Madhattan Mystery Read online

  “Seriously?” Lexi said, trying to keep a straight face and get back to the subject at hand. “You never dream of getting married?”

  “I guess we’re pretty much antipodes, you and me. Total opposites.”

  The music was too loud for Lexi to think of anything else to say. She looked down at the photo shoot again just as a wind was lifting the fake bride’s veil into a gauzy, white swirl. A picture immediately flashed in Lexi’s mind. Her parents’ wedding photo. It always used to sit proudly on top of their antique dresser in a sterling silver frame but disappeared when the dreaded day had arrived: the day her father had married Clare.

  That wasn’t a real wedding, either, as far as Lexi was concerned. A quick, blah ceremony at the Putnam County Courthouse. Clare had carried a bunch of pigmy orchids and worn an icy-blue skintight dress that made her look like a Popsicle. In a moment of panic, she had asked Lexi to lend her the rhinestone hair clip she was wearing. So she did. Reluctantly. “That takes care of something borrowed,” Clare had told her. “And my dress is brand new and it’s blue—so that’s like killing two birds with one stone. Okay, all I need is something old.” Well, you’re pretty old, Lexi had thought. Now as far as killing things with stones …

  Classical music blasted to a static-filled finale on the strange man’s bike-radio and a newscaster’s voice came on.

  “This is Marcia Whitaker in for Lloyd Marsh. The FBI remains baffled …”

  With a watchful eye on Kevin, Lexi was pondering how her new life would be with Clare as her stepmother. Just like Cinderella’s. Before the magic and the prince. “Kevin Andrew McGill!” she called out. “Don’t wander off!”

  “Shhh!” Kim Ling hissed. “I wanna hear this.”

  Lexi turned back and quickly honed in on the newscaster’s voice.

  “—disappeared without a trace. On loan from Egypt’s Cairo Museum, the astonishingly rare jewelry that experts believe can be traced back to Cleopatra herself was to be featured in the Queen of the Nile exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art this summer, now postponed indefinitely. Early this morning, Cairo authorities announced a reward of one million Egyptian pounds—roughly, one hundred and eighty thousand U.S. dollars, to anyone with information leading to the recovery of the irreplaceable artifacts.”

  Adrenaline rushed through Lexi so swiftly, she thought she would launch clear out of Central Park.

  6

  NOBODY HAS TO KNOW

  That weird man appearing out of nowhere with a radio blasting that particular news story at that particular time—it was a definite sign that it was time for Lexi to face facts. She had to spill her guts to someone about what she had overheard in the Whispering Gallery before she burst. It couldn’t be Kevin, for obvious reasons. And it couldn’t be Kim Ling—could it? No, it just couldn’t! Then again, she had already told her about Kevin and Kingsley Park. And the girl was megasmart. Maybe she’d know what to do.

  “Kim,” she said, dragging her behind a nearby ice-cream cart, “swear on your life that you won’t repeat what I’m about to tell you to a single, solitary soul.”

  “Have you lost it? Let go of—”

  “Swear!”

  With one hand on her heart and the other on a stack of invisible bibles, Kim Ling swore to secrecy and Lexi quickly filled her in on the Whispering Gallery, the mysterious men in black, their plot to bury the stolen jewels in Grand Central Station. Every single detail. Such a relief! Then again, watching Kim Ling’s face light up the way it did, maybe it was a big mistake. The would-be journalist’s mind was obviously already spinning—probably wondering where to score a few pickaxes and night-vision goggles double-quick.

  “But how could you not report it?” was the first thing out of Kim Ling’s mouth. Not a hint of concern for Lexi’s safety or well-being. “Don’t you see the exigency of the situation? Urgency?”

  Another ten-dollar word. And the definition thrown in afterward felt like an insult. “I know what exigency means.” Now she did.

  “You have to call the cops. Immediately! Never mind the reward money, it’s your civic duty. Where’s your cell?”

  Lexi started clawing through her backpack. “Uh, it’s back at the apartment, I think. I could use Kevin’s.”

  “Here, use mine.” Kim Ling instantly produced her phone, jabbed the power button, and shoved it over to Lexi. “Dial four-one-one. Ask for the number of the NYPD.”

