“I am sorry. I learned English because you never tell me anything. I just wanted to keep you safe.”
Oona dropped her arms and picked a carrot up off the counter. She bit off the tip and chewed casually.
“You would like us to leave?” Verushka asked.
“No, you can stay. I don’t have anything to hide anymore. You know, Mrs. Fei, a ghost once told me that someone was always listening. It took me a while to figure out she meant you.”
“A ghost? You spoke to your mother?” Mrs. Fei whispered.
Oona thought for a moment. “I’m not sure if it was my mother,” she confessed. “I’m not even sure it was a ghost. But whoever it was knew what she was talking about. She said I had to make a choice to leave something behind. If I did, I’d have everything I ever desired.”
Mrs. Fei looked confused. “But Ananka says that Lester Liu is in jail. How can he give you everything you want?”
“I don’t want more money or a mansion. I don’t even care about all the fancy clothes and jewelry anymore. Those were the things I chose to leave behind. I realized all I ever wanted was for someone to want me. I wasted too much time hoping it would be my father.”
Mrs. Fei attempted to console her. “I tried to warn you. Lester Liu is a bad man.”
Oona nodded. “I think I always knew that. I was confused for a little while, but deep down I always knew he couldn’t have changed. When the ghost told me that I had to do my duty I thought that meant putting Lester Liu in jail. But that’s not what she meant at all. She wanted me to do my duty to you.”
“To me?” Mrs. Fei asked.
“You’re the only mother I’ve ever had. You’re the best mother I could have had. You didn’t have to take care of me. You did it because you wanted to. I should have figured that out a long time ago. That way I might have spent less time feeling sorry for myself for what I didn’t have and more time appreciating what I did. I’m so sorry. You deserved a better daughter.”
Tears coursed down the old woman’s wrinkles, and Oona bent down and wrapped her in a hug. “You are a good girl, Wang,” Mrs. Fei sobbed.
“I’m glad you think so, but I still prefer Oona.”
“Blunt as ever,” I laughed.
“Where do you think I get it from?” Oona asked. “By the way, I have one question, Mrs. Fei. There was a girl at the museum tonight. Lester Liu introduced her as his daughter. Is that possible? Could she be related to me?”
Mrs. Fei blew her nose and wiped the tears from her face. “The other baby died.”
“Other baby?”
“Your mother was very sick. The babies came too early. Lester Liu did not want to call a doctor. His house was filled with things he had smuggled. I was the only person who knew what to do. I tried to save you both. But Lili didn’t survive. When I took you, I left her with your mother.”
Oona steadied herself against the counter. “I had a twin sister?”
“Lili?” Kiki asked.
HOW TO KNOW WHEN TO SHARE A SECRET
It’s not always easy to know which secrets need to be shared—and which should be kept at all costs. Since I’m prone to confusing the two, I consulted the most ethical people I know and put together this handy guide. Now, whenever I feel a secret dangling on the tip of my tongue, I just ask myself these seven simple questions.
Want to try it out? Take a moment and think of the biggest secret you know …
1. Is the secret nice and juicy?
It doesn’t really matter. I was just curious. No, don’t tell me. Just move on to question 2.
2. Will sharing the secret bring down an evil dictator, solve a dastardly crime, or put a bad guy behind bars?
If your answer is yes, you should definitely share it. But be sure to confide in the right people. There are spies everywhere.
If your answer is no, proceed to question 3.
3. Will harm come to you or someone else if the secret is kept?
If the answer is yes, any self-respecting heroine would find the courage to spill the beans.
If no, go to question 4.
4. Will someone be harmed if the secret is told?
There’s too much pain and suffering in the world as it is, so if your answer is yes, odds are you should keep your lips sealed.
If no, keep going to question 5.
5. Could good things come from sharing the secret?
If the answer is yes, a virtuous person would let the cat out of the bag. In some situations, keeping a secret that should be shared can be as bad as blabbing one that shouldn’t.
If the answer is no, go to question 6.
