Magic Nation Thing (10 page)

Inside the envelope was a wrinkled piece of notebook paper covered with hearts and
Xs,
and in big uppercase printing it was signed
Skyler Borden.

“Well, what is it?” Paige asked, but when Abby said she thought it was a love letter, Paige snorted and said, “Holy cow.” Then she grabbed Abby’s arm and pulled her up the stairs.

It wasn’t until they were safely hidden away in Paige’s room that Abby finally got a chance to tell her about the little kindergarten kid who’d said she was crying because Bugsy was dead.

“Yeah, I remember Bugsy,” Paige repeated.

Abby paused and then nodded slowly as she said, “And it wasn’t until then, when the little kid started talking to me, that I realized where I’d seen her before.”

“Where?” Paige asked, shaking her head and narrowing her eyes. “You mean like in the hall, maybe, or in the cafeteria?”

Abby sensed that Paige was about to guess but was trying not to. She was trying not to give up on her exciting theory that the face Abby had seen when she’d held the iris was the face of a murder victim.

Abby shook her head slowly and firmly. “No. Not in the hall. It was when we were on the bus and I was holding that iris in my hand. That was when I saw her face.”

Frowning, Paige thought that over for a while before she said, “So why would you see
her
face? If the face you saw
wasn’t
the murder victim’s, why would you see it when you did the Magic Nation thing?” Paige gasped and her eyes widened. “Could she be the murderer?”

Abby couldn’t help laughing. “A kindergarten murderer. No, I don’t think so. I suppose she was just the person who held that particular flower, before she put it on the grave. So that’s why I saw her. It was her flower.”

“But why—who—what do you mean?” Paige was stammering when Abby interrupted.

“Just be quiet for a minute and I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you exactly what she said when I asked her why she was crying.”

Screwing up her face into a sad-little-kid expression, Abby began, “‘Bugsy was our favorite pet animal and then he died. Ms. Wilton said he was a very old rabbit and he had a good long life and we shouldn’t feel bad about it, but we did. And then Hillary said we should have a funeral. She said her family had one when their dog died and it made them all feel a lot better. So Ms. Wilton asked Mr. Cruz where we could have our funeral and he told us. So we did. And some of us brought flowers and Ms. Wilton got a great big box to put Bugsy in, and we all got to make pictures of Bugsy and put them in the box with him. Only I made an extra picture because I love Bugsy more than anybody. And then Mr. Cruz digged a great big grave. Only he told us not to… Oops. I forgot.’

“So I asked her, ‘You forgot what?’ And she said, ‘Mr. Cruz told us not to tell other kids about the grave because he didn’t want a lot of people tromping around through his bushes looking for it. So we promised we wouldn’t.’ Then she ducked her head and looked up at me from the tops of her eyes and said, ‘But I forgot.’”

By the time Abby finished, Paige was glaring as if she thought it was Abby’s fault their exciting murder mystery had turned out to be nothing but a bunch of kindergartners and their dead rabbit. But after a moment she shrugged and stopped frowning. “Okay,” she said. “We’ll just have to look for another mystery to solve. It won’t take long. I found the first two in just a couple of days.”

Paige thought for a minute, nodding slowly. “Maybe at Squaw,” she said. “It won’t be long until winter vacation. With all the lodges full of people maybe getting into fights on the ski runs, like those boys we saw last year who were trying to hit each other with their snowboards. Remember that? I’ll bet we can find all kinds of crimes to investigate on the ski runs.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Abby said. But she was thinking, Or else we’ll be too busy skiing.

After that nobody said much of anything for quite a long time. Abby stretched out on her stomach with her chin in her hands and thought about how soon it would be winter vacation and how much she was looking forward to it. And how lucky she was to have a friend like Paige, whose family owned one of the nicest cabins—if you could call a house with half a dozen bedrooms a cabin—in Squaw Valley and took Abby along with them three or four times a year just so Paige would have somebody her own age to ski with.

The scene she was imagining—or remembering—shifted from the view of the beautiful snow-covered forest that surrounded the Bordens’ cabin to the valley floor spreading out far below the gondola. Picturing how the sleek silvery ski runs streaked down the mountain between thick patches of snowy forest, she couldn’t help shivering in anticipation.

