Skylar Robbins: The Mystery of the Island Idol: Skylar Robbins Mysteries, #5

By Carrie Cross

"Skylar Robbins: The Mystery of the Island Idol, by Carrie Cross is a rip-roaring young adult adventure/romance story that will keep readers on their toes. Centered around current technology and full of references younger readers will appreciate, this book has everything needed to engage readers and keep them coming back for more from Skylar and her gifted cohort."
-- Excerpt from Literary Titan 5-Star review.

Bastiian is having a party next Friday night. Anyone welcome at 3 Palms at 10 is invited. Free food, no parents, and we're playing My Secret Kiss. Who's going?
My Assistant Detective Alexa pointed at the screen. "Sky. A boy-girl party and Daniel's going. Brendan and Dustin signed the list too. We have to go."
"Alexa, what's My Secret Kiss?"
"Everyone secretly draws names picking who they have to kiss. Then everyone rates the person they kissed. The bad kissers with the least points get eliminated."
"No way." My mind was racing. The disgusting possibilities were endless. Would I be forced to make out with boys I didn't like, or guys I didn't even know, just to act normal at a party? Was I crazy for even considering going?
My brain started to tick. I'd paid for some new gadgets with chores money, and I'd gotten others for Christmas. These filled out my detective kit nicely. My night vision goggles might come in handy. The Soundtrap would let us eavesdrop on conversations. Best of all was a canister of Invisi-powder. When you dusted it on your face and hands and wore black clothing, the non-metallic, gray-black powder let you blend into the shadows, so you were completely invisible.
"We are going to go to that party. But nobody's even going to know we're there."
Sneaking into the party sounded risky, and pretty scary. But it wasn't until after the field trip began, and I'd put my detective skills to a true test, that I really found out the true meaning of terror and danger.

Skylar Robbins: The Mystery of the Island Idol won the coveted Literary Titan Gold Book Award. Three Skylar Robbins mysteries have been Amazon #1 Bestsellers in Children's Detective Books. Other accolades include being voted Book-of-the-Month by LASR readers, three 5-star Reader's Favorite awards, a winner in the 2021 IAN Book of the Year Awards, and one was a Top Ten Finalist for an Author Academy Award in the YA/Middle Grade category.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carrie Cross
• Release date: Nov 25, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005341367

Carrie Cross

Carrie Cross is an avid reader who fell in love with books as a little girl after listening to Goodnight Moon at bedtime. Carrie discovered her passion for mysteries while reading Nancy Drew and The Happy Hollisters series--and then Judy Blume arrived with her unputdownable coming-of-age novels like Are You There, God? It's Me, Margaret and Deenie. A dancer since age six, Cross took three years of ballet and nine years of jazz dance, until a horrific car accident at age 18 put her in the hospital for five weeks with a broken neck, a broken hip, and severe head trauma resulting in coma. After a year of rehabilitation, Cross returned to C.S.U.N., earning a degree in Speech Communication. During college, Cross pursued a modeling career and was a note-taker and sign language interpreter for the hearing-impaired. During an interview she was asked, "Where do you get your inspiration?" "When I was six years old, my parents decided we needed to buy a bigger house. We looked at a creepy two-story in Santa Monica Canyon, and I played hide-and-seek with the little girl who lived there. There were closets and secret hiding places with doors that opened into other rooms. Later, I wondered, "What if there was a clue hidden in one of those closets?" And the idea for the Skylar Robbins mystery series was born. Cross's influences include YA authors Deb Caletti, Kara Thomas, and Sarah Dessen, as well as Robert Crais and Lee Child. She lives in Southern California with her graphic designer husband Ed-- creator of the Skylar Robbins book covers--and their affectionate rescue cats, Tiki and Kona. When she isn't writing, favorite pastimes include boating (ocean imagery appears in every Skylar Robbins novel), watching Food Network, eating sushi, playing Words with Friends, driving her Porsche "like a Grandma," trying new recipes and restaurants, and traveling to exotic islands. Skylar Robbins mysteries have won multiple awards, and several have achieved #1 Bestseller status in Children's Detective Books on Amazon. Other accolades include being voted Book-of-the-Month by LASR readers, three 5-star Reader's Favorite awards, the 5-Star Literary Titan Book Award, and one was a Top Ten Finalist for an Author Academy Award in the YA/Middle Grade category. Many reviewers have compared Skylar Robbins to a modern Nancy Drew. Skylar's adventures begin with THE MYSTERY OF SHADOW HILLS, and continue in THE MYSTERY OF THE HI...

