Uncovering Sadie's Secrets

by Libby Sternberg

  “Well, we could use one here, too. What if one of us had an emergency and we called home and the phone line was tied up all night?”

  Connie gave me a look that said “the weather must be nice on the Planet Moron,” then echoed her thought with: “You have my cell phone number. Plus, in case you haven’t noticed, we’re all home now. If you have an emergency, you can just walk over here and tell me.”

  I ignored her sarcasm and finished my scrubbing, dumping the clean saucepan into the dish drainer, drying my hands on a towel, and walking over to the computer.

  “What are you looking for?” I asked, standing behind her as she scrolled through a page heavy with type.

  “Just some information,” she said noncommittally, then looked at me and shrugged as if giving up the fight. “I have a client who suspects one of his employees is cheating on him.”

  “Oh, and he hired you to prove it?”

  “Not exactly. He just wants to get rid of the guy with no fuss, no lawyers digging into his accounts. So I’m just giving the boss enough information to show the employee it’s best to leave of his own accord.”

  The material Connie was perusing, I noticed, was an article on “How to Dismiss a Problem Employee” from an old Business Month magazine. So much for glamorous private eye work.

  You’ve got mail, chirped the computer, and Connie minimized the article to open her email.

  “This is great,” she said, scanning the note. “This will do it!” As she printed out the note, I read it. All it told her was the social security number of one “Herb Bolvane.”

  “How does that ‘do it?’” I asked. “It’s just a number.”

  Connie pointed to the first three digits in the nine-digit number. “It’s much more, my dear. It tells me his place of birth, or at least where he lived the first years of his life. My Mr. Bolvane is a liar.”

  At my perplexed look, she continued her lesson. “See the first three numbers?” She pointed to the screen where Mr. Bolvane’s first three digits read 034. “You can tell from those where the card was issued. Mr. Bolvane’s was issued in Massachusetts—010 through 034 are Massachusetts numbers. But he claimed to his employer he was a lifelong Marylander.” She turned around and started typing a response.

  “How do you know he’s a liar? Maybe his mother got him his card when he was a baby and they were only in Massachusetts a little while,” I said, pleased to think of it.

  “Uh-uh. In Mr. Bolvane’s case, the second two numbers are 00. No Social Security numbers were issued with that as a group number. It’s a fake number. He’s a liar all right.”

  As she typed her note, I left her alone, marveling at the wonders of the private investigator universe and hoping she’d be off the phone line soon in case Sadie was trying to call me. I went upstairs to do my homework.

  It turned out to be a disappointing evening. Connie stayed online for another hour. When I tried to reach Kerrie, she was out buying some school supplies with her Dad, which meant IM’ing her wouldn’t do a bit of good, and Sadie either didn’t call or didn’t bother to leave a message when she did.

  I went to bed feeling lonely, grumpy, and nervous, which I discovered was a surefire way to keep sleep at bay.

  THE NEXT morning, I was determined to talk to Sadie alone. In spite of my initial misgivings about the girl, I was beginning to feel like she was in some kind of big trouble and might need some help.

  Maybe I was motivated by guilt for originally making fun of her. Or maybe it was because of Lemming Lady. If she scared the bejeebies out of me, she must surely do the same for Sadie.

  Whatever the reason, I now felt like a “Woman with a Mission” and fixated on finding out as much as I could about Sadie’s situation. This goal-oriented approach was a great fear-reducer. It energized me and made me feel in control of the situation.

  Despite arriving at school early, I couldn’t find Sadie. She was-n’t at her locker, and Kerrie, Nicole, Carmen, even Hilary (whom I was sure would be tracking her new rival’s every movement) did-n’t know where she was.

  I shuddered. What if the leather-clad Lemming Lady had actually found Sadie? I fingered my slashed backpack strap and pushed the horrid thought from my mind.

  “Did Doug ask you out?” Kerrie whispered as we made our way to first period. “You two looked awfully cozy after school. That’s why I left in a hurry. So you could have more time together.”

