“Mom, I’m going to the castle,” I call out. “Dad called with an SOS.”
“What’s wrong?” Jumping up, she pushes a dark-brown curl from her face, leaving a smear of dirt on her cheek.
“Dad needs his herbs.” I lift up my arm to show her the bag. “You know how he freaks out when he doesn’t have the right ingredients.”
“Total meltdown,” Mom agrees, smiling. “That’s sweet of you to help him.”
“I don’t mind. I know how much this job means to him—and all of us—and don’t want anything to go wrong. Oh, and you have dirt on your face.” I grin then hurry off on the path to the castle.
I rap the knocker, wondering if Sergei is already at work in the castle.
But it’s not Sergei who answers the door. Perky is the word that comes to mind when Angel grins, looking adorable in a pink shirt with a sparkly hair clip shaped like a halo on her purple head.
“Kelsey, what a nice surprise to see you again! Wasn’t the other night so fun? You have the sweetest family. What can I do for you?”
“I’m here to see my dad,” I say.
“He’s in the kitchen. I’ll show you the way.” She ushers me into the marble-floored foyer.
“Thanks. Isn’t it the housekeeper’s job to answer the door?”
“Sergei is a great housekeeper but not so great with people,” she says with a shrug. “Mr. Bragg prefers that Irwin or I greet his guests.”
“You and Irwin are really nice.” Unlike Sergei, I think to myself.
“Irwin is way nicer than me. He’s always giving me gifts for no reason.” She tilts her head so the angel halo sways. “He’s like my little brother.”
“Little? He’s at least a head taller. And isn’t he older than you?”
“Only in years.” The halo wobbles again as she shrugs. “I may not look tough, but I grew up in a rough area and had to work my way through college while Irwin lived a sheltered life of private schools and gated communities. But he’ll have to toughen up when he takes over his uncle’s company someday.”
I’m startled by the disapproving edge to her tone. As the executive assistant, she probably knows more about the resort business than Irwin. But one day he’ll be her boss. “Would you rather run the company?” I ask.
“Me? No thank you!” Her bracelets jangle as she waves my words away. “Mr. Bragg has to juggle so many responsibilities, it’s no surprise he often forgets where he leaves his keys or cuff links. But he’s ruthless when it comes to negotiations. Irwin is the total opposite. He’s not cutthroat enough to survive in the business world.”
“Irwin is really smart, so he’ll learn,” I say, not sure why I feel the need to defend him. Maybe because he reminds me of Leo.
“But Irwin is more artsy, crafting angel wings on my shirts and this cute hair band.” She adjusts the halo. “He’s always doing things for others. He took care of his mother—Mr. Bragg’s older sister—after her third divorce then dropped everything to move here when his uncle asked for help. He’s just way too nice.” She says this like being nice is a bad thing, but it boosts my respect for Irwin.
Angel points to the bag I’m holding. “What’s in there?”
Glass containers clink against one another as I lift up the bag. “Dad’s herbs.”
She sniffs then draws back with a puckered face. “Whew! Strong enough to knock you over.” As she straightens up, the light catches her ears and green flower earrings shine like emeralds. My thoughts climb four flights of stairs to the toy room.
“Love your earrings.” I try to sound casual. “Are they emeralds?”
“Jade.” Angel reaches up to her ears. “I picked them up on a business trip to China. Did I mention how much I love my job? I don’t need a guy to buy me gifts—I can buy my own.”
“Cool.” I smile. “You must know a lot about jewelry.”
“More than you do obviously. You’re accessory naked! No necklace, earrings, or even a ring.” She looks at me as I’m an oddity in a freak show.
I could explain that I’m a no-fuss jeans and sweatshirt kind of girl and only wear jewelry on special occasions. But I want her to confide in me. Like Spy Techniques, one of my favorite books, advises: Create a bond of common interests during interrogations. So I say, “I wore a silver crescent-moon necklace when I was in the Sparklers.”
“Sparklers, huh?” She grins. “Sounds like my kind of club.”
