Madhattan Mystery (25 page)

Lexi did a slow head roll and her neck crackled like a bowl of Rice Krispies—probably from all the stress. On her second roll to the right, she noticed a splotch of yellow at her feet. A legal pad? “BOONDOGGLE SUMMER” was scrawled across the first page in bold, aggressive caps. Kim Ling's handwriting—it had to be. That essay for her journalism contest, no doubt. With a cautionary glance at the front door, Lexi grabbed the pad and began reading a random paragraph.

Imagine the look of shock and dismay on this reporter's face when I discovered the lives and limbs of myself and my cantankerous cohorts had been risked for naught. The cryptic clues we were following on our quest to uncover Cleopatra's stolen jewels were actually the far-fetched fantasies of some overpaid crime-drama writers. Color me crimson with embarrassment, not to mention black and blue
.

“Still trespassing I see.”

Lexi flinched. She turned to see Kim Ling posed at the top of the stoop in a paint-splattered tank, holding a steaming mug.

“Not exactly the killer story I was hoping for but …
keep reading.” Kim Ling took a careful sip of her drink. “Out loud.”

“‘So I guess'”—Lexi cleared her throat, surprised that Kim Ling hadn't jumped down it—“‘I guess it all comes down to the basics,'” she read aloud, flipping the page. “‘Check your sources. Do your research. Case in point: if your mother tells you she loves you, find proof.'”

“I might hate that line.”

“‘If Rabbi Martin swears that the smoked whitefish at Katz's Deli is fresh, second-guess him. If the crazy catman in Apartment one-R insists he's not pirating illegal DVDs, even as he's being arrested—'” Lexi gasped and turned to Kim Ling. “What? Mr. Carney?”

“Yeah, last night when the cops showed up.”

“The cops came?”

“Didn't you hear the sirens?”

“When
don't
I hear sirens?”

“I thought they showed up ‘cause of the burglar alarm fiasco, but no, they came to arrest Carney. Turns out he had this whole bootleg operation going on. You should've seen the setup in his apartment. Un-freakin'-believable. I'll bet that's why that black Lincoln was always parked out front. FBI.”

Lexi took a moment to digest the information. “Wow. Huh. That's totally insane.”

“Tell me about it.”

She turned back to read the essay, but a bell went off in her head. “So wait. You mean a
real
crime was happening
under our own roof while we were out on that wild goose chase?”

“Ironic, isn't it? I should probably take that out of my essay. I don't want to appear—what's the word?”

“Obtuse? Oblivious? Inept?”

“I taught you well, grasshopper.” Kim Ling's near smile disappeared behind her mug and she took another noisy sip, studying Lexi. “Some investigative reporter I am—that's what you're thinking, right, Lexicon?”

“No, I wasn't gonna—”

“Some journalist I'll make. You can say it.”

“Well—you have to admit—” Lexi snorted, harnessing a laugh. “I mean, come on, it
is
pretty funny. Doesn't he live right across the hall from you?” And then she let her laughter fly.

The glint in Kim Ling's eyes disappeared instantly, as if someone had blown out the candle in a jack-o'-lantern. “Yeah? Well, I really don't care what you think.” She flip-flopped down the stairs, ripped the legal pad out of Lexi's hand, and started up again. “Stop being so condescending, okay?”

“Um, okay—and ouch. You just gave me, like, seventeen paper cuts.”

“Too bad, so sad.”

“I was obviously kidding,” Lexi said, twisting to her feet. “Listen, I'm sorry about the whole Melrose thing—for giving her that key, if that's what you're really getting all cranky about. But I was worried about her safety, okay?
You should've seen her on Friday after the cops raided Grand Central. She had nowhere to go.” Lexi waited for a reaction. “Kim? C'mon, I thought we were making up.”

“Wrong.” Kim Ling turned abruptly, spilling hot liquid on her hand. “
Ow
! Just because we had a polite exchange doesn't mean everything's copacetic. You lied to my face, remember? I still despise you with the white-hot intensity of a thousand suns!”

“Got it.”

