The Final Step

by Ridley Pearson

  James’s secrets. The Scowerers? His gang of bullies? School secrets?

  “Last weekend,” I said, my mouth once again betraying my brain. It was the most recent James Super Secret, his staying up in Boston with Lois while we’d waited on the Cape. “Lois,” I said, whispering, recalling her bruised face. “He’s freaking out at you because of what happened to Lois. He feels guilty about that. He asked you about her, didn’t he?”

  There came the dark Horror Girl eyes again. Impenetrable, like black marbles.

  “He asked you about her and then he freaked out on you,” I said, “because something happened up here last weekend, something James did, Lexie, not you! And Lois paid for it, not him, and he’s all freaky because of it.”

  She threw the tissue box off the bed and crawled under the covers. She turned her back to me. There was that thick glass again.

  I wanted to hear her secrets.

  She wasn’t about to tell me.

  CHAPTER 36

  WALKING DOWN THE HALLWAY TO BRICKS Middle Two, I’d drifted off into the lyrics of a song that was stuck in my head. When I got like that, I was in two worlds at once. I followed behind Charity Kennedy and Tiffany Randall by a few paces—they were talking about the way DeSaun Campbell looked in a swimsuit. They and I stepped out of the way for a slightly bent, well-dressed visitor, an older woman, an alumnus maybe, with gray hair and a noticeable limp, her face trained down at her feet. Leilani, whom I’d known since the fall, hurried from the dorm bathroom wrapped in two towels and dripping wet. She dodged out of the way of the older woman. The song was still going in my head as I shut the door to my room behind me.

  There were any number of reasons I didn’t appreciate finding a fortune cookie on my desk. It sat atop a three-by-five index card bearing the computer-printed letter M. Chief among those reasons was that I considered my room a private space belonging to just me and Natalie (who denied any involvement, and I believed her). If left by a boy, he was a perv. If by a girl . . . Well, I asked myself, what girl wouldn’t write the M by hand, anyway?

  I crushed the cookie into dust, my emotions getting the better of me. The fortune was folded in half, also computer printed, the paper cut crudely with scissors.

  VANILLA BEAN 7PM

  My phone read 6:35 p.m., leaving me no time to get approval from my dorm mistress, a chatterbox and stern-fisted overseer. Instead, I changed into running clothes.

  I arrived at the corner coffee shop—over a mile from school—out of breath, sweaty-faced, with hair stuck to my neck, and my London “Mind the Gap” T-shirt dark under both armpits.

  I entered at 6:54, having proudly run a thirteen-minute mile, something our dogs, London or Bath, could have managed at a slow trot.

  I took a booth to try to hide myself. I was used to ordering from the counter, so it surprised me when a guy showed up to take my order.

  “Get you something?” He was kind of hunky for a local boy. Scruffy cheeks. Blue eyes.

  “I . . . ah . . .” As in: I didn’t have any money on me. Duh! Who goes to a meeting in a café without any money? “I forget, do you take Net-Pay?” I pulled my phone out. He told me they did. You gotta love technology. I ordered a banana nut muffin and a cup of Earl Grey tea. I thought of myself as so sophisticated. He walked away. I tried not to look.

  A groundskeeper from school entered. He was someone I’d seen James talking to over by the chapel. The way they’d been standing against a side wall, it had felt as if they were trying to be secretive. It wasn’t a face I would forget: sharp, dark, handsome like a movie star.

  A Scowerer? I wondered, playing detective. A spy? Had he followed me, or was he merely wanting a cup of coffee? He approached the counter, ordered something, and stood to the side waiting. He never so much as glanced in my direction.

  In trying to keep my eyes off the man, I let them stray to another table, from where a high school senior, Leith Gaines, stared back at me and waved. I waved back. Had she been in here when I came in? I didn’t remember. Why was a Baskerville senior waving at a girl in the third form? Since when? Even sophomores and freshmen didn’t exist to seniors. A middle schooler? If she’d ignored me I would have felt better. As it was, I didn’t trust her. Was I imagining that I’d seen her and James and Stacey Levin talking in the common room? I couldn’t keep things straight. I was losing it. I told myself to get it together.

