“Don’t go anywhere!” said Ricki. She took the envelope out of Felicity’s hands and ripped it up. “I’ll call and pay the bill with my credit card. That way they’ll get the lights on faster.”
“Good thinking. You’re so smart,” said Felicity.
Ricki sighed. “I should’ve done that in the first place. But at least we know no one cut the power lines to the building.”
“I still think someone has it out for us,” said Sonya, glaring at her cousin. “I just didn’t realize I’d be related to that person.”
When Ricki looked away, Felicitiy stuck her tongue out at Sonya.
I tried not to laugh. The two of them were acting like me and Finn. Or, more accurately, they were fighting like Finn and I used to when we were about five years old.
“We’ll be fine,” said Ricki. “I’ll just pull back all the curtains and put candles out on the tables. It’ll be romantic.”
“Great,” said Felicity. “Problem solved.” Then she sat down at one of the tables, pulled out her cell phone, and started to text.
I left the shop quickly, brought Bean back home, and then walked the rest of my dogs. After that I went home and took some more notes.
Did Felicity forget to pay the electric bill? Or did she hold on to it on purpose? Did her watch really stop, or was she just making an excuse? And whom did she go to the museum with? Was it JAM, the person she’s been texting? If so, who is JAM? And why is she keeping his identity a secret?
I spent the rest of the evening trying to answer those questions, but didn’t come to any conclusions.
Chapter 12
When Saturday night rolled around, I showed up early to Beckett’s house—and I showed up prepared. I lugged my biggest tote bag, filled with a bunch of fun stuff. Or at least, stuff I thought would be fun for a three-year-old: washable Magic Markers, the leftover clay from my Claymation workshop, scissors, and plenty of paper in all different colors. I’d also studied up on knock-knock jokes. Hopefully he wouldn’t think they were all dumb.
I was a little nervous, but not about any potential ghosts. Rumors of ghosts, I mean. I don’t believe in ghosts. I was nervous about humans. Well, one human in particular: Beckett. Taking care of dogs is one thing; I’ve been doing it for a while, and I know the score. But taking care of an actual human being? A three-year-old boy with a huge capacity for mischief and mayhem? That was going to be hard.
Of course, that’s not all that worried me. In the back of my mind I also feared that Beckett didn’t like me. We’d never spent much time together, and usually when I picked up Nofarm, Beckett completely ignored me.
The kid is only three years old, but I had jitters similar to the ones I felt before Milo and I went out on a date. Back when Milo and I actually went out on dates, that is. He hadn’t been at school all week, and I still hadn’t heard from him. I didn’t know whether I should feel nervous for him or angry with him. At the moment, I felt both.
Also? I couldn’t help but think at least a little bit about the ghost of Margaret. Like I said, I don’t believe in ghosts, but the story of her demise gave me the creepy crawlies.
When I knocked on the door, someone shouted, “Door’s open,” so I walked inside.
Beckett sat on the living-room floor, playing with blocks. He wore space-themed pajamas, dark blue with starbursts and rocket ships shooting across the front. When he saw me, he raced over and butted his head into my stomach.
“Yeeouch!” I shouted. Because being sucker punched—sorry, sucker headed—in the stomach? It hurts.
And let me tell you, Beckett’s ample mound of blond curls did nothing to soften the blow. He managed to get strawberry ice cream on my favorite sweater, too. My fault for wearing white to a babysitting gig, I suppose. Last time that’ll happen!
“Hi, Maggie,” Caroline said. “Beckett, you remember Maggie, right?”
“No,” said Beckett. Then he giggled, and lucky for him his giggle was cute.
“You mean you head-butt everyone who comes through the door?” I asked, hands on my hips, playfully indignant.
“Can I come with you to walk Nofarm?” he asked.
“Oh, Maggie’s not here to walk Nofarm. She’s here to babysit,” Caroline explained.
“No!” yelled Beckett, clinging to his mom’s leg.
“We talked about this, Beckett. You knew Maggie was coming.”
