My mom was about to close the front door behind us when Fluffball wriggled in the crook of Avery’s arm.
“Mason!” Mom shouted, as though I’d done something terrible. She jerked the door all the way open again, pointing out to the front yard. “You know how I feel about pets in this house!”
I did know. And it wasn’t good.
“Pet?” Fluffball suddenly yelled back, his ears standing straight up. “Watch who you’re calling a—”
Avery wrapped her hand around the bunny’s entire head, muffling his voice.
“What did you say, Mase?” Mom asked. Did she really think I had such a deep rumbly voice?
“Nothing, Mom,” I said. “We’re happy to stick the bunny outside.”
Avery moved onto the porch, whispering something to Fluffball before setting him on the ground. Then she stepped back inside, and Mom finally shut the door.
“If it’s okay, we have a couple of questions for you, Mrs. Morrison,” said Avery as Mom led us into the kitchen.
“This sounds like an interrogation.” Mom laughed. “I’d say we’ve had enough of those in our family.”
Sometimes Mom joked about Dad. Our therapist told me it was just how she dealt with the stress, but it made me a little sad. Like Mom didn’t believe Dad was innocent anymore. Like she had finally given in to what society had told us to believe.
“Nah, Mom,” I said casually, taking a seat on a barstool at the counter. “We just wanted to know where you got that music box for my book report.”
“How did that go?” Mom turned to the dirty dishes in the sink.
“Umm . . . good. I think.” And by good, I meant horribly terrible, leading me to become the most wanted criminal in a secret magical organization.
“We want to take the music box back to whoever you borrowed it from,” Avery said.
“It’s all the way across town,” Mom answered, rinsing a plate and placing it in the dishwasher. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll just take it to work with me tomorrow.”
“We don’t mind,” I replied. “My piano lessons are all the way across town, too, and we’re headed back there. I’d like to personally return the music box. Say thanks for letting me borrow it.”
I saw a smile cross Mom’s lips. “That’s very thoughtful of you. I borrowed it from Tom Pedherson. I’ll text you his address.”
“Actually, could you write it down?” I asked. “I accidentally left my phone at piano lessons.”
“Sure,” she said.
“How did you know Tom Pedherson had this particular music box?” Avery asked.
“Remember when I went to that work party last month?” Mom asked me. I nodded. It had been a memorable night for me, too. I’d eaten two microwave dinners and played a lot of video games while she’d been gone. “Tom won the music box at the party. He was very happy about it.”
“Where do you work?” asked Avery.
“True Cost,” said Mom. “It’s a billing company. We call people who haven’t paid their bills.”
“And how exactly did Tom win the music box?” Avery asked. I was worried she was going into full detective mode, but my mom didn’t seem to notice.
“It was a raffle,” she answered. “They had lots of prizes. I won that gift card to Smoothie Palace.”
“Interesting,” Avery said. “I was wondering if you could give me a list of everyone who has entered your house in the last week.”
Mom paused, a dripping bowl hovering above the open dishwasher as she glanced suspiciously at the girl out of the corner of her eye. Okay. Avery had obviously gone too far with the questioning.
“Can I borrow your phone, Mom?” I cut in, hoping to break the tension. “I wanted to text Hamid and tell him I don’t have my phone.”
Hamid was a few years younger than me, but he was the only kid in the neighborhood willing to hang out with me after my dad’s arrest.
“It’s over there by the toaster,” Mom said, finally loading the bowl.
I jumped up and snatched the phone as Avery followed me out of the kitchen.
“Why were you questioning her like that?” I hissed once we were in the living room. “My mom’s not a suspect!”
“Of course she is,” Avery answered. “She gave you the music box that linked you to the theft at the boon church.”
“Are you serious?” I cried. “My mom didn’t frame me for a crime. That’s ridiculous.”
“I admit that it seems unlikely,” said Avery. “But a good detective considers every possibility. That includes your mom. And anyone else who entered your house earlier this week who could have planted those stolen boons in your bedroom.”
