“Unless someone slipped it to me earlier.” I shuddered. How could Agford or “Danny”—if that was who was following us—have gotten close enough?
“True,” said Grace.
“Well, it’s obviously not Rod. If he knew something about Agford, he’d just tell me . . . I think.” I couldn’t believe that two minutes earlier I’d actually thought Rod had sent me a love note. I remembered his face at lunch, the way he turned around to see who I was waving the paper at. So he hadn’t thought I was a freak. At least, not then.
“Okay, not Rod,” Grace said, but she still put a question mark by his name.
“We can rule out Trent, too,” I continued. “His idea of a funny joke would be to make armpit fart noises in French and blame them on me.”
Grace agreed. “Marissa,” she said. “It’s Marissa, then.”
“Marissa,” I said, picturing her überstraight teeth and bangs. “And if it’s Marissa, it’s S.M.I.L.E., and if it’s S.M.I.L.E., that means . . .”
“Agford,” Grace and I said in unison.
Lucky looked up in alarm.
It had to be Agford. Grace and I went over it one more time before I headed back home. A sincere warning wouldn’t be in code. If someone’s pants are on fire, you don’t hand them a null cipher and hope they decode it before they combust. The tailing us around all over town, the code—they had to go together. The blue sedan had driven by the Saturday we’d peered in Agford’s windows. Whoever was inside must have seen us snooping. Now they were trying to scare us off.
It was working.
My new red elephant tucked under one arm, I opened our front door as quietly as I could, foolishly hoping I’d be able to slip myself and my cargo past the kitchen and into my room before Grandpa noticed I was late.
“You are sooo busted,” Jake greeted me. He smelled like he’d been living under a pile of sweaty socks for the past month, which probably wasn’t far from the truth.
“Is that you, Sophie?” my mom called out.
Jake bowed dramatically and invited me forward. I felt like delivering a swift tai chi heel kick to his knees.
“You’re home early,” I said as I entered the kitchen, still cradling the Yangs’ metal red elephant. Grandpa Young sat at the table hunched over his crossword. Behind him stood my mom, arms crossed. She still wore her AmStar security badge around her neck.
“You’re not,” she shot back. Grandpa made an exaggerated show of looking at his watch as if he’d only just realized how late I was. “Sophie, I really don’t know what’s gotten into you,” my mom said with a sigh. Her eyes looked tired. “Ms. Gant called today. Sounds like your Mount Vesuvius left something to be desired?”
I considered suggesting that Ms. Gant had misunderstood my symbolic interpretation of a post-eruption Vesuvius, its minimalist style representing Pompeii’s devastation. I nodded instead.
“With everything that’s going on at work right now, the last thing we need is . . .”
The basement door creaked open. “What an interesting tour, Wade,” rang out a familiar falsetto that sent up the hair on the back of my neck. “I didn’t realize you were a Led Zeppelin fan. Can you play all those guitars? Or are some for decoration?”
The elephant slipped from my grasp and sounded its hollow gong as it hit the terra-cotta tile and somersaulted to rest directly in front of Dr. Charlotte Agford’s feet.
“Oh my,” she said. She turned to my mom. “Does this have something to do with her interest in kung fu?”
“I think you mean fung shoo,” my dad said.
“Foong schwaaay,” my grandpa, mom, and I corrected all at once.
My dad picked up the elephant and peered at it oddly before he placed it on the table next to a centerpiece I hadn’t seen before. “Dr. A was just stopping by to bring us a little something for Halloween.” He pointed to the bowl of baby pumpkins huddled together atop a bed of straw and candy corn. Mini felt black cats peered out between them, eyes wide.
“Boo!” Agford wiggled her fingers and snorted.
My parents forced a chuckle. A chill ran through me. If there was one thing I was sure of, it was that Dr. Agford didn’t just stop by to bring us a little something for Halloween. I looked back at the festival of pumpkins and cats. It looked so harmless. As harmless as Agford must have seemed to my parents. The tacky neighbor bringing hideous but thoughtful handmade gifts.
“We’re always so impressed with your decorations, Charlotte,” my mom said with fake enthusiasm. “Those cobwebs look spooky!”
