Madhattan Mystery (18 page)

“Yeah, he was just a normal, friendly guy—smart as a whip, had everything going for him. Next thing you know, he's an international fugitive. Every time I click on the news now, it's ‘Benjamin Deets this and Benjamin Deets that.' Crazy world.”

Lexi's eyes popped open. And if her ears could have perked up any more, they would have sprung from her head. The two security guards who had been reminding people to turn off their flashes were standing next to the reflecting pool having a loudish conversation about the perp.

“You know, I saw him right out that window one time after he got the boot,” the man went on, “trimming hedges in the park. Not that there's anything wrong with that—lots of folks enjoy that line of work, but to go from director of security … you know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” the female security guard agreed.

“I heard he even used to have a cushy side job at some television network as a—whaddya call it?—you know,
like, when they call in professionals on shows to make sure everything looks genuine.”

“Consultant?”

“A consultant, that's it. He was at the top of his game and he flushed it all down the toilet—and for what? Revenge? Crazy world.”

“Crazy world.”

Lexi couldn't believe she was eavesdropping again.
Revenge
, she repeated in her mind so she wouldn't forget.
Consultant. Trimming hedges in the park
. She followed the guards as they wandered through the Sackler Wing in starts and stops, hoping to pick up more revealing tidbits of conversation about Benjamin Deets. Unfortunately, she never heard another word—except for “Miss, miss? You with the red curly hair. Please don't lean on the exhibit.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

She had almost bolted, but the words “From Cleopatra's Needle” caught her eye. They were on the plaque next to the glass case she had illegally been leaning on.
Shoot, needle, oval disk, park
flashed in her brain in neon as she studied the deformed-looking bronze crab that was on display inside the case. According to the plaque, it was from 13
BCE
, Roman period, a gift of Henry H. Gorringe, 1881, and had originally been part of an ancient Egyptian monument that still stood in Central Park.
Needle and park!
Her heartbeat quickened. She and Kim Ling had originally thought
needle
had something to do with drugs and
park
was Park Avenue—but since they had ruled out Grand
Central as the spot where the jewels were buried, all the clues were up for grabs again. Until now.
That's two clues in one—a doubleheader. Major score! I have to tell Kim Ling!

Aunt Roz and Kevin caught up with her seconds later, so it wasn't until their taxicab ride on the way to the Rose Center for Earth and Science that Lexi had the chance to text her news to Kim Ling. And then it was 2:45. Time for her own plan to go into full swing. Juggling two undercover operations at the same time might drive her off the deep end, but she had to do what she had to do. So she faked a bad headache and told Aunt Roz she had better drop her off at the apartment first, that she needed some Tylenol plus a nice, long nap for fear of missing their big night out.

Talk about guilt—now her lies had become even more complicated, involving cheap theatrics and over-the-counter drugs.

“Were you kids rolling around in the mud at City Camp yesterday?” Aunt Roz asked Lexi a few hours later. She was at the white vanity table in her bedroom brushing her hair in the mirror, prepping for Part Two of their DOFF: homemade dinner and a show. “There's a ring around the tub that'll need to be sandblasted off.”

“Yeah, we did get pretty filthy playing soccer,” Lexi answered in a mousy voice, as if the softer the lie, the less it counted against you. “Sorry.” Dressed and ready, she was sitting on the window seat, fiddling with the drapes and clicking her pink kitten-heel pumps. Even though her heart was rattling underneath, it still felt nice being all dressed up and girly—especially after being covered in grunge and smelling like a sweaty goat only twenty-four hours earlier.

“Feeling better, sweetheart?”

“Much.”

“Too bad you missed that planetarium show, ‘Journey to the Stars.' It was awe-inspiring.”

“I know—Kevin keeps going on and on about it. I did have a really good time at the museum, though.”
And picked up some really good clues!

“Good.” Aunt Roz gave her a look over her shoulder that lingered. “Don't have a conniption fit, but do you know what would look absolutely fabulous with your outfit?”

Of course she knew. Those hateful black pearls that Clare had sent. They would go perfectly with the pink-and-gray dress Lexi was wearing. It was her most sophisticated outfit, even though it was straight off the clearance rack at Target.

