Secrets at the Chocolate Mansion (13 page)

Sonya's entire family wore white paper soda-jerk hats and goofy grins. Their arms were wrapped around each other, and their eyes shined bright with excitement.

The next few shots featured everyone bustling around inside, getting ready. Then finally I got to the images from the grand opening.

“He was our first customer,” said Ricki, pointing to the close-up of a stunned man with a mustache. “He wasn't expecting the camera in his face when he walked in, I guess.”

As I progressed through the pictures, the store got more and more crowded. The place was packed with neighborhood moms and dads and babies, enough strollers to trip over, and kids of all ages. Everyone looked happy and excited about the new place, which made sense, because who doesn't love dessert? It was impossible to believe that Sonya's Sweets could be anything but a huge success. If only Ricki could wait until the kinks got straightened out. If only I could figure out who was behind all of the mayhem!

Eventually I got to the pictures of myself with Milo, Finn, and Lulu. In the first one, Finn and Lulu were
holding hands. Milo was glancing at me, and I was looking down, smiling about some joke he'd made.

Back when we were a happy couple. Back when we were a couple, period. We still hadn't spoken since our fight. Last Sunday I broke down and called his actual house. His grandma, Valerie, answered the phone. She told me Milo was fine but he couldn't talk. Valerie seemed to feel bad, like she wished she could say more, but she didn't. And as relieved as I was to hear he was okay, the entire situation—and Milo's behavior in particular—left me feeling so frustrated. I didn't even know whether I wanted to be his girlfriend anymore, but it's not like I could talk to his grandma about that.

“I didn't even realize you took that picture,” I said, pointing to the image of Milo and me. What I didn't say was,
I wonder if we'll ever get back to that sweet, happy place
.

Ricki squinted at the computer. “Joshua must've taken it. He took over as store photographer and got sneaky, taking a bunch of candid shots. Did you find some sort of clue?”

“No, sorry,” I said as I continued scrolling. “I got distracted.” There were a few more shots of me and Milo, Lulu, and Finn, but none were as great as that very first image.

Joshua must've gotten bored of taking pictures of
people entering the store, because the next ten shots were of Felicity.

I saw, in order, the following:

1) Felicity scooping ice cream and getting the sleeve of her sweater caught in the tub of strawberry.

2) Felicity cleaning her sweater at the sink in the back room.

3) Felicity reattempting to scoop the ice cream but accidentally dropping it on the floor.

4) Felicity kicking the dropped scoop of melted ice cream underneath the counter as she looked over her shoulder to make sure nobody else could see. (Obviously she remained oblivious to the fact that Joshua had his zoom lens focused on her.)

5) Felicity successfully presenting a young soccer player with two scoops of ice cream.

6) Felicity licking some extra vanilla ice cream off her wrist.

7) Felicity hiding under the counter, texting.

8) Felicity looking up suspiciously, as if she sensed she might not be alone.

9) Felicity staring straight at the camera, shocked and annoyed.

10) Someone's hand over the lens—probably Felicity's.

After the Felicity show, the subject matter turned back to the actual soda fountain opening. Eventually I stopped flipping through the photos, because I saw someone who looked strangely familiar. She was on the young side—maybe eight or nine—and she wore dark sunglasses and jeans and a big flannel shirt. She was with an older woman who seemed to be her mom. And she leaned into her in a familiar way.

“Do you know who that is?” I asked Ricki.

Ricki considered the photo. “No idea,” she told me.

I stared at the picture. I'd seen the girl somewhere recently; I just couldn't remember where. Perhaps she was a neighborhood kid I'd passed on the street. Or maybe there was more to her story. I had the feeling that her presence at the store was significant, somehow, but I couldn't say for sure, and I couldn't say why.

Glancing at my watch, I saw it was getting late, and I still had three dogs to walk before dark.

“Do you mind if I put these on Flickr so I can take a look at them later?” I asked.

“If you know how to do that, then please be my guest,” said Ricki.

I was just finishing when Finn walked into the store and waved to me.

“What's up, bro?” I asked.

