A Tangle of Knots (9 page)

18

The Owner

T
HE KID WAS OUT THE DOOR WITH THE TOOTHPICK BEFORE THE
Owner had even realized what happened. The Owner’s first instinct was to chase after him, but then his eyes fell to the powder blue suitcase on the bed. What did he care about a lousy toothpick when his whole life might be in that suitcase?

Number thirty-six.

The last suitcase of them all.

The Owner positioned himself directly in front of the suitcase, ran his fingers over the three dimples by the left clasp. This was the one, he was certain. He flipped open the first latch, then the second.

Utensils. Dozens and dozens of knickknacks and gadgets were inside. Rolling pins. Eggbeaters. Thermometers. Scoopers, scrapers, slicers, slotted spoons. Toast tongs. Mashers, peelers, corers, mincers, pitters, graters, grinders. Whisks and bags and brushes.

The Owner flicked them onto the bed by the handful. They littered the bedspread and clattered to the floor. In one of the suitcase’s inner pockets was a black ceramic bird, its yellow beak angled up and open. Useless.

With one smart jerk, the Owner ripped the faded flowered lining down the seam. He held his breath and felt inside.

Nothing.

He checked again.

Nothing.

Letting out a terrible roar, the Owner snatched the suitcase off the bed, stormed to the hallway, and chucked it down the stairs. It landed with a
thud
on top of the circular wooden counter.

Fifty-three years. He’d spent fifty-three years searching, tracking down every St. Anthony’s suitcase ever made, and it wasn’t there.

His mother’s peanut butter recipe wasn’t there.

19

Cady

C
ADY HAD JUST DROPPED TOBY’S CAKE PLATE IN THE SUDSY
sink when she heard the
thud
from the main storeroom floor. She scuttled out of the kitchen and looked to the top of the stairs just in time to make out the Owner’s surly face. He growled at her and then slammed shut his bedroom door.

Toby was right about him—he
was
a grumpy old man.

Flung carelessly atop the circular counter in the center of the room was the thing that Cady assumed must be the source of the Owner’s rage (as well as the
thud
)—a single powder blue suitcase, with three small dimples near the left clasp. It looked exactly like the suitcase the curious man in the gray suit had unstrapped from his bicycle (and also quite a bit like the other powder blue suitcases Cady had noticed under the countertop—some sort of collection of the Owner’s, she figured).

Cady stood on her toes at the counter and pried the suitcase open carefully, wondering what about a piece of old luggage could possibly have made the Owner so furious. But all she found, inside one of the pockets, was a small ceramic bird, its yellow beak wide open in a whistle.

Perhaps the Owner really hated birds.

As Cady moved to snap closed the top, something fluttered out of the ripped lining, just flittered to the floor, as though Fate had wanted her to find it. A slip of paper. Cady picked it off the ground. It was brown like a fallen leaf, and brittle with age. Its creases were raised like scars. As she slowly unfolded it, one corner crumbled completely to bits.

PERFECT PEANUT BUTTER

That’s what was written across the top of the paper. Cady bit her bottom lip as she read the recipe. If anything could make a person less of a grump, she thought, it was a cake baked specifically for him. And maybe, if the Owner were just a little less grumpy, Toby might want to stick around a while longer.

He might want Cady to stick around, too.

Cady hadn’t so much as finished the thought, however, when the words of the man in the gray suit scampered into her head.
It’s the way we deal with what Fate hands us that defines who we are.
Cady shook them free. With the recipe clasped gingerly in her fingertips, she shut the suitcase and slid it underneath the countertop with its brothers. Then she headed to the kitchen. There were only a few hours before the bakeoff, and she had a cake to make.

20

Zane

Z
ANE HEARD THE THUD ON THE COUNTERTOP OF THE MAIN
storeroom floor, but he ignored it. Tucked away in the electronics corner, Zane did his best to tread lightly, quietly. It was silly, perhaps, to think he could keep ahead of the trouble he knew was coming, but darned if he wasn’t going to try anyway. Because even if the letter from that old bat Principal Piles seemed to have disappeared in the chaos of the move (his parents had yet to mention it, and in Zane’s vast experience with trouble, when parents read such letters, they usually mentioned them right away), Zane’s problems hadn’t disappeared. Sooner or later, one way or another, Zane’s parents were going to hear from the principal. They were going to have to decide whether or not to send him to boarding school. And there was a chance—slim perhaps, but a chance nonetheless—that Zane could cut the trouble off at the pass.

Zane pulled a pair of expensive-looking headphones off a shelf and examined them carefully before tucking them inside his pocket. They would fetch a pretty fair price at Louie’s Pawn Shop (well, as fair a price as Louie ever gave). And with enough trips to Louie’s, Zane just might (perhaps, maybe) be able to cover some of the cost of the repairs for that stupid hole in his family’s apartment wall. Nobody would send a thoughtful, supportive boy like that to boarding school. Well, it was worth a shot, anyway. As long as Zane’s parents didn’t figure out how
truly
 . . .

