“Beatrix told me you called her, specifically to say you couldn’t make it.”
“You need to call her Lulu now,” Finn replied, as if that actually made sense.
“Huh?” I asked.
Finn and Lucy looked at each other without speaking, like they had their own secret language.
“Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” I asked.
“I’m changing my name back to Lulu,” Lucy said finally, with an easy shrug.
“What does that even mean?” I asked, now confused and a little alarmed.
“Lulu is what my parents called me when I was a baby, and it was only when I started kindergarten that I became Lucy,” she explained. “It’s because my teacher insisted that everyone use their given names. You know—the official ones from their birth certificates? And Lucy is my real name. Except I’d totally forgotten about that, so when she called roll on that first day, I didn’t even know she was talking to me. And once I realized, I never said anything, because I guess I was just too shy. But I’ve always liked Lulu better. Plus, there are tons of Lucys in this neighborhood, and hardly any Lulus, so I’m going to be one of them.”
“Lulu?” I asked, trying and failing to keep the question out of my voice. The name felt too strange on my tongue. It just didn’t seem right. Of course, neither did discovering your best friend would rather hang out with your brother on a Saturday afternoon, even when you two obviously had plans. And not just any plans—major ones. I mean, what’s up with that? “I don’t know if I can get used to this.”
“Well, you’ll have to,” said Finn, standing next to Lucy—I mean Lulu—so they were shoulder to shoulder, a united front.
“Don’t you like it?” asked Lucy/Lulu.
Finn answered for me. “Of course she does. It’s cute.”
Lucy/Lulu beamed at my brother. “You really think it’s cute?”
“I’ve never heard you use the word ‘cute’ in your entire life,” I said to Finn.
Lucy/Lulu handed me the controls. “Want to finish my game? I’ve gotta go.” And she was gone before I could answer her.
Once we were alone, I turned to Finn. “Why did she come over to see me, only to leave before we had a chance to hang out?” I asked.
Finn smirked and replied, “It’s a mystery.”
I had to agree, even though I sensed he was making fun of me. My brother is so weird. So is my best friend, for that matter. How many twelve-year-olds just up and change their name?
I didn’t bother asking any more questions. Finn and I went back to playing Hoops Today in silence. He beat me three straight games in a row. No shocker there; I could hardly pay attention to the game.
The problem was, this one thought kept nagging at me: what if Lucy was changing more than her name?
Chapter 18
NEW EVIDENCE PROVES SETH RYAN WAS ABDUCTED BY ALIENS
SETH RYAN WAS LAST SEEN ON THE CROSSTOWN BUS
AT MIDNIGHT WITH NO SHOES
Superstar Seth Ryan Spotted in Mexico. . . .
In Pakistan . . . IN PERU . . .in Paris . . .
in a Pink Tutu
News of Seth Ryan’s kidnapping spread fast. It was all anyone could talk about. Not just at school and in my neighborhood, but all over the world. Every newspaper, magazine, TV news channel, Twitter feed, and blog seemed to have a different take on his disappearance. Some were outlandish; some were insanely outlandish. People blamed the FBI, the CIA, the Russian Mafia, the Tea Party supporters, and China.
Paparazzi swarmed through our neighborhood. Helicopters rumbled across the sky. Detectives canvassed the streets, questioning pretty much everyone within a ten-block radius of the set of Vanished.
Not only did no one find Seth, no one even knew where to look. Including myself.
But that wouldn’t discourage me from trying.
I woke up early on Sunday and headed over to Second Street. Just like my friends had said, Vanished was still in production, but the entire set now had a different feel. People still filmed background scenes, changed the scenery, and built new snowmen and igloos as the old ones melted in the sun, but everyone did so quietly, more seriously. There was less hustle and bustle and less random chatter. From where I stood, on the corner and back a ways so I could observe without being caught staring, everyone seemed so serious—so obviously preoccupied with thoughts of Seth Ryan.