“I had some time and thought I'd walk some dogs with you today,” he said.

“You mean you're not here for the food?” asked Ricki. “I promise you we worked out the problem with the pies.”

“And I'm sure they're delicious,” said Finn. “I'll definitely try one next time. But I just wolfed down two slices from Pizza Den and I'm feeling kind of queasy.”

“Hold on just a second,” I said as I punched in the last few bits of information and then closed Ricki's laptop. “Okay, let's go.”

As soon as we made it outside, Finn said, “So, which dog do you walk first?”

“It depends,” I said. “Usually I start with Bean. She's the toughest dog, so I like getting her out of the way. But Nofarm's been kinda challenging lately, too.”

“Well, I'll just follow you,” said Finn. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at the ground as we walked.

“So why are you really here?” I asked.

“What do you mean?” asked Finn.

“Come on,” I said. “I've been walking dogs for months, and you've never wanted to tag along before. So what's the deal? Do you need to borrow money or something? I already lined up a great babysitting gig for us for this weekend.”

“Yeah, in a haunted mansion!” said Finn.

“It's not haunted,” I insisted. “It's just old.”

“I know, I'm just teasing,” said Finn. “And I'm not asking for money. I'm trying to help you.”

“With dog walking?” I asked. “I've been doing pretty well on my own.”

“I mean the Milo situation,” said Finn. “I talked to him.”

I stopped dead in my tracks. “You what?” I asked.

“Don't yell,” he said.

“Did I yell? Sorry. I meant to say, are you crazy?” I socked Finn on the shoulder. I couldn't help myself. “Why would you talk to my boyfriend?”

“He's not just your boyfriend,” said Finn, “he's my friend, too. And you're my sister. And he's not talking to you, and I see what it's doing to you and I want to know why.”

“So you just called him and asked him why he won't return my calls?” I asked.

“Please give me some credit, Mags. I was much more subtle. I called to tell him about the history homework, and then I asked him where he's been.”

“And what did he say?”

“He's been sick, but it's nothing serious—just a bad case of food poisoning. There's other stuff going on, too, I think. But he didn't go into details. He brought you
up, though. He said he owed you a call, and you guys needed to talk.”

This was all very interesting. I had a bunch of questions for Finn, but before I managed to formulate my first one, I noticed something odd.

Someone was walking down the street with an entire grocery cart filled with Girl Scout cookies. And here's the weirdest part about it: she wasn't even a Girl Scout. She was a grown-up. A grown-up dressed all in black with a giant, floppy red sunhat on her head.

“Hey,” I whispered, elbowing Finn.

“Ouch,” he said, rubbing his arm.

“Too hard?” I asked. “Sorry. But see that lady over there? We've got to follow her.”

“Wait, why?” Finn asked, jogging to catch up with me.

“She's our new lead,” I said. I didn't have time to explain any more because she was getting away.

The woman took long strides, pulling her grocery cart behind her with one hand as the other swung back and forth. Finn and I were right on her heels, following her for two blocks and then around the corner.

Soon, though, she looked over her shoulder. I tried to duck behind a parked car and pull Finn along with me, but I wasn't fast enough.

Spotting us, she came marching over, asking, “What do you think you're doing?”

My first instinct was to run, and I could tell Finn wanted to scram, too, because he grabbed my hand and started tugging me away. But here's the thing: we weren't doing anything wrong. We are allowed to walk down whatever street we want to, and I was completely ready to tell her so.

“Are you talking to me?” I asked in my most innocent tone of voice.

“Yeah,” she said, pretty aggressively. “What's your deal?”

I looked to Finn, who'd gone a little pale. “My deal?” I asked.

“Why are you two following me?” She took off her sunglasses to reveal piercing blue eyes that stared me down, questioning. “And how come you two look so much alike?”

“We're twins,” I told her.

“Yeah,” said Finn, finally speaking up. “And we're wondering what you're doing with all those cookies, because we've got a hankering for some. Think you could sell us a box?”

I grinned at Finn, thrilled that he'd thought of a cover story. My brother surprised me sometimes.