“Don’t leave!” Beckett screamed. He held on to his mom like a clamp.
Yikes. Separation anxiety. We read about that in Babysitting 101, and not only that—I remembered the feeling from when I was little and my own parents left me for the evening. I really felt for poor Beckett. There’s nothing like parents getting dressed up to go somewhere fun and abandoning you for the night with a near stranger.
It’s been a couple of years since Finn and I have needed babysitters, and I must say, weekends have been a lot better since.
I bent down so Beckett and I were at eye level. “Hey, Beckett. Guess what? I brought something for you.”
I pulled out a big ball of yellow clay and started to explain to him that we could build something with it. “This is just one. I’ve got about eight different colors and lots of—” But before I finished my sentence, Beckett grabbed the ball of clay from my hand and took off.
Caroline shook her head. “I’m so sorry, Maggie. He never behaves this way.”
I tried not to laugh. “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “He’s a three-year-old kid. He’s doing exactly what he’s supposed to be doing.”
“I suppose,” said Caroline, frowning toward the back of the apartment. “Beckett? Come out here, please.”
I heard the flush of the toilet from the bathroom. Next came a clanging sort of noise. And then the water ran and ran and ran.
“Beckett!” someone screamed from the back of the apartment.
Beckett had flushed the clay down the toilet. Tried to flush it, I should say. I could tell by the sounds of the pipes that somewhere along the way it got stuck.
“Perfect, just perfect,” Lisa said, clomping into the living room in a red dress and very high patent-leather heels. She held up the dripping ball of clay. “Why would you get him this? It’s not at all age-appropriate.”
Caroline cringed and whispered, “I didn’t.”
“Then where did he get it?” asked Lisa. “Everyone knows he’s not supposed to play with anything that’ll fit into the toilet.”
I cleared my throat and raised my hand, somewhat guiltily. “Sorry. I had no idea.”
Lisa spun around and looked at me, surprised. “You’re here!” she said.
“Indeed,” I replied.
She smiled warmly and took a deep breath. “Thank you. That was so thoughtful, Maggie, and normally it wouldn’t be an issue, but Beckett is having a hard time at the new apartment.”
“I miss Brooklyn,” Beckett cried.
“We still live in Brooklyn,” Lisa informed him.
“No, the other Brooklyn,” Beckett explained, losing patience.
“It’s the same Brooklyn, sweetheart,” Lisa reasoned, lowering her voice. “We’re only two streets away.”
“And now we have more space, and we’re even closer to Prospect Park. You can see the Long Meadow from our living room,” Caroline said, pointing to the back windows. “How many people can say that?”
Beckett didn’t seem to care about his fabulous new view. He screwed his face up into a stubborn pout. I’ve seen this look on him before, and had to admire his consistency.
“Actually, before we leave, do you mind walking Nofarm?” asked Lisa. “I’d do it myself, but these heels are ridiculously uncomfortable.”
“Then why are you wearing them?” asked Caroline.
“Because they look good, obviously!” Lisa winked at Caroline, who rolled her eyes.
“You’re still shorter than me,” she teased.
“See you guys in a few,” I called as I clipped Nofarm’s red leash to his purple collar and pulled him o
ut the door. We headed down the first flight of steps without a problem. Once we got to the fourth-floor landing, though, Nofarm paused and then pulled me toward the door of apartment 4A. Then he started to whine—a painful-sounding, high-pitched noise I’d never heard from him before. Moments later I heard someone behind me.
I spun around, surprised. There in front of me were two people—father and daughter, I assumed. The girl was dressed in a Girl Scout uniform: green jumper, white shirt, sash with an impressive number of patches (if you are impressed by that kind of thing—and I am, since I never did very well as a Girl Scout). She had dark hair and heavy, severely cut bangs. She also wore slightly chunky, black-plastic-framed glasses.
She blinked at me and cringed into her father, as if she were afraid of Nofarm.
Her dad was tall and skinny with long sideburns and similar glasses. He had sleeves of tattoos on his arms: a paisley pattern around his wrists, and spider-webs on each elbow. He wore a ski cap on his head, even though it wasn’t so cold. Probably he wanted to cover up his bald spot. A lot of Park Slope dads do that—my own included.
