by John J. Bonk
“Got it.”
Lexi was out of there faster than her paper cuts could bleed. She willed herself not to cry as she stomped past Kim Ling, up a zillion steps, and into her aunt’s apartment. You will not shed a single tear over that girl! she warned herself. Don’t you dare.
Kevin was at the desk on the laptop and she stormed right past him, sucking her stinging finger and heading for the bathroom. Maybe a bubble bath would make her feel better—she could scrub Kim Ling and New York City out of her pores forever. But passing Aunt Roz’s bedroom, something caught her eye. Draped across the bed was the opening-night dress from Macy’s that Aunt Roz had gone on and on about. Lexi couldn’t resist taking a peek. It was gorgeous. Sooo elegant. And that color, she thought on her way into the bathroom. In-your-face red.
The gushing bathwater couldn’t fill the tub fast enough for Lexi, and couldn’t be hot enough—even on such a miserable summer day. Only her big toe could stand it at first, but little by little she submerged her entire body. Lexi soup. Her brain went as limp as her body, too foggy to complete another thought. Fine by her. And if the smell of jasmine bath salts transported her to somewhere faraway and exotic, so much the better.
With the scented bubbles at nose level, she turned off the spigot with her foot and waited for the sloshing water to settle. Her arms floated to the top and her eyelids fluttered as she watched the steam rise in ghostly swirls. The hypnotic drip, drip, drip from the faucet transforming into a distant chug, chug, chug … and all at once she was ten years old, sitting next to her mother on a train traveling along the Hudson.
“I’m not sleeping, cookie,” her mom had insisted. “I’m just resting my eyes.”
“Well, Mom, we don’t want to miss our stop. What’s the name of it again?”
“Tarrytown. We’re almost there.” Lexi’s mom folded her hands on her lap, admiring her new French tips. “Oh, for heaven’s sake—”
“What is it?”
“I forgot to wear my lucky charm bracelet—we were in such a hurry.”
“You don’t need it. You’ve got me.”
“I know, but of all days …” She took a deep breath, hooking her arm through Lexi’s. “Thanks for coming with me on the train again, sweetie. I was just too rattled to drive. I love you to pieces for holding my hand through this whole thing.”
“Well, I’m proud of you. And I don’t mind taking trains—they’re so retro. You look awesome, by the way.”
“I really splurged on this dress, so don’t tell your father when he gets back from his business trip or he’ll flip his lid. But I needed a red one for today, so I figured what the heck? It’s not every day I get to do something so—extraordinary.”
Her mother had never looked so chic in her life. She was a newly appointed ambassador for the “Go Red” campaign—something about promoting awareness of heart disease in women, which she herself had survived. She had hardly ever worn dresses, let alone one from Saks Fifth Avenue! The saleslady had said it was made for her, that she looked simply stunning in red. It was cut kind of low, though. Not sexy low, but low enough that her scar showed a little. But Lexi had convinced her she could camouflage it with makeup and no one would notice. It worked.
“Mom, do you want to go over your speech one more time before we get there?”
“No, thanks,” she said, closing her eyes. “I think I’ll just go over it in my head.”
Lexi closed her eyes, too, but chewed on a stick of gum so she wouldn’t accidentally nod off—the rocking of the train was way too risky. Before the flavor had even left her Carefree Sugarless, several stops had whizzed by and the conductor called out, “Ossining! This is Ossining. Tarrytown is next.”
“Mom, wake up, that’s us,” Lexi said, nudging her mother gently. “C’mon, Sleeping Beauty, your audience awaits.” She shook her arm. Nothing. One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand … “Mooom?” Again. Harder. “We’re gonna miss our—” Her words got stuck in her throat. “Do you need me to get our bag down from the overhead rack? Okay, I can do that—I’ll get our—” Lexi jolted to her feet and reached for the suitcase with trembling fingers. She had to jump for the strap and the thing came crashing to the floor. Her mother didn’t even budge. “Oh, God, this can’t be happening.”
Just breathe, Lexi told herself, kicking the bag out of the aisle. Kicking, kicking. She’s a heavy sleeper just like Kevin, and you’re overreacting. You always overreact, freak! Just stop it.
