Secrets at the Chocolate Mansion (5 page)

I followed her to the master bedroom, where both of us froze and stared at each other in shock.

A giant mirror lay in the middle of the room, like it had face-planted there. Razor-sharp pieces of glass were everywhere.

“Unbelievable!” said Caroline. “That was my favorite piece of furniture.”

“How'd that happen, do you think?” I wondered.

Caroline shrugged. “It was propped up on the wall, and I guess it wasn't that secure. The wind must've knocked it down.”

This explanation made sense; it
was
kind of windy outside. But here's the weird thing: when I glanced at the wall of windows on the other side of the room, I couldn't help but notice that every single one of them was closed.

“I'd better walk Nofarm now,” I said, backing out of the room. I felt overcome with a strange sensation—a sort of suffocating nervousness, and an overwhelming desire to leave.

“Good idea. He's been acting so strange ever since the move,” Caroline said, turning away from the mess and toward Nofarm, who stared at us from just outside the bedroom door.

“What do you mean, ‘strange'?” I asked.

“Well, sometimes I hear him whimpering in his sleep, and when he's awake he'll often pace back and forth across the living room. Other times, he scratches at the walls like he's trying to dig his way out.”

“And he never acted like that before?” I asked.

“Nope,” Caroline said, with the shake of her head. “I don't know what his problem is.”

“Dogs are extremely sensitive,” I told her. “They have amazing hearing, and their sense of smell is insane. That's why so many of them are trained for service—you know, for the blind or the police. People who get seizures and panic attacks sometimes use them, because service dogs are so perceptive they can often prevent episodes.”

“Well, Nofarm is just a scrappy mutt. Right, guy?” She scratched his back, and he wagged his tail like crazy.

“Maybe he needs to get used to the building,” I said.

“That makes sense,” said Caroline. “And he's not the only one.”

“I guess we should get going,” I said as I tugged gently on Nofarm's leash. He acted super enthusiastic about leaving.

Nofarm and I raced down the steps, taking the last flight two at a time. As soon as I burst through the heavy door to the outside, I felt better.

Nofarm did, too, it seemed. The scrappy little mutt was back to his usual perky self. I could tell because he was in typical happy-dog pose—tail high and wagging, eyes forward, mouth open in a loud, panting doggie smile.

We went all the way to the picnic house in Prospect Park, walking past three soccer games being played simultaneously in the Long Meadow.

On the sidelines, I noticed two sets of twins playing catch with their moms.

As usual, lots and lots of dogs roamed around—giant dogs and tiny dogs and everything in between, mutts and purebreds alike. Most dogs in Brooklyn, regardless of their kind, eventually make their way to Prospect Park. It's a glorious place for all creatures.

Things were particularly busy this Saturday, probably because the weather was so lovely. Most dogs strolled with their owners, but I did run into Jane, another neighborhood dog walker I happen to know.

“You're working weekends now?” she asked, adjusting her chunky, square-ish glasses. Jane's dark hair was shorter now—it came up past her shoulders, and she was wearing her usual outfit: dark jeans and a red hoodie.

“Just today,” I said.

“Good. I don't need any more competition.” She said it as though she was kidding, but it's hard to tell with Jane. She's a full-time dog walker, and super competitive about it. She's eccentric, which I suppose is a more polite way of saying she's odd. Jane is often blunt and paranoid, and sometimes she comes across as a jerk. But I've noticed that even jerky people usually have something going for them, if you dig deep enough, and Jane is no exception. Her secret superpower is being amazing with dogs.

She was currently on her knees, scratching Nofarm's neck with both hands. And Nofarm was digging it, I could tell. His tail thumped hard on the pavement. His chin was raised high, and he licked her occasionally as if to say, “Keep it up, babe.”

Jane laughed and squinted up at me. “Nofarm is such a cutie. Can I give him a treat?” she asked.

“Sure, as long as it's just one,” I said. “He gets so much food from Beckett. The kid is only three, but he's clever. He's already figured out how to get rid of all his vegetables, so his moms are really strict about his diet. The dog's diet, I mean. Beckett seems to get whatever he wants.”

