The North Star

by Shepherd

  Isabel shook her head. “Once Lucy twisted her ankle and dropped the tray, we were scrambling, and I forgot about it.”

  “Thanks, Isabel,” Sophia said. She walked back down to the cellar, turning the question over in her mind. What would a party guest be doing in the wine cellar? She looked again, confused by the array of bottles. She had obviously been searching for something. But what?

  Sophia pulled up the party list on her phone and ran her finger down the column of names before dialing Zach’s number. “Your mom’s note wasn’t about the morning; it was about one of the guests. And I know who it is!”

  CHAPTER

  11

  A short time later, the four young detectives met in front of the neat, well-kept bungalow where Abby lived with her parents. The cedar picket fence was lined with hydrangeas, and there were several well-chewed dog toys dotting the path that led to the front porch.

  “So you think AM stands for Abigail Morris, not morning?” Evie asked suspiciously. “I thought you were convinced Evan Masterson was the culprit. So what are we doing here?”

  “Your mom’s notes said something about AM in the wine cellar. A female guest was seen going down there at the party last night, and it looks like she totally ransacked the place. I want to know what she was looking for,” Sophia said.

  “Oh, so now all of the sudden you think my mom has a worthwhile clue? I thought you don’t listen to reporters.”

  Sophia rolled her eyes. “I said I don’t talk to them, okay? So, cool your jets, Evie. It’s nothing personal.”

  Evie put her hands on her hips. “Well, it sure feels personal. What do you have against reporters, anyway?”

  Sophia leveled her gaze at Evie. “Look. Between my dad’s business deals and my mom’s cases, my family’s kind of in the paper a lot, okay? It hasn’t done us any favors, so I’m not suddenly gonna start chatting with a reporter like some dumb noob; I don’t care who it is.”

  “Well, you didn’t have to be so rude about it.”

  Sophia opened the gate and walked into the yard. “Take it from me. Sometimes being rude is the only way to get people to listen.”

  The boys hesitantly trailed after Sophia up to the porch, and after a moment, Evie followed. Sophia rang the bell, and a there was a deep bark from inside. Clicking claws galloped through the house.

  When Abigail Morris opened the door, three dogs squeezed around her and strained their necks to sniff at the visitors. “Sophia Boyd!” Abby said with shock. “This is a surprise! Who are your friends?”

  The kids introduced themselves, and Abby invited them inside. As soon as they sat down, the largest dog, a black-and-white pit bull mix, shoved a well-chewed stuffed alligator into Evie’s hand. “That’s Ronin,” Abby said. “She loves to play fetch.” Evie tossed the toy, and the big dog pounced on it before bringing it back to

  her for another round.

  A small, three-legged dog with a feathery white tail hopped onto the sofa next to Zach. She immediately flopped onto her side and looked up hopefully. “That’s Thumbelina Feathertail,” Abby said. “She’s always asking for belly rubs.” Zach grinned and petted the dog’s pink tummy.

  Vishal pointed to the tiny tan-and-white fluffball standing in the middle of the living room. Her round eyes were milky, and a pink tongue lolled out of her toothless mouth. “Is that dog okay?”

  Abby chuckled. “She’s fine. Chicken is mostly deaf and blind, so she’s just trying to figure out where everyone is.” Abby clapped her hands loudly, and the little dog perked up and trotted over to her feet. The young woman scooped her into her arms, and Chicken immediately curled up in her lap. “So, what can I do for you guys?”

  Sophia folded her arms. “Well, I’d like to know what you were doing in my wine cellar last night.”

  Abby blinked. “Oh.”

  Sophia pressed on. “You don’t deny you were down there?”

  Abby shook her head. “Of course not. I offered to go.”

  “So you were working for someone else. I knew it! Was it Evan Masterson?”

  Abby looked puzzled. “Is that your caterer?”

  “What?”

  Zach held up his hands. “Hold up a second. Can everyone please just slow down?” Zach looked at Abby. “Let’s start over. You said you offered to go down to the wine cellar. Why?”