“Not exactly a club. It’s just some girls who hang out and work on fund-raisers to help our school.” This isn’t the whole story of course. I was only temporarily a Sparkler so I could help Becca with the Humane Society fund-raiser. I was glad when it was over and I returned my “loaned” Sparkler necklace. Since then I haven’t bothered much with jewelry. A spy prefers not to be noticed.
“With your creamy peach skin and maple-blond hair, you should wear sapphires or diamonds,” Angel says as she studies me. “What’s your birthstone?”
“Aquamarine.”
She claps her hands. “I know just the thing! Come with me.”
“Um…” I gesture toward the bag in my hand. “Dad’s waiting for his herbs.”
“He can wait a few more minutes.”
Angel whisks me up two flights of stairs, turning left down a long hall she says leads to the wing of bedroom suites. Angel’s room is spacious with a living room, a kitchenette, a deck overlooking the garden, and a bathroom. The carpet, walls, and furniture are hues of pale ivory and silvery gray. Angel strides over to a large mahogany wardrobe and flings open the double doors. It’s not a wardrobe for clothes—it’s the largest jewelry box I’ve ever seen. Necklaces, bracelets, and chain belts hang from hooks above narrow drawers probably holding rings and earrings. Angel pulls out a dimesized turquoise heart dangling from a gold chain.
“For you!” she says.
“I can’t accept something so valuable,” I protest, but she’s already fastening it around my neck.
“Nah, it’s an imitation. I keep my expensive jewelry in there.” She taps the bottom drawer then adjusts the necklace around my neck. “Perfection! It was made for you. Take a look.” She marches me over to a full length mirror nearby.
The heart gem shimmers delicately. She’s right—it is perfect for me. No wonder Irwin sews angels on her clothes. Angel isn’t just her name—it’s her generous personality.
I’m here on a mission, I remind myself.
“I can’t believe this necklace isn’t really aquamarine,” I say. “If you hadn’t told me it was fake, I’d think it was as real as the emerald and ruby chess set.”
Angel gasps. “Who told you about that?”
“Irwin.” I smile innocently. “The toy room was the best part of his tour.”
“What was he thinking?” Angel throws up her hands. “For a smart guy he does some really dumb things. He knows the toy room is off-limits to kids.”
“I’m not a little kid. I’m thirteen,” I huff as if I’m insulted. But I’m secretly pleased she’s rising to my bait. “Why does Mr. Bragg hate kids?”
“He doesn’t hate them. He just doesn’t understand them.” Angel’s halo slips to a crooked angle as she shakes her head.
“Didn’t he have any kids of his own?”
“Personal questions can be dangerous around here. If you value your father’s job, don’t ask any more.” Angel takes off her halo and dangles it from her multi-ringed hand. “Most families have skeletons in their closets—dark secrets they hide from everyone else. Mr. Bragg’s skeletons are barbed and explosive. I hope he doesn’t find out Irwin showed you the jewel chess set.”
“Irwin didn’t show it to me,” I say quickly. “I found it by accident then asked Irwin, and he told me the king was stolen.”
“He never should have told you.” Her shoulders go rigid, as if her embroidered angel wings hardened to stone.
“Why didn’t Mr. Bragg just buy a new emerald king?” I persist.
“He’s a purist when it comes to his collection—no
replacements or replicas.” Her glossy pink lips pucker as she closes the jewelry box. “Forget you saw the chess set and never mention it to Mr. Bragg. It’s a very painful subject.”
“Irwin said the same thing. But what’s so painful? I mean, Mr. Bragg has a lot of beautiful things. Why is this theft a big secret?”
“The circumstances were disturbing.” She glances around uneasily as if afraid of being overheard. “He was betrayed by someone he loved.”
I stare at her in surprise. “You know who stole the emerald?”
“Of course I do. That’s why the theft was never reported. The day the emerald king disappeared, Mr. Bragg lost more than a chess piece.” She twists the halo in her hand, her expression haunted with sadness. “He lost his family.”
- Chapter 14 -
The Cat Guy
Angel refuses to say more, and hurries me out of her suite.
