by Emily Ecton
“So tell me.”
“Really big. You might need a doughnut.”
“Forget the doughnut, okay? Just say it.” It killed her to say that, but she wanted him to spit it out.
Bondi took a deep breath. “Okay. I solved all my clues, right?”
Melissa nodded. “Yeah, way to rub it in.”
Bondi shook his head. “No—that’s the thing. I got one of them wrong.”
Melissa was surprised her jaw didn’t hit the table. “What do you mean you got it wrong? You didn’t win? What am I doing here? Is this a setup?” It was one thing to break the rules when Bondi was the winner, but if she still had a shot? That was completely different.
“No, listen: I got an answer wrong,” Bondi said, tapping the table with each word. “And Mr. Smith—Mr. Ambrose, I guess—he didn’t know.”
“He didn’t know it was wrong?” Melissa said under her breath. “What do you mean? How could he not know it was wrong? It’s his competition!”
Bondi shook his head. “He thought it was right.”
Melissa rubbed her forehead. “I need a doughnut.”
Bondi grinned. “I thought you might. Just a sec.” He hopped up and headed for the counter while Melissa lay her head down on the table. She didn’t pick it up again until Bondi was back, waving a chocolate-glazed under her nose.
She sat up. Nothing revives like a doughnut. “So what you’re saying is that we’re solving these clues…”
“Yep.”
“…that Mr. Smith gave us…”
“Yep.”
“…and he doesn’t know what the answers are.”
“Right.”
“And you’re sure?”
“Totally sure.”
“So what are we doing?” Melissa took an angry bite of doughnut. “This isn’t a scholarship competition, is it?”
Bondi shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think this is something else.”
Melissa slammed her fist down onto the table. “What the heck? So what is this, some kind of scam? What are the clues for, then? What are we solving? Ouch.” She massaged her hand.
“That’s what we’re going to find out. You still have your meeting today, right? To turn in your answers?”
Melissa nodded.
“Okay, so turn yours in just like you would’ve. And that’ll tell us two things. First, we’ll see if Butler gives you one of these.”
He handed her the invitation.
Melissa inspected the card. “Taj Mahal? What does it mean?”
Bondi took the card back and looked at it closely. “Beats me. He gave it to me in the hallway, afterward. I want to see if you get the same one. And then we’ll figure out what they’re up to.”
“How are we going to do that?”
Bondi smiled. “Simple. I’ll follow them.”
NOTE TO SELF:
BUY MOTION-SICKNESS PILLS FOR
FUTURE ACTIVITIES (JUST IN CASE).
TENTATIVE SCHEDULE, WILF SAMSON: (UPDATED)
1. Go to aquarium.
2. Visit Sears Tower Skydeck Ledge (Willis Tower, whatever).
3. Watch laser light show at the planetarium.
4. Go to zoo (both Lincoln Park and Brookfield, if possible).
5. Ride Ferris wheel at Navy Pier.
6. Seadog boat ride.
7. Hot Dog taste-test-a-thon—Fat Johnnie’s vs. Wiener’s Circle vs. Jimmy’s Red Hots vs. Superdawg vs. others to be named later (until puking commences) PUKING COMPLETE.
8. Get psychic reading.
ALSO: FIGURE OUT CLUES AND SOLUTIONS.
9. GO SKYDIVING. Vetoed by Frank.
10. TAKE HELICOPTER TOUR. UNEXPECTED FEAR OF HEIGHTS. WHO KNEW?
11. KAYAK ON CHICAGO RIVER.
12. PLAY BUBBLE SOCCER (FIRST, FIGURE OUT WHAT EXACTLY BUBBLE SOCCER IS).
Notes on Car Service Garage Chalkboard:
Do the kids get bonus points for how many places they puke in the city? I think my kid has a lock on that prize.—Frank
Your kid is not riding in my car, Frank.—Inez
Bondi: Did research at lunch—I found the right fountain.
Bondi: It’s called the Eli Bates Fountain, or Storks at Play, and there’s a ton of fish hugging and spitty storks that look like geese. You’ve got to see it.
