by John J. Bonk
“What?” Kim Ling asked.
“More clues.”
“Where?” Kevin asked.
“Here!” Lexi held up the book and glared at it as if it possessed magical powers. “I’d jotted them down in the Whispering Gallery, bits and pieces I heard from the men in black. I must’ve been so freaked, I’d totally blocked it out!”
“Are you kidding me?” Kim Ling said. “Hold still, I can’t read it with your hand all shaky.” And she grabbed the guidebook from Lexi and rotated it slowly, making out the words. “Shoot. Needle. What is that? It’s smudged. Oval disk? Pack?”
“Park,” Lexi said, swallowing hard. “Shoot, needle, oval disk, park. What the heck does that mean?”
“You tell me!”
“I wish I knew.” She hugged the book to her chest, puzzling over the new clues so intensely, her brain ached. “It could all be meaningless.”
Three heads with six wondering eyes slowly came together. And then Kim Ling said what they all were thinking.
“Or it could completely change everything.”
14
WHAT SOPHIE SAW
By the time the train arrived at the Grand Central stop, Kim Ling and Kevin had concluded that shoot and needle were no-brainers. They most likely had something to do with guns and drugs. Lexi agreed, but decided that none of the clues should be tossed aside completely just yet—in case they had it wrong. One thing she knew for sure: she didn’t want Kevin tagging along on the next leg of their jewel hunt. It was way too dangerous. He should spend the day at City Camp. Like it or not.
“On my own?”
“Look, one of us has to represent,” Kim Ling told him, “or Mr. Glick and his minions might start calling to check up on us, asking questions. Think of it as a solo undercover operation. You’ll get to use all of your prepubescent wiles to keep the bloodhounds at bay.”
“My what?”
“Meaning, if anybody asks where we are, make something up,” Lexi translated. She was getting good at interpreting Kim Lingese. “Just fudge it. C’mon, Kev, we’re counting on you.”
“Big time,” Kim Ling added.
Kevin reluctantly agreed, so the girls quickly dropped him off at the YMCA, where the green group was picking teams for Red Rover and the blue group was getting ready to leave on some field trip. According to Kim Ling, Glick was always such a complete mess on split-group days like this that he never got around to taking attendance until the very last minute, and Kevin could easily slip in under the radar.
“Shoot, needle, oval disk, park,” the girls chanted non-stop on their mad rush back to the train terminal. They were maneuvering through the thick, sweaty masses on Forty-Second Street pretty well until a perky young woman appeared out of nowhere and attempted to stop them with a clipboard and a smile.
“Hi! Do you guys have a minute for global warming?”
Kim Ling warned Lexi to just keep walking and not to make eye contact. But then, half a block later, Kim Ling went out of her way to stop a weirdo with a Rip Van Winkle beard spouting Bible verses and carrying a sign that read JUDGEMENT DAY!!
“Sir? Sir? Typo! There is no e after the g. It’s a very common mistake.”
While Lexi stood there rolling her eyes, she made an accidental discovery. Grand Central was bordered by Park Avenue—which was probably where the park clue came into play. Kim Ling thought it was a plausible possibility. But a few minutes later, leaning against the information kiosk on the main concourse, waiting for Melrose to show up, both girls still couldn’t figure out a single possibility for oval disk.
“I’m completely confused,” Kim Ling said into her fist. “That psycho runaway is about to lead us into the mouth of Hades and for all we know the jewels could be buried in some park somewhere under some oval disk. By the way, she is now officially forty—make that forty-one—minutes late!”
“Huh?” Shoot, needle, oval disk, park was still running through Lexi’s head like bad song lyrics. She quickly checked her cell phone to see if Melrose had left a message that she somehow missed. But no. Rubbing her throbbing temples, she glanced up at the opal-faced clock. 10:42. “You know what? This is ridiculous. I’m gonna run real quick and go ask Sophie if she’s seen her today.”
“Ask who?”
“The homeless woman who sits outside—Melrose’s friend. She’s not in her usual spot today, but I think I saw her stroller down the block on our way back. You wait here in case Mel shows. And be nice!”
Fingering her opal necklace, Lexi exited the terminal with her spinning bag of food still in hand, and scanned through the thicket of people on sun-dappled Vanderbilt Avenue. Sure enough, the telltale baby stroller was still jutting out from behind a large red garbage trough closer to Forty-Third Street. “Sophie?” she called out, and headed toward the cup-shaking silhouette.