“My opal necklace goes with everything.” Plus, she believed if she ever took it off, that disaster would strike—but that part she kept to herself.

“Yes, dear,” Aunt Roz said, her mascara wand coming to a standstill, “that looks lovely too.” She sent Lexi a knowing smile via the mirror, then went back to applying gobs of mascara over the gobs that were already there. “We really should give Mark and Clare a call to thank them for your gifts, don't you think? And tomorrow is Father's Day. That'll be perfect.” She moved on to her lips, outlining them in a brownish pencil and coloring them in with a deep cranberry-red lipstick, then carefully blotted her mouth on a tissue and tossed it into a wicker waste-basket. “Oh, and in case you're wondering, I took the pearls
out of the fish tank and put them in the lacquer box on the coffee table. I was afraid the clasp might rust.”

Lexi felt she should speak just to fill up the dead air but nothing came out.

“Well, I'd better go check on the chicken. Our guest will be arriving soon.” Aunt Roz spritzed the air with two blasts of perfume and lingered in the cloud for a second before sweeping into the living room.

“This is the proper way to apply it, cookie. Spray, stay, and walk away. So the scent isn't too overpowering.”

Her mom's voice played in Lexi's head as she breathed in the flowery scent and watched the mist disintegrate into nothingness. Her gaze fell onto the crumpled tissue with the lipstick smear and her heart went numb. Lexi had watched her mom do it a thousand times: after putting on her lipstick, she would carefully blot her lips on a folded tissue, then add it to a neat stack in the little top drawer of her antique dresser. A library of lips.

“Mom, why do you save your lip prints?” she had asked her one day, just after she had turned eight.

Her mother had stopped what she was doing, like she was caught off guard.

“For posterity?” she said with an awkward shrug. “Force of habit? It's just a silly little game.” She studied the tissue in her hand as if she were thinking even further back in time. “Let's see. The first one I ever saved—I think it was because the lip print came out so plump and perfect. I thought it was pretty, like a little work of art. Then
before you know it …” Her fingers started digging their way through the thick stack. “You know, it must still be in here, the good one. Way at the—oh, here it is!” And she slipped the original tissue out of the drawer and gently laid it onto Lexi's palm.

“Cool,” Lexi said, and examined the lip print from all angles. “It really is perfect. Can I have it?”

“Really? I can't imagine what for.”

“Just ‘cause.”

“All right. But—let's just keep this between you and me, though, hon. I don't want people thinking I've gone off the deep end.”

Over the years, that tiny drawer got filled to the brim. And after her mom had passed away, Lexi knew those tissues were way too precious to throw out in the trash. So without telling a soul, she had stored the entire library of lips in a silk-lined hatbox under her bed. A lifetime of kisses at her fingertips.

The doorbell rang five times in a row and Lexi flew out of her trance and shot to her feet, clutching her opal necklace.

“That must be Kim Ling!” Aunt Roz called out from the kitchen.

“It's showtime,” Lexi muttered to herself. She wasn't at all convinced she could pull off the whopper of a stunt she had planned—but she was definitely about to find out.

Lexi beat her aunt to the door, took a second to breathe, then pulled it open as if it were the ripcord on a parachute. “Last minute change of plans. Kim Ling couldn't make it tonight, Aunt Roz, so I invited my new friend—”

“Melrose!” The runaway teen thrust out her arm and pumped Aunt Roz's hand furiously. “How ya doin'?”

“A pleasure,” Aunt Roz said through a quivering smile.

“She's my new BFF from City Camp,” Lexi squeaked out.

Her lies were lingering in the air like a bad smell. And Melrose was lingering in the doorway chewing her newly polished fingernail stubs and smelling like gardenias. Except for the ever-present purple bandanna, which she wore as a sort of headband, the girl was hardly recognizable with her clean blond hair flowing over the crisp white blouse Lexi had lent her. They were both skinny-minnies, so size wasn't too much of an issue except for
shoes—Melrose had canoes. But Lexi's stretchy ballet flats did the trick.