  And I might have, if, after I’d stared at my banana muffin for ten minutes, Superintendent Colander hadn’t walked in.

  CHAPTER 37

  I DIDN’T WANT TO EAT THE MUFFIN, LEST I LIVE with one around my waist. But I’d ordered it. I’d already drunk half the hot tea. The muffin was begging me to at least break off a chunk and taste it. Until Colander had showed up, my willpower had been winning out.

  “Hello, Moria.” A thick Scandinavian accent. Coat and tie over blue jeans. Brown leather shoes. Smoke-stained teeth. Any man might have worn the same clothes, but Colander turned them European. I wasn’t sure how that happened, but I wanted to learn the trick.

  “Hello, sir. Detective. Superintendent.”

  “May I?” he asked. Strange, I thought, since he arranged the meeting, why ask to join. I said nothing. He sat down across from me. He didn’t thank me for being on time—since he was not!—and he didn’t acknowledge the difficulty I might have had in making it here. Instead, he started talking as if we were in the middle of a conversation. “James is on thin ice,” he said.

  That did it. I picked a piece off the side of the muffin.

  The same waiter arrived. Took Colander’s order for a double shot of espresso and an almond biscotti. Definitely European.

  “But it’s summer,” I said, after the waiter left us. Colander didn’t get my joke. “Thin ice? Summer?”

  “Ah! I see. You don’t take this seriously.”

  “No. I mean, yes. I do. I’m just nervous, that’s all. I’m not exactly close to James at the moment. I honestly have no idea what he’s doing, if anything. And speaking of honest: I don’t think I want to know.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “Because?”

  “Do you want him getting into trouble?”

  “Of course not.”

  “It’s our belief he may have witnessed a serious crime, Moria. A very serious crime. That he may have evidence, in the form of information, he’s keeping to himself. What do you know of that?”

  “The break-in?”

  He looked at me curiously. “No. Something else.”

  “Then, nothing.” I averted my eyes. The man made me feel he could read my thoughts. My vision fell to the muffin, which was so beyond delicious that I wanted to eat it in one gulp. I was about to pick another chunk from it, when instead I lifted it to my mouth and bit a full third of it free.

  “He and I have spoken. I want to trust your brother, I really do. Obstruction of justice is a crime carrying strict punishment. I care about James and you. You must know that. He has brought me important information concerning—”

  “Mr. Lowry,” I said, guessing. It was the only other big event I could think of.

  He answered yes with his eyes.

  “First our father. Then Ralph. Now Mr. Lowry. You see?” I said.

  “More clearly than most,” he answered. “Others may not appreciate the connection between the three. Might not see it, for that matter. I want to help, Moria. But if James keeps things from me, information vital to my investigation, not only is he breaking the law, but he’s ruining any possibility of me solving Lowry’s murder. Perhaps even your father’s accident.”

  I stared at him. “So, you agree with me.” I wasn’t asking. I was telling.

  “James must share everything with me. Partial sharing will only confuse things for all of us.” Colander wasn’t going to answer me. Not directly, at least. But I had my answer: James and I (and Sherlock) weren’t the only ones!

  The last bit carried a different, more menacing tone. Colander was angry at James and determined to get
his message through. He added pointedly, “Did you know you could be considered an accomplice if you’re found to possess information relating to James’s activities? Oh, yes, Moria. So, I suggest you tell me anything you may know about what he’s up to. Right now. Before it’s too late.”

  My top teeth hit something foreign in the muffin. If I’d been alone, I’d have spit it out onto the table. Disgusting! But manners made me haul it all into my mouth, mainly because the portion I’d chosen was well oversized and rude to begin with.

  My tongue performed gymnastics. Amazing muscle, or organ, or whatever part of the anatomy it was, it told me the foreign object was paper; it moved the piece of paper to between my cheek and teeth, allowing me to chew the massive piece of muffin while keeping my lips shut. I swallowed. I even took a small sip of tea while the piece of paper stayed where it was. Now what? I wondered.

