Madhattan Mystery (8 page)

“I don't care if you're not hungry, you have to eat something. Take it! Take it!”

They were almost run over by a cardboard-box carrying man on the first floor who came flying out of Mr. Carney's smelly apartment—and without so much as a “pardon me.” Then he had the nerve to race them down the front steps of the brownstone so he could catch his precious cab. Lexi thought it was the same guy they had seen two days ago, but it was definitely a different weirdo. This one was covered in tattoos.

“Well, excuse
you
!” Aunt Roz called out after him. “Lord,” she said, turning to Lexi and Kevin, “that cat-man sure has a lot of strange people coming and going at all hours. Kimmy says they're his relatives but I don't know.” She looked back at the brownstone. “Where is she anyway? Is she meeting us at the City Camp bus?”

“Oh, that's long gone,” Lexi said, checking her watch. It turned out to be the perfect excuse—this waking-up-late thing. “It's already nine twenty. The bus leaves at—”

“A quarter to,” Kevin finished, lying through his teeth. “Kim Ling probably left.”

“Well, we can cab it.” Aunt Roz sucked her teeth, looking toward the intersection. “We'll be able to get one quicker if we spread out,” she said, which led her into a mini-lesson in Taxicab Hailing 101. “C'mon, you kids have to learn
some
time. Arms nice ‘n' high like you mean it. Good! Okay, I'll
man the corner and we'll see who can flag down a cab first. Ready? Go!”

Aunt Roz's high heels went scraping down the sidewalk and Lexi and Kevin were left on the curb, looking like Tweedledum and Tweedledumber waiting to be called on in class. No cabs in sight, but a shiny black Lincoln Town Car, like the one they had seen on Sunday, turned off West End and circled the block like a hungry shark.
Spooky
.

“Geez, you're such a girl.” It was Kim Ling on the front stoop, mimicking Lexi and snorting. “It's not like you're working the Miss America runway or anything. No self-respecting cabby's gonna pick you up with that wimpy wave.”

Lexi's cheeks were instantly on fire, trying to think of a quick comeback.
Oh, yeah? Well, at least I don't boss people around like a drill sergeant. At least I think before I open my mouth. At least I don't dress like a nearsighted clown …
Nothing came to her that was acid enough, and the window of opportunity for a comeback had quickly passed.

“Truce, okay?” Kim Ling said to the back of Lexi's head. “I get it now. But yesterday when you swore me to secrecy, I thought certain parties already knew about the Grand Central thing—namely, your B-R-O-T-H-E-R.”

“I'm ten,” Kevin said. “I can spell ‘brother'!”

“I mean, I assumed he was right there with you at the time.” Kim Ling paused to slather her mouth in lip balm.
“My bad. But next time be specific. The devil's in the details.”

“Maybe in a perfect world.” Lexi had no idea what that meant but at least it was something.

A shrill whistle came from the corner. From Aunt Roz? She was motioning to them wildly with one hand and opening the door of a crookedly parked cab with the other. Lexi, Kevin, and Kim Ling ran up the block and scrambled into the backseat. “Well, look who showed up after all. Good morning, Kimmy.”

“Morning.”

“Forty-Fourth and Park, please,” Aunt Roz instructed the driver. She would be riding shotgun on the other side of the Plexiglas partition—probably talking the guy's ear off.

“Sweet,” Kim Ling said and slammed the cab door. “I can fill you guys in on my latest stroke of genius.”

“Oh,
plgggh
!”

Lexi's raspberry showered over poor Kevin, who was wincing as if he had just been doused by a fire hose. She reached over him to fasten his seat belt, which he insisted on doing himself, so she focused on fastening her own.

“Listen, we're all in this together now,” Kim Ling said in a hushed voice, “like it or not. And I was thinking—there's this major paper I'm doing for a citywide journalism contest in the fall and I need a killer topic. It's, like, all I'm living for these days. Anyway, can you imagine the piece I could deliver if we actually
found
Cleopatra's
stolen jewels buried in Grand Central Station by ourselves? We're talking Pulitzer.”

“Don't pay attention to her, Kev. She's obviously lost her mind.”

He was already absorbed in the LCD screen of his digital camera anyway, reviewing the zillions of New York photos he had taken so far.

