The Vanderbeekers to the Rescue

by Karina Yan Glaser

  “He said a bad word!” Laney said loudly.

  “Crumb isn’t a bad word,” Jessie said.

  “Yes, it is,” Laney insisted.

  “No, it isn’t.”

  Jessie turned back to the door, where Mr. West was getting wetter by the second.

  “Yes, it is,” Laney whispered, just quietly enough for Jessie not to hear.

  “Sorry about that,” Isa said through the crack in the door. “Our dog gets overexcited. Mama should be back soon. Let me text her to see if I can let you in.” Isa took out her phone and sent her mom a message. Then the five Vanderbeeker kids, plus Franz, who continued to howl and leap at the window, proceeded to watch the man get completely drenched.

  “I’m sure she’ll respond soon,” Isa said apologetically. She dialed Mama’s number, but it went straight to voice mail. “Do you want to come back later?”

  Mr. West wiped raindrops from his eyes. “My department is severely understaffed. If we don’t do it now, it will be months before I can get back here.”

  “Hold on one second, Mr. West.” Jessie closed the door and turned to Isa. “Mama did say an inspector was coming. I’m sure it’s fine to let him in.”

  “True,” Isa said. “It might be worse if Mama misses this appointment. Remember the time Papa forgot about the boiler inspection? Boom, two-hundred-dollar fine.”

  Jessie thought about this, then removed the chain and opened the door. A very wet, very disgruntled-looking Mr. West stepped inside. Franz pushed his face into Mr. West’s legs and started licking the bottom of his raincoat. Franz loved rainwater. When Mr. West realized what Franz was doing, he yanked his jacket away, and the kids recognized him immediately as Not a Dog Person. Hyacinth grabbed Franz’s collar and tempted him into the living room with a shake of the dog-biscuit jar.

  Meanwhile, Mr. West dripped a steady stream of water onto their area rug. A loud howl made everyone swivel to see George Washington flying down the stairs, his tummy swinging wildly from side to side. He skidded on the wooden floor when he reached the landing, then scrambled into the living room and hid behind a potted plant.

  Mr. West pushed wet hair out of his eyes, pulled his clipboard from his bag, and wrote something down.

  The Vanderbeekers soon saw the reason for George Washington’s abrupt arrival and departure. Princess Cutie scrambled down the steps in a blur of white fur, then began meowing and pouncing around the living room in search of her archenemy. Despite many attempts to broker peace between the two cats, they remained quite antagonistic toward each other.

  “You have two cats?” Mr. West asked.

  “The orange one is ours,” Laney said. “That white one belongs to Mr. Beiderman. Her name is Princess Cutie.”

  “She’s staying with us until Mr. Beiderman gets back from his trip,” Isa said, then turned to her siblings. “I cannot wait for her to leave. She talks so much!” Her siblings nodded in agreement.

  “Mr. Beiderman is our landlord,” Laney told Mr. West. “He also lives upstairs. He tried to evict us, but then he changed his mind.”

  “Jeez, Laney,” Oliver said. “Oversharing.”

  “He didn’t try to evict us,” Jessie clarified. “He just wasn’t going to renew our lease.”

  Mr. West wrote something else on his clipboard.

  “What are you writing?” Laney inquired, standing on her tiptoes to peek at his paper.

  Mr. West ignored her question and angled the clipboard away from her. “How many animals do you have in total?”

  “Four,” Laney said.

  “But only three actually live here,” Jessie said.

  “We have a dog, a cat, and a rabbit,” Laney said. “I want another rabbit, but Papa says no.”

  Mr. West checked something off on his clipboard. “Where’s the rabbit?” he asked.

  Laney pointed at the living room, and Mr. West peeked in. Paganini had managed to escape from his maze and was now sitting in the middle of the carpet, his narrowed eyes glinting at Mr. West with deep distrust. Mr. West cleared his throat and glanced around the rest of the apartment.

  “Is there another kitchen here?” he asked.

  “Why would we have another kitchen?” Jessie asked.

  “Does anyone have more than one kitchen?” Oliver wondered out loud.

  Before Mr. West could ask another question, Isa and Jessie both yelled, “Franz, no!”

