“It’s too dangerous,” Nick said. “Even I was careful down there. But you?”
“I’ll go with her,” Ben said.
“You’re kidding,” Nick said. I gave him a sharp look. “Come on, Robyn, look at him. Those jeans could be fresh from the cleaners. He looks like a rookie undercover cop.” He stood up. “I’ll do it.”
“You can’t and you know it. My dad agreed to take responsibility for you, and he wants you to stay here. Henri promised him she’d keep you here. And Ben has been volunteering at a homeless shelter for ages. He knows how to talk to people, Nick. He’s good at it.”
Nick scowled at Ben. He was frustrated, and that made me worry for a moment. But he drew in a few deep breaths and his body unclenched.
“At least take Beej with you,” he said. “She’s been down there before. She knows her way around. People always talk to Beej.”
“Beej?” Ben said.
“She’s a friend of Nick’s,” I said.
I had to admit it was a good idea. Although I had no doubt that Ben could talk to people, Beej could probably relate even better. I pulled out my phone and handed it to Nick. He punched in a number. Beej must have answered because Nick started to explain what he wanted. He told her that Ben and I would pick her up.
“Can I talk to her for a minute?” I said.
He handed me the phone again. When I finished the call, Nick said, “What’s going on, Robyn?”
“When I figure that out, you’ll be the first to know,” I promised.
Nick stood up and got scratch paper and a pencil from the kitchen counter. “Beej knows where the building is,” he said as he sketched. “I was staying here.” He drew an X in the northwest corner of the building he had drawn. “It’s in the basement. It’s warmer down there. There were some other guys sleeping in the building, but in different places. People stake their claim and everyone mostly respects that.”
I got up. So did Ben.
“Hey, Robyn?” Nick said.
I looked at him.
“You should dress down a little. Your boyfriend too.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
W
e stopped by my dad’s place so that I could struggle into my oldest pair of jeans and my rattiest sweatshirt. I found a paint-splattered T-shirt and an old jacket that belonged to my father for Ben. Then we drove to Beej’s place. She was waiting on the front steps of a narrow two-story house on a rundown street. She glanced at Ben’s car but didn’t come toward it until I called to her. She threw her backpack onto the seat beside her and thrust a gloved hand at Ben. “Hi, I’m Beej,” she said.
“Ben,” Ben said, shaking her hand.
“Nice car,” Beej said.
“Thanks.”
That’s when she noticed that my jacket was buttoned over a cast and sling.
“What happened to you?” she said.
“I broke my arm.”
She didn’t ask how. She just buckled up and gave Ben directions.
“Take a left,” Beej said twenty minutes later.
Ben pulled up to the curb a few blocks later.
I gazed around but didn’t see anything resembling an abandoned warehouse. “This can’t be the place,” I said. All I saw were office towers, nice restaurants, and a massive hotel, probably the one where Nick had gone to clean up.
“You think anyone will talk to us if you drive up like Cinderella in this carriage?” Beej said. “We park here and we walk. You brought a flashlight, right?”
“Flashlight?”
Beej rolled her eyes. “I didn’t think so.”
“What do we need flashlights for?” I asked.
“It’s an abandoned warehouse,” Beej said. “You think they keep the lights on?” She rummaged in her backpack, produced two flashlights, and handed one to me.
“I’m not sure I like the sound of this,” Ben said. “Maybe I should go and you girls should stay in the car.”
“If you want my opinion, you girls should stay in the car,” Beej said. “I can take care of this myself.”
Ben bristled.
“It’ll be fine, Ben,” I said. “They’re just people, right?”
“Right,” Beej said sourly. “We’re just people.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“You guys are strangers,” Beej said, “even if you are wearing your best ripped jeans. I don’t care how many cups of coffee you served at some shelter. You’re still going to make people nervous. If one of you wants to come with me, okay. But both? No way.”
“I’ll go,” I said.
