“She’s going to pick us up in Buffalo and take us on a back roads tour of Niagara Falls,” Agatha continued. “I can’t wait to meet her. She sounds really nice!”
“Did you spill the beans about what we’re doing?” Dash asked, worried. He was always stressed at the start of an investigation; he didn’t want his school to find out how much he relied on the help of his cousin and extended family.
“What beans could I possibly spill?” she replied. “I don’t know anything about the mission yet!”
They were interrupted by Chandler, who dragged in a suitcase on wheels and Watson’s carrying case. “So sorry, I wasn’t able to find any warm clothes for young Master Dash,” he apologized. “I don’t think your wardrobe from Egypt will do.”
“It doesn’t matter. We’re out of time anyway,” Agatha said diplomatically.
Dash followed the others into the garage and got into the limousine driven by Chandler. The car sped like a heat-seeking missile through the London traffic.
They arrived at Heathrow Airport in record time, purchased their tickets, and boarded the British Airways Boeing 747 at the last possible minute.
Fortunately business class was almost empty and they were able to talk without prying ears overhearing them.
“Can you tell us about that Dumpster now?” Agatha asked as they buckled their seat belts.
“Um, it’s a long story,” Dash mumbled.
Agatha shrugged. “And it’s a long flight.”
Dash sniffed his sleeve with a look of distaste and decided to tell them about Mr. Marlowe, his mysterious accomplice with the blond wig, and the hiding place he had found. “I outsmarted the pros,” he said with a grin. “I’m going to ace Tracking and Diversion!”
Watson poked a paw out from inside his cage to snatch a bit of fish off Dash’s sweater. He popped it into his mouth, purring with satisfaction.
CHAPTER TWO
Clues in the Sky
“There are a lot of really”—chomp, chomp— “strange things about this investigation!” Dash swallowed the last bite of his sandwich, washed it down with a sip of lemonade, and handed the flight attendant his dinner tray.
As she walked up the aisle, she waved her hand in front of her nose. The stench coming from the young detective’s clothes was becoming unbearable.
Agatha was used to the embarrassing situations her cousin got himself into, and chose to ignore it. “What kind of strange things?” she asked, drumming her fingers on the armrest.
“Read this,” he whispered conspiratorially.
The EyeNet lit up with the detective school’s message:
AGENT DM14:
THERE HAS BEEN A THEFT FROM THE OVERLOOK HOTEL AT NIAGARA FALLS. THE VICTIM WISHES NOT TO ADVISE THE POLICE TO AVOID MEDIA ATTENTION. GET TO THE LOCATION, UNCOVER THE CULPRIT, AND RECOVER THE STOLEN GOODS AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.
NOTE: MISSION DETAILS TO BE PROVIDED BY THE HEAD OF SECTOR –5.
Chandler raised an eyebrow in an otherwise stony face. “What does ‘sector minus five’ mean, Master Dash?”
Dash smiled. “I asked myself the same thing,” he said slyly, “and I worked it out with simple reasoning . . .”
Agatha beat him to the punch. “He’s talking about the meridian line,” she told the butler. “Niagara Falls, like the rest of the eastern region of North America, is in a time zone that is five hours behind London, therefore I imagine the sector is classified as ‘minus five.’”
“You haven’t lost your touch, cousin!” Dash confirmed grudgingly. “Eye International uses this numbering system for all of its overseas agents!”
“What’s so strange, then?” asked Agatha.
“Wait until you hear Minus Five’s briefing. You’ll see.” He grinned.
The boy peered over the seats to make sure that no one was listening, then rummaged through his pockets until he found tiny headsets for his two companions. “These little gizmos connect wirelessly to my EyeNet,” he boasted. “Are you ready to try out tomorrow’s technology?” He was almost jumping out of his skin with excitement.
Agatha wasn’t impressed by high-tech gadgets, so she took her time. She slipped on the headset, then reached into her purse for her notebook, calmly opening it to a blank page. Only after uncapping her favorite pen did she tell Dash, “All right, we can proceed!”