  “I know that.” She stared at the phone. “But then what do I tell them?”

  “Your shoe size,” Kim Ling spurted, cocking her head. “Just tell them what you told me. You want me to do it? Here, gimme back my phone.”

  “No, I can do it.”

  Lexi kept zipping and unzipping her backpack, rehearsing what she’d say in her head while she waited for the operator to put her through.

  “Fifth Precinct, Sergeant Capaletti,” a gruff voice said through the phone. “And tell ’em not to drown it in mayo dis time, Paulie. Hello?”

  Lexi went completely rigid except for her heart galloping up into her throat.

  “Hi—uh, hello? Yes, I’m calling about the Queen of—”

  “Dis is Manhattan. I’ll patch ya tru to a precinct in Queens.”

  “No, officer, the Queen of the Nile exhibit. You know, Cleopatra—her stolen jewelry—it’s in all the news. I think I might have some, uh, information on where it could be. Possibly.”

  “Yeah, you and everybody else in da five boroughs. The phones’ve been ringin’ off da hook ever since dey announced dat hefty reward.” There was a sigh of disgust and a rustling of papers. “Name?”

  “Lexi. Alexandra, actually, Alexandra McGill. M-C-G-I-double L.”

  Kim Ling’s elbow stabbed her side. “Never give them your name!”

  “Now you tell me!”

  “Go ‘head, Miss McGill.”

  “Okay. Well, let’s see.” She took a shaky breath and conjured up the scene in her mind. “When my brother and I arrived in Grand Central on Monday, I accidentally overheard these guys talking about burying jewels there—down in some abandoned train station. It sounded crazy but they said something about having them stripped and shipped somewhere. I forget where. Oh, man—Venezuela, Carbonara, something like that.”

  “Carbonara is a pasta sauce,” Kim Ling said, rolling her eyes.

  “How many men? Can ya describe ’em?” The sergeant’s voice changed. He sounded genuinely interested.

  “Two. I couldn’t see them very well, though, ‘cause too many people were passing by. But they were dressed all in black—uh, the criminals, not the people. Average height and weight, I guess.” She sensed her voice getting higher and higher and willed herself to relax. “Oh! One guy was British and bald with, like, one of those little chin-beard thingies.”

  “Soul patch?” Kim Ling offered. She pressed her sweaty cheek against Lexi’s, listening in.

  “A soul patch—oh, and orange glasses, I think. And the other was wearing a Yankees cap. They were both drinking coffee—well, I guess it was coffee. There was steam.”

  “Bald … British … Why didn’t ya report dis to duh police immediately?”

  “Uh, I didn’t know I was supposed to. So—like—I can’t get in trouble, can I?”

  There was a pause. “How old are ya, Miss McGill? Ya sound really young.”

  Lexi grimaced and covered the phone with her free hand. “He wants to know how old I am,” she whispered to Kim Ling.

  “He can’t ask you that!”

  “Well, he just did. Don’t I have the right to remain silent?”

  A Frisbee scraped to the ground a few feet away from Lexi and two giggly girls on Rollerblades came chasing after it, crashing into each other.

  Lexi put the phone back to her ear and heard Sergeant Capaletti squawking, “Hello? Hello?”

  “Yes, uh, sergeant, I’m still here.” She summoned up what she thought was a mature, confident voice. “I’m twenty. One.”

  Just then the man on the souped-up bike with th
e radio pedaled off past the Rollerbladers and they squealed with laughter.

  “And I’m the pope!” Sergeant Capaletti growled. “Listen, kid, dare’s a lotta crime in dis city and we don’t have time for crank calls! And to answer your question, yeah, you could get in very serious trouble for—”

  “Oops, tunnel. You’re breaking up.” Lexi did her best imitation of static and tossed the phone back to Kim Ling like a hot potato. “Oh, I can hardly breathe! He thought that was a crank call—I am such a bad liar. So, now what?”

  Kim Ling’s face tightened. “I’d better not get busted for this, red.” She threw her phone into her backpack. “It’s my info that just showed up on their caller ID. Snaggit!”

  Just as she had predicted, Lexi regretted blurting out her story to Kim Ling in the first place. What was she thinking? Barely five minutes had passed and they were already possibly in trouble with the NYPD. Very serious trouble, according to Sergeant Capaletti.