“Tarrytown!”
“Mom?”
There was the hiss of the train pulling into the station. Doors were rattling. Slamming shut. A haze of people rushed by, knocking Lexi back into her seat. She took her mother’s hand and began gently rubbing it. “C’mon, c’mon, Mom,” she whispered, “please, wake up. You have to—”
“Tarrytown! This is Tarrytown.”
Hot blood pulsing in her temples. Silent screams in her head.
“Yonkers is next!”
“Omigod, help me,” she had heard herself cry out. “I don’t know what to—stop the train! Somebody, please help!”
The bathroom door flew open and she was shockingly back in her twelve-year-old body again as Kevin came barging in.
“Lexi!”
“Get out!” she screeched, pulling a towel down over herself. “I’m in the tub!”
“I didn’t see anything.” He turned his back. “Are you okay?”
“Of course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
“You were screaming for help, Lex—at the top of your lungs.”
26
CRACKS
Lexi had never revisited that horrible morning on the Metro-North quite so vividly before. You would think all those sessions with Dr. Lucy would have helped it feel less scary by now. She threw on her aunt’s chenille robe that was hanging on the bathroom door, thinking it might comfort her. It did not. Withered and still a bit shaky, she decided to focus her energy into packing. At least she would be that much closer to getting out of Crazy Town, USA. Stuff socks into shoes to save room … She could hear her mom’s packing instructions in her head. Don’t fold pants, but roll them up to prevent wrinkling; double-check pockets for anything you might need. When she grabbed her khaki shorts, they were stiff and crinkly. A newspaper article was sticking out of the back pocket, with the headline that had started it all:
CLEOPATRA’S JEWELS VANISH!
It still packed a wallop. She skimmed the article on her way into the living room and tossed it onto the faux-leather massage chair. “If only I knew then what I know now.” Another Momism. Collapsing into the chair, she grabbed the remote and switched on the TV. A DVD of The Streets of New York: Season One was playing, which made her shudder and immediately switch it off. I wonder if Aunt Roz got a deal on it from Mr. Carney. “Hey, Kev, toss me my cell, will you?” she said in her business-as-usual voice. “It’s next to the paper-clip thingy. In case Aunt Roz calls.”
Kevin was at the desk, hypnotized by the laptop screen. “Guess what hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobia means? Fear of long words. Isn’t that the coolest? And fear of your stepmother is novercaphobia. That’s what you have, Lex. Nover—”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Get this,” he said over his shoulder. “I googled Nigel Humphries—you know, the head writer of The Streets of New York, and he went to NYU at the exact same time as Benjamin Deets—the film school. Isn’t that weird?”
“I don’t really care anymore. It’s over, as far as I’m concerned. The fat lady has sung.”
“Don’t talk about Miss Carelli that way.”
“Kevin!”
He closed the laptop with a snort and delivered the phone personally, flopping down onto the chair next to Lexi. It was so not like him.
“Thanks.” With a curious smile, Lexi turned on her phone and slipped it into one of her droopy pockets. “Oh, Kev, how could everything go so incredibly wrong?” she said more to herself than to her brother. “I just don’t get it.” She strummed her
fingers on the armrest and studied the control-box massage options as if there would be a pop quiz afterward: neck and shoulders; upper back; middle; lumbar; legs; gentle massage; deep tissue …
“So, Lex? Don’t bite my head off—”
“Don’t make me have to bite your head off.”
“—but are we supposed to just pretend like it never happened?”
“The jewel hunt? For the thousandth time, I said drop it.”
“That’s not what I—I mean, before. In the tub. You kinda scared me. Were you having that dream about Mom?”
Lexi gathered her damp curls on the top of her head and settled into a tight fetal position facing away from Kevin. “You’d have to be asleep to be dreaming, and I doubt I was sleeping in a scalding hot tub.” Conversation over. She lay motionless, focusing on the hum of the air conditioner and visually dissecting the wreath of dried flowers, ribbons, and bluebirds hanging next to the mirror over the bureau.
“I miss her a lot,” Kevin said. “Don’t you?”
“Don’t ask stupid questions.”