“But, Robyn—”
Beej had already let herself out.
“I’ll be fine,” I told Ben. I scrambled to catch up with Beej.
“That guy’s rich, right?” Beej said as we walked briskly away from the car.
“His family’s well off,” I admitted.
She shook her head. “That figures.”
As we walked, the scenery quickly changed from the office towers and restaurants to old brick warehouses and factories. In some buildings, all the windows were broken. Others were in the process of being torn down.
“That’s the place,” Beej said, pointing to an enormous brick building. A couple of scruffy-looking men huddled at one corner of it, passing a bottle back and forth. “We might as well start with those guys.”
She marched over to the two men. Neither of them was wearing gloves or boots, despite the cold. One was dressed in several layers of clothing, while the other had on a thin ski jacket and a pair of grimy khakis.
“Hey,” Beej said.
The two men looked first at her, then at me.
“You guys know Nick?” Beej said.
They shrugged and shook their heads.
“This tall,” Beej said, holding her hand up. “Black hair, scar here.” She drew a line across her cheek.
“Show them the picture,” I said.
Beej looked sharply at me, then dug in her backpack, pulled out a photograph, and showed it to the two men. One shook his head. The other looked down at the ground. Beej nudged me. I followed her.
“I could do better by myself,” she said. Suddenly she raised a hand and waved. “Hey! Hey, Edmond.”
A young guy in the distance wearing an overcoat turned at the sound of her voice. He nodded at her and stared sullenly at me. Beej hurried toward him.
“Edmond. How ya doin’?” she said.
Edmond mumbled an answer. His eyes were still on me. Beej moved between us, blocking his view.
“Edmond, do you remember my friend Nick?” Beej said. “I think you met him one time.”
Edmond mumbled again.
“Are you staying here, Edmond?” Beej said. “Nick’s been staying here.”
Edmond peered around Beej at me.
“Someone went into Nick’s stuff,” Beej said. “I’m trying to find out who it was.”
Edmond said something else before shuffling away.
“Why don’t you go back to the car with your boyfriend?” Beej said. “Nobody here is going to talk to you. I know you’re trying to help Nick, but—” She spotted a girl with purple hair and a young guy with a dog. “Hey, I know them. They were in one of my videos. Head to the car. I’ll meet you there.” She jogged off to catch up with the girl, the guy, and the dog.
I glanced around, trying to orient myself using Nick’s sketch, and decided to take a look inside the building.
It was dark inside. The windows were set high in the walls and so caked with grime light only came in through the broken panes. I shone my flashlight around. The place was deserted, but heaps of garbage and a few mangy sleeping bags told me that it hadn’t always been.
Nick had said that he’d been sleeping in the basement. I looked around for a way down. There was a big metal door on the far side of the room, open to a concrete stairwell. I aimed my light toward the bottom and stood for a moment, listening, before starting down the stairs.
It got blacker and blacker with every step I
took. I hesitated. But Nick had chosen to live there rather than to stay with his aunt or move back into my dad’s building. That was enough to spur me on. I wanted to figure out what had happened to Mr. Schuster’s coins. But I also wanted to understand what had happened to Nick.
There was another door at the bottom of the stairs. I eased it open and saw a long corridor studded with a dozen more doors. I shone the light around, located an old push broom nearby, and I propped the door behind me open with it. Then I followed my flashlight beam toward the place marked with an X on Nick’s sketch. One of the doors off the corridor was open. It led to a small room that was empty except for a few layers of old newspaper on the floor and a rolled-up sleeping bag.
Nick was right. It was warmer down in the basement than it was upstairs, out of the wind and with no broken windows to let in the cold. But my breath still plumed in front of me.