Melissa: Great.
Bondi: And I think I figured out the invitation. There’s a restaurant in University Village called Taj Mahal. After you get your invite and I finish my stakeout, we can head over.
Bondi: Hope I’m done by 3 p.m., so we don’t miss the appointment.
Melissa: ZIP IT! These phones may not be secure!
Bondi: Wait, this is Melissa Burke, right? I think I have the wrong Melissa. I’m working on a thing. For English. Just brainstorming made-up ideas that are fake. And made-up. You know, for school.
Melissa: Real slick. They’ll never suspect a thing.
Melissa shifted nervously as Mr. Smith looked at the photos she’d taken. She’d thought they were pretty awesome, but spread out on his desk, they all looked kind of lousy. Her composition was all off, and the lighting was all over the place.
Melissa swallowed hard. Composition? She didn’t even know what she was talking about.
“Clue one! Solution!” Mr. Smith barked.
Melissa jumped and then glared at Mr. Smith. She bet he hadn’t been this much of a jerk with Bondi. “Eternal Silence statue, also known as the statue of Death, in Graceland Cemetery. It was a trick question, see, because—”
“Clue two! Solution!” Mr. Smith barked again, his eyes gleaming. He was enjoying himself way too much. He looked down at the paper. “Freeze! Look to the building where Tarzan swam to find your ‘Contribution.’ Answer!”
“That’s the InterContinental Hotel, the frieze on the south wall.” Melissa focused on the space in between Mr. Smith’s eyes. If she looked him full in the face, she thought she might slug him.
“Clue—”
“AND CLUE NUMBER THREE,” Melissa said in a loud voice, cutting him off, “is the Museum of Science and Industry, the baby chicks hatchery and the ice cream parlor.”
Mr. Smith narrowed his eyes. “Baby chicks?”
“Baby chicks.”
“How can that be the solution? Baby chicks are ridiculous,” Mr. Smith huffed, as though he thought Melissa had invented baby chicks.
“Go to 1910 for ice cream—that’s Finnigan’s, which is on that old-timey Main Street in the museum. And the baby chicks are the only newborns there. If you can find newborns having ice cream somewhere else, go with that answer, be my guest.”
Mr. Smith glared at her for a long minute, then looked at the photo she’d taken of the baby chick. It was the particularly slimy newborn. Melissa had made a duplicate of the photo for herself.
Mr. Smith drew himself up tall in his seat and folded his arms.
“Very good, young lady,” he said, staring down the bridge of his nose at her. “Well done. Butler? Collect her items and see her out.”
Melissa refused to budge. “So I’m what, second place?”
Mr. Smith sighed loudly. “As I told the young man yesterday, every attempt will be made to ensure that you followed the rules at all times and that you have maintained an unquestionable character. Only then will the scholarship money be awarded. And believe me, your actions will be subjected to the highest scrutiny.” He waved his hand at her like he thought he could flick her away.
Melissa still didn’t move.
“We will be in touch at some point in the future with your standings. Butler?”
Mr. Butler held the door open again, took Melissa by the shoulder, and propelled her out into the hall.
She stalked to the elevators without a word and held out the ziplock bag with the cell phone and debit card.
Mr. Butler smiled and held up a hand. “That won’t be necessary quite yet.” He reached into his pocket and took out an envelope. “Please accept this on behalf of my employer.”
&nbs
p; Melissa took the envelope. Her name was written on it in elaborate script. “Okay. Thanks.”
“Until we meet again, Miss Burris.”
The elevator door opened. Melissa took a step toward it and then hesitated. “So these offices, are they your usual digs? I mean, they seem kind of impersonal, if you know what I mean. Is Mr. Smith some kind of businessman or something? I’ve never heard of him. But you know, Smith. Pretty common name. What’s his first name? John?”
Mr. Butler reached out and stopped the elevator door just as it was about to close. “Until we meet again, Miss Burris.” His smile never faltered.
Melissa nodded and then, after a minute, stepped into the elevator.
Guess that was too much to hope for, she said to herself, tearing open the envelope.
