A victim was a criminal.
Grace bit her lip. “So all along . . .” She closed her eyes and let out a long breath. When she opened them again, they glistened with tears. “Oh my God, Sophie, I’m so sorry. You were right. This is all my fault.”
Grace reached her hand out to me across the table. I couldn’t remember ever seeing her cry. My throat tightened. “No, Grace,” I said. “I’m sorry. We did this together.” I put my hand over hers.
Grace swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean what I said yesterday. I wish I could take it all back.”
“Me, too,” I said. My voice shook. “Every word.”
Grace looked down at the table. “I am a little superficial though, aren’t I?”
“Because you like clothes?” I made a face. “C’mon! I was grasping at straws.”
Grace looked relieved. “And I never thought you were some shy little mouse.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe I was. But I don’t feel that way now.”
A server noisily cleared the booth behind us. I looked around the Seashell. The stainless-steel napkin holders at each table, the Formica counter by the register. All the usual kids who came after school were clustered together with the same people they always sat with, at the same booths they always sat at. But it all did feel different somehow.
“I could use a Sun Tzu quote around now,” Grace said, smiling weakly. “Does he have any advice on apologies?”
“He wasn’t so big on friendship.” I smiled back. “That’s where he and I differ.”
“You’re the opposite of boring, Sophie Young, you know that?” Grace squeezed my hand. Outside in the square, the trees seemed to settle into place as the wind died down. I wasn’t assuming Grace had meant what she said. I felt it. I knew it.
“Thanks.”
“And if you really want a babbling fountain in your northwest gua, go for it,” she added with a laugh.
“I think I can do without one,” I said. “Besides, you were right. It’d get old fast if you were dancing jigs and quoting Saint Patrick all the time. I never thought of it like that. Why don’t we pretend it all never—”
A shadow fell over our table. “There y’all are” came a familiar drawl.
My heart nearly burst through my chest. Louise Ralston leaned over our table, her blazer gaping open to reveal the shiny metal of her gun in its holster. “I’ve been looking all over for you two,” she said as she pushed her sunglasses down her nose to peer at us.
Grace looked horrified. I slammed my foot down on hers in warning. She disguised her grimace with a smile.
“Agent Ralston! What a relief to see you.” I beamed, fumbling in my pocket for the A+ Teacher notebook paper, where Dr. Agford had scrawled her number. I darted a look toward the restrooms. Did they have a phone? Would it be too obvious if I excused myself right away?
“Sorry for the delay, ladies,” Ralston said as she tugged at her frayed blazer cuff and slid in next to Grace. The dried mustard stain was still there. The FBI wouldn’t let agents run around dressed so sloppily. Why hadn’t I ever thought of that? “I had some business in Texas to tend to, but I came back as soon as I got your email.” She glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice. “I’m not pleased you ignored my warning, but I can’t lie. Y’all may have wrapped this up.”
I’d once thought the bags under Ralston’s eyes and her sloped shoulders indicated she was working too hard on a dangerous operation. Now I realized they could just as easily have been signs of a woman racked with insomnia and lost in her delusions. Dread crept through me. I knew there was no good reason for her to go through the charade of collecting “evidence” against Dr. Agford. What if she was planning something so awful for Agford that, even in her fantasy, she felt she needed justification?
“You really think the case is closed?” Grace asked.
I weaved through the twisted maze of my thoughts to assemble a plan. What we needed was time. As long as Ralston didn’t realize we didn’t believe her, we could buy as much time as we needed.
“Depends on the evidence,” said Ralston. Her blue eyes twinkled. “If it’s not stolen, I think so.”
I made a show of looking around for eavesdroppers. “The evidence is secure,” I whispered. I felt as though I were playing make-believe with a six-year-old. “We’ll email the exact drop location as soon as we can, but it’s going to take some time.”
“My mom said I had to be back by four thirty. She doesn’t mess around,” Grace said, following my lead. It felt like we were on the night patrols again, tiptoeing and maneuvering, communicating wordlessly as we stalked our pretend prey. Only, I was in charge. And this time it was for real.
