The Crims
Page 20
“Are you sure you want them to know you’re alive?” Imogen asked. “You know . . . Throwing a big party like this, word is sure to get back to them.”
Big Nana nodded, her expression becoming more troubled. “Oh, Imogen,” she said. “With the way things are changing, I want them to know I’m here, still protecting you all.”
Imogen shivered. That sounds ominous. Which reminded her . . . “Did you hear about Derek Hornbutton’s disappearance?” she asked, twitching slightly as she thought about it. “The Kruks must be behind that too.”
“Of course they are,” said Big Nana. “When a truly impressive crime is committed, it’s usually them.”
“But they really had nothing to do with the lunch box?”
“Goodness, no,” said Big Nana, shaking her head. “The Kruks didn’t even know they had the lunch box in their Loot Room. It’s such a mess up there, isn’t it? John Travolta really needs to do a better job of tidying that place up. Anyway . . . there are big changes going on at Krukingham Palace, and none of them are good. Gustav Kruk has retired as head Kruk, and his daughter Elsa is replacing him.”
“We saw her at the party,” said Imogen, remembering the woman who had introduced the Kruk children’s performance. “She seemed quite sweet. She loved that song you made up—”
Big Nana shook her head, disappointed. “Imogen. What have I always taught you?” she asked.
“‘Never trust first impressions,’” chanted Imogen. “‘Unless they’re first impressions of an alligator, because you probably won’t have time to make second impressions.’”
“Exactly,” said Big Nana, nodding. “Elsa is the worst of all the Kruks. She’s crazy. She’s violent. She kills someone for fun, once a day, just to wake up.”
Imogen felt her pulse quicken with fear—and a little excitement, too. “So is that why we’re in danger? Because of Elsa?”
“Exactly so, my dear,” said Big Nana.
“But why would the Kruks want to hurt us? It’s not like we’re competition. If they didn’t pull off The Heist, maybe they don’t know we exist after all.”
Big Nana sighed. “It’s a little more complicated than that, my tiny, dried apricot,” she said, smiling sadly at Imogen.
But before she could say any more, Delia turned and spotted Imogen. “You’re back!” she shrieked, running over and hurtling herself at her. “I mean . . . I hope you’re back as a real Crim and not that Goody Two-Shoes Imogen who drove me crazy,” she said, but then she winked.
“Imojim!” gurgled Isabella, crawling up to Imogen and biting her ankles.
“Darling! You came!” cried Josephine, fluttering over to her daughter. “You’re looking terribly pale. All that studying and playing by the rules is awfully bad for your health.”
“What made you come home?” said Freddie, clapping Imogen on the back. “I thought you wanted to be head girl of Lilyworth?”
“Well remembered,” said Imogen, grinning at him. “I suppose I realized that no matter how annoying you all are, and how many crazy capers you drag me into, you’re still my family. So I’m leaving Lilyworth—for good.”
“That’s my girl,” said her father, nodding proudly. “And we won’t let you get behind on your schoolwork. If you want to keep up your mental arithmetic, you can help me out with my bookkeeping.”
“Thank you, Dad,” said Imogen.
“Well, this is lovely,” said Big Nana, beaming at everyone, with her hands on her hips. “All my chicks back together again! All our eggs in the same rickety basket!”
“Hear! Hear!” said Uncle Clyde, pulling a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket. “And to celebrate us all being back together again, I’ve revised The Heist to make sure that it completely goes to plan when we pull it off for real! I was thinking we could give it a go next Monday, after lunch. Now that you’re back, Imogen, you can go into Wooster’s bedroom and distract him—we won’t need to disguise a greased pig in your clothes anymore. Which is just as well, because I’ve used up my grease.”
“Actually, Clyde, we don’t need to pull off The Heist anymore,” said Big Nana.
“What do you mean?” said Uncle Clyde.
Big Nana gave him a mysterious smile. “Come into the kitchen. I’ve got something for you. I don’t want the other guests to see. . . .”
“But it’s not my birthday,” said Uncle Clyde.
“Shh,” said Big Nana, hustling Uncle Clyde into the kitchen.
