Finn slapped my hand away. “Yeah, I’m really at risk here.”
“You make a well-argued case,” Mom said, in her best lawyer tone.
Did I mention my mom is a lawyer?
No?
My mom is a lawyer.
Mom considered my plea for a few moments before answering.
“Okay. You can try it next weekend. Please leave me the address. And didn’t Beckett’s family just move? Where are they now?”
“They’re two blocks away,” I told her, “at Eighth Avenue and Carroll Street.”
“You mean near the old Adams family mansion?” my mom asked. “Doesn’t Beatrix live in that high-rise, too?”
“They’re not in the high-rise,” I said. “They moved into the mansion. Or at least, they’re in one of the apartments. The one on the fifth floor.”
“I didn’t realize people were still willing to live there,” she said. “They must’ve gotten a really good deal.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
This funny expression came over my mom’s face. Her eyes—normally so alert, too perceptive for me and Finn to get away with anything—went vacant.
Oh, and she didn’t bother answering my question.
“Mom?” I asked.
She stared off into space as if she’d been fully zombified.
“Hey, Mom?” I repeated, louder this time.
No reply. She was starting to scare me.
“MOM!” I screamed.
She finally snapped out of it. “What?” she asked, blinking at me in confusion, as if she hadn’t heard me talking to her for the past few minutes.
“So, can I do it? Babysit, I mean.”
“Sure,” she said. “If you want to.”
“I do,” I said. “And why do you seem so surprised? About the mansion, I mean.”
“No reason,” she said quickly.
“Are you sure?” I asked. “Because I’ve heard about the rumors about the ghost of Margaret. Don’t tell me you believe in ghosts, too.”
“What rumors? I’m going to get started on dinner,” she said. Which, I don’t need to point out, was not exactly the answer I was looking for. Or any answer at all, for that matter. But I decided to let it go, because Sonya was calling.
I picked up my cell and said, “Hey, what’s up?”
“You tell me,” said Sonya. “Do you have any leads on the ice-cream-parlor sabotage?”
“Ugh, not yet,” I said as I wandered into my room and sat down cross-legged on the floor. “Sorry; it’s been a hectic afternoon. I’ll try to come over to the store tomorrow. Will it be open?”
“Absolutely,” said Sonya. “We’re not going to be intimidated by anyone. I’m not, anyway. My mom is freaking out, though. She’s already talking about shutting down the business.”
“Because of one window?” I asked.
“That’s exactly what I said,” Sonya told me. “But I get why she’s freaked. Opening this business was a lot more expensive than she thought it would be. If it’s not a success, well … I don’t know what, exactly. But it’s not going to be good.”
“I’ll swing by first thing and see if I can figure something out.”
“That’s perfect. Thanks so much,” Sonya gushed. “We open at ten.”
“I know,” I said.
“See? You’re so smart. You’ll figure everything out in no time.”
“No pressure,” I said.
“Oh, there’s lots of pressure,” Sonya assured me.
“I know. I was kidding. Anyway, I’ll see you there.”
“Thanks, Maggie. You’re the best. I knew we could count on you.”
I wanted to remind her that I hadn’t actually done anything yet, but she hung up before I had the chance. I headed back into the living room and sat down next to Finn. He was watching some reality show.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Don’t know,” Finn replied.
The show seemed to be about a bunch of grizzled old geezers with long, scraggly beards.
“Is it good?” I asked.
“Nope,” said Finn, his eyes glued to the screen.
I pulled out my new spy notebook. Lulu made it for me as a present after solving my last mystery—finding her retainer before her parents discovered it was missing. (This involved Dumpster diving, which is all I’m gonna say.) Anyway, the notebook says MAGGIE BROOKLYN, DOG-WALKING DETECTIVE across the front in sparkly rainbow colors. Using it makes me feel half cool private investigator and half dorky kid playing a game. Except the mysteries I solve are real, so I don’t know why I get self-conscious about it sometimes. Anyway, flipping to a fresh page in my notebook, I made a list.
THE SABOTAGE OF SONYA’S SWEETS
1) Who broke the window? And how?
2) What was their motive?
3) Where are they now?
4) How am I supposed to figure any of this out?
From there I was stumped.
I’m glad Sonya had faith in me, but her confidence put a lot of pressure on me, too. Just because I’d solved a bunch of mysteries in the past didn’t mean I could solve every mystery in the world. What if this one left me clueless? It’s not like I had a lot of clues to go on. Oh, but there was the note:
The evidence: one threatening note, printed on the back of a box of Thin Mints Girl Scout cookies in blue highlighter. Neat penmanship. Ominous words.
“What are you doing?” Finn asked, turning off the TV.
“Trying to solve the case of the Sabotage of Sonya’s Sweets,” I said.
Finn laughed. “I like that you’ve actually named your case. That’s oh-so-Nancy-Drew of you!”
I threw a throw pillow at Finn’s head. “If you’re going to make fun, I won’t bother talking to you,” I said.
“Sorry, I was only trying to help. You seem so stressed out.”