“He must smell our cat,” said the dad. “I’m Rex, by the way. And this is my daughter, Clementine.”
Clementine seemed to be sucking on lemons, judging by the expression on her face.
I smiled at her, but she wouldn’t meet my eye. And when I said hi, she shrank into her father even farther, as if she were trying to disappear.
I didn’t take it personally, though. I figured she was just a shy kid. And scared of Nofarm, which was a little strange, considering Nofarm is the friendliest, most nonthreatening dog I know. But whatever—I tried not to judge.
“So, you must’ve just moved in, right?” asked Rex.
“Not exactly. Nofarm did,” I said, pointing down to the dog. “I’m just the dog walker. Oh, and Beckett’s new babysitter. Beckett’s the three-year-old with the curly blond hair.”
“Right.” Rex nodded. “I haven’t seen him yet, but I’ve definitely heard him stomping around upstairs.”
“Yeah, that sounds about right.” I laughed. “I’m taking care of him tonight.”
“I see. Well, nice to meet you, anyway.” He waved.
“You, too. Oh, I’m Maggie.”
“Nice to meet you, Maggie,” Rex said. As soon as he opened the door to the apartment, Clementine dashed inside.
I pulled Nofarm away, but it wasn’t easy. He’s strong, and he was determined, too. Whatever was behind that door, he wanted it.
Nofarm calmed down once we got outside. We walked around the block, and then I brought him back home. He paused again at the fourth-floor landing but only for a minute, because I was able to distract him with the spare dog biscuit I had in my pocket.
By the time we got to the apartment, Beckett was at the dinner table.
“We made you some mac and cheese, too,” said Lisa.
“Thanks,” I said, sitting down at the table. “That’s so nice.”
Nofarm took his place between Beckett and me and looked back and forth from one to the other, as if trying to see who was more likely to drop food. He finally settled on Beckett, which was probably the right choice.
Lisa and Caroline went over Beckett’s bedtime routine. They gave me all of their emergency phone numbers, and then put on their coats.
“Enjoy. And have fun with Beckett. We’ll be back in a couple of hours.” Caroline bent down and kissed Beckett on the top of his head. “Be good for Maggie, okay, sweetie?”
“Okay, but I’m always good,” Beckett said with a grin.
“You sure are, sweetheart,” said Lisa, giving him a final squeeze good-bye.
After they left I dug into the macaroni and cheese. It tasted good, because mac and cheese always does—but it wasn’t as good as the packaged kind. It was missing the essential ingredient: powdered cheese, which is so much tastier than real cheese. And another problem? This mac and cheese had broccoli in it.
I ate a piece of it just to set an example for Beckett. And I even told him how delicious it was. “Yum!”
Beckett stared at me like he was sizing me up. And maybe seeing what he could get away with; I wasn’t sure.
“Sorry about the clay,” he said finally.
“That’s okay,” I said. “It happens. I have other stuff to play with.”
“Like what?” he asked.
“Like crayons. And books—I brought my favorite book from when I was your age. It’s called In the Night Kitchen, by Maurice Sendak.”
“I have that one,” said Beckett.
“Oh. Then we can read your copy, I guess.”
Beckett pushed his food around on his plate.
“So, you don’t like living here?”
Beckett didn’t answer me.
“Is that a no?” I asked.
“Yeah. I don’t like it,” he mumbled.
“How come?” I asked.
He looked up at me and said, “I’m finished with my dinner.”
“Okay.” I jumped up and grabbed both of our bowls and put them in the kitchen sink. Then I went back to the dining room where Beckett still sat with his legs swinging back and forth, feet far from the sleek hardwood floor.
“Um, want to show me your room?”
Beckett shrugged again.
I grinned at him. “You like to shrug.”
He started to shrug again but stopped and giggled.
I wiggled my eyebrows at him.
“How do you feel about LEGOs?” I asked.