“What can I say? I like to spruce up the place.” Agford looked down in false modesty. She wore her “casual” post-school wardrobe: dark blue ironed mom jeans with a single stiff crease running down the center of each leg, accompanied by an orange, brown, and yellow knit sweater that (I think) was supposed to suggest fall leaves but instead screamed cat puke.
“Be careful up there on that ladder, though,” my dad said. He turned to me. “Sophie, make sure you give Dr. A some help when you go over this Saturday.”
Dr. Agford’s expression darkened. I could feel her gathering herself for something, and I didn’t like it. She drew in a long breath. “I’ve been meaning to talk with you about that, Wade,” she said.
Grandpa put down his crossword and eyed her warily.
“I was wondering”—she pursed her lips—“if maybe Sophie’s punishment was a bit . . . excessive?”
I stiffened. In my mind I saw the block letters of our decoded message. STAY AWAY. Of course. Five more Saturday work shifts meant five more Saturdays lurking near Agford’s house. Five more Saturdays I could snoop around and find something she didn’t want me to find.
“After all, for our therapy work together to be successful, Soph should have positive associations with me. Right, hon?” She stepped forward and reached out a hand. There it was. The shoulder touch. Her fingers felt like ice, even through my sweatshirt.
My parents traded a look. “I appreciate that, Charlotte,” my mom said in a tone that suggested the opposite. “However, we think it’s important Sophie learn how to make a proper apology.”
Agford smiled at her as though my mom were a child who’d just said something adorable. I stared at my red elephant, his trunk raised as if giving a battle cry, and I prepared for her next move.
“Well, I don’t know—” she began.
“My mom’s right,” I interrupted. It took everything I had to force out the words. “Don’t worry, Dr. A.” I smiled up at her as sweetly as I could bear. “It won’t affect the way I feel about you.”
Grandpa Young nodded slightly. “There’s a brave soldier,” he said. My parents looked at me strangely.
“I’m certainly relieved to hear that, Sophie,” Dr. Agford said, her acrylic nails sinking in as she gave my shoulder a supposedly friendly squeeze. I felt like I was suffocating in eau de Lysol fumes. She turned to my parents, tilting her head in her practiced pose of compassion. “I guess I was thinking, too, of how much you both have had to work lately. With the launch and all, I couldn’t help but wonder if that time might be better spent as a family.”
My parents fell silent. My mother cleared away an empty mug from the counter. My dad plucked an imaginary piece of lint from his shirt. “That’s very observant of you, Charlotte.” His jaw tensed. “In fact, we came home early today for that very reason.”
“That’s right,” my mother said tightly, turning back from the sink.
“Forgive me.” Agford laid one palm above her boob shelf. “Please, let’s forget I ever said a word! Five weeks will go by in no time.”
My father held up a halting hand. “You have a point. We’re under a lot of stress right now. My father’s been keeping an eye on Sophie in the afternoons, but as we discussed . . .”
“The C minus . . .” Dr. Agford nodded.
“Did we really say five weeks?” my mom asked herself. Her brow creased.
The corners of Agford’s lips twitched. “As I was saying earlier, Wade, I d
o think things are getting back on track at school for Soph. But if you two would like, I’d be happy to pop in from time to time. Give Grandpa here a break. How does that sound?”
As she leaned forward to pat me on the shoulder, Grandpa emitted a monster fart that thrupped through the air like an undone balloon, creating an invisible, sulfurous force field around me. Agford’s smile lapsed as the wall of stench hit her. She struggled to paint it back on.
My father put his hand to his mouth and coughed. “Are you sure about that? That’s an awful lot of—”
“Extra work? Pshaw!” Agford pretended to wave away my father’s concern, but her vigorous fanning wasn’t fooling anyone. “It’s just until your launch next week, right? I’ll stop by if I can. Always good to have an extra pair of eyes, hmm?”
Grandpa tapped one of the mini felt black cats crouching in Agford’s centerpiece and pretended to smile. “Looks like we got eight extra pairs right here.”