  “Girls’ room,” I said. “Right back.” I wondered if he heard how weird I talked with paper wedged into my cheek. I wasn’t about to fish it out in front of Colander. I hurried. I could just picture that it was only a piece of trash, or something else that had fallen into the batter. I was about to vomit as I uncurled the sodden piece of paper.

  Washroom. Now.

  I found it interesting that I was already headed for the washroom. In fact, it made me reconsider my destination. Big mistake: I had failed to look around after chomping the muffin’s foreign object.

  Two steps from the doors marked “Moon” and “Whoa Moon”—with a man-faced full moon and a winking woman-faced crescent moon—something, someone, grabbed my arm and yanked me into a closet.

  I would have screamed, should have screamed, but 1) I still had some muffin in my teeth, and 2) my abductor cupped a hand over my mouth.

  I thought: The groundskeeper? Leith Gaines? The hunky waiter?

  The door shut.

  The light switched on.

  Keeping a hand on my mouth, my abductor spun me around.

  CHAPTER 38

  ALREADY SQUIRMING, I BIT DOWN HARD ON the flesh pressing my mouth. I caught sight of my abductor in the mirror: a boy with a mustache, brown scraggly hair, and heavy-rimmed glasses over dark eyes.

  “Ow!” The boy whispered his complaint, something I hadn’t expected and something that terrified me all the more. He’s done this before, I thought. “Easy, Mo!”

  My heel was currently headed to break the arch of his right foot and cause him to not only release me, but limp for the remainder of his life. Two things stopped me: the use of my private nickname, and his whining complaint as if I should know better.

  He released my mouth, spun me around, held me by the shoulders.

  “Quiet, please!” he said.

  Only then did I hear the traces of an accent—a British accent. Only then did I see past the horrible attempt at a mustache. He’d lost weight since the last time I’d seen him—in a London museum.

  I felt excited. I felt speechless. I felt like I’d found a long-lost friend. And yet I felt like running.

  “Sherlock?”

  CHAPTER 39

  HIS SMILE SAID IT ALL. NOT THE BEST TEETH, but coy, cunning, and deeply devious. His eyes struggled to appear happy, but did little to disguise fatigue, solitude, and despair. A bad bruise discolored his neck. It was like the sun trying to peek out between clouds of gloom.

  “I can see I’ve frightened you,” he said, his accent impressively more American than British. “I’d thought the reference to ‘washroom’ might tip it for you. Apologies are in order.”

  Indeed, I should have caught it: not bathroom, not lavatory, not ladies’ room, but washroom, a decidedly Sherlockian reference. Hadn’t I teased him about it once? Oh, those eyes. They made me sad along with them. They made me want to do something to change them, but if seeing me, if reuniting with me, didn’t do it in the first place, what hope did I have?

  “How . . . why . . . what’s going on?” I gasped.

  “Food service industry. I’m all buckets and mops. I wash it up around here.”

  “You’re a janitor?”

  “If you must be so crude!”

  Oh, Sherlock! I adored this boy. I’d missed him. Tall enough to pass for eighteen, smart enough to teach college, I could imagine him using his crafty ways to pass himself off as someone he was not. I admired him greatly for it.

  “I’m not complaining, but why did you come back?” I didn’t see how he’d explain it.

  “Term doesn’t start until September. I never was one for the Cornish coast. The lake hills area is more my cuppa, though I’m unfortunately short of friends who summer there.”

  Lock, as I called him, was short of friends in general, if I had to guess. He’d been a loner during the school year at Baskerville.

  “Why here?” I repeated.

  “Certain observations, discoveries, and my general sense of malaise are to blame. The headmaster’s actions upset me. I’m not one to get upset, if you must know. I will find ways to get back. Most people are also stupid and beneath me. But more on that another time. Suffice it to say I missed James.”

  “Just James?”

  “There’s not time for the meeting I’d hope to have,” he said, back to his anxious, twitchy self. “Not with Colander here. Are you acquainted with Espiranzo?”