After saying hi to Beatrix, Sonya, Lucy, and Finn, who were sitting around waiting to be told where to stand and carefully avoiding Jones Reynaldo, who was yelling at someone on the other side of the block, I walked over to Jenna Beasely’s house. I checked the address on the door against the one in my notebook: 555 Second Street. It matched. I took a deep breath and knocked.
The door swung open almost immediately, and I found myself standing in front of a cute blond teenage guy eating a granola bar. “Yeah?” he said, after swallowing.
“Does Jenna Beasely live here?” I asked.
Rather than answer me, he turned around and bellowed, “Mom! Someone’s here for you.” And then he walked away, leaving the door wide open.
Moments later, I heard Jenna’s heels clicking on the wood floors, and then I saw Jenna herself. Blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, she was dressed in navy blue suit pants and an untucked, cream-colored dress shirt. “Can I help you?” she asked.
“I hope so. My name is Maggie Brooklyn Sinclair. I’m—”
“Elaine and Joe’s daughter,” Jenna finished.
“Yup, that’s me.” I smiled, relieved she remembered because questioning her as a complete and total stranger would have been weird. Or weirder, anyway. “Mind if I ask you some questions?”
“Not at all. Please come in.” Jenna tilted her head and stared at me, curious and clearly surprised to see me. I didn’t blame her.
“Cool. Thanks.” I stepped inside.
As she led me into her living room, she asked, “Can I get you something to drink? Lemonade? Water? A soda?”
“No, thanks.” I pulled out my notebook and pen, feeling very Nancy Drew-ish. “And I won’t take up too much of your time. I just have a few questions about Seth Ryan. Well, Jones Reynaldo, really. And the whole film shoot . . .” I felt flustered and not sure of what to ask first. I hadn’t questioned that many people before, and it’s harder than it sounds. Especially when one of those people is a friend of my parents. I didn’t want to do anything embarrassing that might get back to them. Nor did I want to seem nosy or accusatory in any way. But at the same time, I needed information.
“Are you writing something about the kidnapping for your school paper?”
“Not exactly,” I said, deciding to be straightforward. “I’m in the middle of an investigation. I’m hoping to find Seth Ryan.”
“You and everyone else,” Jenna replied. “If you want to talk about Seth Ryan, that’s fine. We can, but I don’t think I can help you. The police have already questioned me—although I have no idea why.”
“Maybe because you threatened to shut down the movie in front of about fifty witnesses?” I asked, as delicately as I could.
“I threatened to shut down the movie by calling the police. I’d certainly never break the law. Or harm anyone—especially an innocent child. And from a purely selfish point of view, I’d much rather have a movie filmed on my street than have the place crawling with police and detectives and paparazzi. It’s true that I don’t want to live in the middle of a movie set. Well, I don’t want to live in the middle of a crime scene, either, or have the police search my house and bring me downtown so they can run my fingerprints and then later question everyone in my family and everyone at my office.”
“Rudy did that?” I asked.
Jenna tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at me. “You’re on a first-name basis with Officer Green?”
“I am.” I gave her a quick smile. “Long story.”
“Well, it’s been quite the ordeal,” said Jenna, crossing her legs and smoothing out her suit pants. “And
all because I had a perfectly legitimate grievance with one perfectly childish director.”
“Sorry,” I said. “That does sound pretty awful.”
“It has been, but it’s not your fault, and I’m sorry—I don’t mean to take out my frustrations on you. I’m a reasonable person. Truly, I am. Jones just brings out the worst in me. I wouldn’t even mind one movie shoot on my street, but this is the fourth time they’ve shut down Second Street this month.”
“Why do they always film here?” I asked. “No offense; it’s a nice street and everything. But there are lots of nice streets in the neighborhood.”
“I know. The reason all of these productions come here is my neighbors, the Franklins. They rent their house out to production companies all the time; it’s a great deal for them. They get paid, and then they leave town. It’s everyone else around them who suffers. Last summer, for example, during the Tom Cruise shoot, one of the catering trucks backed into my scooter. Flattened it, actually. And, sure, they paid to replace it, but it took months.”