My dad shot my grandpa a warning look, then turned back to Agford. “That’d be a great help,” he said. “Really, above and beyond.”
“Isn’t that what neighbors are for?” Agford said. “I’d better be off. I really hate to intrude on your family time.”
“About the Saturday mornings . . . ,” my mom said as Agford turned to leave. She and my dad exchanged a look. “Why don’t we say just one more time?”
“You bet, Cynthia.” Dr. Agford’s smile grew wider. Her hair helmet was a little ruffled from her fumigation efforts, but as she turned back to me, her eyes held a triumphant gleam. “But we’ll see each other plenty before then, won’t we, Soph?”
Chapter Eleven
Texas Hold ’Em
“You didn’t eat any of that candy corn, did you?” Grace whispered over my walkie-talkie late that night. I huddled under my covers to muffle the sound, which turned out to be a very good thing, because when I told her Jake might have taken a handful, she freaked.
“Jake’s fine,” I whispered. “That is, unless poisoned candy corn causes fits of niceness,” I added. “He took the trash out for me when it was definitely my turn.” He’d also stopped by my room to make a big deal about how he took out the trash when it was my turn. Still, even that seemed suspiciously like he was checking in on me after Agford’s invasion.
Grace agreed Agford wouldn’t be dumb enough to kill off her neighbors in a mass poisoning, but that was just it: We didn’t know what Agford was up to. She might have wanted us to keep out of her business, but she was doing everything she could to keep tabs on mine. We needed a plan. Fast. We started brainstorming but had to break off quickly when Grace’s dad knocked on her door. We had just enough time to set a date at the Seashell the next afternoon.
The Seashell at three thirty, it was. I had half an hour until Grandpa (or—worse yet, Agford) would expect me home. Not much time, but enough. Grace had commandeered a booth that faced the square, where she huddled behind a newspaper unfurled to the size of a small tent. She lifted her sunglasses and peered at me as I slid in next to her. “Better today, right?” She gestured to her gray sweater, tan scarf, and dark blue jeans.
“Grace. You’re wearing a beret.”
“My hair was a mess!”
I closed my eyes and shook my head.
Grace let her sunglasses fall over her eyes again and darted glances left and right. I craned my neck to check for Rod among the after-school crowd filling the booths. What would I do if he were here? It’s not like I could run up and tell him not to worry, that I’d figured out Agford was scaring me away with codes.
“So. Here’s what I’m thinking.” Grace took a quick sip of her Diet Coke through a bendy straw. “Miss Anita has some alumni thing at Harvard next week, so starting Wednesday I’ll just have self-study. If you can stay home sick from school, then we can—Oh my God!” Grace yanked me close and flung up the newspaper over us as if it were a blanket.
“What the—” I tried to brush the paper down, but Grace grabbed my wrist. “Ow!” I cried out. The couple in the booth next to us shot us a look. I shrugged back.
“Shhh!” Grace stole a quick glimpse out from her side of the newspaper. “She’s here!”
I peeked one eye from behind the paper. The blue sedan was parallel parked out front. I hunched back with Grace again. “Are you sure it’s her?” I asked. My stomach tightened.
Grace bit her finger and nodded to the door. The driver of the blue sedan had entered, all right. She wore a gray pantsuit and blue blouse. She pushed down her sunglasses, darted a look around, then grabbed a menu from the hostess stand and looked it over. Maybe she didn’t realize we were there?
“Let’s sneak out the back,” I whispered, lifting the newspaper over us.
“On the count of three. Ready? One, two . . .”
“Three?” offered the woman from the blue sedan as she ripped back our newspaper like a curtain and stared down. Grace let out a little cry.
“No need to be alarmed, now,” the woman said in a twang. Her stringy light brown hair framed her pale face. Her shoulders sloped and dark half-moons of exhaustion puckered under her clear blue eyes. She reached for something in her pocket. Grace dove under the table. I poised to strike my Wild Goose Opens Wings tai chi move.
The woman’s hand reemerged, flashing a gold badge. I dropped my arms to my sides and tried to look casual as she plunked it in front of me. Pinned to it was a laminated ID card. “FBI,” she explained at the same moment I read the card’s blue block letters for myself. She glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone was investigating the commotion.