  “Who?”

  “As I thought. And the pretty girl who followed you in?”

  I didn’t like him calling another girl pretty—my reaction surprised me. “Leith Gaines?”

  “Is that who she is?” he said, stroking his chin. “Of course. She’s cut her hair, hasn’t she? And with no uniforms for summer session . . . I see.”

  I had no idea if she’d cut her hair or not, but I didn’t appreciate Sherlock knowing such details. “Has she?” I let slip.

  “At whose bidding?” he said, adopting his nasty habit of speaking to himself—thinking aloud. “Coincidence, or was she asked to keep watch on you?” I’d learned to stay out of these one-way conversations of his, but also to pay close attention. “James? I can’t see that. Headmaster? Possible. More likely a proctor or another lower-level operator.”

  “Scowerer?” I should have kept my mouth shut. Thankfully, as was so often the case, he paid no attention to me whatsoever.

  “You must elude Mr. Colander, Mo. I’m not asking you to lie. I know you better than that. He’s after answers. You have something he wants. Think about it.”

  “I am thinking.”

  “’Twas I who left you that fortune cookie,” he said.

  “You?”

  “I know how you adore sweets.”

  “You could have been caught in the dorms! You were expelled last semester! You could be arrested.”

  “You worry too much. You passed me in the hall. Did you forget?”

  “Did not.”

  “Gray hair. Hunched? Nearly ran into Leilani Munamunamorra in a towel.”

  “The old woman?” I didn’t like him seeing me so surprised, because I feared it gave him a sense of power over me.

  “I considered saying hello, but I didn’t want to overplay the role.”

  Such conceit was something I’d gotten used to. Other kids at the school resented it and held it against him. “I’ve got to go,” I said. “Colander will think it’s weird. Why didn’t you just call me, or something? How long have you been around, anyway? Why haven’t you called before now?”

  “Long enough to shadow you in capture the flag.”

  “You . . . ! It was you who hit the guy with a rock.”

  “I’m something of a grand master when it comes to the slingshot.”

  “You saved me.”

  “I took issue with a stranger confronting you. Don’t make it into drama.” He paused. “I also followed your brother and Lexie into the woods. They stole Hinchman’s dog. Did you know that?”

  “The darkroom?” I asked, aghast at everything he was telling me. “Was that . . . ?”

  “Wasn’t me.”

  “Swear?”

&nb
sp; “Listen,” said Sherlock, “I was hoping for you alone. I didn’t expect you to draw a crowd. Colander, especially.”

  “What’s he want?” I asked, realizing too late how stupid that sounded, since I was the one in the booth with the man.

  “What isn’t his,” Sherlock said.

  “Which is?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “How could I?” I said.

  “Took the words right out of my mouth,” said he.

  “What do you want?”

  “Explanations. But there’s no time. We’ll do this again. Wait for my signal.”

  “What do I say to him?” I felt the tiny, dark, foul-smelling room spinning.

  “You talk as much as possible and say as little as possible. Shouldn’t be too hard for you.”

  I punched him.

  “Good to see you, too.” He opened the door for me and gently pushed me out.

  CHAPTER 40

  THE VANILLA BEAN CLOSED AT 8 P.M. I WAS PEEKING out from behind a huge oak out back with a view of a Dumpster and a screen door. I stepped out to be seen as Sherlock appeared. He did a good job of not looking surprised.

  “I’ll walk you back,” he said. “You’ll be in trouble for being late to study hours. Demerits.”

  “Worth it.”

  “How’d it go in there? You didn’t stay very long.”

  “I played dumb—and don’t you dare make a joke, Sherlock Holmes! I cut through the rectory and came back and waited for you.”

  “Resourceful.”

  “More like impatient. Why did you get me to come here, Lock?”

  “First, I lied,” he said. “It wasn’t boredom. Certainly wasn’t a dislike of Cornwall in the summer. I happen to love Cornwall. It was your father’s credit cards—the bit James asked me to look into.”