“And I’m late for study hall,” I explained. I slid from the booth, my hand already diving into my pocket again to retrieve Dr. Agford’s phone number.
“I understand,” Ralston said. “I’ve got my handheld.” She patted her jacket pocket. “I’ll get your email right away.” Ralston darted a glance around the Seashell as she stood to leave. “We shouldn’t meet in public like this anyway.” She turned back to us as she reached the door. “And Young and Yang?” Her laugh lines creased as she gave us a tired smile. “Thanks to you, this nightmare’s just about over.”
“More like the nightmare’s just begun,” I murmured as Ralston walked across the parking lot to her blue sedan.
“You can say that again.” Grace cast a dark look Ralston’s way and wheeled her vintage ten-speed from the rack.
“We should use the phone at the Preppy Plus,” I suggested. “It’s faster. Unless your parents gave your cell back?”
“Are you kidding?” Grace flung one long leg astride her bike. She glanced worriedly up Luna Vista Drive. “Soph, I was serious back there. If I’m not back in five minutes . . .”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. I didn’t sound bitter. More surprising, I didn’t even feel bitter.
“I have to finish my paper tonight?” Grace’s statement tilted into a question.
“It’s okay,” I repeated.
Grace fiddled with her hair and looked away. “Oh, you’re right, Sophie. Forget about it. Let’s go—”
I held up one hand. “I’ve got this.”
Grace squinted at me, mouth half open. “You sure?”
“I’m sure,” I said, starting toward the Preppy Plus.
“Hey,” Grace called out.
I turned back. She held up her walkie-talkie uncertainly. “Radio me, okay?” she said. The wind rose up, tossing her hair against her face. She looked as though she wanted to say something else. She’d already said it all.
“Of course,” I said. “Of course I will.”
Chapter Twenty-six
Initial Breakthrough
“Hello?” Dr. Agford sounded breathless as she picked up the phone.
“Louise Ralston just found us at the Seashell,” I murmured into the receiver as I stared at a sea of ample-sized pastel polo shirts on display at the Preppy Plus Boutique. My hands were cool and clammy. It felt strange to be calling Agford for help.
Mrs. Maxwell stopped fumbling with hangers outside the fitting room and cocked her head to listen. I lowered my voice to a whisper. “To buy time I told her we’d email information about the evidence drop.” A long pause followed. “Are you still there?”
“That’s perfect, Sophie,” Dr. Agford said at last. “I’ll call the police. I’m just thinking . . . If they can’t locate Louise immediately, we could use a backup plan. I’ll need your help.”
My stomach churned with worry as I pictured the glint of Ralston’s gun in its hidden holster. If Dr. Agford had told me that dancing naked past Rod’s house would help arrest Ralston, I would have done it. “No problem, Grandpa!” I hollered into the phone as Mrs. Maxwell waddled next to me under the pretense of having important business at the cash register.
“Smart thinking,” Dr. Agford said. “Just answer ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ Can you email Ralston a meeting time and place for
late tonight? Say, eleven p.m. somewhere at school?”
“Yes,” I said, my hands trembling. Even if I could have spoken freely, I wouldn’t have dared point out that, thanks to her intervention, I had no access to a computer. I’d have to break the password on my dad’s laptop. It was probably either “LedZeppelin” or “LedZeppelinIV,” his favorite album. At least I hoped it was.
“Good. Say you’ll meet by the lockers in the central courtyard. It’s private enough that she won’t be suspicious. Then tell her the evidence is in your locker, and you’ll meet her there. If she replies and asks for the combination, don’t respond. We can’t have her going down there earlier.”
“Sure, Grandpa,” I said, eyeing Mrs. Maxwell as she turned down the god-awful xylophone version of Christina Aguilera’s “Genie in a Bottle” that piped through the Preppy Plus’s loudspeakers. “I’d better go.”
A woman emerged from the fitting room. I was startled before I realized it was just another Preppy Plus regular—a middle-aged woman with a bright red face and an armful of salmon-hued beach cover-ups. If there was one thing in the world I could safely assume, it was that this woman should (a) not wear salmon-colored tunics and (b) not spend any more time at the beach.
