Madhattan Mystery (26 page)

Kevin sprang up to leave, but Lexi yanked him back onto the chair. She wriggled over to give him room and they lay side by side in silence, leg over leg, staring up at the ceiling.

“All those cracks.” Lexi tilted her head. “It's like studying cloud formations. If you look long enough, you can see pictures. Like, see, there's a crooked sailboat.” She pointed it out. “And a funky butterfly.”

Kevin was right. Dr. Lucy was always telling her to share her feelings, share her thoughts, share her fears; and her dad kept accusing her of keeping everything bottled up inside, which really irked her. But did she tell him how she felt about it? Never.

“Remember how she used to save all kinds of strange stuff,” Lexi said, “like lipstick blots and pigeon feathers?”

“Just the white ones. Dad said she had enough for an Indian headdress.”

“Native American. No one says Indian anymore.”

“Dad does.” A smile spread over Kevin's face and his eyes lit up. “‘Member how she sewed matching covers for everything in the house?”

“Cozies.”

“The can opener, the toaster, the toilet paper …”

“Dad's circular saw.”

They laughed a little but it soon faded into solemn stillness. Kevin reached over Lexi to grab the control box and fiddled with the switch. “Houston, do you read me? All systems go. Prepare for liftoff!” He clicked the knob to Full-Body Massage, making sloppy launch sounds with his mouth.

“Take it down a notch, captain.”

Kevin turned the dial until the chair purred softly.

“Remember when Mom spent all day making you that smiley-face pizza for your birthday?” Lexi said with an elbow jab. She did seem to feel a little lighter or something just talking about these things. “Pepperoni eyes. Pepper smile. Then totally dropped it on the way out of the oven.”

“Facedown, too!
Puh-lop!
”

“You ended up eating it anyway. Dork.”

“Five-second rule.”

Kevin seemed determined to test out the entire menu of massage options during their stroll down memory lane. Mechanical knuckles were kneading their shoulders one minute; then thumping down their backs the next. Suddenly their butts were being pummeled like punching bags.

“Okay, this thing's getting way too personal.” Lexi snatched the controls away from Kevin and switched it to Gentle Vibrate.

The quiet hum was relaxing. Their eyes seemed to close automatically.

“You think she can see us, Lex? Mom, I mean.”

“Definitely.”

“Me, too. You think she's mad at Dad for getting married again?”

Both pairs of eyes popped open. “Enough with the questions already.”

“Do you?”

“How am I supposed to know?” Lexi turned her back to Kevin and rearranged herself, tucking the bulky robe around her feet. “
I
am.”

“Mad? Is that why you hate Clare so much? Is it?”

“I don't hate her. I just—despise her with the white-hot intensity of a thousand suns.” She was still burnt from that line, but she had to admit it was a good one.

“Why? She's so nice. All she does is give us presents to try to get us to like her.”

“It's called bribery and it's not working. Some nerve giving me those old-lady pearls. Could she be more obvious?” The heat rising through her neck had Lexi scooching up as far as she could. “She wants to replace the opal necklace Mom gave me, just like
she
wants to replace Mom. Doesn't take a genius to figure that out. Probably conjured up some wicked spell, ‘cause now my opal's gone for good. Way to go, woman, but you still have me to deal with.” She took a deep, cleansing breath to release her inner sizzle—one of Dr. Lucy's exercises.
Inhale pink; exhale blue
.

Kevin's nose crinkled. “Ew, did you eat hummus?”

Lexi gave him a face-load of bad breath; he pigged her nose with his thumb, which led to a full-on tickle attack. When the giggles faded, they relaxed back into deciphering ceiling cracks again.

“Boot,” Kevin muttered.

“What?”

“To the left of the light thingy. A giant boot.”

“Or Italy, depending on what you want to see.”

“It's not Clare's fault, though, right?” His rag-doll arm flopped over Lexi's. “I mean, if you really think about it. She can't help it if she loves Dad and Dad loves her.”

Love? Hardly
. “I just don't trust that woman. Did you know she signed us up for City Camp before even asking if we wanted to go? Dad let it slip. Talk about putting the cart before the horse.” Another momism.
Inhale pink … Exhale blue …

The next thing Lexi knew, she was awakening from a deep sleep with Kevin still conked out on the massage chair next to her. “Geez, how long was I asleep?” She staggered to her feet, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror over the bureau. Her hair had dried into a lopsided tumbleweed and the newspaper article was stuck to her face. She peeled it off on her way into the kitchen and for some odd reason the date jumped out at her and she couldn't let it go. June tenth, June tenth, June tenth. But what was so weird about that? She tossed the article onto the kitchen
table with a “
Hmmph
” and started socking life back into her butt, which seemed to have morphed into two tingly pincushions. That's when it hit her.

Wait. We arrived early on June ninth—nine, my lucky number. The robbery happened late that night. So how could those TV writers have been whispering about a story they'd ripped from the headlines when the headlines didn't even appear till the next day?
She gasped.
Cart before the horse!

“Omigod, this is huge!” She grabbed the newspaper article, raced back into the living room, and shook Kevin into consciousness. “Nigel what's-his-puss must've been in on the whole thing!” she blurted, shoving the article in front of him.

“Huh? What time is it?”

“Kevin! I need you to focus.” She tossed the article aside and recounted her discovery to him, exactly as she had just gone over it in her own mind. “So, maybe the guy I saw him with in the Whispering Gallery really
was
Benjamin Deets!”

Kevin's eyes went wide. “Yeah? Yeah! Well, they did go to school together.”