“Who’s that?”
“Remember me?” Lexi whipped off her sunglasses to reveal her face.
Sophie squinted up at her from her blanket, shielding her eyes with her trembling brown hand. “Stand in the shade so I can see you better.”
Lexi did, but the old woman’s expression remained confused.
“You said I had pretty hair the other day, remember? Oh!” Lexi had forgotten she was sporting her aunt’s black wig. She twisted out a bunch of her own red curls to show Sophie, then tucked them back under the netting with a pat. “I’m just trying a different look.”
“It don’t suit you.”
Lexi smiled and made a mental note to tell that one to Kim Ling. “You haven’t by any chance seen Melrose around today, have you?”
“Seen who, now?
“Your friend—Melrose. You know, the teenage girl with the long blond hair? Purple bandanna?”
“You mean Beth?”
“Uh, probably.” That’s right, Melrose was her fake name. Beth? Talk about unsuitable.
“Not too long ago, as a matter of fact. She was in a hurry, though,” Sophie said, gesturing wildly toward Fifth Avenue. “Runnin’ thataway, thataway.”
Lexi looked up and down the block, chewing her lower lip. “Hmm, that’s weird. She was supposed to meet us at ten. Huh.” She looked down at her bag full of food and back at Sophie. “Are you hungry?” Stupid question. “D’ya like waffles and scrambled eggs?” She grabbed a container from the bag and set it on the blanket. “Here ya go. Still warm.”
“Oh, I appreciate it, darlin’, but my stomach ain’t been right lately. My babies’ll eat anything, though.” Her gnarled fingers pried off the lid and two cat tails shot straight up out of nowhere. “Ooh, das right, you’re gettin’ a special treat today, aren’t you?” Happy meows quickly turned into licking sounds as Sophie sank back onto her blanket, stroking the cats. “I don’t think Gabby’s doing too good in this heat. She’s always like this with her tongue hangin’ out, panting like she can’t breathe right.” Her demonstration sparked a sudden coughing attack. “Now I’ve seen dogs do dat,” she said, wheezing, “but not no cats. Not no cats.”
“Are you all right?” Lexi pulled a water bottle from her backpack pouch and handed it to Sophie. “Make sure your babies drink some but you have your fill first, all right? Promise?”
“Oh, don’t you worry about me none.”
“Okay then,” Lexi said, starting to leave, “bye, Sophie. And if you see Mel—uh, Beth, I mean—tell her Lexi is looking for her, okay? Lexi. And that I’ll be waiting inside by the clock.”
“I will if I do, but I won’t. Not today.”
“Why’s that?”
“She won’t come back. Not with them cops on her tail.”
“What do you mean?”
“They really crackin’ down. Raided the train station this morning and cleared out all the freeloaders ‘n’ runaways ‘n’ such. Darn near gave me a heart attack. They not messin’ around this time—mm-mmm, they not messin’ around.”
15
DOWN AND DIRTY
“I don’t think Mel’s gonna show!” Lexi called out to Kim Lin
g, who was pacing in front of the information kiosk, looking as if she was about to strangle someone. “You’re not gonna believe it. Sophie saw her running from the cops today after they raided Grand Central. That poor girl! Can you imagine?”
“Really?” Kim Ling blinked a few times and scratched an eyebrow. “Well, truth be told, I think we’re better off without her. I swear, she’s non compos mentis, that chick—not playin’ with a full deck. On to plan B.”
The word heartless sprang to Lexi’s mind but she kept it to herself. “I didn’t know there was a plan B.”
“There’s wasn’t. Until now. I just don’t know what it is yet.”
Lexi adjusted her wig, tugging and slapping at it as if it were a too-tight football helmet, and challenged herself to come up with something before Kim Ling. She wandered around the kiosk, running her hand over the train schedule leaflets with a hopeful eye out for Melrose. But who was she kidding? She checked her phone messages again. Nothing. Coming full circle, she tossed the remaining food into a trash can with a sigh of defeat, and when she turned around—“Oh, pardon me!”—she bounced off a mound of flesh.
It was a lumpy woman in a Phantom of the Opera T-shirt, holding a giant street-vendor pretzel.