Lexi was out of there faster than her paper cuts could bleed. She willed herself not to cry as she stomped past Kim Ling, up a zillion steps, and into her aunt's apartment.
You will not shed a single tear over that girl!
she warned herself.
Don't you dare
.

Kevin was at the desk on the laptop and she stormed right past him, sucking her stinging finger and heading for the bathroom. Maybe a bubble bath would make her feel better—she could scrub Kim Ling and New York City out of her pores forever. But passing Aunt Roz's bedroom, something caught her eye. Draped across the bed was the opening-night dress from Macy's that Aunt Roz had gone on and on about. Lexi couldn't resist taking a peek. It was gorgeous. Sooo elegant.
And that color
, she thought on her way into the bathroom.
In-your-face red
.

The gushing bathwater couldn't fill the tub fast enough for Lexi, and couldn't be hot enough—even on such a miserable summer day. Only her big toe could stand it at first, but little by little she submerged her entire body.
Lexi soup. Her brain went as limp as her body, too foggy to complete another thought. Fine by her. And if the smell of jasmine bath salts transported her to somewhere faraway and exotic, so much the better.

With the scented bubbles at nose level, she turned off the spigot with her foot and waited for the sloshing water to settle. Her arms floated to the top and her eyelids fluttered as she watched the steam rise in ghostly swirls. The hypnotic
drip, drip, drip
from the faucet transforming into a distant
chug, chug, chug
… and all at once she was ten years old, sitting next to her mother on a train traveling along the Hudson.

“I'm not sleeping, cookie,” her mom had insisted. “I'm just resting my eyes.”

“Well, Mom, we don't want to miss our stop. What's the name of it again?”

“Tarrytown. We're almost there.” Lexi's mom folded her hands on her lap, admiring her new French tips. “Oh, for heaven's sake—”

“What is it?”

“I forgot to wear my lucky charm bracelet—we were in such a hurry.”

“You don't need it. You've got me.”

“I know, but of all days …” She took a deep breath, hooking her arm through Lexi's. “Thanks for coming with me on the train again, sweetie. I was just too rattled to drive. I love you to pieces for holding my hand through this whole thing.”

“Well, I'm proud of you. And I don't mind taking trains—they're so retro. You look awesome, by the way.”

“I really splurged on this dress, so don't tell your father when he gets back from his business trip or he'll flip his lid. But I needed a red one for today, so I figured what the heck? It's not every day I get to do something so—extraordinary.”

Her mother had never looked so chic in her life. She was a newly appointed ambassador for the “Go Red” campaign—something about promoting awareness of heart disease in women, which she herself had survived. She had hardly ever worn dresses, let alone one from Saks Fifth Avenue! The saleslady had said it was made for her, that she looked simply stunning in red. It was cut kind of low, though. Not sexy low, but low enough that her scar showed a little. But Lexi had convinced her she could camouflage it with makeup and no one would notice. It worked.

“Mom, do you want to go over your speech one more time before we get there?”

“No, thanks,” she said, closing her eyes. “I think I'll just go over it in my head.”

Lexi closed her eyes, too, but chewed on a stick of gum so she wouldn't accidentally nod off—the rocking of the train was way too risky. Before the flavor had even left her Carefree Sugarless, several stops had whizzed by and the conductor called out, “Ossining! This is Ossining. Tarrytown is next.”

“Mom, wake up, that's us,” Lexi said, nudging her mother gently. “C'mon, Sleeping Beauty, your audience awaits.” She shook her arm. Nothing.
One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand …
“
Mooom
?” Again. Harder. “We're gonna miss our—” Her words got stuck in her throat. “Do you need me to get our bag down from the overhead rack? Okay, I can do that—I'll get our—” Lexi jolted to her feet and reached for the suitcase with trembling fingers. She had to jump for the strap and the thing came crashing to the floor. Her mother didn't even budge. “Oh, God, this can't be happening.”

Just breathe
, Lexi told herself, kicking the bag out of the aisle. Kicking, kicking.
She's a heavy sleeper just like Kevin, and you're overreacting. You always overreact, freak! Just stop it
.

“Tarrytown!”

“
Mom
?”