“We can at least give it a shot,” Kim Ling went on. “A secret mission. I mean, how insane would that be?”

“Totally insane. But not in a good way.”

Kevin elbowed Lexi. “Hey, look.” He held up his camera, showing her a picture of Aunt Roz in a silly pose on the LCD screen. “I took this in the Whispering Gallery the day we arrived,” he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. “There's a man's hand in the background holding a cardboard cup. See? Is that one of the perps you saw?”

Lexi bit her bottom lip, leaning in closer. “Mmm. Possibly. Yeah, they were definitely drinking coffee or something.”

“So, watch what happens when I zoom in.” He worked a round button on the top of the camera until the photo grew three times its original size. “
Inky fingers
! That might be a clue. Let's think. What kind of person would have inky fingers?”

“An octopus wrangler,” Kim Ling said, zeroing in on the picture.

“I guess anyone can have inky fingers, huh?” Kevin thought about it for a second. “Teacher … writer …”

“Leaky pen salesman,” Kim Ling finished, finally buckling her seat belt. “We'll keep it in mind moving forward—but for now, put that thing away and let's get back to my genius plan—”

“No,” Lexi said simply, and turned her head to stare out the window.

A screaming ambulance paused the conversation and Kim Ling waited for the sirens to die down to regain Lexi's attention. “Excuse me?”

“If
you
have a death wish, Kim, that's your problem, but, shucks, just leave us poor little ol' Amish folk from Little House on the Prairie out of it, okay?” She had attempted a Southern accent—it sounded more Swedish.

Kim Ling's head fell against the seatback with a noisy sigh. “In Chinese, the character for danger is the same as the one for opportunity,” she said matter-of-factly. “That's all I have to say.”

If only. The girl still wouldn't let up, and by the time they were de-cabbing in front of the YMCA, Lexi had had enough. She mentally agreed that they couldn't just pretend the whole thing never happened, but that didn't mean they had to risk their lives. After all, this was the real world—not some crime novel.

“Have fun today, kids, but be careful!” Aunt Roz said, rolling down the window. “Okay, Leonard, next stop, Greenwich Village.”

Kevin waved good-bye as the cab took off, and his cheery smile withered into a thin line of concern. “Maybe we
should try calling the cops again. We can tell them about the inky fingers.”

“Um, but from a pay phone this time,” Lexi reluctantly agreed. “And, Kim, you can do the talking since you sound more mature.”

“C-W-O-T. Colossal Waste of Time. If they didn't buy your story yesterday, they're not going to buy it today—with or without inky fingers. We have to take things into our own hands.”

“Or not,” Lexi shot back. She latched onto Kevin's arm and led him toward the steps of the Y, avoiding the hordes of weary-eyed people trudging along Fifth Avenue. To Lexi's surprise, Kim Ling stayed put, leaning against a mailbox, undoing her ponytail and reconstructing it at the top of her head to form a black-and-turquoise hair fountain. Eventually, she zigzagged through the crowd and stood right in Lexi's face, flashing her fiery eyes. “Think. Of. The. Reward.”

“What reward?” Kevin asked. His eyebrows jumped. “There's a
reward
?”

“A hundred and eighty thousand,” Lexi told him, as if it were half a cheese sandwich and a pat on the back. She must have left that part out when she filled him in on their way home from Central Park. “But only if we end up tracking the jewels—or the criminals.”

“Which we will!” Kim Ling said.

“You don't know. This is just all too crazy.”

“It
is
kind of out there,” Kevin agreed.

“Look, you guys can have most of the reward money if it comes to that. Sixty-forty. I'm in this strictly for the story. That journalism contest? The winner gets a personal tour of CBS News. I would totally
plotz
.”

“What's
plotz
?” Kevin asked.

“It's Yiddish. It means to faint dead away.”

Lexi shook her head. “That's exactly what I'm trying to avoid.”

“In Chinese, the character for danger is the same as the one for oppor—”

“Stop saying that!”