  “No, he didn’t,” I told her. “He was real nice, though. But we got interrupted.” I wanted to tell her more, but the bell sounded, and there was no more time for small talk.

  This set the stage for the rest of a day, when there would be no time to catch up on gossip. Normally, I’m a pretty good student. My favorite class is Creative Writing, where Jolanda Murphy and I exchange Fan Fiction stories we write about our favorite television shows. But today, not even that class was enough to keep me focused.

  I was even late for lunch because I had an algebra quiz that took me longer than usual to finish in my distracted state.

  By the time I got to my friends’ table in the caf, I barely had enough time to wolf down my peanut butter sandwich and listen to Kerrie’s cheerful chatter about her Halloween party.

  “Everybody must wear costumes,” she announced emphatically. “No civvies allowed. That way, everybody will get in the spirit. I hate it when you go to a Halloween party and only a couple people come dressed up.”

  I had the impression that Kerrie had been one of those odd ducks more than once.

  “What will you be?” I asked her, trying to get in the spirit even though what I really wanted to talk about was my encounter of the day before.

  “I don’t know. Maybe Mata Hari.”

  Mata Hari, famous spy. That was no off-the-cuff response. She probably had been planning the costume for months.

  “What about you, Bianca?” Kerrie asked. “You could wear something really hot to get Doug’s attention.”

  “I’m not good at that stuff, Kerr.”

  “I’ll help you! Come over Saturday. We can throw something together. We’ve got tons of old clothes.”

  “Maybe we can invite Sadie too,” I said, the thought coming out of my mouth at the same time it arrived in my brain. Kerrie looked a little perplexed at the suggestion but rose to the moment.

  “Sure, sure, whatever. Where is she today anyway?” She looked around the lunch room.

  “I haven’t seen her. And I need to talk to her,” I said. I wanted to tell Kerrie about the mysterious car and lady but not in front of Hilary, or anybody else for that matter. “I’ll call you tonight,” I continued conspiratorially. I think Kerrie got my message. She gave me a knowing look.

  The day ended as it began—with me looking this way and that for Sadie, trying to figure things out with the small pieces of information I had, and trying to look for opportunities to spill it all to Kerrie.

  On every front, I was frustrated. No Sadie, no solutions, and no moments with my best friend who had to leave early for a dentist’s appointment and wasn’t even around for some quality bus-stop time.

  This was a Doug-free Day as well, a day when our schedules were completely out of sync. So I didn’t see my boyfriend-in-waiting once, not even after school because he had taken off with friends to catch a school football game. A total bust, I thought, as I stood at the curb waiting for a bus. I would go home, try to reach Kerrie later, do my homework, think some more about this situation, maybe even toss around a few costume ideas.

  The bus roared up to the curb and a few of us St. John’s kids sashayed on. I moved to the back and sat alone by a window.

  Just as we lurched forward into traffic, I looked down and saw—the black car! It was following me.

  PANIC GRIPPED at my throat, choking me. My breathing came fast. I had to get off this bus. But where, I wondered? Normally, I got off two blocks from home and walked the rest of the way. Nobody would be home yet. Mom was still at work. Tony would be on campus until late tonight. Connie
was probably at her office. Connie’s office. It was not far from home. Think, Bianca, think! Was there a bus stop near there? Could I stay on the bus until then?

  I had to suppress a strong urge to run up to the driver and tell him to step on it and lose the black car. Instead, I slumped down in my seat, hoping the Lemming Lady and her invisible sidekick wouldn’t see me.

  Of course they saw me, I thought in annoyance. That’s why they were there. They were looking for Sadie and they knew I knew something about her. Except I didn’t know where she lived. Or even her phone number. I felt like making a sign and hanging it in the window. Futile Mission, it would read. I know nothing!

  A consoling thought came to mind. If they were pursuing me, it had to be because they didn’t know where Sadie was either. That meant she was okay and the Backpack Slasher/Lemming Lady had not gotten to her. Yet.

  I looked out the window again. The car was still there, deliberately missing opportunities to pass the bus and make better time. They were definitely following me. How long had they waited outside the school? What else did they know about me?