The other Crims crowded around the kitchen door as Big Nana reached under the sink and pulled out a plastic bag.
“Here you go,” she said, holding it out to him.
He gasped, excited. “It’s tea bags, isn’t it? You noticed I’ve run out?”
“I’m afraid not, dear,” said Big Nana.
“It’s toilet paper, isn’t it?” said Uncle Clyde, still excited, as he felt the bag.
“Just open it!” boomed Sam in a surprisingly deep voice. He clapped his hand over his mouth. “I don’t believe it! My voice has finally broken!”
But no one was paying attention to Sam. Everyone was staring at Uncle Clyde, who had reached into the plastic bag and pulled out . . .
“MY LUNCH BOX!” cried Uncle Clyde.
Imogen gasped. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. How had Big Nana gotten hold of the lunch box?
“Thank you, Mummy!” said Uncle Clyde, beaming.
“I told you never to call me that again,” Big Nana said sternly.
“But . . . how did you . . . ?” said Uncle Clyde. “Imogen and Freddie took the lunch box back to Wooster Mansion!”
Exactly, thought Imogen. Had Big Nana broken in and stolen it again? In which case why hadn’t the theft been reported?
“Actually, my boy, they returned a replica to Wooster Mansion. This is the real deal!”
Uncle Clyde hugged his lunch box to him and looked around at his family with tears in his eyes. Imogen felt a lump in her throat. Big Nana was really quite thoughtful when she wanted to be. And it was wonderful to see Uncle Clyde reunited with his lunch box after all this time. His ridiculous dream had finally come true.
“Thank you all,” said Uncle Clyde. “Each and every one of you. Even you, Knuckles, you big, soppy idiot.”
“OI! STOP IT! YOU’LL MAKE ME CRY!” shouted Uncle Knuckles, who was already crying.
“I hope you and your lunch box are happy together for many years to come,” said Big Nana. “Just think—now you can take sandwiches with you wherever you go instead of buying junk food.”
“I’ll save so much money.” Uncle Clyde wept happily.
“Although, make sure you always cover it with a paper bag or something,” said Imogen.
“Just don’t let it make you go soft. Okay?” said Big Nana. “I’m going to need you all on top form over the next few months. You’re going to need to be tough, like overcooked meat. Big things are about to happen. Big, scary, dangerous, incredibly criminal things.”
The Crims looked at one another, scared but excited.
“But what do I always say?” said Big Nana.
“‘No one can defeat us Crims when we work together!’” everyone chanted.
“Except for that kung-fu fighting robot, that one time,” Uncle Clyde added. “But I think we can agree that thing was possessed.”
“That’s right!” said Big Nana, and everyone cheered.
Imogen cheered louder than anyone. Because that kung-fu fighting robot was possessed. But more importantly, because even though most things Big Nana did were very, very wrong . . . somehow, she was always right.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
THANK YOU TO my amazing writing circle: Sarah Courtauld and Zanna Davidson; to the wonderful members of Write Club: Linas Alsenas, Jack Noel, Annalie Grainger, Amelia Vahtrick, and Molly Maine; and to my wife, Victoria.
Most of all, thanks to the brilliant editors at Working Partners and HarperCollins, particularly Stephanie Lane Elliott, Conrad Mason, Samantha Noonan, Lynn Weingarten,
Jocelyn Davies, and Erica Sussman.
Lastly, thank you to puns and the letter e, without which this book would never have existed.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PHOTO BY LYNTON PEPPER
KATE DAVIES lives in London, where she writes children’s books, performs improv comedy, and spends too much money on cheese. She also edits other people’s children’s books and she once worked at Buckingham Palace, selling tea towels to tourists. She never met the queen, but she did get to stroke a corgi once.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
CREDITS
COVER ART BY MAI LY DEGNAN
COVER DESIGN BY SARAH NICHOLE KAUFMAN
COPYRIGHT
THE CRIMS. Copyright © 2017 by Working Partners Limited. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
www.harpercollinschildrens.com
Library of Congress Control Number: 2017943432
ISBN 978-0-06-249409-2
EPub Edition © November 2017 ISBN 9780062494115
17 18 19 20 21 CG/LSCH 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
FIRST EDITION
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