Grace popped back up as fast as she had disappeared. “FBI?” she repeated. She whipped off her sunglasses and grabbed the badge to get a closer look. She ran her fingers over its worn relief letters and squinted as she held the hologram up to the light. She gave a firm nod and set it back down.
If anyone could recognize a real FBI badge, it was Grace. Still, I checked it myself. In addition to the raised seal and hologram, the ID card bore a signature that—while barely decipherable—seemed to match her name. It certainly did look authentic.
“That’s right. FBI,” the woman repeated, a smile tugging at her lips. It was hard to be terrified of someone so calm. Judging from the fine wrinkles around her eyes, she smiled often—or, at least, she had at one time. Real smiles, not Agford smiles.
She gestured to the booth. “May I?” she asked. Grace scooted over. I flashed her a look of warning. She shook her head almost imperceptibly.
“I’m Agent Ralston,” the woman said, her hair falling across her face as she slid into the booth and cornered Grace. We couldn’t flee now. Not unless I abandoned Grace and made a run for it.
As the woman reached out to shake our hands with a surprisingly bone-crushing grip, her blazer shifted to reveal a mysterious leather strap near her left shoulder. A hidden holster for a gun?
“I’m from the Austin, Texas, bureau,” she explained. She stole a glance around the Seashell and lowered her voice. “Under ordinary circumstances, you two ladies wouldn’t know I exist.” She cleared her throat. “Then I slipped up yesterday at your school. And I made an even bigger mistake in sending you that code, Miss Young.”
I gripped Grace’s arm under the table. Badge or not, this had to be some kind of a trap. Agford was crazier than I thought. Staging an FBI meeting to throw us off her trail?
“Code?” I asked, widening my eyes. If there was one good thing about looking like I was nine, it was that I seemed innocent. The freckles added to the effect.
“Yes, code, Miss Young. The one you two deciphered yesterday?” Ralston’s gentle drawl didn’t show any sign of impatience, even if her actual words did. “I’m impressed with your military-spec walkie-talkies, ladies, but we feds have no trouble breaking that encryption. I’ve been listening in all week. And I heard your talk last night.” She looked apologetic as Grace blushed, then explained she’d slipped the code between the pages of my Feng Shui Planet catalog in my mailbox because the “Bur
eau’s surveillance team” had determined I would check there quickly.
The smell of greasy burgers added to my rising nausea. I tried to keep my expression neutral as I studied the woman. Her jacket was a little too big for her wispy frame. A fragile FBI agent. A fragile FBI agent who follows kids, eavesdrops on them, and puts creepy codes in their mailboxes that scare them half to death. Nothing felt right about that. Still, if Agford wanted to keep us from spying, weren’t there less complicated ways?
Ralston waited for the whine of the milk-shake blender to subside, then added, “I hope you’ll forgive me. We often resort to unconventional methods to protect innocent civilians, especially when we need to keep our investigations undercover.”
Now I really didn’t understand, but Grace slapped her hand to her head. “Of course! Why didn’t we think of that?”
Ralston shook her head almost gloomily. “I was worried you two ladies wouldn’t be able to crack the code. Never occurred to me it’d make you two want to investigate her more. Guess you can tell it’s been a while since I’ve been around any kids.” She chuckled softly.
“And the blue Crown Victoria!” Grace continued. “Standard government issue. I can’t believe I didn’t put it together.”
Grace really bought this woman’s story, didn’t she? What if she said too much? I dug my nails into her arm.
“Ow!” Grace cried out as she yanked her arm away. She flashed Ralston an apologetic look before turning to me. “Relax, Sophie. The feds do stuff like this all the time. They can’t have amateurs interfering. When they don’t want to blow their cover, they do whatever they can to keep the civilians out.”
Ralston looked impressed—or surprised? I couldn’t tell which. “To keep them safe,” she corrected. “The truth is we’ve been tailing you for protection ever since you called nine-one-one. I was hoping we wouldn’t have to say a word. But when I heard y’all on the walkie-talkies making plans last night, I had no choice.”
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