  Their shouts were followed by a crash, then a happy howl. Miraculously, Franz had managed to jump high enough on his short legs to bump his nose against the tray holding the precious batch of chocolate sea salt caramel cookies. The tray had been hanging slightly over the edge of the counter from when Oliver had considered stealing one. In a matter of seconds, all five Vanderbeeker kids plus Princess Cutie raced to the kitchen and skidded to a stop. Princess Cutie gleefully batted the cookies and sent them careening around the floor. One slid underneath the oven. Another went into the two-inch gap between the refrigerator and the cabinet. Hyacinth grabbed Franz’s collar while Jessie tried to pry his mouth open and dig out the four cookies he had managed to snatch.

  Laney kept yelling, “Chocolate is poisonous to animals!” over and over again until Isa intervened and gave her the job of holding Princess Cutie so she could gather the fallen cookies.

  “Hyacinth, you owe me bigtime for saving your dog’s life,” Jessie said with a grimace, letting go of Franz and throwing away the mushed-up cookies she had scooped from his mouth.

  “Maybe we should take him to the vet, just in case?” Hyacinth suggested, worried. “Chocolate poisoning in animals is very serious.”

  Mr. West cleared his throat, and the Vanderbeeker kids looked up in surprise. They had forgotten he was there!

  Isa was the first to remember her manners. “Can I get you anything, Mr. West? A glass of water? A towel so you can dry off?”

  Mr. West was still standing in a corner of the living room. Paganini was blocking his path to the rest of the apartment.

  “How about a cookie?” Oliver called. “I saved about twenty of them! Five-second rule!”

  “Many scientists dispute the five-second rule,” Jessie said. “Most bacteria transfers to food immediately upon impact.”

  Mr. West shuddered and shook his head. “I do not want a cookie,” he said to them before writing one final thing on his clipboard. Then he tore off a set of yellow carbon-copy sheets from under the paper he was writing on and said, “This visit was intended to be an inspection of the premises for your mother’s home processor’s license. There are serious violations.”

  “A home processor’s license?” Oliver said. “I thought you were going to inspect the building or the boiler or something.”

  “This is for Mama’s baking business?” Isa exclaimed.

  Mr. West continued as if the Vanderbeekers had not said anything. “On behalf of the New York State Department of Agriculture and Markets, I am revoking the license until this kitchen can pass another inspection. An official letter will arrive shortly. Your mother must terminate all business operations until she meets the requirements and must request another inspection before she can resume her business.” Mr. West slapped the yellow paper on an end table.

  “You can’t do that!” Jessie said. “She’s going to be in Perch Magazine!”

  “And she needs to work this week!” Isa called as Mr. West made his way to the door. He didn’t respond. The door opened. Wind slipped inside the brownstone and gave a big roar. Then the door shut again, leaving only silence behind.

  Four

  “Did what I think happened just happen?” Jessie asked her siblings when she found her voice.

  “He was scared of Paganini,” Laney reported. She skipped over to her rabbit and stroked his forehead. Paganini hunkered down, his eyes half closed in bliss. “Who could be scared of a sweet little rabbit?”

  “This is not good,” Jessie said, running her hands through her hair. “Jeez, Oliver, did you really have to offer him a cookie that had fallen on
the floor?”

  “I thought he was checking the boiler or the roof or something!” Oliver defended himself. “Anyway, you’re the one who let him inside in the first place!”

  “I felt bad watching him standing out in the rain!” Jessie exclaimed. “It scrambled my rational thinking!”

  “It’s not your fault,” Isa told Jessie. Before Oliver could protest, she turned to him and said, “It’s not your fault either. How could we have known what he was here for?”

  Isa walked over to the end table and picked up the yellow paper, and her siblings gathered around.

  “‘Animals present in kitchen area,’” Hyacinth read. “‘Unsanitary food-preparation conditions.’”

  “Of course there were animals in the kitchen!” Jessie said. “How could we possibly keep them out of there?”

  “‘The home processor’s license is revoked, and the license holder must reapply and submit to another inspection before resuming operations,’” Oliver read out loud. He looked up at his sisters. “What are we going to do? She has the photo shoot this Friday!” “Why does Mama need a license to bake cookies?” Hyacinth asked.