6. Does the secret belong to another person?
If you’ve gotten this far and your answer is yes, you should seriously consider keeping your trap shut.
If no, please continue.
7. Is your secret likely to be revealed?
This is a trick question. All secrets will be revealed someday. You’ll have more control over the situation if you go ahead and share your secret before someone else beats you to it. Keep in mind that the longer a secret is kept, the more damage it can do.
8. Is your secret particularly embarrassing?
If yes, you can take your chances and keep it to yourself. (But always keep question 7 in mind.)
If you’ve reached the end of this questionnaire and your answer is no, you probably have a pretty dull secret, unless …
9. Have you discovered a hidden treasure, alien spacecraft, or lost city?
If yes, feel free to share your secret with me.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Someplace Like Home
Early the next morning, while the sluggish winter sun inched above the East River, the Irregulars said our good-byes on the slippery, ice-coated stoop of Oona’s building. Kaspar, Betty, and I set off to find Howard Van Dyke and the six-toed kitten. Kiki and the others were on their way to the Marble Cemetery. DeeDee had spent the evening crafting a batch of her trademark explosives, and before the day was over, the Shadow City would be just a little bit smaller.
I stopped off to pick up some breakfast for Howard, but when we reached the park and shook the snow from his hideout, we found it deserted. Kaspar’s squirrels raced inside to feast on a half-eaten can of beans, stirring a storm of feathers and leaves.
“I don’t understand.” Kaspar’s eyes scanned the nearby trees as if expecting to find his friend perched on a branch. “Howard’s always here in the morning. He likes to sleep in.”
“You didn’t see him last night when you came for the squirrels?” I asked. I wished we had checked on Howard earlier. The weather had gotten far too cold for a feral stockbroker.
“No, but I wasn’t surprised. He watches his family in the evenings. When the lights go on in their house, you can see their every move. Howard calls it hobo TV. The squirrels prefer to stay in the park. They have bad memories of the Upper West Side.”
“Howard has family in Manhattan?” Betty asked. “Why doesn’t he live with them?”
“But I thought you …,” I started to say before it finally hit me. There was one other person who could have had the heart-to-heart with Howard. I should have realized sooner that the benevolent Chinese movie star who’d urged him to go home had been none other than Oona Wong.
“His wife and kids live on Seventy-fifth Street,” Kaspar said. “He ran away from them last summer. He always cried when he talked about it, but he never told me why he left.”
“He told me,” I said. “And I have a hunch that Howard’s gone home.”
• • •
Howard’s family lived on a charming, tree-lined street in a picture-perfect brownstone with a big bay window. An impish little boy stood with his nose pressed piglike against the glass. Betty waved to him, and he stuck out his tongue. When we rang the bell, a plump, pretty woman in pearls came to the door. The boy peeked out at us from behind her skirt, his face contorted into a hideous gargoyle grin.
“Mrs. Van Dyke?” Kaspar inquired.
“Yes,” she answered cautiously, rubbing her hands together to stay warm.
“Hello, ma’am. My name is Kaspar.” He didn’t have a chance to explain any further before Howard’s wife flew outside and wrapped her arms around him. Betty giggled with surprise.
“Kaspar!” the woman cried. “Howard’s told me all about you. Thank you for keeping him alive all this time. I’ve been frantic for months!”
“You have?” Kaspar’s voice was muffled by the woman’s sweater.
“I nearly died of joy when I saw him,” Mrs. Van Dyke said. “I was beginning to think he’d never come home.”
“So you’re not angry at him anymore?” I blurted before I realized I was getting a little too personal. “I’m sorry. It’s just that Howard told me that he lost all your money.”
Mrs. Van Dyke released Kaspar and checked over her shoulder to see if anyone was listening. When she caught her son making faces at us, she shooed him inside and gently closed the door. “I was mad at first,” she said softly. “But I’ll tell you all a little secret. I knew when I married Howard that he wasn’t the world’s best stockbroker. And believe me, that isn’t his only fault. He’s a tremendous slob, too. I found his dirty underwear in the bread box once, and he goes through a case of those vile Vienna sausages every month. But he was the most wonderful man I’d ever met. So I did what I had to do. I stashed money away every month, just in case something happened, and I never told him about our savings. With the interest I earn, we’ll get along just fine.”