Jane made Nofarm sit and shake, and she tried to get him to roll over.

“I think that's too advanced for the little guy,” I said.

“Oh, Maggie. I've taught all the dogs I walk how to roll over. It's kind of basic.” Jane pulled a treat out of her pocket and handed it over. Nofarm chomped it down, fast.

“Good boy,” Jane said, patting his head.

“So, how's it going?” I asked.

“Can't complain,” said Jane. “Well, not yet, anyway. Once winter comes and I'm trekking through snow and sleet, then I'll complain plenty.”

“I can't wait!” I said.

Jane looked at me, all confused. Did I mention she has no sense of humor?

Jane has no sense of humor.

“No,” she went on. “You won't be able to stand it. I'll bet that's when you'll turn in your leashes.”

“Huh?” I asked.

“Retire from dog walking,” she explained. “Just be sure to refer all of your old clients to me. Deal?”

“Hey, who are you with today?” I asked, pointing to the two chocolate Labs by Jane's side. Changing the subject seemed like a good idea, and I was curious, too.

“Flower Power and Skittles,” Jane replied.

“Which is which?” I asked.

Jane smiled down at the dogs. “To be honest, I can't really tell. They look pretty identical. One thing's for sure, though: if you get a dog, you shouldn't let your five-year-old name it. I warned them not to, but do you think they listened? No way.”

“Wait, you criticized your clients' kid's dog name ideas?” I asked.

“Of course I did,” said Jane, with a completely straight face. “I feel like it's part of my job. Otherwise this park is going to be overrun by Scouts and Spots.”

I laughed.

“You think that's funny? Listen to this: there are three dogs named Brooklyn in this neighborhood alone.”

“That's funny, because Brooklyn is my middle name.”

Jane cracked up. “That's a good one, Maggie.”

“I'm serious,” I said.

“Oh,” said Jane. She faked a cough to hide her smirk. “I didn't realize your parents were weirdos.”

“They're not,” I said.

“That's what you think,” Jane mumbled under her breath.

“Hey, can I ask you something? Have you lived here long?”

“In Park Slope?” asked Jane. “Oh, ten years or so. Is that long or short?”

“Long, I think,” I said. “Have you ever heard of the Jonas Adams mansion at Eighth Avenue and Carroll Street?”

“The haunted mansion?” asked Jane, lowering her voice. “Of course I have. Why?”

“Because Nofarm's family just moved into the building,” I explained.

“And you're still willing to walk him? Are you sure that's a good idea?” she asked as she stood up and tugged on Skittles's and Flower Power's leashes. “I should be going.”

“Wait,” I said. “Why do you say that?”

But it was too late. Jane was already hurrying away. “Can't hear you,” she called, waving. “Good luck.”

I guess Milo wasn't the only superstitious person
around. I picked up a stick and threw it to Nofarm, who played fetch for about ten minutes. When he grew tired, we continued on our way. And that's when I spotted someone who looked exactly like my friend Beatrix, speeding by on a bicycle.

I met Beatrix pretty recently, since she only just moved to Brooklyn from Manhattan at the beginning of the school year after her parents got divorced. Her dad still lives in the city, in their old apartment. But she and her mom are out here. Actually, they live in the high-rise at Eighth Avenue and Carroll Street, right next door to the haunted mansion.

And by “haunted mansion,” what I really mean is, “Beckett's new building that's rumored to be haunted.” Because there's no such thing as ghosts.

Obviously the shattered mirror was a strange and creepy coincidence.

Anyway, back to Beatrix. She's skinny with wild curly hair, which makes her look like a dandelion. In a good way, I mean. Beatrix is way pretty. Pretty enough to hang with the popular kids, if she wanted to, but she chooses to be friends with us instead. I thought Beatrix was in Manhattan today. That's where she told us she'd be. And it's why she couldn't make it to the Sonya's Sweets opening. Yet here she was in the neighborhood.

I waved, but she must not have seen me, because the closer she got, the more she sped up.

Then something really weird happened: when we were just a few feet apart, we made eye contact, but then she turned her head away.