“I’m fine,” I said, closing my notebook. The case worried me, but that wasn’t all that was on my mind. I’d texted Milo and called him, too, but hadn’t heard a word from him since he stormed off earlier today. All the radio silence left me feeling unsettled.
“Dinner’s ready,” my mom called, peeking into the living room.
“Where’s Dad?” Finn asked as we headed to the table.
“He’s out with a friend,” said Mom. “So it’s just us.”
“Oh,” I said.
“Finn, did you finish your homework?” she asked.
“It’s Saturday night,” said Finn.
“Yes, and I thought you wanted to go to that movie with Lulu later.”
“I do,” Finn said. “Which is exactly why I finished my homework this afternoon. I’ll show you as soon as we’re done eating.”
“That sounds great,” Mom said.
“Hey, how come you’re not asking Maggie?” Finn wondered.
“Because she already told me she did her homework yesterday,” Mom said. “And I saw it.”
“Right,” I said. “I finished early because I had such a busy day, between the Sonya’s Sweets opening and walking Nofarm at his new house at Eighth Avenue and Carroll. In that so-called haunted mansion.”
Our mom grabbed some bread out of the bread basket and ripped off a small piece. “So, how would you two feel about going away this Christmas?” she asked. “Dad and I were talking about taking a vacation. Maybe to Costa Rica.”
“Can Lulu come?” asked Finn.
Mom glared at him. “No, your girlfriend cannot come on our family vacation.”
“But she’s Maggie’s best friend,” Finn tried. “So it’s a win-win.”
I shook my head. “Dude, you are pathetic!”
“But it’s true,” said Finn. He continued to make his case, but I wasn’t paying attention anymore. I couldn’t help but notice that every time I brought up the haunted mansion, my mom changed the subject.
I tried calling Milo after dinner, but his phone kept going straight to voice mail. He must be avoiding my calls.
I never would’v
e laughed at him if I’d known he was that serious about the ghost thing.
Not right to his face, anyway.
“You’re not doing anything tonight?” asked Finn, as he changed from one stained sweatshirt into another, less-stained sweatshirt.
“Everyone’s busy,” I said.
“Want to come out with me and Lulu?” Finn asked.
I huffed out a small breath. “It’s weird enough that you’re going out with my best friend. I don’t need to go out on dates with you all the time, too. I mean, once a day is enough, believe me.”
“Sorry for trying to keep you from staying home alone on a Saturday night,” said Finn.
“I’m not alone. Mom’s around,” I said. “Plus, I have a lot to do.”
“You already told me you finished your homework,” said Finn.
“Don’t you need to get ready?” I asked. “Take a shower or something?”
“Why, am I smelly?” Finn asked, sniffing under his arms.
“No more than usual,” I replied.
“Oh, you’re so funny I forgot to laugh,” said Finn. And he headed into our room before I could even respond.
Not that I needed to.
I mean, Finn’s response? Way weak, and if that was the best he could do, then I’d clearly won that round.
Chapter 7
My mom and I ended up having a lovely evening on the couch watching some old movies: the original Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory and then The Sound of Music, because we both love musicals.
It was nice to be distracted from the fact that Milo was ignoring me, and that I had a big mystery to solve with basically zero leads.
Of course, once I was in bed that night, all the stress and worry came rushing back. I couldn’t sleep because my mind kept going back over the day’s weirdness. The harsh sound of shattering glass replayed in my head, which just reminded me of the broken mirror at Nofarm’s house. Which brought me back to the whole Milo situation.
At some point in the night I must’ve drifted off to sleep, because hours later I woke up in a cold sweat. My hair was plastered to my face, and I huffed and puffed like some big bad wolf trying to blow down a house. My heart raced as if I’d been sprinting for miles.
“Are you okay?” asked Finn, who must’ve heard me from the other side of the room.
“No,” I said. “I mean, yeah. I’m fine.” I looked around the room. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, the bedroom furniture came into focus—bookshelf dividing my side of the room from Finn’s to my left, desk straight ahead, fireplace facade to the right. It all provided me some comfort.
I took a deep breath in through my nose, filling my chest with air and pausing for a moment before exhaling, something I learned during our yoga unit in gym class. At the moment, though, it did little to calm me down.
“What’s wrong?” asked Finn.
“Nothing,” I said, not wanting to admit the truth. I’d had a nightmare, but this was no ordinary nightmare. It felt way more scary, more intense and real. I don’t even remember all the details—just the sensations.
I was in a dark and scary place, and something was wrapped tightly around my body. It constricted my chest and made it near impossible to breathe. But when I looked down I couldn’t see a thing, because nothing was there. And yet that nothing pressed into me, squeezing me from all sides. The air seemed to disappear from the room, and I wondered whether I could drown even though there wasn’t any water in sight.
My arms were free, so I tried to claw at this invisible thing, but I couldn’t feel it.
Yet still it squeezed tighter and tighter and tighter.
When I tried to run, I couldn’t make my legs work.
All I could do was sit in the small room with the dark walls closing in around me, creepy organ music blasting in my ears.
I couldn’t even call for help, because my voice didn’t work.
Even though I was awake now, with plenty of oxygen in my fairly large bedroom, I was still trembling.