Your attendance is requested
This Monday, Clementine Hall,
Pope’s Residence.
Melissa groaned as she dialed her cell phone. “Bondi, I got my invitation, and you’re not going to like this. It’s different. It’s not the Taj Mahal.”
Frank: Wilf, what do you say we skip the more active plans on the list? I’m not sure my stomach can take much more.
Wilf: Don’t sugarcoat it, Frank. If you think I’m a puker, just say I’m a puker.
Frank: You’re a puker, kid. A good puker, but a puker.
Bondi fiddled with the handlebars of one of the bikes in the Divvy bike-share rack. Melissa had left the office building an hour ago, but so far there hadn’t been any sign of Mr. Butler or Mr. Smith. If he hadn’t been watching so carefully, Bondi would’ve thought he missed them, but there was no way they could’ve snuck past the stakeout king.
After he’d heard about Melissa’s invitation, he’d scrapped his Taj Mahal restaurant idea. He couldn’t make it out there and also keep an eye on the office. Besides, he had a feeling Butler and Smith would lead him wherever he needed to go. If that turned out to be the Taj Mahal restaurant, so be it. But that didn’t mean he wanted to sit around all night.
Bondi had just hopped up to test out one of the bike seats when a black car pulled up in front of the building. He didn’t recognize the driver, but he sure recognized the car. He and the other two kids had been riding around in those all week.
Bondi slid off the bike seat and unlocked the bike. He’d just pulled it into the street when a man emerged from the building and walked toward the waiting car. There was no mistaking Butler. Smith was probably right behind him.
“Hey, are you using that one?”
Bondi jerked his head around. Some guy in a Phish T-shirt had his hand on the handlebars of Bondi’s bike. Bondi glared at him. “Jeez, buddy, back off. Use a different bike, okay? This one’s mine.”
“Sorry, okay, sheesh.” The guy held up his hands and slowly stepped away like he was afraid Bondi was going to bite him.
Bondi glared at the guy until he had picked a different bike from the rack and then turned back to the waiting car. He was just in time to see the door slam shut.
Bondi bent down and pretended to fiddle with his bike chain until the car pulled past him. He didn’t want to lose them, but he didn’t want to follow too closely, especially with the headlight on the bike flashing like a beacon. One thing about those Divvy bikes, they weren’t inconspicuous. But they were common, and Bondi hoped that one more wouldn’t attract attention, even if it was right on their tail.
Besides, a flashing light was the least of his problems. If they turned onto the highway, he’d never be able to keep up. He’d be done before he’d even gotten started.
Bondi coasted up the block, swerving to avoid a panicky squirrel and a car door that opened in front of him, all the while keeping the black car a half a block ahead. He hoped this wasn’t the world’s stupidest idea. But he had to know where they were going.
He was so intent on keeping his distance that he almost didn’t notice when the car slowed down and pulled up in front of the huge stone mansion up ahead. Bondi stopped and watched, then did a silent fist pump. Bingo. It was the Ambrose mansion, just like they’d suspected. There was no way Mr. Smith could deny his identity now, not with photographic evidence. Which was exactly what Bondi planned to get.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and waited as Butler stepped out of the car and headed up the thick stone steps. Bondi didn’t have the best angle, though, and a gust of wind blew some branches into the frame, so he didn’t get a shot of Smith going in with him.
The car pulled away down the street and disappeared around the corner. Bondi hesitated for a moment and then pedaled closer to the house. The car was not important, not if Butler and Smith weren’t inside it. He needed a photo of them, not the car going back to some dumb garage.
Bondi grinned. It was one thing to see it himself, but it was something else to get irrefutable proof. He ditched the bike at the nearest Divvy stand and snuck down the street.
The house was huge, made of ancient, expensive-looking stone, complete with towers and gates, the whole shebang. He’d seen it a million times on TV, but never up close. This wasn’t exactly his neighborhood.