Book preview

1

That Crazy Summer

If I had known what was going to happen that crazy summer, I would have thought twice about every decision I’d made. Had I paid closer attention to every clue, I might have realized the risky situation I was putting myself in. Again. But no one could have predicted what would happen to all of us: the brainy group of popular kids, athletes, and misfits with super high IQs who had made it into the Accelerated Courses and Experiments program, ACE. Most importantly, I really should have been better at figuring out who I could—or couldn’t—rely on in case of extreme danger.

Six Weeks Later

Skylar, Morgan whispered. I have to get off this plane. Right now.

What? I turned to look at her. Morgan’s forehead dripped sweat, and she was so pale she looked light green. I touched her hand, which was clenching the armrest. Are you all right?

No. That big jet was bad enough. I feel like we’re going to die in this thing.

The pilot sat down right in front of Bastiian, and looked at us over his shoulder. I am your pilot, Phan Ho. Fasten seatbelts, please, he said, starting the engine. Seventy-minute flight. Keep belts on at all times. Next stop, Koma Island. I’d flown before, but never in an airplane so small that the pilot introduced himself and that I could see the back of his head.

Ready or not, here we go. Bastiian shook his long hair around and laughed, but I noticed he was gripping the arms of his seat so hard his knuckles were shining.

Morgan unbuckled her seatbelt as the plane started to move. This whole trip’s a mistake, she muttered, standing up.

It’s too late. I grabbed her arm, pulling her back down. We’re taking off. Put your seatbelt back on! I wished so badly that my BFF, Alexa, was in the seat next to me instead of Morgan. I didn’t want to have to take care of anybody else on a strange, remote island. I wasn’t even sure I’d be able to take care of myself.

Devonna looked across the aisle at us as we started to taxi down the runway. There’s a barf bag in there if you need one, she told Morgan, pointing at the ripped pocket on the back of the seat in front of her.

Ophelia turned around, fixing her pale gray eyes on Devonna. You’re not going to puke on me, are you?

"I’m not," Devonna said, nervously.

Morgan clamped her seatbelt back on, too scared to speak. She grabbed the armrests, her fingers like claws, and screwed her eyes shut. Her lips were moving. I figured she was praying.

The airplane rumbled and shuddered down the runway, picking up speed. The wood block chattered in its metal hoops and I could hear our carry-on items bouncing around in the vibrating compartment. I hoped my detective tools wouldn’t rattle into broken bits before we even got off the ground.

I heard Hannah gasp and Ophelia swear as we all spotted the end of the runway rushing toward us at the same moment. Right when it looked like we were going to run out of airstrip and smash into the trees, the pilot pulled the plane’s nose up off the blacktop.

It felt like we were suspended in midair, pointing at the sky, but just yards off the ground. Climbing too slowly. Like the old plane would fall backward and smash us into the earth at any second. But we kept climbing. Grinding upward. Higher and higher into thick gray clouds.

A spider crawled down the inside of the window next to me. I hoped Morgan wouldn’t notice it. She’d taken the barf bag out of the seat pocket in front of her and was breathing deeply into it. I watched the bag blow up, then shrink together and crinkle. Blow up, shrink together and crinkle. She was trying to get her panic under control. It’s OK, I whispered, touching her clammy arm.

She took the bag away from her face. No. It’s not.

The ride was getting bumpy. Apologies, Phan said. Bit of turbulence. The plane started to pass over some mountains and suddenly it took a big dip. More turbulence coming, he warned, his voice high and strained. Tighten seatbelts!

We hit another giant air pocket and dropped straight down through the atmosphere. I felt my rear end lift right off the seat and the seatbelt press into my stomach. Morgan gasped. The plane leveled out and for a long while flew fairly smoothly over the vast blue ocean, and past the Hawaiian Islands. And then we were turning, the little plane tilting, straightening out, and starting to descend.

Trees, bushes, and rocky cliffs whooshed up to meet us. Phan threaded the plane through and around them, and then a tiny dirt runway rushed toward us. It looked so small I couldn’t imagine landing on it. I was sure we were about to crash. Hannah screamed, Ophelia put her head between her knees, and Morgan threw up into her barf bag.