Finally, I pushed open the door to the room that Nick had marked as his on the sketch. The floor was clean, as if it had been swept. A couple of wooden crates stood against one wall. A huge pile of cinder blocks filled one corner of the room, just as Nick had described. He’d told me he stashed his backpack in the pile each time he went to the hotel. I set my flashlight down and struggled to move a few of the blocks using my good arm. I peered into the hollowed-out interior, but there was nothing to see. I still couldn’t believe that Nick had slept there instead of asking for help. I thought about Nick lying on the cold floor with nothing below him but a cheap sleeping bag. What a way to have to live. I swept my light around one more time and then stepped back out into the corridor.
Someone grabbed me from behind—an all-too-familiar feeling—and I screamed. My flashlight clattered to the floor. I was plunged into darkness.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
W
hoever grabbed me had seized me by my broken arm. Pain seared from my wrist to my elbow as I struggled to break free.
I heard footsteps and saw a circle of light jagging toward me. There was a loud oomph as someone else made contact with the person who had grabbed me. My attacker slammed into the wall behind me and slid to the ground.
“Robyn, are you okay?” It was Ben.
He shone the light at the figure sitting dazed on the concrete floor. I collapsed against Ben. He wrapped his arms around me and held me tightly.
“I was watching you two from across the street,” he said. “When I saw you go into the building alone, I got worried.”
I was shaking all over. When those hands had closed around me, I’d thought the same man who dragged me down the alley had followed me into the basement. But looking down at the grizzled old man slumped there, legs splayed out in front of him, I wasn’t so sure. He was wearing an overcoat and battered construction boots. A hat with earflaps sat atop his long, thin face. His hands, which he held in front of his face to shield his eyes from the flashlight glare, were red and gnarled. He didn’t look strong enough to drag anyone down an alley—especially someone who was kicking and struggling like I had been.
I heard more footsteps and another voice.
“Nice going.” Ben swung around. His beam landed on Beej’s face. “You just decked Earl.”
“Earl?”
Beej brushed past us and knelt down in front of the old man.
“Hey, Earl. It’s Beej.” She shone her own flashlight on her face. “Are you okay?”
Earl nodded, but he still looked stunned.
“Are you staying here, Earl?” Beej said.
Earl nodded again.
“Come on.” Beej grabbed him by one elbow and tugged. Earl didn’t budge. Beej looked around. “Anyone care to help out here?”
Ben released me and grabbed Earl’s other elbow. Together they tugged him to his feet.
“Earl’s harmless,” Beej said. “Wish I could say the same for you two.” She turned to the old man again. “Hey, Earl, you know Nick?” Beej described him. Earl nodded and muttered something back. “Yeah, he’s a good guy,” Beej agreed. “But he’s in trouble. I’m trying to find out if you saw anyone down here, maybe trying to get into Nick’s stuff?”
Earl looked pointedly at me.
“Besides her,” Beej said.
“Show him the pic—”
Beej took out the photograph and shone the light on it.
“Have you seen this person around here?” she said.
Earl stared at the photograph for what seemed an eternity. I wondered if he was even clued in to what Beej was saying. Finally, he shook his head.
“Are you sure?” I said.
Beej gave me a sharp look. “He gave you an answer.”
“But is he sure?” I turned to Earl. “Are you sure, Earl?”
Earl stayed focused on Beej and shook his head again.
“Okay. Thanks, Earl,” Beej said.
She aimed her flashlight at Ben. “Give him some cash,” she said. “It’s the least you can do.”
Ben handed me his flashlight. He dug his wallet out, grabbed a couple of bills, and held them out to Earl. Earl just looked at them. Beej snatched them from Ben and pressed them into Earl’s hands. Then Earl leaned toward Beej and whispered something in her ear. She looked at me and followed him down the corridor. At first I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Then I heard Beej say, “Do you remember when?” Earl mumbled something more that I couldn’t hear. “And definitely that day?” Beej said.
I shone Ben’s light on them in time to see Earl nod. Then he shuffled off into the darkness.
“You take care, Earl, okay?” Beej called after him. She bent down and picked up the flashlight I had dropped. It wouldn’t work. “You’re paying me back for this,” she said.