There was the hiss of the train pulling into the station. Doors were rattling. Slamming shut. A haze of people rushed by, knocking Lexi back into her seat. She took her mother's hand and began gently rubbing it. “C'mon, c'mon, Mom,” she whispered, “please, wake up. You have to—”

“Tarrytown! This is Tarrytown.”

Hot blood pulsing in her temples. Silent screams in her head.

“Yonkers is next!”

“Omigod, help me,” she had heard herself cry out. “I
don't know what to—stop the train! Somebody,
please
help!”

The bathroom door flew open and she was shockingly back in her twelve-year-old body again as Kevin came barging in.

“Lexi!”

“Get out!” she screeched, pulling a towel down over herself. “I'm in the tub!”

“I didn't see anything.” He turned his back. “Are you okay?”

“Of course I'm okay. Why wouldn't I be okay?”

“You were screaming for help, Lex—at the top of your lungs.”

Lexi had never revisited that horrible morning on the Metro-North quite so vividly before. You would think all those sessions with Dr. Lucy would have helped it feel less scary by now. She threw on her aunt's chenille robe that was hanging on the bathroom door, thinking it might comfort her. It did not. Withered and still a bit shaky, she decided to focus her energy into packing. At least she would be that much closer to getting out of Crazy Town, USA.
Stuff socks into shoes to save room …
She could hear her mom's packing instructions in her head.
Don't fold pants, but roll them up to prevent wrinkling; double-check pockets for anything you might need
. When she grabbed her khaki shorts, they were stiff and crinkly. A newspaper article was sticking out of the back pocket, with the headline that had started it all:

It still packed a wallop. She skimmed the article on her way into the living room and tossed it onto the faux-leather massage chair. “If only I knew then what I know now.”
Another Momism
. Collapsing into the chair, she grabbed the remote and switched on the TV. A DVD of
The Streets of New York: Season One
was playing, which made her shudder and immediately switch it off.
I wonder if Aunt Roz got a deal on it from Mr. Carney
. “Hey, Kev, toss me my cell, will you?” she said in her business-as-usual voice. “It's next to the paper-clip thingy. In case Aunt Roz calls.”

Kevin was at the desk, hypnotized by the laptop screen. “Guess what hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobia means? Fear of long words. Isn't that the coolest? And fear of your stepmother is novercaphobia. That's what you have, Lex. Nover—”

“Easy for you to say.”

“Get this,” he said over his shoulder. “I googled Nigel Humphries—you know, the head writer of
The Streets of New York
, and he went to NYU at the exact same time as Benjamin Deets—the film school. Isn't that weird?”

“I don't really care anymore. It's over, as far as I'm concerned. The fat lady has sung.”

“Don't talk about Miss Carelli that way.”

“Kevin!”

He closed the laptop with a snort and delivered the phone personally, flopping down onto the chair next to Lexi. It was so not like him.

“Thanks.” With a curious smile, Lexi turned on her phone and slipped it into one of her droopy pockets. “Oh, Kev, how could everything go so incredibly wrong?” she said more to herself than to her brother. “I just don't get it.” She strummed her fingers on the armrest and studied the control-box massage options as if there would be a pop quiz afterward: neck and shoulders; upper back; middle; lumbar; legs; gentle massage; deep tissue …

“So, Lex? Don't bite my head off—”

“Don't
make
me have to bite your head off.”

“—but are we supposed to just pretend like it never happened?”

“The jewel hunt? For the thousandth time, I said drop it.”

“That's not what I—I mean, before. In the tub. You kinda scared me. Were you having that dream about Mom?”

Lexi gathered her damp curls on the top of her head and settled into a tight fetal position facing away from Kevin. “You'd have to be asleep to be dreaming, and I doubt I was sleeping in a scalding hot tub.” Conversation over. She lay motionless, focusing on the hum of the air conditioner and visually dissecting the wreath of dried flowers, ribbons, and bluebirds hanging next to the mirror over the bureau.

“I miss her a lot,” Kevin said. “Don't you?”

“Don't ask stupid questions.”

“Well, you never talk about her.”

“I don't need to.”

“Yes, you do! Dr. Lucy said—”

“Save it. I know all about what Dr. Lucy says. Believe me.”