As we wind down the staircase, my head spins with questions. What family member did King Bragg lose? The only family I know about is a sister and his nephew. Is Mr. Bragg married? Divorced? Widowed? Does he have any children? And why not confront the person who stole the emerald king and demand it back? Why all the secrecy?
When I smell the sweet aroma of pastries and cinnamon, I know we’ve reached the kitchen even before Angel opens the door and pushes me inside. She leaves so fast the door slams behind her.
“I’ve missed you so much!” Dad rushes toward me with outstretched arms. But instead of putting his arms around me, he grasps the herb bag.
“Glad to see you too, Dad,” I tease.
“Thanks for bringing my herbs, Kelsey. Not having the right ingredients is like working blindfolded without hands.” Dad arranges the herb containers on the marble island. “I owe you big time. Would you like an apple crumble muffin—fresh from the oven?”
I never say no to Dad’s muffins. When I take a bite, sweet cinnamon and apple melts in my mouth. As I eat, I admire Dad’s new kitchen. It’s as big as a classroom with three ovens, two refrigerators, floor-to-ceiling dark-wood cabinets, and a marble-topped island.
“Impressive, huh?” Dad smooths a wrinkle on his starchy formal white apron.
“Very cool. It must be fun working in a fancy castle.”
“It’s not an authentic castle,” Dad says. “It’s just a large house with battlements and turrets. And this kitchen looks pretty, but it lacks necessities like herbs. I did find salt and pepper shakers, but they belong in a museum, not a kitchen. Mr. Bragg has very expensive taste.” Dad opens a cupboard and pulls out cut-crystal salt and pepper shakers.
“Ooh!” I say. “Sparkly.”
“There are diamond encrusted S and P symbols on the silver caps.”
“Wow! Can I hold one?”
“Be careful,” Dad says as he hands me the S shaker.
I cradle it carefully, running a finger over the pointy edges. My Sparkler friends would be impressed. “Pretty but I’d be afraid to use them,” I say as I hand the shaker back to Dad.
“Exactly why I won’t use them.” Dad puts the crystal shakers aside then reaches into the bag I brought and pulls out his wooden shakers. They’re dented, shabby, and stained, but he holds them with a loving expression. “If I drop one of these it won’t shatter into a diamond disaster.”
I chuckle then get serious. “Dad, can I ask you something?”
“For a bigger allowance?” he jokes.
“Not what I had in mind, but can we talk about that later?”
He laughs. “Spit it out, Kelsey. What’s on your mind?”
“When we toured the castle last night I didn’t see any pictures of Mr. Bragg’s family. In our home there are photos of us kids plastered all over the walls. Doesn’t Mr. Bragg have any family?”
“You met his nephew.” Dad sets his wooden shakers on a windowsill behind the porcelain sink. “And he has a sister, Irwin’s mother.”
“No wife or kids?” I ask.
“Hmm…I heard he has an ex-wife.” Dad picks up his well-thumbed, four-inch thick cookbook. “But when I was hired, I was instructed not to ask personal questions. And I don’t want you doing it either.”
Dad knows me too well. Fortunately there are other ways of finding things out without asking questions. There must be a gazillion websites with information on the King of Resort Hotels. I’ll check online when I get home.
“Thanks for the muffin,” I say, licking cinnamon off my lip.
“Thanks for answering my SOS. These cupboards aren’t well-stocked.” Dad opens a tall double-door cabinet that has only a jumbo bag of flour, two wine bottles, and several sardine tins. “I’m making a long list for Sergei for the next time he goes grocery shopping.”
“Sergei does the shopping?” My ears perk with interest.
“He oversees the running of the household,” Dad says. “Actually Sergei acts more like my boss than Mr. Bragg. I report to Sergei with my daily menu. But he hasn’t shown up today. He comes and goes as he pleases.”
“I don’t like him.” I make a bitter face. “He was rude and grumpy at dinner.”
“He’s not very talkative,” Dad admits. “But he’s a hard worker and treats me fairly.”
“He’s nicer to animals than people. I saw him feeding over a dozen cats.”
Dad gives a low whistle. “I didn’t peg him for the cat-lady type.”