“Hey, Beatrix!” I yelled as she rode by.

She skidded to a stop and turned around. “Oh, hi, Maggie. I didn't realize that was you.” She hopped off her ten-speed and walked it over to where Nofarm and I were standing. “Which dog is this?” she asked.

“Nofarm Jones,” I said. “Beckett's dog.”

“He's a cutie,” she said, bending down to pet him with her free hand.

“He lives next door to you, too,” I said. “In that old mansion on the corner.”

I watched Beatrix's reaction carefully. She didn't really seem to make any sort of connection, so she probably hadn't heard the rumors about ghosts. I found this comforting. But at the same time, it was annoying that I had to wonder so much about something that didn't even exist. Especially when I had more important things to worry about, like Sonya's Sweets.

“What are you doing in Brooklyn?” I asked.

“Um, I live here,” said Beatrix. “Or at least I did last time I checked.”

“I mean, I thought you were in Manhattan this
weekend. Isn't that why you couldn't come to the Sonya's Sweets opening?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Beatrix. “I stayed at my dad's last night, but he had to work today so I came back early.”

“Oh.”

“He normally takes weekends off, but he's in the middle of some big project. I must've just missed you at Sonya's Sweets,” she said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

Beatrix checked her watch and then looked over her shoulder. “I stopped by, but Sonya wasn't there, either. It's a great place. Awesome desserts.” Beatrix leaned her bike against her hip and pulled her hair into a high ponytail with both hands. It puffed out on top of her head, in full dandelion mode.

I didn't know what to say, because I didn't want to accuse my friend of lying. That's rude. Except the thing is, Beatrix was lying. And I couldn't pretend like she wasn't.

“Sonya's Sweets closed down early,” I said. “You know—because of the window thing.”

Beatrix's eyes got wide and her face blushed red. “Riiiight …,” she said. “Um, did I say I went in? I meant I walked by, and everything looked great. Obviously I didn't get to go in.”

Beatrix's explanation didn't make much sense. But
what reason could she have to make stuff up? I couldn't figure it out.

“Why'd they have to close?” she asked.

I filled her in on the drama, then asked, “Didn't you notice the gaping hole in the window?”

Beatrix's brown eyes got even bigger than usual, and she stumbled over her words. “Um, yeah. Of course. I guess I got the address wrong and didn't realize that was the store. Do they have any idea how it happened?”

“Sonya's mom called the police, but they think it's just a prank, or an accident or something—nothing worth looking into, anyway.”

“Think they're right?” she asked.

“I'm not sure,” I said. “I'm still investigating.”

“I'm sure you'll figure it out,” said Beatrix. “But I've gotta run. See you at school Monday?”

“Sure,” I said.

Beatrix hopped back onto her bicycle and pedaled off into the sunset, which made me realize that it must be getting late. “Let's go, Nofarm.”

We were a half a block from Nofarm's new house when he stopped moving. I tugged on his leash but couldn't get him to budge, which struck me as odd, because Nofarm never acted this stubborn before. He's usually enthusiastic about walks but also excited to get home, because right after his afternoon walk he got his dinner.

Yet today, when he realized we were on our way home, he began to whimper. Then he laid down in the street and rested his chin on his paws. It was the same sad expression he'd worn in the new apartment.

“Come on!” I tried pulling again, but nothing worked. I had to carry him into the lobby, which wasn't easy. Did I mention Nofarm weighs fifty pounds?

No?

Nofarm weighs fifty pounds. He's squirmy, too. When I finally set him down, he sprinted up to his landing with his tail between his legs and his hair standing on end. He scratched at the door with his paw, as though he was desperate to get in. That's when I realized it wasn't the apartment that was making him nervous. It was the hallway.

Both Lisa and Caroline were in the living room when we returned. Lisa is shorter than Caroline and she has curly blond hair, just like Beckett's.

Beckett was nowhere in sight, but I heard some loud banging from the back of the apartment.

“Sorry about the noise,” Lisa shouted. “That's Beckett with his new toy hammer.”

“How was Nofarm tonight?” asked Caroline.