  “When you’re an adult, you need a license to do everything,” Isa pointed out.

  “Being an adult is awful,” Jessie said with the air of a thirteen-year-old who was just starting to understand the multitude and magnitude of adult problems.

  “Everything?” Laney asked, skeptical. “What about marrying?”

  “You need a marriage license,” Isa said.

  “Driving?” Laney tried.

  “You need a driver’s license,” Jessie said.

  “Painting nails?” Laney asked, holding up her hands, which she had painted purple that morning. She had forgotten to let them dry before she petted Paganini, so bits of fur were stuck in the polish.

  “If people pay you to paint their nails, you need a license,” Isa explained.

  Oliver raised his eyebrows. “Now you’re just making stuff up.”

  “Nope,” Isa said. “I know because Allegra told me.” Allegra was one of Isa’s best friends. “She started a nail-painting business in the cafeteria during lunch. The principal shut it down. Apparently you have to be at least seventeen years old and have a Nail Specialty license to legally paint people’s nails for pay.”

  “And now we know that you need a home processor’s license to sell cookies,” Jessie said.

  Hyacinth chewed the side of her finger. “We’re going to tell Mama about this, right?”

  “And say what?” Oliver said. “‘Hey, we destroyed your business right before the biggest day of your life. Sorry!’”

  “Maybe we can fix this before she even knows,” Isa said. “The first thing we need to do is reschedule the inspection before the photo shoot.”

  “There’s a number right here.” Jessie pointed to the bottom of the inspection paper, then handed her phone to Isa. “You can call, pretend to be Mama, and set up another appointment.”

  Isa put her hands behind her back. “You’re the one who’s good with impressions.”

  “Ooh, do Mr. Beiderman,” Laney requested. “That one is hilarious.”

  “Your Mr. Smiley imitation is the best,” Oliver chimed in. Mr. Smiley was his friend Angie’s father, and the Vanderbeekers greatly admired his Russian accent.

  Jessie stared at her siblings, then said, “Fine, I’ll do it.” She dialed the number and put the phone on speaker. After one ring, a musical voice came through.

  “Good afternoon, New York State Department of Agriculture and Markets. My name is Natasha. How may I help you?”

  “Hello,” Jessie said, pitching her voice a little lower and enunciating her words more clearly than usual. “Mr. West was just here for an inspection, and there were a few, uh, items that needed addressing in order to renew my m—um, my home processor’s license. I was hoping to correct the outstanding issues and have him reinspect the premises.”

  “Unfortunately, there are very few inspectors in this department,” Natasha said, “and they serve the entire state. Mr. West leaves New York City this Thursday, and he is completely booked. The next time an inspector is scheduled to come to your area is . . .”

  The kids heard some keys tapping.

  “. . .September.”

  “Holy smokes!” Oliver said, then clapped his hand to his mouth.

  “Would September work for you?” Natasha asked pleasantly, as if talking about her plans for lunch instead of determining the fate of Mama’s business.

  “Um, we were hoping for this week,” Jessie said. “It’s super, super important. Like, life and death.”

  “Hmm,” Natasha said. “That sounds serious.” The Vanderbeekers could hear her clicking around on her computer. “He just got a cancellation for Thursday at three thirty. It’s his last appointment for the day, and he asked me not to put anyone else in that slot so he could go home early. But I’ll just pretend I forgot.”

  “Oh my gosh, that would be awesome,” Jessie blurted into the phone. “Thank you!”

  “No problem,” Natasha said. “Tell me your last name.”

  “Vanderbeeker.”

  “You said Mr. West came by today, right? Oh, I see you in the schedule! Okay, I’ll put you back into the calendar for Thursday at three thirty in the afternoon. Have a nice day, now.”

  “You too!” Jessie said, then clicked the phone off.

  The Vanderbeekers air high-fived.

  “That’s one problem solved,” Isa said.

  “Only a thousand more problems to go,” Jessie said as her phone buzzed with an incoming text message. “It’s Mama,” she said, then read it out loud. “‘I’ll be back in ten minutes. The inspector shouldn’t be there for twenty more minutes, but if he’s early, be super nice to him!’”