“That does sound annoying,” I said.
“And during a shoot last spring, they brought in a weather machine and it rained into my backyard and overwatered my tulips. I spent an entire weekend planting bulbs, for nothing. They never blossomed.”
“Wow.”
I scribbled notes as fast as I could, but it wasn’t easy keeping up with Jenna. She was worked up and talking fast.
“And don’t even get me started on Jones Reynaldo. You would not believe the ego on this guy. Did you know that he wanted to film one small scene in Prospect Park and tried to get a permit to shut it down in its entirety?”
I shook my head. “I didn’t know that.”
“Well, did you realize that the park is three miles long and almost a mile wide? Meanwhile, he only wanted to shoot by the Nethermead. You know, that field close to the Ninth Street entrance?”
“So why did he need the whole park?” I wondered.
Jenna laughed. “He claimed there are too many dogs, which is distracting for him because he’s highly allergic. And also, his movie Vanished takes place in a futuristic society where there are none, and sound carries in the park. He claimed he needed the entire area, and he’s perfectly willing—if not eager—to inconvenience the thousands of people who use the park every single day—people who live and pay taxes in Brooklyn—for his precious movie.”
“And this was rejected, I take it?”
“Yes, it was rejected. I’m on the board of the Parks Department, and I wasn’t going to let that type of thing happen.”
“You’re on the board of the Parks Department?” I asked, suddenly thinking of Mister Fru Fru and all the other victims I’d been hearing about. “Have you heard about the recent dog-eggings in the park?”
“I have.” Jenna frowned. “It’s really terrible. I mean, if this is someone’s idea of a prank, they’ve got problems.”
“What makes you think it’s a prank?” I asked, leaning a little closer.
Jenna shrugged. “I don’t know—I just can’t think of any other feasible explanation. Anyway, they seemed to have lost interest. Have you noticed that there have been no new eggings since Seth disappeared?”
“Yeah, I checked the blogs this morning and didn’t see any new posts. I figured whoever is responsible is afraid of getting caught. You know, because of all the police around town.”
Jenna nodded. “That makes sense. Anyway, I have a feeling Jones did some research and found out about my position, because he’s been making things extra difficult on me ever since.”
“How so?” I asked.
“Well, he put Seth Ryan’s trailer right in front of my house, blocking all my light and the entire view of the street. Notice that all the other trailers are set back away from the sidewalk—but Seth’s is practically on my front stoop.”
“I figured that was a security measure,” I said.
“Nope,” Jenna said. “It’s just to bug me.”
I stood up and looked out Jenna’s window. She had a direct view of Seth’s trailer. “It looks like you’d be able to see him from here.”
“I could,” said Jenna. “Not that I spent too much time watching him.”
“Did you notice anything strange? Anyone going in or out of his trailer?” I asked.
“Well, there was some sort of disturbance on Wednesday. Apparently, a stalker had to be apprehended by his security guard. I was working at the time, but my son, Jonas, was home . . .”
I didn’t bother clearing up that mistake. Instead, I closed my notebook and stood up. “Well, I guess I’m out of questions. Thanks so much for your time, Jenna. I appreciate it.”
“Of course, Maggie. I’m impressed that you’re conducting this investigation; I wish you all the luck in the world. I hope Seth is okay. Truly, I do. Please let me know if I can help you in any other way.”
“I will,” I said.
“And say hello to your parents. We should all go out to brunch sometime.”
Chapter 19
After my last run-in with Fiona, I doubted she’d be willing to speak with me, but when I called her at her hotel and asked if we could talk about Seth, she surprised me. “Sure. Let’s meet at Root Hill at three o’clock today.”
She seemed to take my silence at the other end of the line for confusion—and rightfully so.
“Do you know the place?” she asked moments later.
“Um, I don’t, but I’ll find it,” I replied, still stunned. And a few hours later, I realized that locating the café turned out to be simple compared to spotting Fiona in the crowd. She looked terrible, like she hadn’t slept in days. Her eyes were ringed with red and her hair was not just poofy, but a poofy mess. At first glance I didn’t recognize her. She clutched her coffee with both hands, as if guarding it from someone who wanted to steal it. And when she raised it to her lips, her fingers trembled.