  The bus turned in towards town. Maybe if I got off with a bunch of other passengers, I could hide among them.

  In this frantic mood, the ride went by slowly. I let my own stop go by and another and another until finally the bus was coming up to the end of the line.

  But, like El Dorado, the end of the line was full of promise. It was the glittering spread of Harborplace, full of shops and offices, and, most importantly, people. Holding my breath as if I was plunging into a pool, I rushed off the bus into what I hoped would be a bustling crowd.

  It was nearly four o’clock, too early for businesses to be letting out. Nonetheless, there were enough people around to give me a feeling of security. I headed for the stores that lined two sides of the harbor. I’d lose myself in them. It would take awhile to park the black car anyway, I reasoned smugly, then caught sight of it pulling into a suddenly opening spot along Light Street. Just my luck to be pursued by thugs blessed by the Parallel Parking gods. There was-n’t time for regret. I ran toward the stores, and opened the door to what I hoped was my sanctuary.

  Some tourists and early shoppers roamed the mall-like structure. I pretended to window shop while glancing over my shoulder. I would recognize the Lemming Lady with her bright red hair and out-of-control make-up. But what about her companion? I did-n’t know what he looked like. I could inadvertently stumble into his arms and not even know it.

  Suddenly, every stranger looked threatening. A man with a linebacker build, goatee, and close-cropped hair stood admiring some sports paraphernalia. Was he the one? Another guy, spindly, unhealthy looking, and in need of a cigarette, eyed me from across the hall. Was he the male sidekick?

  This was maddening. I raced through the mall, not wanting to linger near any man too long for fear he was the one. As I ran, my mind was racing too, trying to determine what to do. Call Connie at her cell number! That was it. Just last night, she had said to use it in an emergency.

  I spotted a store clerk on a cordless and meandered into her shop, a lingerie establishment filled with Wonder bras and square inches of silk that passed for panties. As soon as she saw me, and figured me to be a potential customer, she hung up. I pasted a bright, polite smile on my face and went up to the counter.

  “I’m sorry to ask but I don’t have any change. Could I use your phone to call my sister here in town to pick me up? I won’t be more than a second.”

  She looked at me with an irritated grimace. Not only was I not going to buy anything. I wanted to use her phone for free. But she gave in and handed it to me reluctantly. I quickly punched in Connie’s numbers, praying she had remembered to charge up and turn on the cell. Eureka! After two rings, her tentative voice came on the line.

  “Hello?”

  “Con, this is Bianca. I’m at Harborplace. Can you pick me up? I’ll be at the corner of Pratt in ten minutes.”

  “What are you doing there? And why are you calling me on my cell phone?”

  “I can’t talk now. A nice lady is letting me use her phone,” I said, smiling at the sales clerk. “Just pick me up in ten minutes. Please?” I didn’t have to fudge the pleading tone in my voice. Heck, it bordered on desperate.

  “Okay. I’ll be there.”

  I hung up and thanked the sales clerk. All I had to do now was stay alive for the ten minutes it would take Connie to get here. Feeling better for having arranged the ride, I sauntered out into the mall with renewed confidence.

  Until I ran right into a six-foot-three block of man whose imposing stature alone would scare even the bravest soul.

  Chapter Six

  THE MAN loomed over me like an obelisk. He had thick dark hair and a squarish face that was rugged and tan. He wore a trench coat, a white shirt, and gray slacks. A slight bulge near his shoulder indicated he was packing some heat, as they say in detective novels about folks who carry guns.

  He looked down at me with twinkling blue eyes, and smiled.

  “Bianca, how’s your mom?” Suddenly, it hit me. He was Steve Paluchek, a detective with the Baltimore City Police who had served with my dad and occasionally checked in on us. I liked him. He was like an uncle to me. And right now, he was the one person in the world I was happiest to see, because out of the corner of my eye I could now see Lemming Lady approaching.

