rose quietly and followed her. As they stepped into hospital hallway, the girl was twenty feet ahead of them. She walked briskly, her heels clack-clacking down the tile floor of the hospital hallway. The boys quickened their pace to keep up.

Approaching in the opposite direction, a hospital orderly pushed an elderly patient in a wheelchair. The girl stepped past them both and turned a corner.

The boys ran down the hall, past the orderly and the patient in the wheelchair, and turned the same corner. They saw the girl push open an exit door, pause for a brief moment, and then step through it. They ran to catch up.

Jeffrey stopped before the exit door, opened it quietly, and slipped through. Pablo followed him. They were in a stairwell. The girl was one floor below them, her heels clattering loudly down the aluminum steps. The sound echoed off the walls.

Pablo started after her.

Jeffrey grabbed his arm. She’ll hear us, he whispered.

The girl descended two more floors, pulled open a door on the landing, and stepped through. The door closed behind her and Jeffrey said, Let’s go!

Their feet tapped lightly down the stairs to the door the girl had opened. Jeffrey grabbed the latch and pulled. The door didn’t budge. It’s locked, he said.

Then how come she opened it?

Jeffrey studied the door. There was no keyhole and no way to unlock it. He felt with his hand along the edges. The door suddenly swung open and the boys jumped back.

A young Asian male, dressed in a white coat and wearing a surgical