Madhattan Mystery (20 page)

“Switch seats with me, Kev, switch seats!”

They scrambled over each other and Lexi slid into the seat next to Aunt Roz. Of course Kevin couldn't resist turning around, and when he saw all the campers he gasped. Luckily, Aunt Roz was too busy powdering her nose to notice.

Lexi sat desperately fingering her curls, not knowing
what to do until she spotted the glint of a single blue rhinestone. It was coming from her aunt's glasses, which were jutting out of her program on her lap. The lights dimmed and—
Oh, God, please forgive me for what I'm about to do!—
Lexi faked a sneeze and snatched the glasses.

“Bless you,” Aunt Roz said. “It is a little chilly in here.” She wrapped half of her silvery ribbon-shawl around Lexi's shoulders. “Better?”

“Much,” Lexi said and slipped the glasses into her dress pocket. The first note of the overture rattled her and her guilt swelled along with the music. The enormous orchestra rose from the pit, just like Aunt Roz had said it might, and floated to the back of the stage as if by magic. Kevin was lured to his feet in wonder and Lexi tugged him back down. In her peripheral vision, Lexi could see her aunt feeling around her seat.

“For the love of … I could've sworn … where the heck … ?” Aunt Roz finally leaned into Lexi. “Do you see my glasses anywhere?” she whispered. “I seem to have misplaced the darn things again.”

Lexi escaped the shawl and pretended to check. “Nope. Did you try your purse?”

“Not there.”

“Hmm, that's funny.”

No, it wasn't. She was going to fry. Good deed or not, on her day of reckoning, she was definitely going to fry.

An army of clogging feet hit the stage like an explosion of fireworks, and Lexi allowed herself to get instantly
swept away from all the drama surrounding her. Propeller legs on rigid bodies moving in perfect unison—amazing! If her great-grandmother had never emigrated from Kilcarney to New York, would Lexi be expected to learn such a wacky dance, living as an Irish lassie? She smiled at the thought of herself struggling to get through it—her corkscrew curls bouncing wildly.

It wasn't humanly possible for feet to move so fast for a solid hour, but there they were. And faster still for the big finish—the Celtic Breeze Steppers were working themselves into a gale-force wind! When the orchestra struck a final chord and the lights came up, Kevin was pie-eyed, Aunt Roz was squinting, and Melrose was rubbing her head with her palm as if she had gotten bonked by a renegade tap shoe.

“Thank God that's over,” Melrose said, hoisting herself to her feet.

“It's only intermission,” Lexi yelled to her over the wild applause. She popped up and scooted past Kevin. “There's a whole ‘nother part.”

“Oh, no way! I mean, I gotta get outta here. This just ain't my thing.”

“But—”

“No, really. Somethin's come up.”

“What could possibly—?”

Before Lexi could finish her sentence, Melrose gave her a rough hug and bolted. “Later,” she said, barreling down the aisle. “Thanks for the McNuggets, Aunt Roz!”

Why she would be in such a big hurry to get back to life on the gritty streets was beyond Lexi.

“Apparently, not a big fan of ethnic dance,” Aunt Roz said, straining to see over her shoulder. “Will she make it home okay?”

“That's the million-dollar question.”

Lexi didn't have time to worry about Melrose now. She couldn't risk Aunt Roz bumping into any telltale campers up close in the lobby, so she started in about how horribly long the line at the ladies' room must be, managing to keep her in her seat throughout the intermission. And as soon as the steppers began stomping through Act Two, she got to work plotting her detailed after-show plan.

“Kev. Kev.” Lexi crumpled down to align her mouth with Kevin's ear. “Listen carefully to what I'm about to say,” she whispered. “Aunt Roz is gonna want us to meet her friend afterward and he'll probably want to show us around the theater and stuff. This is good. We'll go, but I'm gonna make up an excuse early on—say I'm freezing from the AC and want to warm up outside or something, which is true, but really I'll be spying on the City Campers to make sure they leave without running into us. Your job is to stall, stall, stall. Take lots of pictures; ask annoying questions. Shouldn't be hard, just act like you usually do. Then when the campers are gone, I'll meet up with you guys outside the bathrooms by the big naked-lady statue and we'll be home free. Got it?” She nudged him.