He obeyed instantaneously, pressing a button.
They heard the crackle of static. Then a distorted voice began to speak.
“Tchhh . . . This is Agent RM53, head of . . . tchhh . . . sector minus five. At this time I’m engaged in . . . tchhh . . . distant investigation. I am requesting backup on my investigation into a significant jewel heist at Niagara Falls. The victim is an Austrian woman, Helga Hofstetter . . . tchhh . . . guest at the Overlook Hotel while on a world tour. You’ll find a detailed profile attached . . . tchhh . . . in the folder . . .”
A long silence followed. When he continued speaking, the agent’s words were even more garbled.
“Tchhh . . . the line is very bad, I must limit myself to key details. At the time of the theft, between twelve thirty and one thirty p.m., the victim . . . tchhh . . . was performing onstage in the banquet hall. When she . . . tchhh . . . to her room . . . tchhh . . . safe had been emptied. The list of jewels stolen includes . . . tchhh . . . tchhh . . . tchhh . . .”
Agatha signaled to her cousin to turn off the sound and pulled off her headset. “Dash, I can’t hear half the words!” she told him. “Isn’t there some way to filter the sound?”
“I already did. The distortion is at the source.”
“Why? Where was this agent when he placed the call?”
Dash crossed his arms, shaking his head. “What can I say? It’s a mystery!”
For once, the clumsiest detective in England was right. It was a truly unusual case!
Agatha put her headset back on, adjusting the volume and pressing it tightly against her ear to catch every word.
The briefing was riddled with static and frequent interruptions, but she copied down everything she could hear in her notebook. At the end of the recording, her page was filled with question marks. “This will take a lot of work,” she noted, chewing the end of her pen. “All right, dear colleagues, where shall we start?”
Chandler and Dash exchanged dubious glances.
“Let’s begin with my notes,” she decided. “First of all, who’s Helga Hofstetter?”
Dash examined the file. “Here’s a brief bio, but I could run a search—”
“She’s an opera singer,” Chandler interrupted. “To be more precise, the world’s finest bel canto soprano!”
The two kids turned to look at him and realized that he was flushing bright red.
“I’m one of her biggest fans,” confessed the butler, loosening the knot of his bow tie. “I have her complete works on CD in my quarters.”
Meanwhile, Dash had downloaded Madame Hofstetter’s photo and was smirking at her ample form. “If she doesn’t go on a diet, she’s going to burst out of that gown on her first high note!” he said sarcastically.
Agatha and Chandler glared at him.
“Okay, no more snarking,” Dash said. “Next question, Agatha?”
“What jewels were stolen?” she asked.
Dash clicked on the attachment and gaped at the long list that popped up on his screen.
It was a staggering bounty: three diamond necklaces, a ruby-and-emerald-studded tiara, several gold bracelets, and countless other precious objects.
“Wow!” cried Agatha. “Helga Hofstetter had a fortune in her hotel safe!”
She swiveled around to make sure no one had overheard. Luckily all the other passengers were dozing, lulled by the gentle hum of the engines. Relieved, Agatha looked back down at her notebook. “Next point: the Overlook Hotel. The agent started to give a description of i
ts location and layout, but the recording fuzzed out. Have you got anything on your EyeNet?”
“The hotel opened last year. It has one hundred suites on eight floors, and a world-class concert hall. There’s also an open-air promenade that runs the full length of the building, with fabulous views of the falls,” Dash read.
“Got a floor plan? Are there any photos?”
“There sure are!”
They leaned in close to study the hotel map on Dash’s EyeNet. The concert hall was on the ground floor, and Helga Hofstetter’s imperial suite was on the second. It could be reached by a sweeping circular staircase that curved up from the lobby, but otherwise the upper floors could only be accessed using the panoramic glass elevators.
The Overlook was clearly a luxury hotel, designed to lure wealthy clients. Agatha, however, was not impressed by the ultramodern architecture and deluxe furnishings. She focused instead on features that might prove significant to the investigation. “There is only one entrance, which is secured by alarms,” she muttered. “So the thief must have passed through the main entrance—” Interrupting herself, she turned to her cousin. “Did you spot any surveillance cameras? Maybe the thief was caught on film?”