“But I heard they took your furniture away,” I said.
“They came for it, that’s true. But I took care of the bill on the spot.”
“So Howard ran away for nothing,” Betty marveled.
“If only I’d known …” Kaspar groaned.
“You’re not to blame,” Mrs. Van Dyke assured him. “Howard didn’t have his pills with him the day the men came for the furniture. Otherwise, I don’t think he’d have hidden for so long. As you may have noticed, he gets a little confused without his medication. He suffered a rather nasty head injury a few years back. He was showing off and dove into the kiddie pool at a resort in Acapulco,” she confided. “But that’s enough ancient history for today. I imagine you three came to see Howard, not me.”
• • •
In the Van Dykes’ living room, we found a man sitting on the floor less than ten feet from the television. If April the chicken hadn’t been by his side, I might not have recognized Howard. Clean, beardless, and odor free, he was wearing a natty blue blazer and striped Harvard tie.
“Hello there!” He jumped up when he saw us and shook our hands. “I can’t believe what I’ve missed! I’ve been catching up on the news for two days straight. Did you hear about the two-headed calf in Minnesota? Wait one second …” He stopped and sniffed the air around us. “Kaspar, you smell practically human! Have you gone home as well?”
“If my home were like this, I would have gone back ages ago,” Kaspar told him. “But I’m still on my own. Well … not exactly.” He winked at Betty.
“This must be the young lady you used to rattle on about,” Howard noted. “Has she come round at last?”
“I think so,” said Kaspar.
“I have.” Betty blushed.
“Glad to hear it! Who needs a home when you have a good woman? Have a seat, all of you. Anyone care for some sausages?”
“Actually, Howard, this isn’t a social call,” Kaspar explained. “I would love to catch up, but we have something urgent to see to today.”
“Does it have anything to do with Cecelia Varney’s cat?”
“So you’ve heard?”
“My wonderful wife kindly saved the newspapers from the past four months. She knows how I like to keep up on current events. I’m almost up to September now. I was petting little Fang when I read about the missing heirs to the Varney fortune. Oh—I hope you don’t mind that I named him. A tough-guy name might bolster his self-confidence, don’t you think?”
“Seems reasonable,” Kaspar agreed. “Is Fang still here?”
“Of course! But he stays in the bedroom most of the day. He’s terribly afraid of April. She can be a little snippy at times. By the way, what do you intend to do with him?”
• • •
Lester Liu’s mansion was mobbed with reporters, sightseers, animal rights activists, and mummy lovers. Television vans had blockaded Fifth Avenue and traffic was backed up for blocks. Kaspar, Betty, and I watched as Adam Gunderson from Channel Three News filmed a report.
“Good evening, Janice. I’m here on the Upper East Side of Manhattan where, just last night, a wealthy philanthropist was unmasked as one of the most brazen criminal masterminds this city has ever seen! Lester Liu, whose mansion you see behind me, was charged this morning with an appalling list of misdeeds, including kidnapping, art theft, and attempted murder. Channel Three has also uncovered evidence that Mr. Liu is the secret leader of the Chinatown Fu-Tsang gang, a band of bloodthirsty smugglers who’ve terrorized lower Manhattan for decades.
“While the Fu-Tsang gang is said to have smuggled everything from counterfeit handbags to illegal drugs, people smuggling appears to have been the primary source of Lester Liu’s wealth. Police have already closed seven illegal sweatshops owned by Mr. Liu, and just hours ago, ten Taiwanese teenagers appeared at the Fifth Precinct police station in Manhattan, claiming they were smuggled into the country and held captive by Mr. Liu and a man named Sergei Molotov. Once their statements have been taken, the teenagers will be returned to their parents overseas.