Seconds later we bounced down and landed with a jarring thud, then skittered down the short runway with the airplane’s brakes screaming. When the plane came to a complete stop, it creaked and popped like it felt fortunate to have survived the flight.

Phan looked over his shoulder at us and smiled thinly. Welcome to Koma Island.

2

Six Weeks Earlier

Mom! I looked up the first flight of stairs, tapping my fingers on the railing impatiently, wishing she’d hurry. That staircase was empty, but I thought I heard something creak from high above. I’m going to be late for school. I slung my backpack over my shoulder and bounced up and down on my toes. Stepping up onto the third stair, I craned my neck to see if I could spot my mom’s heart-shaped face coming toward me. A pop and a squeak sounded from the second floor. Or the third. Then finally, some footsteps.

She didn’t know that if you tiptoed gently on the outermost sides of the stairs they wouldn’t make any noise. Probably because she never tried to sneak up or down them silently. Like me.

Relax, Skylar, my mom said, jogging down the rest of the second flight, briefcase in hand. We have plenty of time. I just had a little trouble getting the bathroom faucet to stop dripping.

Maybe we should replace it with one that isn’t a hundred years old, I joked, and she looked at me like I was so not funny.

Everything about our house needed updating. Built a century ago, it came complete with a tiny elevator called a dumbwaiter, and a hidden floor. The secret staircase that led to it was disguised so well that even I had trouble finding it. My bedroom was inside a stone turret on the side of the mansion. In my room, a spiral staircase led up to a round office in the tip of the turret, where I worked on cases and did my homework. The office was so small that the antique desk my grandfather had left me barely fit inside it. My friends all thought it was the coolest house in Santa Monica Canyon—and I agreed—but sometimes I wished that everything in it wasn’t built before my grandfather was born.

Your father and I like it just the way it is, Smarty-pants. My mom walked down the dark hall into the kitchen and turned on a flickering light. Breakfast, she announced, opening cupboards.

"I’ll eat a yogurt in the car. Please let’s just go," I begged, fidgeting with my backpack strap.

You’re going to be unfashionably early, my mom teased.

I don’t care. I want to pick my seat. If I got to class way before the bell rang I could sit where there were empties on both sides. Then maybe a certain cute someone would choose one of them to sit in. If he had enrolled in summer school.

Daniel Gannon. The most talked about, texted about, dreamed about, eighth-grader in the whole school. Glossy blond hair fell just above the collar of his Quicksilver and Rusty Surfboard t-shirts. His black-framed glasses might have looked goofy on someone else, but they made him look completely cool. Daniel already had muscles in his arms and definition showing in his chest. Most of the other middle school boys looked like children compared to him. Also, Daniel was taller than me, which was a major plus.

He was about to turn fifteen, so he was a year older than me and a grade ahead, but we were in the same advanced math and social studies program, called ACE. The best thing about Daniel was his brain. He literally set the bar for the aptitude tests for everyone in our county. His grades were even better than mine; he was so smart it drove me crazy.

Daniel’s eyes were more turquoise than the ocean in July, and his lips were full and soft. I knew that from the one time he’d kissed me on the sand near the Santa Monica pier. That was after we’d located and freed a box full of evidence that was hidden under the water, nailed to one of the pilings. Then we solved the mystery of the missing heiress together: a case that had been cold for three long years.

By the end of last semester Daniel Gannon liked me back, and the most popular girls at Pacific Middle School were plotting to take him away from me. On the last day of the semester, our social studies teacher announced there would be a summer school session of ACE, and my heart pounded. Would Daniel take the course? Would I get to see him in just a few short weeks? And would he still be interested in me—or had a pretty eighth-grader already snatched him away?

I thought for sure that Daniel would have texted me after we solved that case together. But maybe he was too busy surfing or taking care of his little sister to think about me. I hadn’t heard from him at all, and was too shy to contact him. With every day that passed, staring at my dark and silent phone got more depressing. Maybe he really hadn’t felt the same emotions I had experienced whenever we were together. Did I misread every signal? Some detective I was. I couldn’t even figure out if the boy I’d been crushing on was interested in me too.

Our social studies teacher had promised that an exciting adventure awaited us if we wanted to participate in the summer session of our Accelerated Courses and Experiments class. I had all my fingers and toes crossed that Daniel had enrolled. Maybe I would finally get some answers.