Dash rechecked every inch of the floor plan. “There are loads of security cameras, but they’re all mounted on the hotel’s exterior,” he grumbled. “I wonder why they didn’t put any inside the lobby and hallways . . .”
“For privacy,” Chandler explained. The Mistery Estate butler had held numerous jobs in the past, one of which was a night guard at fancy London hotels. “There are very strict rules these days; you can’t infringe on clients’ privacy,” he added.
“Of course,” said Agatha.
“Well, that doesn’t help us at all,” muttered her cousin.
“Actually, yes it does!”
“Excuse me? How?”
Agatha flashed him a clever smile. “Agent DM14, have you put all the pieces of this puzzle together?”
“Uh . . . not yet, no! Illuminate me!”
She took a deep breath and explained. “The theft occurred during Helga Hofstetter’s recital, between twelve thirty and one thirty p.m., so all we have to do is determine who left the hotel during that time frame.”
“But . . . but . . . the thief could have escaped by throwing himself off the balcony into the Niagara River!”
“We aren’t in an action film.” Agatha laughed. “If my memory serves me correctly, the falls are nearly two hundred feet high. That would be one crazy dive!”
Chandler nodded, and even Watson seemed to confirm Agatha’s theory with a little meow.
Agatha sat back and checked her watch.
According to London time, it was 11:30 p.m.
“If there aren’t any more files to study,” she said with a yawn, “I’m going to take a little nap . . .”
Dash wasn’t ready to give up so soon. “We’ve read all the files, but I’m going to spend all night going over the case,” he promised.
Five minutes later, he was snoring soundly.
CHAPTER THREE
Cascading Curiosity
They arrived at New York’s JFK Airport in a ferocious thunderstorm. Outside the terminal’s windows, flickering coils of white lightning were followed by crashes of thunder.
Everything was gray, including the travelers’ faces.
Dash slumped like a zombie in the airport lounge. He never slept well on planes. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his hair was a mess. On top of that, the stench from his clothes had deteriorated beyond belief.
“Don’t go out of sight,” Agatha recommended. “It’s complete pandemonium here!”
“There’s a panda here? Where?” Dash didn’t sound fully awake.
Chandler took hold of his arm. “Don’t worry, Miss Agatha. I’ll keep an eye on him!”
“Do you think we should buy him some new clothes before we board our next flight?” she said, concerned. “They might hold him up on bacterial weaponry charges and refuse to let him on the plane . . .”
“It might be for the best.” The butler pulled a deodorant spray out of his carry-on bag and spritzed Dash from head to toe.
Dash didn’t even notice until he was sprayed in the face. “Wh-what are you doing?” he shrieked.
“Saving the mission, Dash,” Agatha said, trying to calm him.
“Oh, right, the mission! Are we at Niagara Falls?”
“Not yet,” she replied. “We need to catch our flight to Buffalo first.”
During the second leg of the flight, Agatha pored over a Canadian travel guide full of beautiful images of the vast northern wilderness. She always brought books when she went on investigations with Dash; she liked to read up on their destinations. She discovered that Canada is the second-largest country in the world, covered in endless forests and millions of lakes. Most of the population lives in the south, near the United States border, where the climate is milder and industries more prosperous. Only the Inuit community lives in the arctic ice of the Far North.
“Fascinating.” Agatha sighed, gently stroking her nose. “What an amazing country . . .”
Chandler looked out the window. “I hope it stops raining. I wouldn’t want to meet Helga Hofstetter in soggy clothes.” He sighed.
Agatha gave him a wink. “She’ll be too charmed to notice the weather.”
To their great surprise, the butler’s wish was granted. As they touched down on the runway in Buffalo, the wind blew the clouds apart, letting the sun peek through.
“Are you looking forward to meeting Scarlett?” Agatha asked Dash as they strode toward the exit.