“Sorry,” I said to Finn. “Did you hear me tossing and turning?”
“No, I heard you screaming.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
I heard the rustle of sheets and the creak of the bed as Finn sat up. “You were screaming your own name.”
I sat up myself, because this didn’t make any sense. I didn’t recall using my voice.
“Seriously?” I asked. “I was screaming ‘Maggie’?”
“Not Maggie,” said Finn. “You were screaming your real name: Margaret.”
Chapter 8
I showed up at Sonya’s Sweets at a quarter to ten to find the picture window covered with two large pieces of crisscrossed plywood. Someone had scrawled “OPEN” on one of them in all capital letters with a red Sharpie. It was functional, but a far cry from yesterday’s gorgeous welcome sign.
When I knocked on the front door, Sonya’s cousin, Felicity, looked up from the countertop she was cleaning at the back of the store. She seemed surprised to see me. “We’re closed,” she called.
At least, I think she said that. My lip-reading skills are decent but not perfect.
“I know,” I said, nodding and pointing to the door. “Can you let me in anyway?”
She walked over to Joshua, who was mopping up behind the counter. They talked, then he looked at me and nodded and gave me the thumbs-up sign. Felicity walked over and opened the door a crack.
“We met yesterday, remember? I’m Sonya’s friend, Maggie.”
Felicity opened up the door a bit more so I could squeeze through. “Right. Ricki mentioned you might stop by. Please excuse the mess.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I replied as I looked around the store. “Okay if we sit down for a minute and talk?”
She looked around nervously. “Um, I have a lot to do before we open. This isn’t the best—”
“This will only take a few minutes,” I said, interrupting. “Ten at the most, and then I’ll leave you alone.”
“It’s okay, Felicity,” Joshua called from across the store. “I’ll cover for you.”
Felicity didn’t say anything, but I could tell by the look on her face that she wasn’t thrilled with his offer.
I walked over to the nearest booth and took a seat before she could change her mind. “Please join me,” I said, whipping out my notebook and looking up at her expectantly.
Felicity sank down into the booth across from me. She was pretty, like Sonya, and they were both tall and thin and long-limbed.
Of course, Sonya is tall for a seventh grader, and Felicity is just plain tall for anyone. Except for maybe a basketball player. Then she’d be average. Or perhaps below average, but only a bit. I think. I actually don’t know the average height of professional basketball players. I could look it up; I suppose that’s what Wikipedia is for. Or there’s math, if the statistic isn’t readily available. But who has time for that? Not me—I had interviews to conduct.
“So, how long have you been in Brooklyn?” I asked.
“Just a few weeks,” said Felicity.
“Sonya told me you’re from Indiana?”
Felicity nodded.
“Indiana’s pretty far from here, huh?” I said.
Felicity rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it. I’m from the tiniest town in the middle of nowhere. It’s the exact opposite of New York. This is the first real city I’ve ever been to, unless you count Chicago. I was there once on a school trip.” She fiddled with the salt and pepper shakers as she spoke, staring at them rather than meeting my eye.
I couldn’t help but notice that as Felicity talked, she kind of rambled on. I wondered whether that was always the case or she was nervous about speaking with me in particular. And if so, why? Did she have a legitimate reason to be worried?
Just then Joshua came over with two mugs of hot chocolate. “Here you go,” he said. “These are on the house.”
“Thanks,” I said. “But what are they for?”
Joshua shrugged. �
��I don’t know. You looked thirsty.”
I took a sip. “Mmm. That’s delicious!”
“Joshua makes the best hot chocolate,” Felicity said, smiling up at him.
“Old family recipe,” Joshua said with a wink.
Felicity turned back to me. “Did you have any more questions, or can I get back to work now?”
“I’m actually just getting started,” I said, checking my notes again. “Um, what brought you to New York, exactly?”
“You’re writing all of this down?” she asked, glancing at my notebook.
“I remember things better when I write them down. And sometimes it helps me make connections later.”
Felicity swirled her spoon around in her mug, and some cocoa splashed over the edge. “Oh no!” she cried, alarmed. And when she reached for the napkins to clean up the hot chocolate, she knocked over the entire mug with the back of her hand. Hot chocolate spilled all over the table, and the mug began to roll.
Felicity reached for it, but rather than standing it upright she pushed it off the edge and it shattered on the floor.
“Yikes!” she yelled.
I cringed.
Joshua ran over with the mop to clean up the mess.
I had to wonder, was Felicity nervous, or simply klutzy? Or was she pretending to be klutzy because she was bent on sabotage? Or was I jumping to conclusions too fast? Why would she want to ruin her aunt’s new shop—her aunt who was responsible for Felicity having a place to stay in New York City?
I drew a big question mark in my notebook. I would’ve written down more specific questions, except Felicity was squinting down at the page as if she were trying to read my notes upside down. I wondered why she was so interested. Her behavior made me even more suspicious.
“What are you,” she asked, “some sort of junior police officer?”
“Um, I’m more of an amateur detective,” I said, watching her carefully. She didn’t seem to be making fun of me, but the question seemed odd.
Secrets at the Chocolate Mansion Page 5