The first session of ACE would start in less than an hour. The course was anthropology, and we would spend six weeks studying the culture of a mysterious tribe who lived on a remote island called Koma. Then we would all take a field trip to the island to witness their customs and traditions in person. The journey would put us in more danger than we could have imagined, although we had no way of knowing that beforehand. If I’d had a clue, would I have gone on the field trip anyway?

Of course I would have. If there was a mystery involved—no matter how risky—I was all in.

As usual, nothing turned out as I expected. The natives were not at all like the peaceful Komans in the textbook. The moonlit beach wasn’t romantic, and unlike I promised my parents, the field trip didn’t turn out to be safe. But I shouldn’t have been surprised. You’d think I would have learned from my last three cases. Danger seemed to follow me wherever I went.

3

Popular Boys

Can we please leave now? I asked, hitching up my backpack strap.

OK, you can eat in the car, my mom said, packing food into a bag. I’ll have breakfast when I get to UCLA. I don’t teach my first class until nine.

Thanks, Mom, I said, grabbing a yogurt and two napkins. A giant blueberry stain on my new shirt would be a fine way to start school.

"A yogurt and a granola bar." She handed me one.

"OK, let’s just go." My mom backed the car out of the garage, and I smoothed a napkin across my chest and tucked it under the seatbelt before I peeled open my yogurt.

We always picked up my BFF/Assistant Detective, Alexa, on the way to school, and I rolled down my window so I could smell the ocean while we waited at the red light on Pacific Coast Highway. I love the salty scent of the air, and took a deep breath while I watched the surf. The pale morning sky reminded me of an Easter egg after you’d dipped it into blue dye just once, and the two clouds dotting it seemed to be there by mistake. Above the ocean, a flock of seagulls circled hungrily, waiting to dive into the water and snatch up fish. A small wave rolled forward and made a pop-pop-popping noise as it burst. Then the white-water sizzled sideways down the sand, fading quietly away like people clapping politely at the end of a play.

When we pulled up in front of Alexa’s house, she was waiting on the sidewalk with a smile bunching up her cheeks. Hi, Skylar! Hey, Mrs. Robbins.

In sixth grade, Alexa still had chubby cheeks, a Texas twang, and pale skin covered in freckles. But over that summer her chest grew, her waist narrowed, and she lost some of her Southern accent. In seventh grade, popular guys like Brendan Tadman started to notice her.

Hi, Alexa, my mom answered. Climb in.

Alexa got into the backseat but she didn’t buckle up right away. She leaned forward and touched my shoulder, so I knew she was about to sign something she didn’t want my mom to hear.

Last year Alexa and I taught ourselves sign language so we could communicate with the hearing impaired, after a deaf friend I’d met in summer school showed me a few signs. Plus, we could share private thoughts that jealous girls, cute boys, and nosy adults couldn’t understand. What we managed to sign was not perfect American Sign Language, but I could usually figure out what Alexa meant, and she got my signs right away.

Alexa shoved thick strawberry blonde hair over her shoulders and signed, HOPE. Then she tried to finger-spell, B-R-E-N-D-A-N. Her dyslexia made spelling a real challenge, so the letters didn’t all come out in the correct order. I got it though. I knew who her crush was. Then she signed, IN SUMMER SCHOOL. Her light green eyes looked excited and the freckles stood out on her smooth cheeks. She’d had a crush on the cute class clown since fourth grade.

A few blocks later Alexa nudged my shoulder so I’d turn around again. THINK CUTE BOYS IN YOUR CLASS? She tapped a temple for think, signed the word cute by stroking two fingers down the side of her chin, and boys by pinching the brim of an imaginary baseball cap while silently mouthing the words.

My mom’s cell phone rang. She pushed a button on the steering wheel and I waited until she started to talk before I answered. I made the sign for HOPE, and then finger-spelled, D-A-N-I-E-L. I don’t care who else is in my class, I said aloud.

As it turned out, I really should have cared.

My mom pulled over to let us out. She gave Alexa a quick wave, and me an air kiss as we scrambled out of her car. Bye, Mom, I called, shutting the door.

We hurried across the sidewalk and turned down the hall, heading for one of the lockers we shared. Meet you at 3 Palms at 10? Alexa asked, and I nodded, wondering who else would visit that part of the lawn during the break.