“Kevin, got it?”

“What?”

“What do you mean, ‘what'? What didn't you get?”

“I can't hear you! The music's too loud! And now my ear's all wet.”

Nevertheless, by the time the curtain fell, Lexi made certain her message had gotten through. Everything was going according to plan with slow-talking Henry giving them a backstage tour, from which she excused herself almost immediately. She tore up the steps and through the lobby, where the audience was emptying quickly, considering its size, and wound up outside hiding behind a thick marble pillar, watching the last of the rowdy City Campers pile into a bus. Her eyes fluttered shut with relief. When she opened them again, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

“You are a born nurturer.”

“Excuse me?” Lexi said to the caramel-colored woman standing right in front of her. With her skunk-striped hair and threadbare tunic, she looked as if she had just stepped out of another time and place.

“Yes, I am correct. I could see it right there.” The strange woman pointed to the middle of Lexi's forehead. “Don't be frightened. I am a
yogini
—a female yogi. A yogi or yogini is someone who has achieved a state of unshakable peace and oneness with the universe. We can see all things.”

“Oh. Good,” was all Lexi heard herself say, planning
her escape route back into the theater. The woman's ratty-looking cloak smelled of exotic incense, and as she moved even closer, Lexi tried not to stare at her milky left eye—or scream for the two cops, who were chatting on the corner, a stone's throw away.

“Yes, yes, very good, very good,” the woman said with her deep, foreign accent. “What is your name?”

“Alexandra” slipped right out before she could stop it.

The yogini smiled. “It means mankind's helper.”

“Mankind's helper.” Lexi instantly liked the sound of that.

“You are stubborn, it's true, but you have a kind, generous heart.”

Which happened to be beating like jungle tom-toms at the moment. “Well, gotta go. My aunt is meeting—”

“But it is broken, your heart. You have suffered a great loss.”

How did she know?

“I see you are always searching, searching. For what do you search? Your self-worth, perhaps?”

Okay, getting spooky
. But it was enough to keep Lexi glued to her spot. So with Avenue of the Americas as a murky backdrop, she watched the woman tear a blank page from the ragged leather-bound book she was carrying, scribble something on it with a miniature-golf-sized pencil, and fold the paper into the size of an illegal classroom note.

“Hold this in your left hand and give me your right,” the yogini said, drawing Lexi in with her haunting gaze. “I can read your palm.”

Then, as if “Don't speak to strangers” had not been drummed into her head since birth, and as if she had never seen countless television shows about the unthinkable things that happen to kidnapping victims, Lexi did exactly as the woman had instructed.

“Ah, a very long lifeline.” Her steady brown finger traced a crease on Lexi's palm. “You will have three children, two boys, one girl. And there is wealth!”

A twinge of excitement tickled her insides. Okay, she was risking her life a little, but she needed to know more.

“Now, concentrate on the paper in your grasp,” the yogini whispered, “and think of a number between one and twenty-five. Close your eyes and see it clearly in your mind's eye.”

Part of Lexi's brain was yelling at her to stop this game right now—just say, “No, thank you, I'm not interested,” the way her dad did with telemarketers.
Be polite, but firm, ‘cause these people won't take no for an answer
. Still, Lexi followed the yogini's instructions. She closed her eyes and visualized a murky number nine, outlining it with her eyeballs.

“Now, look at the paper.”

Lexi quickly unfolded it. Her jaw dropped. There it was—a giant nine!

“Your lucky number, no?” the woman said simply, seeming pleased with herself.

Unbelievable!
“How'd you do that?”

“Nine is a celestial and angelic number, symbolic of compassion, completion, the beginning and the end. There is a reason you—” Suddenly her forehead wrinkled with concern as if she had just noticed something she had almost missed. Her cloudy eye twitched. “You must avoid ill-fated entanglements,” she warned, staring directly at Lexi with laser-beam intensity. “Ill-fated entanglements for which you will pay dearly.”

Is she kidding? My entire New York visit has been nothing but ill-fated entanglements!
Lexi wondered whether she was allowed to ask for details. Like, was all this written in stone or was there still some wiggle room?