  “Tell her the inspection was rescheduled for next week, after the photo shoot,” Isa told Jessie. “That way we can fix everything before she even knows about it.”

  Jessie glanced at Isa, then typed a brief message back. “He rescheduled for next Monday.”

  Mama wrote back immediately. “Great!”

  Jessie typed again. “Franz knocked over a tray of your cookies. We’re sorry.”

  Mama’s message was short: “UGH.”

  Jessie put her phone in her pocket, then looked at her siblings. “Four days until the next inspection, five days until the photo shoot.”

  A boom of thunder shook the brownstone, and Oliver whistled. “If we can’t fix this, we’re going to have to get Mama a huge birthday present.”

  Five

  Twenty minutes later, Mama arrived back home. She greeted the kids, scolded Franz, then immediately got to work making a new batch of chocolate sea salt caramel cookies. The kids closed all the curtains in case Mr. West was lurking outside and waiting to slam her with a violation and a fine.

  While Mama was busy with the cookies, Isa gathered her siblings and they descended into the basement with Franz and Princess Cutie, closing the door so Mama wouldn’t overhear them. Isa trailed her hands along the banister as she went downstairs, feeling the familiar grooves of the wood pressing into her fingers. This daily ritual usually filled her with peace, but today even the brownstone’s comfort eluded her.

  When Isa reached the bottom, she sat on a floor pillow and rubbed her temples, thinking about the mess they had gotten themselves into. Her orchestra audition was Friday morning, right before the photo shoot. They needed to save Mama’s business, prepare the brownstone, and plan Mama’s birthday by then, and Isa had to nail her audition.

  Isa looked out at her siblings, who were arguing over the remaining floor pillows. Franz, in a fit of boredom a few weeks earlier, had pulled most of the stuffing from two of them, and no one wanted to be stuck with those. Overhead, white twinkle lights crisscrossed the ceiling, and garlands of silvery stars reflected their glow and shimmered in happiness at the Vanderbeekers’ appearance.

  Isa cleared her throat to get her siblings’ attention. “Who has ide
as?”

  “We could give away our pets,” Oliver joked. He was immediately smacked with pillows by all of his sisters except Hyacinth. Hyacinth’s eyes filled with tears.

  “It was a joke!” Oliver said.

  “Not funny, Oliver,” Hyacinth said.

  “Sorry,” Oliver said, chastened. “Hey, maybe we could hide the pets during the inspection. We could say we found new homes for them, but we’ll actually just bring them to someone else’s place until Mr. West leaves.”

  “That could work,” Jessie said. “We’d have to hide all their stuff, though. Kitty litterbox, Paganini’s hay box, Franz’s bed—”

  “Franz’s toys, his leash, his food . . .” Oliver continued.

  “These animals have more stuff than we do,” Jessie remarked.

  “But that doesn’t solve the license problem,” Hyacinth said. “What if Mr. West comes back later and sees all the animals? Mama would get in big trouble.”

  “Hmm . . . Hyacinth makes a good point,” Isa said.

  “Maybe Mama could bake upstairs, in Mr. Jeet and Miss Josie’s apartment. Or in Mr. Beiderman’s place,” Jessie suggested.

  “Not a bad idea,” Isa said.

  “Mr. Jeet has to take lots of naps,” Laney announced. “Sometimes he falls asleep when he’s talking to me.”

  “True,” Isa said. “I can’t see Mama wanting to impose on them.”

  “Mr. Beiderman has Princess Cutie,” Laney added, “and she jumps up on counters and eats from his plate, and he lets her when he thinks no one is watching.” The older Vanderbeekers paused to consider this new revelation. Their parents were adamant that the kids never feed the pets table food, ever.

  “This sounds like a hard problem,” Laney said. “Too hard for us.”

  “We have to do something,” Isa reasoned.

  “It was a mistake!” Laney said.

  “Yes,” Isa said slowly. “But when you make a mistake, you have to fix it, right?”

  “Mama usually fixes my mistakes,” Laney said with a shrug.