3 Palms at 10 was a special spot on the grass near the lunch area. Teen models, cheerleaders, and the other in girls spent the ten o’clock break under three palm trees with the rockers from a band called BLAST!, football players, and other school leaders. Basically anyone who was popular enough to fit in could hang out there. Last semester when Alexa, Daniel, and I had solved the mystery of the missing heiress, we’d earned our spot. Although sometimes I still felt like I was dipping my toe into a pool I wasn’t sure I wanted to swim in. See you at ten, I agreed.

I hurried through the halls, hoping to be one of the first students to get to the ACE bungalow. The free-standing building got the nickname BRAINS when the smartest kids in school started to attend special classes there. The Accelerated Courses and Experiments class was so small that they allowed in a maximum of twelve students. Sometimes there were fewer. To be eligible for ACE, a student had to get a high score on the California Standards Tests, or CSTs, in addition to doing something remarkable outside of school.

When my detective agency solved its first mystery, I qualified. Daniel Gannon’s IQ was so high that the school board used him to set the scores for the CSTs. That soared him right into ACE, but I knew he’d rather be surfing than sitting in a classroom during the summer. There was no way he’d choose the BRAINS bungalow over waves. Was there? I would have given up my next bra size to find out he’d signed up for the summer session. Hurrying up the wheelchair-accessible ramp, I walked into the bungalow, hoping to get a seat in the middle of the second row where Daniel liked to sit. I stopped in the doorway and checked the room. Daniel wasn’t there.

Morgan Michaels sat near the door, right at the end of the front row. As usual, her straw-colored hair was a little greasy and her eyes looked watery. Staying out of trouble, Skylar? she mumbled. I instantly felt guilty, remembering the extreme danger we were in just a few short weeks ago. All because of me.

I took off my heavy backpack and bent down to retie my shoe while I tried to think of what to say. So far so good, I said.

You haven’t almost been robbed or attacked in any bad neighborhoods lately, have you? Morgan asked, getting in a little dig that I knew I deserved.

Not since that homeless guy tried to steal my detective kit, I admitted, remembering what had happened to us when I asked for her help while I followed a clue. I still feel bad about asking you to go down there with me.

No worries, Morgan said, nibbling a fingernail.

How about the kids in the shelter. They doing OK? I looked at the remaining empty seats, trying to choose the right desk. The one with the best chance of Daniel sitting next to me.

So appreciating the new books and clothes your donation bought them. We read together every night. They love it. Teaching homeless kids how to read had gotten Morgan accepted into ACE. Pushing lank hair behind one ear, she gave me a grateful smile. Thank you.

This made my cheeks burn. I wasn’t trying to—

Stop it, Skylar. I know you weren’t fishing for a compliment, Morgan said, waving a pale hand through the air to silence me. We appreciate every penny we get. When you and Daniel helped get that heiress’s stalker arrested and signed over that reward check to us— Morgan dropped her head into her hand like this was too much to think about on the first day of school. She looked up. It changed a lot of lives.

I’m glad. Sitting down in the center of the second row, I pulled out my laptop and opened it to take notes.

Reaching into my backpack, I peeked inside my Porta-detective kit, making sure I was ready for any situation that might require my detective skills. My pink leopard-spotted container looked like a small lunchbox or a make-up bag. This mini-version of my detective kit held a smaller variety of my most important tools. There was a compass, a penlight, and an invisible marker. Miniature fingerprinting gear: a little jar full of powder and a tiny brush to dust crime scenes for prints. And my Uniprinter: a one-inch square stamp pad with black ink and a tiny tablet of paper attached to the back, useful for taking one fingerprint from a suspect. I had a mini-mag glass, stick-on spy mirrors, latex gloves, and an ultraviolet flashlight. There was a small pink journal for taking hand-written detective notes. A listening device called a Soundtrap came with tiny earbuds and a directional microphone: the perfect device for eavesdropping. And a container of Invisi-powder.

You never knew when you’d need to disappear.

I had been begging my parents for a pair of night vision goggles for two years, and finally got one for Christmas. I’d learned sign language and memorized five secret codes besides Morse code, and I could write and read backward and upside down. Detective Robbins was prepared for anything.

Or so I thought.

4

Zombie Eyes

My eyes flicked toward the door as someone clomped up the bungalow ramp. I remembered our teacher, Kevin Reynolds, looking at us with a strange expression on the last day of school. A shadow seemed to pass