“Good.” He nodded. “I like them.”
“Me, too,” I said. “Want to build a tower?”
“Yeah.” Beckett scrambled to his feet, lugged over a huge bag of LEGOs, and dumped them in the middle of the living room.
After building a tower, a parking garage, and a space station, he showed me his train tracks. Then we raced Matchbox cars across the living-room floor. And then it was seven o’clock—bedtime.
“Okay, time to brush your teeth,” I said.
“I brushed them this morning,” Beckett said.
“That’s good,” I said. “It’s time to do it again.”
“Okay, fine,” Beckett mumbled resignedly as he shuffled his feet toward the bathroom.
I followed him in and found eight toothbrushes sticking out of a Buzz Lightyear cup. “These are all yours?” I asked.
“Yup,” Beckett said.
“Which one do you want to use?” I asked.
He picked out the red one and handed it to me. I added some strawberry-flavored organic toothpaste and helped him brush his little teeth. Then we picked out some books. He didn’t want to read the one I brought, so we settled on Goodnight Moon, something about a pigeon, and something about John Coltrane called Before John Was a Jazz Giant. Cool pictures and cool story. I thought, This babysitting gig is fun. I could get used to it.
After we finished with the three books, I said, “Time for bed,” and tucked Beckett in.
“Your sheets match your pajamas,” I said, taking in the moon and stars and rocket ships. “You could get lost in here, you blend in so well.”
Beckett giggled.
“Good night,” I said.
When I tried to leave, he grabbed my arm. “Can you open my closet door?” he asked.
“You want the door open?” I said.
He nodded. This surprised me, because when I was little, Finn and I couldn’t close our eyes and get comfortable if the closet door was open even a crack. We thought monsters lived there—weird creatures with pointy teeth and hairy arms. Yet somehow, we also believed that the closet door was a powerful barrier, like even the scariest monsters wouldn’t be able to open a simple door.
“Why do you want me to open the door?” I asked.
“Because Margaret only visits me when the door is open,” he replied.
Chills ran up and down my spine. My shoulders shook involuntarily. I tried not to act bothered, because I didn’t want to make Beckett nervous—Which is funny, because even as I tho
ught this I noticed he was perfectly calm and relaxed. I was the one who felt about ready to jump out of my own skin.
“Who did you say you want to visit?” I asked Beckett.
“Margaret,” he said.
“And who’s Margaret?” I asked carefully. Even though I’d asked Beckett the question, I had the feeling that I didn’t actually want to hear his answer.
“She’s my friend,” he said simply as he rearranged his stuffed animals around him on the bed.
I felt panicked for a moment. But I told myself to calm down, because there had to be a reasonable explanation.
“Does Margaret go to school with you?” I asked.
“No, she’s old,” said Beckett. “Her skin is so white she’s see-through.”
“You mean, like a—” I stopped myself. I didn’t want to say “ghost.” Didn’t want to introduce the idea of one.
Beckett had to be making things up. The kid had an active imagination. He must’ve heard other people talking about Margaret. He probably remembered her name and turned her into his imaginary friend.
I turned to the closet and raised my voice. “Hi, Margaret. I’m Maggie Brooklyn, Beckett’s babysitter. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Who are you talking to?” asked Beckett.
“Your imaginary friend, Margaret,” I said, feeling kind of silly. I waved, but this made me feel even more ridiculous.
Clearly Beckett was not fooled. He sighed. “She’s not here yet.”
“Oh,” I said.
“And she’s real.” Beckett stared at me intensely, and somehow I knew the kid truly believed what he was saying.
“Right,” I said, backing away from his bed. “Sorry about that. I thought I saw her, but I guess not. Tell her I say hi, if you happen to see her. Okay?”
“Sure,” said Beckett.
I went to leave his room, but before I made it out he yelled at me.
“You forgot the closet!”
“Right. Sorry.” I opened it up for him, and he lay back down and stared at the ceiling.
I paused at the door and asked, “Is she here yet?”
Secrets at the Chocolate Mansion Page 8