“Good gravy, I apologize!” the woman said in a soupy Southern drawl. “Are y’all, by any chance, here for the free walking tour of Grand Central Station?”
Kim Ling’s head snapped in her direction. “Maybe.”
“The fellow at the hotel desk said we should all meet up by the gilded clock.”
“This is it,” Lexi told her. “It’s actually priceless—all four faces are genuine opal, but you’d never guess from looking at it.”
“Ooh. Isn’t that wonderful? Maybe you should be giving the tour!” The woman cackled unexpectedly and gestured to her unmistakable male counterpart in a matching Phantom T-shirt with a camera swinging from his neck. “Vern! Come on!”
“Ma’am,” Kim Ling said in her polite voice, “what’s the tour exactly?”
“We’re not really sure, to be honest with you. We’re just killin’ time till David Letterman. Me and my husband won tickets to see a live taping of his show.”
“Oh, fun,” Lexi said with a polite smile.
“I know! We’re real excited. We signed up for it online way back in—when was it, Vern? September! They put you in some kind of lottery and it takes—” She noticed something in the distance and her lips stopped flapping. “Oh, shh-shh-shh, this fellow looks like he might be somebody.”
Through a crisscross of commuters, a nerdy little man in a rumpled blazer and glaringly white sneakers was fighting his way toward the kiosk. “If you’re here for the eleven o’clock tour of the secrets of Grand Central Terminal,” he said through his small bullhorn, “you’ve come to the right place. I’m your guide, Neil Early.”
“Well, it’s eleven-oh-two, Mr. Early—you’re late!” Kim Ling had to say.
“No one thinks you’re funny,” Lexi whispered. “Secrets, he said. That sounds promising.”
“Totally. Let’s just play dumb tourists, though, okay? Ha! Look who I’m talking to.”
Lexi gave her a bump with the boniest part of her hip.
“Excuse me, sir?” Kim Ling stuck out her hand as if she were hailing a cab. “Watch and learn,” she whispered to Lexi.
“Is there a question?”
“If you don’t mind. Yeah, I remember seeing some TV show about an old abandoned train station that’s supposed to be here. Seemed pretty cool. Your tour doesn’t by any chance go down there, does it, ‘cause that would be awesome.”
“Oh, you mean that documentary on PBS,” Mr. Early said, as if he had actually heard of it. “The covert network of underground tracks and tunnels? Infamous Track Sixty-one? The hidden platform President Roosevelt used to gain secret access to the Waldorf Astoria Hotel?”
“Yes!”
“No. Strictly off-limits.”
Kim Ling looked to Lexi with amazement on her face. “Well, bummer, but I didn’t even know there really was a documentary,” she whispered. “I was extemporizing.”
“It’s a fascinating spot to explore, though,” Mr. Early mumbled. He had a telltale glint in his eye, stroking his knot of a chin. “Incredibly rich with history. And mystique.”
Kim Ling leaned into Lexi. “Hello, plan B!”
“Oh, I adore FDR,” the Southern lady said with a mustardy mouthful of pretzel. “Why’d he have to have secret access? To avoid the paparazzi?”
“Exactly. Plus remember, he kept the fact that he was bound to a wheelchair a big secret from the public. Everyone knew he had polio—but they didn’t know he couldn’t actually walk.”
It was Kim Ling who rattled off that answer, which didn’t make Neil Early look all too happy.
“What happened to dumb tourist?” Lexi said out of the side of her mouth.
“That may be biologically impossible for me.”
“Alrighty then, folks, I’m just waiting on a group to show—but in the meantime, let’s everyone look up and appreciate this magnificent ceiling of stars, shall we?” Mr. Early raised the bullhorn to his mouth and all heads fell back in awe. “It was painted by an artist named Paul Helleu, and astute observers may notice that the signs of the zodiac are completely backward. Some thought this was a mistake, but, in all actuality, Helleu was depicting the heavens as they would have been seen from—”
“God’s perspective,” Kim Ling finished.
“What’re you doing?” Lexi whispered. “We don’t want to tick this guy off.”
“If you direct your attention to the upper left-hand corner of the ceiling—waaay over there, you’ll notice a small black rectangular swatch. See it?”