WORTHLESS.

When Zane’s pockets were stuffed almost to bursting, he searched the store for the perfect container to store his goods in. If he remembered correctly, under the circular counter there was a stash of seriously old blue suitcases. The Owner would never notice if one of those was missing.

On his hands and knees, Zane pulled out one of the suitcases.
St. Anthony’s,
the scrawl of silver thread across the top announced. There were three small dimples by the left clasp. Zane opened it up. The lining was torn. He yanked out a second case from the collection to see if perhaps it was in slightly better shape. Positioning this second suitcase next to the other—just to the left—Zane opened the clasps. Torn as well, in exactly the same spot. Zane shrugged. He supposed it would have to do. Into the suitcase went the cameras, the leather wallets, the rings, the belt buckles. Anything that might score a few dollars.

Zane hadn’t realized just how much he’d miss his old home before they moved into the Emporium. He’d never been the kind of kid who felt particularly homesick when his family went away on vacation or he spent a week at camp.
What was so great about a tiny, cramped apartment?
he’d always wondered.
With everybody smooshed together, poking into your business all the time?
Nothing. That’s what he’d always thought.

But if they
did
send him to boarding school . . . Zane swiped at his nose. Maybe it wasn’t so bad, having your business poked into just a little bit.

Zane was just emptying his last pocket into the suitcase when he heard a startling
skitter-skitter-CRASH!
And suddenly, in a flash of fur and claws, Will’s pet ferret, Sally,
whomp
ed down from the overhead air vent, right into Zane’s spiky hair.

“Aaaagh!” Zane batted at her wildly until she skittered down his neck, across his chest, and buried herself inside the suitcase of loot, where she promptly became entangled in the pricey headphones.

“Sally!” Zane shouted, digging into the suitcase to pull her out by her scruff. “Don’t you dare break any of my stuff, you little weasel.”

Sally spit out the shiny bit of whatever it was she’d been hoarding to let out a frantic
click-click-clack!
of protest.

“Get out of here!” Zane advised her, tossing her to the floor. “Why don’t you go find Will?”

Sally narrowed her eyes threateningly at Zane, but she scurried off just the same. Zane shook his head.
Stay ahead of the trouble,
he reminded himself.
You need to stay ahead of the trouble.

WORTHLESS.

Zane jumped up on his heels. All he needed now was some way to get to Louie’s and sell his stuff. A bicycle, maybe. A bicycle would be perfect. Leaving his loot in the suitcase for just a moment, he wandered off to see if he might be able to find one.

21

Will

S
IR WILL WAITED UNTIL HE WAS SURE THE COAST WAS CLEAR
before popping out of the air vent onto the main storeroom floor. There was no way the evil wizard would ever find him. Sir Will was too good at hiding. He zipped across the room until he reached the circular countertop in the center. There he found a pair of powder blue suitcases. Perfect. Sir Will flipped open the top of one of them—the one on the right. It had three small dimples by the left clasp, and it was just large enough for a small child.

Checking that no one was watching, Sir Will crawled inside, curling himself into a tight little ball against the torn inner lining. (Sir Will had somehow lost one of his shoes along the way, but knights didn’t care about things like that.) He pulled the lid securely over his body and clutched at his mother’s precious hairpin, waiting for his heart to stop racing. He breathed in deep. His pulse slowed. His eyes drifted closed. And safe in the darkness of the warm blue suitcase, Sir Will drifted . . . off . . . to . . .
sleep.

Marigold’s Lime
Pound Cake
a cake that contains more than a little zest and zing

FOR THE CAKE:

4 large eggs, at room temperature

¹
/
₂
tsp vanilla

2 tsp grated lime zest (from approximately 2 limes)

2 tbsp lime juice (from approximately 1 lime)

1 cup butter (2 sticks), at room temperature (plus extra for greasing the cake pan)

1
¹
/
₄
cups granulated sugar

¹
/
₂
tsp salt

2 cups flour

1. Preheat oven to 325°F. Grease a 9-by-5-inch loaf pan with butter.

2. In a small bowl, whisk together the eggs, vanilla, lime zest, and lime juice. Set aside.

3. In a large bowl, beat the butter with an electric mixer on medium-high speed, until fluffy, about 2 minutes. Add the sugar and the salt and beat, starting on low speed and then increasing to medium-high, until well combined, about 2 minutes more. Slowly add the egg mixture and beat until well combined, about 3 minutes.

4. Reducing the speed on the mixer to low, gradually add the flour to the batter, and beat until just combined.

5. Pour the batter into the pan and smooth the top. Bake for 60 to 70 minutes, or until a toothpick comes out clean. Cool completely before serving.