Bondi crept up the stone steps onto the porch, trying to look both casual and inconspicuous, which isn’t easy when you’re sliding along a wall. Then he quickly peeked into the window on the first floor. He had a bad feeling the peeking part hadn’t been all that inconspicuous, since he’d had to kind of lean out over a stone ledge to get a look. But nobody was shouting at him or running him off the property, so that had to be a good sign.
Bondi had to admit, he was surprised they’d actually gone inside. Word was that the place was haunted and totally deserted. He’d thought it was supposed to be off-limits until the will stuff was all sorted out—that’s what Melissa had told him, anyway. She’d seen it on the news.
Bondi leaned farther. He couldn’t see anyone moving inside, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. He held out his phone to try to get a shot of the interior, and just as he did, the curtain snapped open. Bondi jumped, taking the picture as he jerked his hand back and took off running down the block. He didn’t stop until he was a good three or four blocks away and had spent a little quality time hiding out in the shampoo section of Walgreens.
Once he was sure he hadn’t been followed, he slowly took out his phone and looked to see what he’d taken a picture of. It was blurry, and it was off-center, but it didn’t matter. Bondi knew what it was.
It was Butler. He’d been spotted.
To: Inez Castillo, Frank Jennings, Dimitri Omar
From: Butler
Subject: Reports due ASAP
Progress reports, please. What are your children interested in, investigating, etc.?
Just consider this a little healthy interest on the part of my employer.
Butler
To: Butler, Frank Jennings, Dimitri Omar
From: Inez Castillo
Subject: RE: Reports due ASAP
My kid just won. Don’t they keep you in the loop?
To: Inez Castillo, Butler, Dimitri Omar
From: Frank Jennings
Subject: RE: Reports due ASAP
Slow but steady wins the race. My kid is taking it slow.
To: Frank Jennings, Butler, Dimitri Omar
From: Inez Castillo
Subject: RE: Reports due ASAP
Yeah, sure, except my kid just won. What’s with you people?
To: Butler, Frank Jennings, Inez Castillo
From: Dimitri Omar
Subject: RE: Reports due ASAP
My kid also just won. So I will not be seeing her anymore, unless there are new requirements? I will be happy to continue if possible.
To: Dimitri Omar, Frank Jennings, Butler
From: Inez Castillo
Subject: RE: Reports due ASAP
WHAT PART OF “MY KID JUST WON” DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND? Your kid didn’t win, Dimitri. You guys take the cake.
To: Inez Castillo, Dimitri Omar, Frank Jennings
From: Butler
Subject: RE: Reports due ASAP
Thank you for your updates. You will continue with your assigned child until further notice. And until the winner is determined, Inez.
To: Butler, Dimitri Omar, Frank Jennings
From: Inez Castillo
Subject: RE: Reports due ASAP
Sure, until my kid is declared the winner.
Melissa peered at the blurry picture of Butler on Mrs. Lewis’s computer screen. Or at least Bondi claimed it was Butler. She was going to have to take his word for that.
“So he saw you?” she whispered into the cell phone. “You’re sure? I mean sure sure?” She was across the hall at Mrs. Lewis’s house, printing out the latest scam e-mails, including one from Svetlana in Ukraine, and weirdly enough, one from Saddam Hussein’s daughter. Turns out she wanted to give Mrs. Lewis five million dollars, and all Mrs. Lewis had to do was wire her two thousand dollars to pay for the bank transfer. Melissa deleted that one. There were some things Mrs. Lewis just didn’t need to see.
“Did you see the picture? Of course he saw me!” Bondi didn’t bother keeping his voice down. His parents were both at their macramé art class and wouldn’t be back for another hour.
Melissa looked closer at the picture. “He saw your hand, sure. And the phone. But did he know it was yours?”
Bondi groaned. “Come on. How dumb do you think he is? I’m the only black kid in this competition, Melissa. He and Smith both know it was me.”
Melissa zoomed in on the picture. “Yeah, about that…I don’t see Smith in this picture anywhere.” As far as she could tell, Bondi’s picture only showed some curtains and one “person,” which was being generous, definition-wise.
“That doesn’t mean he’s not there, Melissa.” Bondi’s voice was shrill through the phone. “Did you see the picture? This proves everything!”