“Oh, of course,” said the woman, relaxing a bit. “I
should've known I'd get a lot of attention with all my cookies.”

“They're all for you?” I asked.

“Sure,” said the woman. “I'm not going to eat them, but I need them for my new piece. I'm a conceptual artist; I'm working on a new sculpture having to do with the state of girlhood in the modern era.”

“Huh?” asked Finn. I had to agree with him.

The woman tried to explain. “Basically, I'm constructing a Girl Scout out of Girl Scout cookie boxes.”

“Why?” asked Finn.

“Because it's art,” she said. “My name is Gabby, by the way. I'd shake your hand, if I could.”

I looked down. I hadn't noticed before, but her entire forearm was encased in a fiberglass cast. “Must be hard to work with that,” I said.

“It hasn't been easy, but I manage. It's really hard to write, though. I'm stuck writing with my left hand, which hasn't been working out so well. I'm not exactly ambidextrous.”

“Bummer,” said Finn.

“Hey, where did you get all those boxes, anyway?” I asked.

“Girl Scout troop number forty-five,” Gabby told me. “They're the top-selling troop in town. Those girls are fierce.”

“Do you know any of the Girl Scouts personally?” I asked. “Because we'd really like to buy some.”

“Sure,” said Gabby. “Let me get the number for you.” She pulled out her phone and searched awkwardly for the information, with the fingers of her left hand.

“What happened to your arm?” I asked.

“Bicycle accident in the park,” said Gabby. “It happened last month. Pretty brutal, too. You know how there are crosswalks and traffic signals and sometimes cyclists have the right-of-way?”

“Yup,” I said with a nod.

“Well, some of your neighbors don't, apparently. I was a part of a ten-bike crash last Saturday.”

“Yikes, that sounds scary,” I said.

“Oh, it was,” said Gabby. “But it could've been worse. Everyone had their helmets on, luckily. A few of us ended up at the hospital with broken bones. But I get the cast off in two short weeks. No need to worry, however. My work hasn't suffered too much. At least not according to the
New York Times
. I had a review of my last show in the arts section.”

“That's great.”

She pulled some flyers out of her oversize pocket with her good hand. “You should stop by the gallery. You're never too young to take an interest in art.”

“Um, okay,” I said, staring down at the flyer, which featured a sculpture of a dog made out of what looked like dog biscuits.

“That one is cool,” I said, pointing. “Where is it?”

“Nowhere,” said Gabby. “It used to be on display in a gallery in DUMBO, but it got devoured because I released a pack of dogs inside. I got most of it on video, though. You can find it on YouTube if you look.”

“Are you going to bring in a pack of wild Girl Scouts to eat your next sculpture?” Finn asked.

“Huh,” said Gabby, taking his question a little too seriously. “That's not a bad idea. I may use that. Thanks.”

Finn and I looked at each other, both wondering whether Gabby was serious, and silently agreeing not to ask.

“Anyway, here's Clementine's number,” said Gabby, handing me a slip of paper. “She's the troop leader.”

“Clementine?” I asked. “Is she the Girl Scout who lives at the corner of Eighth Avenue and Carroll Street?”

“Yeah—Rex's daughter,” said Gabby.

“I just met them last week,” I said. “I walk their neighbor's dog.”

“Small world. Rex and I went to college together. I haven't talked to him in ages.”

“Then how did you end up buying cookies from his daughter?” Finn asked.

“That girl is wily. She hacked into his Facebook account to find new customers.”

“That's pretty serious,” I said.

“No kidding. In fact, she's my inspiration for this whole project.”

“Good luck with that,” I said. “Nice meeting you, Gabby.”

“Same here.” Gabby saluted us with her cast-encased right arm and went on her way, pulling her cart behind her.

“That was close,” Finn said, once we were out of earshot. “She seemed really mad at first.”

“Guess I have to work on my surveillance skills,” I said. “But we got some good intel.”

“You think?” he asked. “Please explain.”

“I can't yet. I'm still trying to puzzle everything out. I have a hunch, but it's too soon to talk.”