  Abby stroked Chicken’s head. “Gideon’s wonderful, and it’s been a whirlwind since we’ve gotten engaged. He’s always whisking me off to glamorous parties . . .” She looked down at the sparkling diamond engagement ring on her hand. “. . . but sometimes it’s a bit lonely at those things. Everyone’s so different from the kind of people I grew up with.”

  “Different how?” Vishal asked, curious.

  “My parents didn’t have a lot of money for college, so I used to help out with a catering company on evenings and weekends to put myself through school. It was nothing fancy, just passing out trays of food, but I loved it. Everyone helping each other out, cracking jokes.”

  Evie grinned. “My mom’s first high school job was working as a deli waitress. She said the same thing.”

  Abby smiled back at her. “Last night, Gideon had to take a phone call, and I got a little tired of standing around and making small talk with a bunch of people I didn’t know. I recognized one of the servers from my catering days, so I popped into the kitchen to see if she needed any help.”

  Evie’s eyes widened. “You did? OMG! What did she say?”

  Abby blushed again and grinned. “She said, ‘Thank goodness you’re here,’ and sent me straight to the cellar to bring up more white wine!”

  Evie laughed, but Sophia glowered. “A likely story! I saw the cellar this morning, and the place was completely ransacked. What were you looking for?”

  Abby shrugged. “Wine,” she replied simply. “Nobody in my family drinks. The only way I can tell a white from a red is from the color inside the bottles. It was so dark in the cellar I couldn’t see the difference, so I had to keep grabbing bottles and running over to hold them up to the light. Then I couldn’t remember where to put them back.”

  “Nice try. But you already said you worked for a catering company.” Sophia smirked and cocked her head to one side. “Those places always serve wine. Are you really trying to tell us you never learned the difference between a Merlot and a Chardonnay?”

  Chicken stretched her neck up and yawned, and Abby scratched her under the chin. “Like I said, I mostly just brought out food,” continued Abby. “When I did serve wine, I just had to ask if they wanted red or white and hand them a glass someone else had already poured. It’s a good thing I don’t have to serve at my own wedding; I’d be useless!”

  Sophia folded her arms and didn’t say anything.

  “When are you and Gideon getting married?” Evie asked.

  “Next August,” Abby answered. “I teach kinder­garten, and trying to plan a wedding during the school year would be a nightmare. Especially with the kind of wedding Gideon wants. He has a huge heart, and he’s so generous, but it’s all a bit much for me. At one point, he was talking about hiring live tigers to be the ring bearers!”

  “That sounds . . . dangerous,” Vishal said.

  Abby laughed. “That’s Gideon. Ever the showman. He always says, ‘If you can’t do it big, it’s not worth doing.’”

  “Some people are saying that it’s going to be the most lavish wedding Minneapolis has ever seen,” Sophia said, eyeing Abby carefully.

  Abby shrugged. “That’s Gideon.”

  Sophia narrowed her eyes. “Something’s not adding up.”

  CHAPTER

  12

  Sophia pointed to the article in the wedding magazine. “If Gideon’s planning a huge, expensive wedding in Minneapolis, then what are you doing reading articles about planning weddings on a budget?”

  Abby sighed. “I’m worried,” she finally admitted. She cuddled Chicken closer. “Lately Gideon hasn’t been himself. He seems nervous. On edge. I’ve heard
him arguing on the phone with his business partner. I think he might be having money problems, but he says that everything’s fine.” She twisted her engagement ring around her finger.

  “If Gideon’s having money problems, then why would he want to bid on the North Star?” Zach asked.

  “I don’t know,” Abby said. “Gideon always says he wants me to have the best of everything, but I don’t even like jewelry.”

  “Or maybe you stole the North Star to help Gideon out of his money problems,” Sophia said accusingly. “Were you working alone, or did someone hire you? Was it Evan Masterson?”

  Evie threw up her hands in exasperation. “OMG, relax about Evan Masterson for a hot second, will you?”

  Sophia ignored her. “If you stole the necklace, you would never have to worry about money problems again. No more slaving away at your dead-end job, living in this tiny shack with your parents.” She gestured around the cozy, well-appointed living room.

  Abby bristled. “I live here with my parents because I choose to, and I’m proud of my job. I teach children to read. Do you know how amazing that is? I would never steal. Never in a million years!”