  “Fine, fine,” I said, keeping track of the Lady. She had slowed down when she saw me talking with a stranger. I couldn’t help noticing that her wardrobe selections had not improved. She still wore impractical boots and skin-tight pants, but today her choice had run to electric blue leggings topped by a black sparkly tube top under the leather jacket.

  “Wish you would come over some time,” I said, trying to keep the conversation going. To my relief, Detective Paluchek didn’t seem to be in any hurry.

  “I was thinking of stopping by soon. I was out of town at a diversity-training seminar for awhile. Then I had a broken arm that laid me up.”

  While Detective Paluchek went over the litany of reasons he hadn’t visited, I finally saw the Invisible Man. He came up to Lemming Lady from the other side of the mall, joining her in trying to look nonchalant, pretending to scrutinize a display of handcrafted silver jewelry.

  He was as frightening as I could have imagined, but not because of his physical stature. He was only a few inches taller than the woman and, though reasonably muscular, not overpowering. He had brown hair pulled into a tiny pony tail at the nape of his neck and he wore a long dark raincoat that nearly touched the top of his expensive-looking shoes. Everything about him looked expensive, from his coat and shoes to the glistening diamond stud in one ear, and the silk shirt I glimpsed when he moved.

  But it was his face that really bothered me. Along one cheek was a two-inch scar starting right below his left eye and nearly meeting his nostril. His thin lips didn’t smile and his squinty eyes looked like steel.

  He was no longer Invisible Man. He was Ice Man, cold and cruel-looking, an image reinforced by the way he grabbed Lemming Lady’s arm and steered her where he wanted to go without a second thought for her comfort or safety.

  At some point, he made the decision to come my way, pulling her with him while she struggled to gain her balance. I had to think fast or he was likely to swoop by and snatch me without a second thought to the fellow I was talking with.

  “Show me your badge!” I said quickly to the Detective.

  “What?” Paluchek looked confused.

  “Your badge. I want to see if it’s changed. I read somewhere that they were doing something different with the seal.” Not bad for reasoning powers under panic conditions.

  Detective Paluchek shrugged and pulled out the leather-covered wallet that held his badge. Meanwhile, I moved slightly so that when he displayed it, it would be in clear view of Lemming Lady and Ice Man. For added effect, I pulled a tissue from my pocket and dabbed at my eye to give the impression that I was a crying child tattling on my wou
ld-be stalkers.

  It did the trick. As soon as Paluchek’s badge glistened in the light, both my pursuers stopped dead in their tracks.

  “Something the matter?” Detective Paluchek asked.

  “No, just something in my eye,” I nearly whispered to him. With my other hand, I fingered the badge. Despite my desperate circumstances, looking at the police badge conjured up melancholy feelings as I thought about how much I missed my dad. Even though I hadn’t known him, I still had plenty of opportunities to miss him, like the many Father-Daughter dances at school where nice guys like Paluchek had to stand in.

  “Looks the same. Must have been a false story,” I said softly. My followers were slinking into the background. But I didn’t want to leave the mall without protection. Connie should be arriving soon.

  “You know, Connie would love to see you. She set up shop as a PI,” I told him. “She’s coming to pick me up. Should be here any minute. Why don’t you walk me out and you can say hi. She’d really, really, really like that. She had some questions she wanted to ask you.”

  He looked confused but took the bait. “Okay. I’m not in any hurry. Where to?”

  I took him by the arm and walked to the street with him, my own personal bodyguard who didn’t even know he had the job. Lemming Lady and Ice Man dropped out of sight.

  PALUCHEKANDI ended up spending a bizarre twenty minutes on the curb waiting for my tardy sister. I must have told him every detail of my high school life, including stuff about Doug that I previously had divulged only to Kerrie. Funny what desperation does to a girl.

  Whether or not the detective was confused by my sudden effusiveness wasn’t clear to me. I was too focused on two things: keeping up a constant stream of banter so he would stay by my side, and scanning the crowd for my potential abductors. By the time Connie arrived, we had both forgotten about the “questions” she had to ask him, so I was able to make a clean escape with just a few pleasantries exchanged between my sister and Paluchek.