She had transformed this street urchin into someone presentable and all under an hour and a half. It had been quite a feat convincing Melrose to come in the first place, but the promise of a bubble bath and a home-cooked meal had sealed the deal. Sneaking her into the apartment past Kim Ling's radar was feat number two; and choosing an outfit that didn't make her gag was big fat feat number three.

“Do come in and make yourself at home.” Aunt Roz welcomed Melrose into the living room as if she were hosting some fancy soiree. “I'm thrilled that Alexandra met a new companion.” She bunched up her apron and ditched it in a closet on her way back to the kitchen, whispering to Lexi, “You might've given me fair warning, dear.”

As soon as Aunt Roz was out of earshot, Lexi pulled Melrose aside. “I forgot to tell you how sorry I am about Sophie. I know she was your friend.”

Melrose shot her a curious look, as if she was wondering how she had found out the homeless woman had died, but didn't ask. “What kills me is the cops trashed all her stuff. Just a buncha worthless junk, but still—it's like she never existed.”

For some reason the library of lips popped into Lexi's mind. She was about to give Melrose a comforting hug but Aunt Roz announced dinner and they both made a beeline for the kitchen. Kevin and Aunt Roz were already
seated at the tiny kitchen table, so Lexi and Melrose had to sort of jam themselves in, ending up right in front of the air conditioner, which blew frigid air directly in their faces. Other than that, Lexi thought the meal started normally enough. She had previously warned both Kevin and Melrose about what topics to avoid, so the conversation revolved mostly around made-up camp stories, which Melrose was surprisingly good at inventing. And then Aunt Roz served the entrée.

“Chicken McNuggets?” Melrose lunged for the platter and helped herself to way too many pieces. “I thought you said this was gonna be home-cooked,” she said to Lexi out of the side of her mouth.

“It
is
.”

“These are homemade chicken croquettes,” Aunt Roz said, obviously overhearing, and slid the vegetable medley onto the trivet. “Baked instead of deep-fried. So much healthier.”

Melrose popped one into each cheek like a squirrel would do with acorns or something. “Okay, I know my McNuggets and these are McNuggets—but whatever. You got any of those little dipping sauces they come with? The honey mustard?”

“No, but there's low-fat yogurt to top them with, if you like. These aren't the ones from McDonald's, sweetheart.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Honestly. Chicken croquettes.”

“Ain't croquette that game?” Melrose asked.

Lexi cringed inwardly and hurriedly passed her the hot bowl of parsley potatoes, hoping she would drop the subject. But like a dog with a bone, she wouldn't let go.

“You know, that game they play in England or Britain or somewhere? You know! Where they knock around giant pool balls on the grass with, like, those big wooden sticks?”

“That's polo, I think,” Kevin offered.

“Polo's on horses,” Lexi said.

Aunt Roz grabbed the bottle of light ranch dressing and spanked the bottom until a giant blob spewed onto her salad. “I'm sure she means
croquet
,” she said, emphasizing the
ay
sound.

“I don't think so,” Melrose sang, licking her fingers.

“Yes.” Aunt Roz plunked the bottle down. “Croquet.”

The conversation couldn't have been stupider or the mood more uncomfortable. Lexi was avoiding looking directly at Aunt Roz, who was daintily nibbling on a lettuce leaf while Melrose was sucking up the meal like a DustBuster. Kevin, on the other hand, had stopped eating altogether and was forming his initials out of baby carrots plucked from his salad. The only sound filling the room was the clatter of forks on plates and the faint jingling of Aunt Roz's charm bracelets.

“‘An angel of silence is flying over our heads,'” she said softly, stroking her neck. “That's a quote from Chekhov—you know, the famous Russian playwright? The man was a genius.”

Melrose was about to say something, but instead of words, out came the loudest, nastiest belch ever belched in the tristate area. It probably registered a five on the Richter scale. “‘Better an empty house than a bad tenant,'” she said, laughing. “And that ain't Chekhov.”

Everyone else sat stone-faced. For Lexi, the sheer rudeness of it all outweighed the humor, and she was beginning to regret her good deed.

More clatter and jingling.