Then she was recalling, as she often did, the time Ms. David, the ski instructor, told the other beginners to watch Abby O’Malley because she was already doing a perfect snowplow. And of course, that other time, when she’d overheard Ms. David telling Mrs. Borden that she’d never worked with a beginner who was such a natural on the slopes. That had happened just four winter vacations before, the first year Abby had gone to Squaw with the Bordens. And Abby’s plans to be an Olympic skier had started just about then.

Rolling onto her back, she put her arm across her eyes and let her daydream go from those remembered scenes at Squaw to some imagined ones in which Abigail O’Malley was competing in a downhill or maybe a slalom. She imagined how she passed every gate smooth and tight, and how the waiting crowd cheered and waved when the loudspeaker called out her time. And then there she was, standing on the highest pedestal while they hung a gold medal around her neck.

But her dreams faded when Paige poked her and said, “Wake up. Did you hear me? I was saying that I really think we should look for at least one more mystery to work on before we go to Squaw. Don’t you think so?”

So before she left for home, Abby had to agree to keep looking for suspicious events, which she did try to do now and then, between getting ready for midyear exams and doing Christmas shopping and decorating and all the other things that came before winter vacation. Occasionally she did take a few minutes to think about crimes and mysteries, but it didn’t seem to be just now and then as far as Paige was concerned. It was pretty obvious that Paige’s mind was still focused on finding another project for the P. and A. Agency to start working on. And wouldn’t you know it, just as always when Paige set her mind on making something happen, before long she did seem to be finding some interesting possibilities. One of the first—in fact, you might say two of the first—concerned a certain hundred dollar bill that might, or might not, be a counterfeit.

The bill, which was a Christmas present Paige had received from one of her grandmothers, did have an unfamiliar look to it. The pictures of a grayish Benjamin Franklin on one side and the green-tinted building on the other might have been lighter shades of gray and green. And it certainly did feel a little different than most paper money. Which, of course, might be because Abby wasn’t sure she’d ever seen a one-hundred-dollar bill before. At least not to hold in her own hands.

“See?” Paige said when she showed it to Abby on the bus one morning. “What did I tell you? It just doesn’t look right.”

Rubbing her fingers over the bill, Abby said, “Well, maybe. But perhaps it’s just because it’s very new.”

But Paige was sure it was more than that. “I’ve had lots of new bills,” she said. “Fifties and one hundreds. That grandmother always sends brand-new bills. But none of them ever looked as stiff as this one.”

Abby was impressed. “Your grandmother always sends you fifties and one hundreds?” she asked.

Paige nodded absentmindedly. “Yeah, one of them does. The other one sends clothes. Things you couldn’t pay me to wear. I like money better. Here!” Suddenly she held the bill out to Abby. “See what you can do with that.”

For a moment Abby thought Paige meant that she should see what she could buy with one hundred dollars. It was an interesting thought, but when the money was pushed into her hand, and her fingers pushed down over it, she got the picture. Paige was suggesting that she should try the Magic Nation thing.

“Wait a minute,” she said, feeling resentful and reluctant. Wishing, in fact, and not for the first time, that she had never, ever told Paige about the Magic Nation thing. “Even if it is counterfeit, what could I see that would prove anything? I think it only works when you’re holding something that was close to the person it belonged to for quite a while. The longer, the better. And this bill doesn’t look like it ever was in someone’s pocket, and not even in a wallet. At least not for very long.”

“Well, try it anyway,” Paige said. “Maybe you’ll see a building where they’re printing counterfeit money and their name will be on the building or something.”

“Whose name?”

Paige sighed and looked exasperated as she said, “Whoever printed the bill and passed it off on my poor dumb grandmother. Go on. You can try, at least.”

Even though she thought the whole thing was pretty useless, Abby closed her fingers over the bill, closed her eyes, and waited—and waited some more. After a while the warmth started, but not much. Not even enough to be sure it was really happening. And then what seemed to be a vague, distant form of the bits and pieces started whirling through the air. The pieces came together and bounced apart, never staying long enough to form a real picture, except after a while one that looked a little like Paige herself. A Paige who was leaning forward and staring, just as she was really doing when Abby opened her eyes.