“I’ll call your house as soon as the police have her,” Dr. Agford said. “Blind copy my school account on the email. And Sophie?”
“Yes?” I braced myself for another request.
“I don’t want to alarm you, but I couldn’t reach your parents yet. Could be the cell service at the launch station, or they might be too busy to pick up. The police are trying to reach them on a landline. In the meantime, when you get home, lock the doors. Stay there with your grandfather. Don’t answer if anyone knocks.” Dr. Agford’s voice was steady, but I could hear the edge of fear behind it. “It’s best to play it safe,” she added.
A chill came over me. It was the same feeling I’d had at my first therapy session with Agford. I had to remind myself that Dr. Agford wasn’t the one I needed to worry about anymore. “I will, Grandpa,” I replied, my throat closing around the words.
I clicked off the handset and handed it back to Mrs. Maxwell. She stared at the rivulets of perspiration running down the phone, then back at me. “Everything okay, sweetie?”
“You bet, Mrs. Maxwell.” I forced a grin. “Everything is just fine.”
When I came through my front door, Jake was drinking Coke out of a clear plastic cup. I could hear Grandpa upstairs shouting at the television. “Buy a vowel, nitwit!”
I frowned at Jake. “Did you find that on the counter, by any chance?”
“That’s for me to know and you to find ou—” Jake hesitated, puzzled. He squinted into the bottom of the cup and shook it. It rattled. “What the—”
“It’s my baby teeth,” I clarified. “I’m testing the effects of soda for the science fair.”
Jake dropped the cup and ran from the room, retching. If I’d have known dropping teeth into drinks could so effectively remove Jake from my presence, I would have made it a more regular practice.
“You doing your homework down there, Sophie?” Grandpa yelled. I wondered if I should tell him about Ralston. A sudden vision of him suiting up into paramilitary gear and hauling out some secret stash of Korean War–era rifles stopped me. At the very least, he’d probably have tried to round up his VFW buddies for a Ralston search posse. Better to wait.
“Yep!” I called back. I refilled the Coke cup, so it wasn’t technically a lie.
“It’s ‘Can a leopard change its spots!’ C’mon, nimrods!” he shouted, his attention already back on the TV.
I padded over to the kitchen counter and flipped open my dad’s laptop. I logged in on my third try (LedZeppelin4, not IV), and soon I was staring at the blank Compose Mail screen on Luna Vista Middle School’s web-mail page. I pulled out Ralston’s business card, took a deep breath, and typed:
To: [email protected]
Cc:
Bcc: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
We’ll meet you in the central outdoor courtyard at LVMS, by the lockers, 11 p.m. tonight. Please confirm.
—Young & Yang
Ralston’s confirmation reply came even before I’d shut the web-mail window, robbing me of any hope the police had picked her up already. I looked at the microwave clock. “Everything is just fine,” I repeated like a mantra.
I walked to the front door, checked the dead bolt, and peered at Dr. Agford’s house. “Agent” Stone’s white pickup truck was parked a little way up the street, right where it had been the previous night. Ralston must have dispatched him to track Dr. Agford while she waited. I shuddered and shuffled back to my room to radio Grace.
“You there, Grace? Frequency ten?” I said.
The speaker screeched with feedback. I heard voices rise and fall amid static and fumbling.
“Grace?” I repeated.
“Hey.” I heard muffled Mandarin in the background. “Sophie?”
I managed to tell her about the police trap set for Ralston at school before a clicking broke onto the line. It sounded like the clucking of a tongue.
It was the clucking of a tongue. I could practically see Mrs. Dr. Yang’s eyebrows trying to twitch as her voice cut in and out. “Sophie! I—old you!—trouble!”