“I thought he was attacking her,” Ben said as we headed back to the car.
“He thought she was breaking into his place,” Beej said. “And he can’t call the cops like you can. He has to take care of it himself.”
Ben unlocked the car and we got in.
“What did he say?” I asked Beej.
“He saw someone around the place the day before Mr. Schuster’s coins were stolen.”
“Who?”
“He doesn’t know. He’d never seen the person before.”
“Person?” I said. That didn’t sound good. “A man or a woman?”
“He’s not sure. He just said he saw someone around the building—someone who didn’t belong.”
“Did he actually see this person in Nick’s room?”
“Well, no.”
“Did he describe the person?” Ben said.
“He just said that he—”
“—or she,” I muttered.
“—was wearing a warm jacket with the hood up. He couldn’t see the face.”
“I don’t suppose he remembers the jacket color?” I asked.
“Black.”
I groaned. “Did he say anything else about it?” There must be thousands of black jackets in the city. “For all we know, it could have been some other homeless person.”
“That’s not what he said.” Beej was losing her patience. “He said it was someone who didn’t belong.”
“What does that even mean?”
“He can tell the difference. I can tell the difference.”
“Sorry,” I muttered. “Anyway, he said he saw this person the day before the coins were stolen, not the day of the theft—as far as he can remember.”
Beej glared at me. “He’s homeless, not stupid. If he said it was the day before, it was the day before. He’d just come back from having the hot lunch at St. Stephen’s.”
“Several downtown churches serve hot lunches,” Ben interjected. “Each one operates on a different day.”
“That’s right,” Beej said, regarding him with new interest. “He says he saw the person on the day he ate at St. Stephen’s. It’s his favorite place for lunch.”
“So all we have to do is tell the police—” Ben began.
“Tell them what?” Beej and I said in unison.
“
I thought the whole point was to see if someone planted stolen property on Nick while he was out,” Ben said. “Doesn’t this help?”
“Yeah, but our star witness is Earl,” I said. “And he can’t describe the person except to say he was wearing a black jacket.”
“Still, it’s something,” Ben said. “Just because he’s homeless doesn’t mean the cops won’t listen.”
Beej rolled her eyes. “It’s not just that he’s homeless. He knows me. He’s in one of my videos. And I know Nick. When the cops picked him up, he was at my place. Given that, do you really think they’ll believe anything Earl tells them?”
“Assuming they listen to him at all,” I added. He hadn’t even seen him or her on the day of the robbery. It was the day before. Without more to go on, I couldn’t see how that proved a thing.
We were on our way back to Henri’s when I had an idea.
“Did you take any other pictures?” I asked Beej.
“I took a bunch. But you said you wanted—”
“Did you take any outside?”
“Sure. Why?” Her eyes lit up. “My camera’s back at the house.”
Ben changed direction and drove Beej back to her place so she could pick up her camera. She scrolled through the pictures until she found the one she was looking for. Two of the four people in it were wearing black jackets. We drove back to the warehouse. Ben and I stayed in the car while Beej went in to search for Earl. When she returned, she was smiling.
“He may not be able to describe the person,” she said, “but he’s positive about the jacket.” She held the camera out to me and tapped the screen.
I stared at the display. “He’s sure?” I said.
This time she didn’t snap at me. She just smiled and said, “Trust me, Robyn. Earl doesn’t forget a warm jacket.”
We went back to Henri’s place. While Henri made tea, Beej wandered around the house, staring at all the paintings. Her jaw dropped when I told her that Henri was the artist.
“Beej is a photographer and videographer,” I told Henri. “You should see her stuff.”
Henri asked her about her work. Beej answered shyly. And when Henri invited her upstairs to see her studio, Beej’s face lit up. While she was gone, Nick and Ben and I sat at Henri’s dining room table. I filled Nick in on what we had found out.
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