  Evie’s jaw dropped. “Seriously, Sophia, do you have any idea how to treat people at all?”

  Sophia brushed the jab away dismissively. “Well, what about the whole locksmith thing?” she demanded.

  “What exactly is the locksmith thing?” Vishal asked. “I thought she was a kindergarten teacher.”

  “My dad was a locksmith,” Abby explained, “but he’s retired.”

  “And only a locksmith—or possibly a locksmith’s daughter—would be able to open the safe without the combination,” Sophia said.

  “Well, not necessarily,” Abby said.

  Sophia was triumphant. “See? I told you she knows something!”

  “Wait, what did you mean by ‘not necessarily’?” Vishal asked Abby. “How could someone who’s not an expert safecracker get into a safe?”

  “It depends on what kind it is,” Abby said, setting down Chicken. “Let me go get my dad. He can explain.”

  As soon as she left the room, Evie turned on Sophia. “Sophia, for real. You can’t just go around accusing everyone. And what’s with that burn about her house and her job?”

  Vishal reached down for Chicken and pulled her into his lap. “Yeah, Sophia, that was mad abrasive.”

  “Yeah, well, when you have a multimillion dollar heirloom stolen from your home, then you can lecture me on how polite I should be,” Sophia shot back resentfully.

  Abby returned with her father, Mr. Morris. He was a short but solidly built man with white hair and light-blue eyes set wide apart on his face. “Well, hello there, kids. Abby here says you have a question about safecracking. You aren’t planning any heists, now, are you?” he joked, his voice betraying the long, flat vowels of a native Minnesotan.

  Sophia’s expression was icy, and as she opened her mouth to speak, Zach interjected. “Actually, sir, the crime has already happened. We’re trying to figure out how someone could open a safe without the combination or any sign that it’s been broken into.”

  Abby’s father rubbed his hands together. “Now, that’s an interesting puzzle. Do you know what kind of safe it is?”

  “I know what it looks like, but I don’t know what kind it is,” Sophia said.

  “Why don’t you all follow me back to my workshop, and we’ll see what we can figure out.” The old man led Abby and the kids through the back door and into a small detached garage. The inside had been converted into an office with a workbench and old safes in varying states of disassembly. Dozens of lockpicks and keys hung on hooks along a pegboard wall, and an old-fashioned phone the color of Band-Aids sat in the corner of the beat-up metal desk near the door.

  Mr. Morris picked up a thick white binder from the desk and flipped it open. “Why don’t you thumb through this book to see if anything looks familiar?”

  “Cool,” Vishal said. “It’s like a police lineup, only for safes!”

  Sophia bent over the book, tucking her hair behind her ear. After a few moments, she pointed to a photograph of a large black safe with an electronic keypad. “I’m pretty sure that’s it.”

  As the group bent over to read over the safe’s specs, Zach nudged Vishal with an excited grunt. “Vish! Look!”

  CHAPTER

  13

  Vishal groaned. “Oh, man! That magnet we found in the garden . . .”

  “That’s what the thief must have used to break into the safe,” Zach finished.

  “We have to bring it to the police!” Evie slumped. “But I guess any hope for fingerprints is out.”

  Sophia and the adults exchanged confused glances. Evie and the boys explained what they had found in the garden.

  “And you knuckleheads picked it up, played with it, and didn’t even think to tell the police?” Sophia demanded.

  “It looked like a hockey puck,” Vishal said defensively. “How were we supposed to know it was a clue?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that you were at a crime scene?” Sophia shot back.

  “Where is the magnet now?” asked Abby’s father.

  “It’s in my backpack,” Vishal said sheepishly. He slung the pack off his back and started to unzip it.

  “Don’t touch it again,” Abby said. “There’s always a possibility there could be something the police could still use. I’ll be right back.”

  She returned a few minutes later with a pair of rubber gloves and a resealable plastic bag. Mr. Morris put on the gloves and placed the magnet carefully into the bag, sealing it tight. Vishal reached for the bag, but Sophia blocked his hand. “I’ll carry that. You’ve done enough damage, don’t you think?” Vishal’s ears turned pink and he dropped his hand.