“But perhaps the most remarkable aspect of this story is the person who brought Mr. Liu to justice—his fourteen-year-old daughter, Oona Wong. Miss Wong has not been available for interviews, but witnesses at last night’s gala describe her as an attractive if poorly dressed girl with an excellent grasp of the English language.
“For the full story and latest revelations, tune in at five for a Channel Three Special Report. For now, this is Adam Gunderson reporting live from Fifth Avenue.”
“That was wonderful, Mr. Gunderson! My name’s Tiffany Thompson, and I’m your biggest fan,” I gushed.
Adam Gunderson lowered the mirror he’d been using to check his hair and offered me a smug smile. “Thank you. It’s great to know there are still a few kids watching the news these days.” He made it sound as if most young people spent their evenings mugging old ladies and vandalizing graveyards instead of enriching their minds with his reports.
“Oh, I watch you every single night. That’s why I wanted to make sure you were the first to know what I found in the park.”
Adam Gunderson’s eyes glazed over. “I appreciate it, young lady, but I’m quite busy right now. We’re filming a special report on Lester Liu. Why don’t you stand over there out of the way while I tape this next segment?”
“Maybe this can be a part of it?” I held out the kitten. When its fur brushed his suit, the reporter leaped backward.
“Somebody get me a lint brush!” he screeched. “I’ve got cat hair all over me. Would you please take that thing away?” he hissed.
“But I thought you might want to have a peek at its toes,” I whined. “They’re very unusual. Aren’t cats supposed to have only five?” In an instant, Adam Gunderson’s face went from annoyed to ecstatic. He snatched the cat out of my hands and examined its toes.
“Where did you find this animal?” he asked, trying to hide his excitement.
“Right here in the park, across the street from that big house. I saw a bunch of cats being loaded into a delivery van, but this little one snuck out.”
“Do you remember the name on the delivery van?” the reporter inquired. His lips moved silently as he waited for my answer, and I knew he was praying.
“Sure,” I said. “It was from a company called Tasty Treasures.”
“Somebody get me an address for Tasty Treasures!” he shouted.
As a frantic assistant pushed past me, I happened to
glance up at the Varney Mansion. One of the shutters on the second floor swung open, and a hazy figure briefly appeared in the window. I’ll be the first to admit that it could have been the glare of sunlight on the glass, or one of the many police officers still roaming the building. In fact, there are hundreds of possible explanations that all make perfect sense. But I’d like to think it was Cecelia Varney.
• • •
“That should do it,” I told Kaspar and Betty. “You can always depend on Adam Gunderson. He’s not very bright, but he’s incredibly persistent. He’ll make sure the cat gets the mansion and the animal smugglers get a cage of their own.”
“So now that we’ve done our good deed for the day, where to?” Kaspar asked as the three of us strolled down Fifth Avenue. “Should we drop in to the Carlyle Hotel for a spot of tea?”
“Very amusing,” I said, though the thought of a cucumber sandwich was very enticing. “It’s time for me to go home and take my punishment.” Since we’d come from Howard’s house, I was almost looking forward to it.
“Me, too.” Betty sighed.
“Why don’t you guys come stay in the park with me?” Kaspar offered. “We could start our own colony.”
“You can’t live in the park forever,” Betty told him. “You have to go home sometime.”
“If only to shower,” I advised.
“Howard went home and look how well that worked out,” Betty tried.
“I will never go back to my parents’ house,” Kaspar declared. “It’s not my home. It’s just a laboratory with overpriced furniture. You know, just because I’m related to Arthur and Jane doesn’t mean I belong with them. They’ve spent my whole life trying to make me into the perfect child, and I’m tired of being their guinea pig.
“I guess meeting Mrs. Van Dyke settled it for me. She doesn’t care if Howard’s less than perfect. She’s crazy about him anyway. You know what my mom would do if she found my underwear in the bread box? She’d call in a team of experts to analyze my aberrant behavior.”
The Empress's Tomb Page 28