“More like a cat guy.” I grin.
“Good to know he has a soft side.” Dad leans in to whisper. “To be honest, I thought he was a grump too.”
Dad laughs and I enjoy the sound, because for half a year, after losing his job at Café Belmond, he rarely smiled or laughed. I heard Mom talking to a friend, and she said Dad was depressed. I hope this job lasts a long time.
I give Dad a hug good-bye and hurry out of the castle, eager to get home and find out about Mr. Bragg. I think of Angel saying, “He lost his family.” How does someone lose a family? People don’t get misplaced like keys or shoes. Did she mean “lost” like they died, maybe in a tragic accident? Or did they mysteriously vanish? Mr. Bragg must have more relatives than a nephew and sister. And one of them must have stolen the emerald king.
I’m puzzling over this as I leave the castle, not paying much attention while I hurry down the steep steps—when a flash of gray on the lawn catches my eye.
A small animal scampers across the paved path.
Bandit! I recognize the masked pointy face. In her mouth is something silver and floppy—Angel’s halo hair band!
This all happens in a few blinks—the ferret scampering, the silver flash of the halo—then Bandit disappears into leafy bushes.
I have to get her headband!
Running, I keep my gaze on the sculpted bushes bordering the lawn like a moat. Then I see it—a curve of gray tail, then it’s gone again. The bushes are almost as tall as I am and too thick to jump over. Bandit pops out like a target in a video game, in and out, back and forth, as if she’s purposely leading me on a wild ferret chase.
Is this a game to her? I wonder as I run down the pathway curving around to the back of the castle.
When I call out, “Bandit!” she speeds up. So I run faster too, jumping over a decorative bench and dodging a planter of blooming spring flowers. I keep one eye on the blur of gray and the other on the ground to avoid tripping. I’m racing through a garden I don’t recognize because I’m not familiar with this side of the castle.
Even before I see the peaked-roof, I’ve guessed where Bandit is leading me—to Sergei’s house.
With each step closer, my heart pounds. I want to be a brave spy, fearlessly pursuing clues and suspects, but Sergei is one intimidating dude. He may like cats but I don’t think he likes people much.
Instead of feeling brave, I really want to turn and run home.
But I chase after Bandit. She dives off the path and I follow—until I round a corner and stop in front of Sergei’s house.
The house is dark. But the sun streaks through gray clouds, brightening the ya
rd where empty cat food dishes are scattered across the lawn.
A streak of gray jumps onto the porch.
I chase after the ferret, running so fast I forget to watch where I’m going. A decorative boulder looms before me. I spring up to jump…too late.
Thwack! My leg smacks against the rock. I stumble backward, landing on my butt.
Pain spikes through my leg. If my knee had a voice it would be screaming.
Wincing, I close my eyes and when I open them again, I’m looking up into a metal-pierced face.
Sergei.
- Chapter 15 -
Pawn
“You hurt?” Sergei’s deep voice rolls with his accent.
“Um…I’m okay.” My heart quakes and my knee stings. I look down at the hole in my jeans.
“You’re bleeding.”
“Not much.” I try to push myself up with my hands but pain knocks me back to the ground.
“You come with me,” Sergei commands.
“No!” I cry, panicked. “I have to…ouch…get the halo.”
“Halo?”
“Angel’s headband.”
He frowns as if he’s trying to figure out what species of human I am. “Now I remember you. You’re the cook’s daughter,” he says in careful English, and from his accent I guess he’s Russian.
“Yes, I was just talking to my dad in the kitchen.” I gesture toward the castle. “He knows I’m headed home. My mom will be expecting me soon. I really have to go…”
“Your da…I mean, your father…he is a fine cook. I much enjoy his food.”
“Yeah, he’s great. But I have to get the headband before it’s chewed up by the”—I hesitate—“by an animal.”
“A cat?” The arrow-shaped rings in Sergei’s brows seem to be aimed at me as he furrows his forehead. “There are many around here.”
“I know. I saw you feeding them.”
The Secret of the Shadow Bandit Page 9