“You can see it is true then, that I am a yogi—a yogini. Now, place five dollars in the book and you will have good luck.” She flipped it open and thrust it toward Lexi.

Uh-oh!
Lexi's face went hot.
Since when does luck come with a price tag?

“Just five dollars,” the woman insisted, keeping a steady gaze.

“Uh, sorry.” Lexi quickly handed her back the paper with the nine. “I really don't have—” She was about to lie, make up an excuse, yell for the cops—when she heard the
clip-clop
of high heels. It was Aunt Roz, with Kevin leading her like a guide dog.

“There she is,” Kevin called out.

“Alexandra!”

In the instant it took for Lexi to glance toward them and back again, the yogini had disappeared. Lexi shuddered. Her hand flew up to clutch her opal touchstone for comfort and froze into an empty fist. “Omigod!”

Her necklace wasn't there.

“Happy Father's Day, Dad!”

Kevin's cheerful voice first thing Sunday morning was as comforting as a chorus of kazoos.

Lexi had more than willingly let him go first on their surprise phone call to Dad on his “special day.”
Puke
. Now he and the wicked step-demon were in Santorini, some Greek island, which meant a huge time difference, which meant Aunt Roz woke them up at the crack of dawn. Again. Lexi thought she had better monitor Kevin's conversation to be ready with an explanation in case he let anything questionable slip, but she was twisted in her sheets, too weak to bust free.

“Beware of ill-fated entanglements.” If only the yogini had been referring to bed linens. Her warning had haunted Lexi through her dreams, and she wondered if the “for which you will pay dearly” part had anything to do with her missing opal. It must. That necklace meant
the world to her and she felt naked and hollow without it.
First, Cleopatra's jewels go missing—and now my own. What're the chances?
Lexi's first instinct was that the money-grubbing yogini herself was the ill-fated entanglement. She could have snapped off the necklace while she was performing her number trick—right before Lexi's very closed eyes. But if she was the culprit, did that mean she was a complete phony? A faux yogi—a fogi? Or fogini? What about Lexi being a born nurturer, destined for motherhood and wealth? Were all her words of wisdom just a load of poo?

Then again, Lexi could have lost the necklace. Or Melrose could have stolen it when they were in the dark theater. Was she awful for thinking that? Just because Melrose was a runaway didn't mean she was a thief. But why had she been acting so odd after dinner? And then raced out of Radio City like her seat was on fire?

“Yeah, I will.” Kevin was buzzing around the living room, winding down his portion of the conversation. “‘Kay, bye, Dad! Love you too.”

Before Lexi was ready, the receiver hit her bed. She stared at it like a brick through a broken window and gave herself a steady five count before lifting it to her ear. “
Haargh
—” Phlegm. Clear throat, start again. “Hello?”

“Lexi?”

“Yeah, it's me, hi.” Her stomach gurgled like a drowning cat. “Happy Father's Day” eked out.

Okay, not very convincing, but it was all that was
needed to spark a one-sided conversation about language barriers, snorkeling mishaps, and lost luggage. The main purpose of the call was to thank Dad for the gift, but Lexi decided she could keep things upbeat only if they steered clear of two ugly topics: the pearls and Clare.

“Hey, your aunt says you just about flipped over the string of pearls we sent. Clare spent hours picking them out.”

She punched her pillow in disbelief.

“I hear you stored them in a very special place,” her dad finished.

Ha! The fish tank. “Yep. That'd be true.”

Clever Aunt Roz. If only the stupid pearls were missing instead of her opal. If only her father was in Greece with her mother instead of Cruella. She could “if only” till the cows came home, but it wasn't going to change a thing. Lexi challenged herself to keep things upbeat anyway.

“So, Dad, is Europe everything it's cracked up to be?”

“For the most part. How's New York treating you? How's City Camp? Are you whittling little Statues of Liberty out of tree branches?”

“Nah, just little Empire State Buildings. And guess who's getting them all for Christmas?”

He let one of his belly-laugh chortles rip. Something Lexi hadn't heard in a long time. “I should've seen that one coming. Seriously, though, how are you handling things? Are you okay? Is your brother driving you up the wall?”