“Scarlett? Who’s Scarlett?” From the look of his drooping eyelids, the boy was clearly suffering from jet lag. It seemed to have scrambled his memory.
Agatha led them to the underground parking garage where Scarlett had arranged to meet them. Spotting a cream-and-orange vintage Volkswagen van, she approached it anxiously.
The rear door was wide open, but there was no one inside. Even the driver’s seat was empty.
“Scarlett?” called Agatha. “Scarlett Mistery?”
A cowboy hat popped up behind the van. “That’s me!” said a silvery voice.
“It’s your cousin Agatha!”
Scarlett Mistery closed the tailgate with a thud and rubbed her hands on a bandanna. She stepped forward, grinning, to hug her relatives. “I was oiling the lock on the door,” she began. “This old camper’s a champ, but it’s getting rusty with age!”
She was in her mid twenties, tall and athletic, with smooth blond hair framing a face free of makeup. She looked like an older version of Agatha, right down to the same upturned nose. She was wearing a pair of flared jeans, a western shirt, and well-worn cowboy boots.
Scarlett gave her young cousin a kiss on the cheek, and was about to kiss to Dash when she took an instinctive step back. “Holy crow!” she exclaimed. “Have you been wrestling catfish or testing deodorants?”
Dash was so embarrassed he couldn’t find words. “Oh—oh . . . the Dumpster . . . the plane . . . the spray stuff . . .”
“Come here!” Scarlett ordered. “I’ve got some clothes just your size and some wet wipes that could degrease a mangy bear!”
Before they’d even finished greeting each other, their distant cousin was herding Dash into the back of her camper to clean up his act.
And she was doing a marvelous job!
Moments later, Dash emerged, smelling human again. The only problem was that he looked like he was dressed for a rodeo.
“Where’s your ten-gallon hat and chaps?” Agatha quipped.
“And your Winchester rifle?” teased Chandler.
Dash made a hissing sound like a pot boiling.
Scarlett reached over to shake Chandler’s hand and gave Watson a quick scratch under the chin bef
ore herding them into the van.
It was an original camper van from the 1970s, overflowing with all sorts of outdoor gear: backpacking tents, inflatable mattresses, hiking boots, flashlights, ropes, an inflatable kayak with paddles, and a trunk full of winter clothes. Scarlett was well equipped for adventuring in the remote places she wrote about.
A copy of Off the Map Tours was resting on the dashboard. Agatha was eager to flip through it and read Scarlett’s articles, but her older cousin began to speak.
“Have you all got your hearts set on Niagara Falls?” she asked with a hint of disappointment. “It’s kind of a tourist trap, I’m afraid.”
“It’s an opportunity . . . we . . . can’t refuse!” Agatha paused as she tried to think up a good cover for their secret mission. “We’ve been invited there . . . um . . . by a dear friend of Chandler’s!”
The butler looked very uncomfortable.
“A matter of the heart?” asked Scarlett, dropping a wink.
Mortified, Chandler sputtered without saying a word.
“Oh no!” Agatha rescued him. “Madame Hofstetter is an opera star, and Chandler is the president of her fan club!”
Scarlett turned the key in the ignition. “Wow, a celebrity! That’s pretty posh!”
“Let’s go!” Dash said, flipping his collar up.
Agatha’s little white lie had electrified the atmosphere. They all felt like spies.
As the van sped north on the New York State Thruway, the conversation got lively. Scarlett described her reckless travels through the Grand Canyon, the Rocky Mountains, and the Louisiana bayous. “I once got stranded in a ghost town in west Texas,” she told them. “I walked two days and nights to fill up a gas can!”
Agatha gave her an admiring look. “You don’t get scared when you’re traveling all alone?”
Scarlett laughed. “Can’t imagine who would be brave enough to tag along with me when I’m on a job!”
“What do you write about, exactly?”
“Bit of everything,” she replied. “Canyoning, hang gliding, off-road destinations . . . In the last issue, for example, I wrote a long article about Area Fifty-one.”
The Heist at Niagara Falls Page 2