  “Well, Kim, if the cops ever follow up on this, which they won’t, just give them my name and number and I’ll take the rap, okay?”

  Kevin appeared out of nowhere, sizing them up through his camera lens. “Rap for what?”

  “Making a crank call to the cops,” Kim Ling said matter-of-factly. She stuck out a flexed hand. “And do not take my picture or you die.”

  “You made a crank call to the cops, Lex?” Kevin lowered his camera while his eyebrows shot up behind his bangs. “Why’d you do that?”

  “No, it was legit,” Kim Ling answered before Lexi could, “but apparently they thought it was a crank. Your sister was just being a standup citizen—reporting those jewel thieves in Grand Central.”

  “You saw jewel thieves in Grand Central?”

  Lexi’s mouth fell open. Shut up, shut up, shut up! The words had come spewing out of Kim Ling so easily and after taking an oath of secrecy. Talk about untrustworthy! Talk about insensitive! Hadn’t she just spilled her guts to her about Kevin’s fear of absolutely everything? Hadn’t she even mentioned Dr. Lucy? Didn’t Miss Know-It-All think before she opened her trap?

  “It’s no biggie, Kev.” Lexi tried looking easy-breezy—as easy-breezy as she possibly could with her left eye twitching. “I overheard two guys in the Whispering Gallery talking about some missing jewelry or something. It was probably nothing.”

  “Are your curls wound too tight?” Kim Ling said. “That’s not what you said two seconds ago.”

  “That’s it. We’re outta here.” Lexi grabbed Kevin by the hand and hurried away through a flurry of pigeons.

  “Hey,” Kim Ling called out after them. “Where’re you going?”

  “Away from you!” Lexi shot back.

  “But—what just happened here? Did I miss something?”

  Lexi turned abruptly. “Think about it, genius.” She looked pointedly to Kevin, then back at Kim Ling, who stood with arms crossed, tapping her heel. “I guess you just don’t get the contingency of the situation, huh?”

  “Exigency,” Kim Ling said. “And that’s east, dude. You want west if you’re going to your aunt’s.”

  Lexi did an awkward about-face, whipping Kevin around like a confused puppy on a leash. She flew past Kim Ling and headed toward the jagged skyline jetting up over the treetops. How could someone be so smart and stupid at the same time?

  Kevin immediately bombarded Lexi with questions and she considering flat-out lying for his sake. But no—she would fill him in on what she had witnessed in the Whispering Gallery as truthfully as possible without making his head explode.

  “Okay, it’s true, Kev. I did overhear two men talking about jewels or something in Grand Central. I tried reporting the details to the police just now but they weren’t buying it. That’s it. End of story.”

  It was her second recount that day, third if you considered her conversation with Sergeant Capaletti, and her story had changed slightly with each retelling. Was it really as frightening as the version she had told Kim Ling or as tame as the version she had painted for her brother?

  “These robbers—did they see you see them?”

  Lexi shook her head no and shrugged, which was meant to be as murky an answer as it seemed.

  Kevin was eerily silent after that, all the way from Central Park West to West End Avenue. Lexi guessed he was either doing Dr. Lucy’s self-calming exercises or quietly coming unglued like she was. When they arrived at the brownstone and Lexi was digging in her backpack for the extra set of keys her aunt had given her that morning, she had a sudden thought. “Whatever you do,” she told Kevin, “don’t tell Aunt Roz about any of this when she gets home, okay? She’d totally wig out. That goes for my stolen wallet too. And don’t be blabbing to Dad either, ‘cause you know you’ll want to. Or his wife.”

  “Clare. She has a name.”

  “Whatever. Nobody has to know.”

  She had a funny feeling her last four words were going to be the mantra for the summer.

  7

  DANGER OR OPPORTUNITY

  “I got the part!” Aunt Roz announced, bursting through the door. “Can you believe it? Oh, you kids must’ve brought me good luck.”

  It was as if everything went from gloom-and-doom to party central the instant she crossed the threshold of Apartment 5F. At least someone would be in a good mood.