“That's right, that's right. And Benjamin Deets was a consultant too—for
The Streets of New York
—the guards at the museum were chatting all about it.” Her hands flew to cover her mouth. “It makes total sense, then, right? Deets and Humphries were probably in cahoots!” She started chewing on a jagged cuticle, her head aching from the racing thoughts. “So, now what?”

“You have to tell Kim Ling—she'll know what to do.”

“Yes. Oh, wait!” Lexi said, remembering their quarrel. “
No
, not an option! Shoot, shoot, shoot!”

Lexi flew around the entire apartment like a deflating balloon and wound up flat on her back on the massage chair again, staring at cracks. She shot up with a jolt. Phone in hand. Heart in mouth. “I'll do it myself. I can do this.” And after three deep breaths and a sign of the cross, she turned on her phone. “I—I don't even know what I'm supposed to dial.”

Kevin ran over to the laptop on the desk, mumbling something about looking it up, but Lexi was already dialing 411 and reminding herself not to sound like a frightened little girl this time.

“For service in English, press one, or stay on the line. En Español, para información—” BEEP!

“Ugh!” After answering too many automated questions, she was directed to dial 311. Finally, there was a live human voice on the line from the NYPD Manhattan headquarters.

“Yes, hello. My name is Alexandra McGill and I have some very important information regarding the Cleopatra jewel heist. Okay, I'll start from the beginning …”

Whether anything would come of Lexi's reporting her theory to the police didn't seem to matter to her much as the hours passed—although getting her hands on that hefty reward would certainly be sweet. The best part was that she had figured it out herself and actually felt, for the first time in her life, kind of smart. That was what she was thinking outside the Minetta Lane Theatre in Greenwich Village the next night, waiting with Kevin for their aunt to come out of the stage door after the opening night performance of
Shattered Glass
. Aunt Roz had caved at the last minute and decided to release them both from brownstone jail to attend. “A promise is a promise” was her excuse, even though Lexi didn't recall her ever promising anything of the kind. She chalked it up to the fact that kindhearted people were bad at holding grudges—unlike certain Chi-new-ish journalist wannabes who shall remain nameless.

Lexi decided to be semi-forgiving, too, so she explained all the latest developments of the jewel heist to her “frenemy” in a long e-mail, even wishing her well at the end. It was what adults called closure or something. She consulted
The Book of Answers
before she went through with sending it, though—after all, it had been spot-on about their misadventure in Central Park.
Startling events may occur as a result,
it warned this time. But she simply crossed her fingers for luck and clicked SEND anyway.

“Brava, brava!” a small crowd of theatergoers cheered as the actress who played Laura Wingfield exited the stage door, carrying a bouquet of long-stemmed roses.

“Oh, look, they're blue!” Lexi said, pointing them out to Kevin. “‘Cause she sang that ‘Blue Roses' song, remember?”

“Yeah, I didn't get that part.”

“Her character had some ancient disease called pleurosis, right? Which is why she kept limping around the stage. When her high school crush asked what was wrong with her, he thought she said blue roses—instead of pleurosis—”

“Yeah, so?”

Kevin obviously couldn't have cared less. With no special effects, rocket ships, or mutant aliens in the play, he must've been bored out of his mind. Lexi, on the other hand, had gotten completely sucked in. It was about an overbearing mother, Amanda Wingfield, aka Aunt Roz,
forcing her shy, crippled daughter to come out of her shell or die trying.

Another burst of applause as the actor who played the gentleman caller burst through the stage door followed by Aunt Roz, who looked very much the star in her silver ribbon wrap. Lexi and Kevin were hooting and hollering, and she threw them a little wave and started weaving her way toward them through the eager crowd. When she stopped to autograph a program, her shawl fell to her shoulders and Lexi's eyes widened. Her aunt wasn't wearing that gorgeous red dress after all, the one that had been draped across her bed—but an eggplant-colored one instead.

“That's bizarre,” Lexi said, turning to Kevin. “You didn't tell her about the thing I told you
not
to tell her about, did you? You know, the whole red-dress-bathtub situation?”

“I refuse to answer on the grounds I might be intimidated.”

“Incriminated, and that's a yes.” She swatted him. “Kevin! Is that why she let us come tonight? Out of pity?”

Aunt Roz was closer now, giving them an “I'm trying to get to you!” look, but two shiny-faced men were clinging to her and gushing.

“We'll see you at Palma, my dear, after you've dealt with all your stage-door Johnnies—You are coming to the party, right?—You must!—We can gorge ourselves on
jumbo shrimp, wait for the reviews—and toast to how
fabulous
you were!”

“I wouldn't miss it for the world!” Aunt Roz blew them a kiss, then collected Lexi and Kevin in a giant hug. “Lord,” she said with a sigh, “I can't smile anymore or my face'll fall off.”

Lexi gave her a peck on her heavily powdered cheek. “Thanks again for letting us come. I really appreciate it—I mean, after everything that I—well, you know.”

“Yes. I know. Well, I've never been much of a disciplinarian. I figure Mark and Clare ending their honeymoon early to come pick you kids up will probably result in punishment enough.”

No doubt
. “Anyway, you were awesome tonight.”

“No, you were
fabulous, my dear
!” Kevin mocked.

“Why, thank you, kind sir,” Aunt Roz said using her Southern drawl from the play. “I hope you're not just saying that.” She batted her false eyelashes a few times and turned to a handful of people to sign more autographs.

“Nah, they ain't lyin', Mrs. McGill. You rocked.”

“Well, I apprec—” Aunt Roz looked up from the program she was signing and gasped, fumbling her pen. “Melrose?”

Lexi did a double take that could have given her whiplash. There Melrose stood in the dappled shadows of the streetlight, flipping her stringy blond hair—still wearing the outfit Lexi had lent her—but it looked as if it had been dragged through the Lincoln Tunnel.