“Well, you never talk about her.”
“I don’t need to.”
“Yes, you do! Dr. Lucy said—”
“Save it. I know all about what Dr. Lucy says. Believe me.”
Kevin sprang up to leave, but Lexi yanked him back onto the chair. She wriggled over to give him room and they lay side by side in silence, leg over leg, staring up at the ceiling.
“All those cracks.” Lexi tilted her head. “It’s like studying cloud formations. If you look long enough, you can see pictures. Like, see, there’s a crooked sailboat.” She pointed it out. “And a funky butterfly.”
Kevin was right. Dr. Lucy was always telling her to share her feelings, share her thoughts, share her fears; and her dad kept accusing her of keeping everything bottled up inside, which really irked her. But did she tell him how she felt about it? Never.
“Remember how she used to save all kinds of strange stuff,” Lexi said, “like lipstick blots and pigeon feathers?”
“Just the white ones. Dad said she had enough for an Indian headdress.”
“Native American. No one says Indian anymore.”
“Dad does.” A smile spread over Kevin’s face and his eyes lit up. “‘Member how she sewed matching covers for everything in the house?”
“Cozies.”
“The can opener, the toaster, the toilet paper …”
“Dad’s circular saw.”
They laughed a little but it soon faded into solemn stillness. Kevin reached over Lexi to grab the control box and fiddled with the switch. “Houston, do you read me? All systems go. Prepare for liftoff!” He clicked the knob to Full-Body Massage, making sloppy launch sounds with his mouth.
“Take it down a notch, captain.”
Kevin turned the dial until the chair purred softly.
“Remember when Mom spent all day making you that smiley-face pizza for your birthday?” Lexi said with an elbow jab. She did seem to feel a little lighter or something just talking about these things. “Pepperoni eyes. Pepper smile. Then totally dropped it on the way out of the oven.”
“Facedown, too! Puh-lop!”
“You ended up eating it anyway. Dork.”
“Five-second rule.”
Kevin seemed determined to test out the entire menu of massage options during their stroll down memory lane. Mechanical knuckles were kneading their shoulders one minute; then thumping down their backs the next. Suddenly their butts were being pummeled like punching bags.
“Okay, this thing’s getting way too personal.” Lexi snatched the controls away from Kevin and switched it to Gentle Vibrate.
The quiet hum was relaxing. Their eyes seemed to close automatically.
“You think she can see us, Lex? Mom, I mean.”
“Definitely.”
“Me, too. You think she’s mad at Dad for getting married again?”
Both pairs of eyes popped open. “Enough with the questions already.”
“Do you?”
“How am I supposed to know?” Lexi turned her back to Kevin and rearranged herself, tucking the bulky robe around her feet. “I am.”
“Mad? Is that why you hate Clare so much? Is it?”
“I don’t hate her. I just—despise her with the white-hot intensity of a thousand suns.” She was still burnt from that line, but she had to admit it was a good one.
“Why? She’s so nice. All she does is give us presents to try to get us to like her.”
“It’s called bribery and it’s not working. Some nerve giving me those old-lady pearls. Could she be more obvious?” The heat rising through her neck had Lexi scooching up as far as she could. “She wants to replace the opal necklace Mom gave me, just like she wants to replace Mom. Doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. Probably conjured up some wicked spell, ‘cause now my opal’s gone for good. Way to go, woman, but you still have me to deal with.” She took a deep, cleansing breath to release her inner sizzle—one of Dr. Lucy’s exercises. Inhale pink; exhale blue.
Kevin’s nose crinkled. “Ew, did you eat hummus?”
Lexi gave him a face-load of bad breath; he pigged her nose with his thumb, which led to a full-on tickle attack. When the giggles faded, they relaxed back into deciphering ceiling cracks again.
“Boot,” Kevin muttered.
“What?”
“To the left of the light thingy. A giant boot.”
“Or Italy, depending on what you want to see.”
“It’s not Clare’s fault, though, right?” His rag-doll arm flopped over Lexi’s. “I mean, if you really think about it. She can’t help it if she loves Dad and Dad loves her.”