  Evie flashed her brightest smile at Abby and her father. “Would one of you mind giving us a ride to the police station?”

  ***

  A short time later, the four teens sat on a hard wooden bench in the police station lobby as a stone-faced uniformed officer stared them down over the top of the counter. “Let me get this straight: you four children claim to have discovered evidence that is . . .” He looked down at the pink message pad on the desk, his voice laced with amused disbelief. “. . . of importance to the North Star case.”

  “Of vital importance,” Sophia corrected. She pointed at his pad. “Vital. Write that down.”

  The officer’s dark, bushy eyebrows crawled up his forehead as he gazed at her over the top of his reading glasses. He looked down at his message pad. “Of vital importance to the case.” He made a big show of writing in the missing word. Then he put down his pen and smiled politely. “All right, then. Have a seat.” He turned back to a handwritten report he was painstakingly transcribing into an ancient desktop computer. All that could be heard was the clacking of his keyboard and the distant ringing of phones in the offices beyond.

  Sophia watched him for a moment. “Well?” she said finally. “Aren’t you going to tell someone? The police chief, maybe? I’m sure they’ll want to see us right away.”

  The officer’s eyes never left the computer screen. “Mm-hm. The police chief oversees the entire force, but she’s always ready to drop everything for a crime tip from a couple of kids.”

  Sophia smiled confidently. “Great!” The officer at the desk didn’t move. Sophia leaned over to Evie, her voice a piercing whisper. “He’s not doing anything. Do you think maybe he’s being sarcastic?”

  Evie closed her eyes for a moment. “He’s definitely being sarcastic,” she replied in a low voice.

  “So what do we do, then?”

  Evie summoned from the depths of her rapidly depleting well of patience. “We wait, Sophia.”

  Sophia blinked. “But this is important! Why should we have to wait?”

  Evie slouched back against the bench and stretched her legs out in front of her. “Because that’s what regular people do. Maybe if you’re rich and white, folks jump up at t
he snap of your fingers. I wouldn’t know. But whenever the rest of us asks for something, someone else tells us to sit down and wait our turn. And if we’re lucky—if we’re lucky—then maybe eventually someone will show up and listen to us. But more often than not, they won’t.”

  “But that’s not fair!” Sophia protested.

  Evie locked eyes with Sophia. “Believe me, we know.”

  Sophia looked at the two boys. They nodded and shrugged. “Oh,” Sophia said in a small voice. “Okay.” She placed the bagged magnet in her lap and folded her hands neatly on top of it.

  After what felt like hours, the officer at the front desk finished typing up his report and shut the manila folder with a sigh. He stood up and stretched, his protruding belly straining against the buttons of his dark-blue uniform. He picked up the message pad and glanced at it again. “I’ll drop this off on my way to the can. Don’t touch anything while I’m gone.”

  Vishal grimaced and jumped up from the bench. “I hate it when they say that. It makes me want to touch everything!” He paced around the waiting area.

  “I know, right?” Zach stood up and riffled through a display of brochures on a side table.

  “What’s ‘the can’?” Sophia asked. “Is it some cop thing?”

  Evie looked sideways at Sophia. “It’s the bathroom.”

  “Oh!” Sophia wrinkled her nose. “Gross. That is serious TMI.”

  Evie giggled in spite of herself. “Tell me about it!”

  Just then, a plainclothes police officer stepped into the lobby from the back, his eyes intent on the screen of the cell phone he held in his hand. He had dark hair and coppery skin, and his gray suit stretched across his broad shoulders. He looked up in surprise when he saw the group of young teens wandering around the waiting room. “What are you doing here? Are you waiting for someone?”

  Zach put down the brochure he had been reading. “We are, actually.” He held out his hand. “I’m Zach Mamuya, and this is my sister, Evie—”

  The officer stopped him. “Did you say Mamuya? You’re not Yaro’s twins, are you?” Zach nodded, and the officer’s face broke out in a grin. “I can’t believe how grown you are! I still remember how excited he was when you two were born. You were all he talked about!” The man shook Zach’s hand and offered his hand to Evie. “I’m Detective Peter Bermudez. Your dad trained me back when I was a rookie cop just learning the ropes. It was an honor to serve under him.”