Kim Ling growled in frustration and pretended to bang her head against the YMCA door. Repeatedly. “All right, forget it, you win,” she finally said, after getting no reaction whatsoever; then she cautiously opened the door a crack and peeked inside. “Hey, no one's even here! They probably already left for the park.” She let the door close and leaned into the doorframe, staring at the McGills and cracking her knuckles one by one. “So, here we are again with time to kill—déjà vu. Grand Central's still right over there, you know, red.”
Crack
. “We can check for your wallet. Wanna, huh?”
Crack-crack
. “C'mon, you know you wanna.”

Lexi really did want to—and really didn't, both at the same time. Without intending it, she found herself cross-armed and crazy-eyed in an unofficial staring contest with Kim Ling—one that might have lasted for days if a giant pigeon hadn't zoomed out of nowhere and skimmed Kevin's head.

“Incoming!” he yelled, shielding his face. “Man, that thing flew right at me!”

“Pigeons and bike messengers stop at nothing,” Kim Ling warned.

That was when Lexi saw it. Another long feather whirling down from the sky like a tiny ballerina. Spinning, spinning, spinning, until it landed gracefully at her feet. Luminously white. Pointing directly toward Grand Central Terminal.

Lexi would have probably stayed put at the Y, waiting till doomsday for the campers to return, if it hadn't been for that white feather, which was now pressed gently against her ankle, safely hidden beneath her sock. Her brain told her this didn't make any sense at all—this weird belief that her mom was somehow guiding her along with feathers, but her gut told her that possible signs from the great beyond should never be ignored. Her gut always won out.

“Spare some change to feed my babies?”

A raggedy black woman was slumped on the sidewalk near the entrance of Grand Central shaking a paper cup. Lexi's heart sank. Even though it was over ninety degrees outside, the woman was wrapped in a blanket and wearing a thick nubby ski cap.

What babies?
Lexi wondered. The woman looked way too old to have babies. There was a stroller next to her but it was loaded with giant plastic bags of what looked like
empty soda cans. Lexi took a few steps closer and spied a striped paw.
Awww
. A pair of cats was on the blanket, snuggled tightly as two puzzle pieces.

“C'mon, hang tough,” Kim Ling said. “You can't let these panhandlers get to you or they'll suck you dry. And we're walking—and we're walking …”

“Just this once.” Lexi figured with the run of bad luck she was having, a random act of kindness couldn't hurt. So, in spite of Kim Ling tugging her arm halfway out of its socket, she dropped a quarter into the cup—and a pack of sugarless gum.

The old woman smiled up at her with the kindest expression. “Pretty hair.”

“What? Oh. Thank you so much.”

The momentary high Lexi got from the unexpected compliment plummeted the second she stepped foot into the train terminal. And by the time she, Kevin, and Kim Ling had reached the service window of the Lost and Found Department, a dreary room lined with endless metal shelves of gray plastic bins, her head was spinning. It happened to be on the same lower level as the deep-fried-smelling dining concourse and the Whispering Gallery—a recipe for nausea. Lexi twisted her opal nine times for luck while she peered through the window, watching a portly man search through a rainbow of wallets strewn across a table. According to his nametag, he was Burl T. Gibbs.

“Don't see no pink ones right off, but we've got a ton. Over half a million people pass through the terminal on any given day and that's a fact. Oh, hold on now.” He held up a sparkly dolphin-shaped coin purse with jiggly eyes, looking hopeful. “This it?”

“Uh, no,” Lexi said, embarrassed he could think such a thing.

“I'll bet you get all kinds of bizarre stuff in here, huh?” Kim Ling was craning her neck to see inside the room. “Ever get, like, a glass eye—or a live ferret?”

“Or ancient Egyptian jewelry?” Lexi asked with a curious glance.

Kim Ling swatted her.

“Can't say that I have. But one lady left her dead husband's ashes in a pickle jar on a train once.” He looked up, scratching his bristly chin. His bushy white eyebrows danced over his half-glasses like two white caterpillars. “And just last week we found a pair of dentures in the terminal.”

“Gross!” Kevin said. “For real?”

“You can't make this stuff up.”

Lexi blocked out the conversation. The last thing she wanted to hear was stories about trains—and death.
And why do they have to call it a terminal anyway? Such a depressing word
. She kept checking over her shoulder for any signs of the jewel thieves, even though it was a little farfetched to think they would still be hanging out in the
station, especially if they had already carried out their plot. Still, her brain kept replaying their whispered conversation over and over again, like a Disney DVD.