  “It’s another scorcher out there. The statue of Whoopi Goldberg on display outside of Madame Tussauds wax museum was actually starting to melt.” She dropped her shopping bags on the coffee table, then trotted over to the air conditioner, cranked it up, and let the air blow down the top of her dress. “You know, guys, when I got your message to meet you back here, I kept calling and calling—no answer. What happened?”

  “That’s ‘cause I left my phone on your bathroom sink,” Lexi said, which was true.

  Kevin dug his out of his pocket and checked it. “No juice. No wonder.”

  “Well, let’s not have that happen again, okay? Thank goodness you had Kimmy—and that City Camp bus.”

  Lexi turned to Kevin and subtly mimed locking her lips and tossing away the key—just as a quick reminder. He gave her a look like she had completely lost her mind and together they followed their aunt into the kitchen.

  “Apparently rehearsals started a few weeks ago, but the woman they’d originally cast as Amanda Wingfield landed a soap and dropped out. Boom! Just like that.” Aunt Roz grabbed dishes from the cabinet and began debagging the food cartons. Their heavy, spicy smells were instantly unlocked. “So, they needed a quick replacement. Enter moi. They said I was perfect for the part! I am over the moon.”

  “Congrats, Aunt Roz,” Kevin said with the enthusiasm of a squashed bug.

  “I thought we’d have a little celebration. I hope you kids like Thai food, ‘cause I certainly do—even though it always ends up on my thighs. Get it? Oh, and I picked up a scrumptious cheesecake from the Stage Deli for dessert—strawberry—to die for. I can’t wait to tell you everything that happened but I want to hear every single detail of your first day of camp, too.”

  Camp? That was the last thing on Lexi’s mind. Food was next to last. But she knew if she didn’t eat, neither would Kevin, so she forced herself to nibble off a bite of something called beef satay. “Mmm. This is pretty good.”

  “Pretty good?” Aunt Roz echoed. “It’s heaven on a stick! Here. Try,” she said, scooping food from the various cartons and sloshing it onto plates as if she were attempting to beat the clock in the speed round of some cooking show challenge. “The shrimp pad Thai is shrimpalicious. And the yum woon sen chicken—more like yum swoon sen chicken!”

  She was right. Lexi and Kevin gobbled up the exotic food like it was their last meal on earth, and it wasn’t long before they were busting at the seams but still fighting over the last curry puff. You couldn’t get that stuff in Cold Spring.

  Thankfully, with Aunt Roz’s nonstop monologue about her day, Lexi and Kevin hardly got a chance to talk about theirs, and Lexi’s haunting thoughts of thieves, police
, and civic duty were finally petering out. That is, until they ended up in front of the TV watching one of Aunt Roz’s favorite shows, The Streets of New York. Murder, mystery, mayhem. No matter. Kevin had conked out on the couch almost immediately and Lexi wasn’t too far behind, fading fast from a serious cheesecake overdose.

  “I’m glad he passed out, ‘cause this isn’t really appropriate for young children. Your father would not approve,” Aunt Roz whispered. She was painting her toenails now, curled up in her mammoth massage chair: the one piece of non-country furniture that stood out like a black faux-leather thumb. “It’s such a smart show, though. Topics ripped from today’s headlines. That’s their gimmick.”

  “Huh.”

  “Sometimes they come up with some pretty convoluted endings, but anyway … Did I tell you I’m doing extra-work for them in a few days? You know, that’s when TV shows or movies have actors milling around in the background to make the scene look realistic. They needed a bunch of female middle-aged joggers. So that should be interesting, right? Kinda fun?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “It helps pay the bills. I just hope I’m not going to be a complete basket case, what with Streets of New York, my part-time job at the New York Ballet, and rehearsals for the musical. I mean, honestly, it’s absolute madness. Feast or famine, as they say.”

  “Yup.”

  “Oh, but Amanda Wingfield is such a lovely role. And it means the world to me that you and Kevin will be there on opening night. You did pack a nice outfit, didn’t you, Alexandra? Alex … ?”

  Apparently, Aunt Roz was too “over the moon” to remember to set the alarm clock and everyone woke up the next morning a half hour late—and a little queasy. Lexi and Kevin skipped showers, threw on their identical puke-green City Camp T-shirts, grabbed their backpacks, and ran out the door with Aunt Roz at their heels, forcing granola bars on them.

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