“Mom.” Grace groaned in the background. “Like this. Hold down the button. Sophie, I’m so sorry.” The line cut to static. At least Grace knew I’d scheduled the “drop” at school and the police were on it.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Not only did I have the science fair Monday, but thanks to Grandpa’s storyfests and my distraction during study hall, I was a week behind on To Kill a Mockingbird reading and had to teach myself how to graph polynomials before Friday. It was all over, I told myself. Everything would be fine. Dr. Agford would call any minute to confirm the police had Ralston. Time to get back to real life.
I looked around my room. Clothes spilled from the closet, cluttering my relationship gua. A pile of binders, books, and papers towered like one of Grace’s magazine stacks in the corner. Apart from Mrs. Dr. Yang’s red elephant, I’d done nothing constructive for my chi since way before the night we’d first spied on Agford. I put my iPod on my mellow playlist and hummed along as I tossed out old vocab lists and review sheets. It felt good to reorder my bookshelf and scrub out the sticky ring a Coke had left on my nightstand.
I’d just rescued my jeans from the dust bunnies near my closet door and given them a good shake when something clattered to the hardwood floor. I looked down and frowned. It was a pen. A heavy silver kind, like the ones Mr. Katz wore clipped in his shirt pocket. It wasn’t until I saw the fancy curlicue decoration on the cap that I recognized it. Agford’s pen—the one I’d accidentally pocketed during my cleaning frenzy on that first mission. I guess she hadn’t missed it. It was a really nice pen, I thought as I tested it out on a blank page in my science notebook. It slid across the paper so smoothly that it practically propelled itself. Was it awful that I wanted to use it for writing up my science notes, just for one night? I’d give it back to her tomorrow, for sure.
I retrieved the plastic cups where my baby teeth soaked, then propped up my crisp white poster board and squinted at it, envisioning where I’d put the charts. There’d be no repeat of the volcano disaster. I lined up my coloring pencils, markers, ruler, and high-powered magnifying glass, and set to work.
“HYPOTHESIS,” I wrote in big blue block letters across the left panel of my poster board, relishing the smell of fresh ink. How should I phrase it? “Sugary sodas cause tooth decay?” No, that didn’t account for the orange juice. “Sugar in drinks causes tooth decay,” I wrote, my pen squeaking across the white foam board. There. Nice and basic. I skipped lines and added “FACTS” and “CONCLUSIONS.”
Hypothesis. Facts. Conclusion. Step One. Step Two. Step Three. Why couldn’t everything be so simple?
Hours passed. Dr. Agford’s sleek pen
filled the clean sheets of my notebook as I jotted down each new discovery. Dinner came and went. Dr. Agford still hadn’t called, but I wasn’t worried yet. They knew where to find Ralston at eleven, I told myself. Grandpa went to bed early, his VFW beers having taken their toll. I almost asked Jake if he wanted to finish the nightmarish ocean puzzle with me. It would have been the perfect distraction. I wasn’t ready to tell him everything, though. Besides, he sneaked out late, claiming he had to work on an “important group project.” Perhaps, in some circles, making out with his girlfriend counted as an important group project.
I pulled out my magnifying glass and returned to inspecting the baby teeth, peering at each nook and cranny and noting changes. It seemed strange that the glass could make reality clearer by exaggerating. When Grace and I exaggerated, we’d made reality about as muddy as it could get.
I put down the magnifying glass and looked up at the clock. Ten thirty. Thirty minutes, and the police would have Ralston. It would be over. A draft rustled the pages of my notebook. I looked down.
My heart jumped.
The magnifying glass lay propped against Dr. Agford’s silver pen. It rested just over the end of the pen, enlarging the curves of the fancy curlicue etched there.
But it wasn’t just a fancy curlicue. Those were letters. Spindly, curly, and hard to read—but definitely letters. Initials, maybe? Agford loved that brooch with the A, after all. I could imagine her monogramming a nice pen. I felt my skin crawl as I made out the sweeping arc of the first letter. It looked a little bit too much like—it was a D. No doubt about it. And next to it was . . . No. It couldn’t be.
Hands trembling, I leaned closer and lifted the magnifier until the curvy shapes filled the whole glass:
DSB
Three letters.
DSB.
I wouldn’t need vowels to solve this puzzle.
The Wig in the Window Page 19