Mr. Early took a few steps away from the kiosk and pointed up to the spot. Vern snapped a picture.
“That’s a smidgeon of the old ceiling. It was intentionally left during the nineteen ninety-five restoration as a stunning reminder of the vast improvement the mural had undergone. A before and after, if you will.” Mr. Early motioned the group forward like a traffic cop. “The glorious spectrum of sweet summer light gleams doubly bright against wintry night,” he recited in a sing-songy surge. “Forgive me. I’m afraid I’m a bit of a poet.”
“Well, he ain’t no Shakespeare,” Kim Ling muttered.
Lexi liked his little poem. Loved it. She even repeated it to herself a few times so she wouldn’t forget it. But she wasn’t about to admit that to Kim Ling.
“I do have a small book of poetry available—self-published, if anyone is—” Mr. Early’s voice fell from the bullhorn. “Ah, here they are now! Welcome, welcome.”
Lexi and Kim Ling gasped in each others’ faces. Either they were seeing things, or they were completely surrounded by a cluster of puke green—as in City Campers in their official T-shirts! Aside from their dropped jaws and astonished expressions, Lexi and Kim Ling immediately blended right in since they were wearing the same shirts.
“Let me just take a quick head count while everyone turns off your cell phones, then we’ll officially begin our tour.”
“Are you freakin’ kidding me?” Kim Ling whispered to Lexi. She grabbed her arm and led her behind the group of gum-cracking, chattering campers, where they squatted down low to avoid Mr. Early’s pecking finger.
“Is Kevin here?” Lexi asked through tight lips.
“I don’t think—no, it’s the green group, the older kids. I don’t see Glick, either. We lucked out. Looks like pizza-face Felicia Bitterman is in charge.”
“Who?” Lexi peeked around a bevy of backpacks and spotted the pimply beanpole camp counselor who had been manning one of the tables at orientation. She was so tall and skinny, she stuck out like a dehydrated giraffe.
“Alrighty then,” came Mr. Early’s voice through the bullhorn. “Please follow me to a very unique location in the dining concourse. But a word of warning: keep it down to a whisper.”
“Uh-oh, Whispering Gallery!” Lexi said, poking Kim
Ling. “How much you wanna bet?”
“No kidding, Sherlock.”
The girls plotted to get through the tour as unnoticed as possible, but Lexi practically had a spaz attack watching the City Campers trying out their whispers in the exact same spot outside the Oyster Bar and Restaurant where all the craziness had begun. And when everyone insisted on taking a turn, Kim Ling stepped out of the shadows to rush things along. That was when Felicia Bitterman asked her how she even knew about the Grand Central tour in the first place, since she had obviously cut camp the day before. It went something like: “Did not.” “Did so.” “Did not.” “Did so.” “Did not—infinity!” And that was the end of that.
“And now, ladies and gentleman, we’re heading outside to observe what is possibly the largest example of Tiffany glass in the world: the magnificent clock gracing the main entrance. Perhaps you’ll recognize the gods depicted in the statues surrounding it.”
“Hercules, Mercury, and Minerva,” Kim Ling spouted. “With all due respect, I thought this was supposed to be a secrets tour. What about the abandoned train station we were talking about—in the underbelly of Grand Central?”
The group started chattering and bombarding Mr. Early with questions.
“No, no, security has really been tightened in the last twenty-four hours. There’s some funny business going on. I don’t want to ruffle any feathers or I could lose my job.” Mr. Early glanced around nervously, scratching his sunburned bald spot. “Then again, I suppose that really doesn’t matter since I’m moving to St. Louis in two weeks,” he said half to himself with a sneaky smile. “And I really would love to see it one last time.” He checked his watch. Pursed his lips. “I’ll tell you what. Let me make a quick call to my very powerful friend at Metro-North—I have a slew of favors to collect on. In the meantime, talk amongst yourselves and decide. We can either go up to the clock tower and observe this Tiffany masterpiece up close—or we can venture down to the abandoned station. It’s quite spectacular, I assure you.”
He whipped out his cell phone and turned his back on the group, which erupted in a babbling debate between up or down. Felicia was pro-clock tower and seemed to be convincing the majority, despite Kim Ling talking up the train station. When Mr. Early turned back around with “We’re cleared” and asked for a show of hands, the vote was split down the middle.