I didn’t like how Fiona had treated me, or how she treated Seth, or how she walked around like she was the boss of everything and everyone. She was like a classic villain in a movie, but we needed to work together. After all, we both had the same goal—rescuing Seth. That was more important than anything else.
“How are you doing?” I asked, just to be polite, even though I could pretty much tell. All the anger had drained out of her, leaving her looking weary, worried, and lonely.
“Terrible,” she said, blinking back tears.
Despite how she’d talked to me last week, I felt bad for her. “Does Rudy have any new leads?” Half of me had hoped that by the time we met, Seth would be rescued, or at least someone would know where to look for him, but clearly that hadn’t happened.
Fiona shook her head slowly. “No one has a clue,” she said, her voice cracking as she struggled to hold back her emotions.
“I’m sorry,” I said sincerely. “It’s hard for me to imagine he’s still missing, and I hardly know him. It’s got to be so much worse for you.”
“It’s horrifying,” Fiona said as she took another sip of coffee. “I never had children of my own. I didn’t need to, because I had Seth. I’ve poured my heart and soul into that boy’s career. Loved him like my own son. I just can’t believe he’s gone, that someone would kidnap him. And why? Not knowing is just torture.”
I leaned in closer, studying her face. “Do you have any idea who could’ve done this?”
“None,” Fiona cried. “Which means it could be anyone. A crazed fan, an embittered colleague, a Swedish diplomat . . .”
“A Swedish diplomat?” I asked, writing this down. “Why do you think—”
“I don’t,” said Fiona. “But no one ever suspects Swedish diplomats of anything, and I’m just saying, the police have absolutely nothing to go on. They’ve questioned everyone, and they don’t seem to know where to turn next. It would be different if the kidnapper asked for ransom money. That’s something the police have experience with; but the radio silence? It’s eerie.” She shivered, which made me shiver, too
.
“What about Seth’s father?” I asked, watching her closely.
Fiona looked up from her coffee, surprised. “Why do you bring up Bill?” she asked.
“I read about the custody battle with Bill and the restraining order Seth put out against him.”
She stared at me like she was trying to figure something out. It made me squirm even though I didn’t have anything to hide. “You’ve done your research.”
“Yes. Of course.” I tucked my hair behind my ears. “And I’ve read a bunch of conflicting accounts. So can you please tell me your side of the story?”
“Okay.” Fiona took a deep breath and fluffed her hair with her fingers. “It’s simple. Bill’s a nice guy, but he’s a used-car salesman. That’s the business he knows, and that’s the business he should stick with. I’m a talent manager, and I have been for my whole life. We had different opinions about what would be best for Seth and for Seth’s career. We couldn’t agree about it. We took it to court. I won and he left. And Seth’s better off. Trust me.” She took another sip of coffee, setting it down with a clatter. Her hands trembled, which made me curious. Fiona seemed not merely grief-stricken, but also nervous. I wondered why.
“But why the restraining order?” I asked.
“I can’t talk about that,” said Fiona.
I leaned closer to her and lowered my voice. “Do you think Bill could have kidnapped Seth? Like, as revenge? Or in some twisted way, did he want his son back and maybe he felt like this was the only way he could accomplish it?”
“I don’t know,” said Fiona. “I certainly wouldn’t put it past him. And that’s exactly what I told the police. But detectives have already questioned Bill. If he’s hiding Seth, he’s doing an excellent job.”
“Huh,” I said, thinking about it.
Fiona looked at me, sizing me up. “You seem like a smart girl, but you can’t expect to do what hundreds of professionals—with more resources and more experience—have been unable to do.”
“I have to try, though.”
“That’s admirable,” said Fiona. “And I’m sure it would mean a lot to Seth. I’m sorry if I spoke to you harshly back there at that Pizza Cave.”
Vanishing Acts Page 10