“All right,” Paige was demanding. “What did you see?”

Abby grinned. “I saw you,” she said.

Paige looked startled, but then she smiled and nodded. “Sure,” she said. “Because I was the last one to hold it. But you didn’t see who had it first, or who made it?”

Abby shook her head. “Nothing else.”

Paige frowned. Giving Abby a look that said she was a big failure, Paige grabbed the hundred dollar bill and stuffed it angrily into her wallet. Then she turned her back and didn’t say anything else until the bus stopped, and went on not saying anything while they got off and walked side by side to the school entrance. Abby didn’t see her again until lunchtime.

Abby was still arranging the different parts of her lunch neatly on one of the lunchroom tables, as she always did before she started to eat, when she looked up and saw Paige approaching. She was bracing herself for some more of the silent treatment when Paige plopped down beside her and said, “Okay. Wait till I tell you what kind of crimes are going on right here at the academy. Right here in Mrs. Patterson’s art class.”

Feeling relieved, Abby said, “So tell me. What’s going on?”

“Well, there are thieves in the class. One, anyway, and probably some other kids were in on it.”

“Oh yeah? What are they stealing?”

Paige’s eyes narrowed. “My hundred dollar bill, for one thing. The one I showed you?”

“Yeah?” Abby was shocked. “You mean someone stole your money?”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. When I went into the class this morning, I put my pack down and was getting my stuff out when Alix and Megan started fooling around at the back of the room, doing a kind of karaoke routine, and everybody went over to watch. I did too.
And,
while I was gone and everyone was watching the dumb stuff Alix and Megan were doing, somebody opened my pack and took my hundred dollars.”

“Out of your wallet?” Abby asked.

Paige nodded slowly and significantly. “Yes.
You
saw me putting it there this morning. You could be a witness about how you saw me put it back in my wallet when we were still on the bus. Right?”

“Yes. You did put it in your wallet. And you’re sure you didn’t take it out again after that?”

“Yes. Why would I take it out? After that I was just in class.”

After a moment Abby grinned. “Well, it would serve the thief right if it does turn out to be counterfeit, wouldn’t it?”

A grin replaced Paige’s frown. “Hey. You’re right. I hadn’t thought of that. I sure hope it is.” But then the frown returned. “So. What are we going to do about it?”

Abby didn’t have an answer. During the rest of the day she now and then thought about the two mysteries concerning Paige’s money. Counterfeit or not? Stolen or not? Paige had said, “What are
we
going to do about it?” But the way she’d looked at Abby when she’d said it made it clear that what she meant was “What are
you
going to do about it?” As if she were counting on Abby to do some kind of a Magic Nation stunt and solve everything.

And once again Abby wished she had never told Paige about Great-aunt Fianna and the supernatural ancestors stuff. Paige seemed to think that Abby could, if she wanted to, do an abracadabra and get all the answers, which made Abby feel like some kind of weird fortune-teller type. Like maybe she ought to go around wearing fringed shawls and carrying a crystal ball. The whole idea was ridiculous. What could she do? There was nothing to hold in her hand. And as for any other psychic stuff, such as reading minds or predicting things, she knew those weren’t things you could just choose to do. They happened to you or they didn’t, and you never knew when they would happen, or how or why. What she wanted to tell Paige was that she couldn’t do any of it anymore—if she ever had been able to. Maybe the whole thing had just been her imagination, like Mrs. Watson said.

She really had tried to think about the money and picture the place it came from, as well as where it might be at the moment. But nothing was there. The only thing that kept coming to mind when she thought about the hundred dollar bill was how angry Paige had looked when she was stuffing the money back into her wallet.

That night Abby was starting to write in her diary about how Paige seemed to be sure she could find the hundred dollar bill if she wanted to when the phone rang and Dorcas yelled up the stairs to say the call was for Abby. So Abby went down to the kitchen to take the call, and of course it was Paige.

“Hi,” Paige said. “Can you talk?” which was code for “Is anybody listening?”

And since Dorcas was sitting right there in the kitchen, reading the paper and finishing her coffee, Abby had to say, “No, I can’t.”