Love? Hardly. “I just don’t trust that woman. Did you know she signed us up for City Camp before even asking if we wanted to go? Dad let it slip. Talk about putting the cart before the horse.” Another momism. Inhale pink … Exhale blue …
The next thing Lexi knew, she was awakening from a deep sleep with Kevin still conked out on the massage chair next to her. “Geez, how long was I asleep?” She staggered to her feet, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror over the bureau. Her hair had dried into a lopsided tumbleweed and the newspaper article was stuck to her face. She peeled it off on her way into the kitchen and for some odd reason the date jumped out at her and she couldn’t let it go. June tenth, June tenth, June tenth. But what was so weird about that? She tossed the article onto the kitchen table with a “Hmmph” and started socking life back into her butt, which seemed to have morphed into two tingly pincushions. That’s when it hit her.
Wait. We arrived early on June ninth—nine, my lucky number. The robbery happened late that night. So how could those TV writers have been whispering about a story they’d ripped from the headlines when the headlines didn’t even appear till the next day? She gasped. Cart before the horse!
“Omigod, this is huge!” She grabbed the newspaper article, raced back into the living room, and shook Kevin into consciousness. “Nigel what’s-his-puss must’ve been in on the whole thing!” she blurted, shoving the article in front of him.
“Huh? What time is it?”
“Kevin! I need you to focus.” She tossed the article aside and recounted her discovery to him, exactly as she had just gone over it in her own mind. “So, maybe the guy I saw him with in the Whispering Gallery really was Benjamin Deets!”
Kevin’s eyes went wide. “Yeah? Yeah! Well, they did go to school together.”
“That’s right, that’s right. And Benjamin Deets was a consultant too—for The Streets of New York—the guards at the museum were chatting all about it.” Her hands flew to cover her mouth. “It makes total sense, then, right? Deets and Humphries were probably in cahoots!” She started chewing on a jagged cuticle, her head aching from the racing thoughts. “So, now what?”
“You have to tell Kim Ling—she’ll know what to do.”
“Yes. Oh, wait!” Lexi said, remembering their quarrel. “No, not an option! Sho
ot, shoot, shoot!”
Lexi flew around the entire apartment like a deflating balloon and wound up flat on her back on the massage chair again, staring at cracks. She shot up with a jolt. Phone in hand. Heart in mouth. “I’ll do it myself. I can do this.” And after three deep breaths and a sign of the cross, she turned on her phone. “I—I don’t even know what I’m supposed to dial.”
Kevin ran over to the laptop on the desk, mumbling something about looking it up, but Lexi was already dialing 411 and reminding herself not to sound like a frightened little girl this time.
“For service in English, press one, or stay on the line. En Español, para información—” BEEP!
“Ugh!” After answering too many automated questions, she was directed to dial 311. Finally, there was a live human voice on the line from the NYPD Manhattan headquarters.
“Yes, hello. My name is Alexandra McGill and I have some very important information regarding the Cleopatra jewel heist. Okay, I’ll start from the beginning …”
27
CHANGE OF HEART
Whether anything would come of Lexi’s reporting her theory to the police didn’t seem to matter to her much as the hours passed—although getting her hands on that hefty reward would certainly be sweet. The best part was that she had figured it out herself and actually felt, for the first time in her life, kind of smart. That was what she was thinking outside the Minetta Lane Theatre in Greenwich Village the next night, waiting with Kevin for their aunt to come out of the stage door after the opening night performance of Shattered Glass. Aunt Roz had caved at the last minute and decided to release them both from brownstone jail to attend. “A promise is a promise” was her excuse, even though Lexi didn’t recall her ever promising anything of the kind. She chalked it up to the fact that kindhearted people were bad at holding grudges—unlike certain Chi-new-ish journalist wannabes who shall remain nameless.
Lexi decided to be semi-forgiving, too, so she explained all the latest developments of the jewel heist to her “frenemy” in a long e-mail, even wishing her well at the end. It was what adults called closure or something. She consulted The Book of Answers before she went through with sending it, though—after all, it had been spot-on about their misadventure in Central Park. Startling events may occur as a result, it warned this time. But she simply crossed her fingers for luck and clicked SEND anyway.