“Interrogating her isn’t the best way to see who’s been in my house.” I held up my mom’s phone.
“The doorbell camera?” A hopeful look spread across Avery’s face.
I nodded. “I think it stores ten days of footage in the cloud. It’ll just take a minute to load. Let’s go up to my room to look for more clues while we wait.”
Chapter 16
THURSDAY, MAY 14
3:03 P.M.
MASON’S BEDROOM, INDIANA
“Someone’s definitely been here,” Avery said, scanning my messy bedroom. The dirty clothes strewn across the floor and the books and papers on my nightstand were probably going to make it hard to spot any useful clues.
“They didn’t just plant those boons,” Avery continued. “They must have been looking for something.”
“How can you tell?” I asked.
“Look at this place,” she said. “Somebody trashed your room.”
I chuckled, feeling my cheeks turn red. If I’d known my bedroom was going to be a crime scene, I would have at least made my bed. “Umm . . . ,” I stammered. “Actually, my room always looks like this.”
I saw Avery shudder. At least Fluffball wasn’t here to tell me what he thought about my living conditions.
“You should have seen it a few months ago,” I said, kicking a pair of dirty underwear out of sight.
“It was worse than this?” Avery asked skeptically.
“It was bright orange,” I answered. “When I moved upstairs two years ago, my dad thought it would be cool to paint the new room my favorite color. It was like living inside a pumpkin.”
“Was your dad a painter?”
“No way.” I laughed. “The first time he used the roller, it splattered paint all over my room.” My laughter petered out. Even good memories of Dad were kind of painful. “Mom and I painted it white a few months ago.”
“Not a fan of orange anymore?” she asked.
I just shrugged. Too hard to explain.
“Well, does anything look out of place?” Avery nudged aside a pair of jeans with her toe. “I mean, more out of place than usual?”
I scanned my room. Same lamp. Same cluttered dresser. Same closet gaping open. Same mess.
“I used to have a poster for Battlefield 900 on my wall,” I said.
“Is that a movie?”
“Video game,” I responded.
“What happened to it?” she asked.
I shrugged. “It disappeared a couple of weeks ago. I figured my mom took it while I was at school. She doesn’t like that game.”
I glanced at my mom’s phone and saw that the video footage from the doorbell camera was ready to view. Grateful for the distraction from my personal things, I gestured Avery over to check it out.
The two of us sat side by side on the edge of my bed as I scrolled through the last few days. “This is a lot of video,” I said. “Where should we start?”
“The only footage that matters will be from Tuesday and Wednesday,” Avery said.
“What makes you say that?”
“Well, Magix arrested you on Wednesday,” she said. “That was the day of the book report, when you used the music box. And we know agents searched your room that day, which means the boons had to have been planted earlier that morning or the day before.”
“Okay,” I
said. “Let’s start with Tuesday.”
I tapped on the video and it started to play. The first thing I saw was myself, leaving the house wearing my backpack at 7:13 a.m.
“That’s me going to school,” I explained. “I catch the bus just down the street.”
“I have a feeling this is going to take a while,” Avery said. “Any way you can fast-forward?”
“Don’t need to,” I said. “The camera has a motion sensor. It only records when there’s movement on the porch.”
The next clip happened at 7:40 a.m. A large robin flew into view, vanishing into the porch rafters out of the camera’s angle. The movement was followed by lots of chirping and tweeting that caused me to turn down the phone’s speaker.
“Sounds like she’s got a nest on your porch,” said Avery.
“And babies,” I said.
We continued watching the clips, quickly growing bored with what we saw.
7:43 a.m.: Bird left the nest.
7:56 a.m.: Bird came back.
8:17 a.m.: Bird.
8:22 a.m.: Bird.
8:39 a.m.: Bird.
9:07 a.m.: Dog.
“Ooh,” I said sarcastically. “I didn’t see that coming.”
The dog was a floppy-eared brown cocker spaniel that belonged to a walker who could barely be seen on the sidewalk. The curious canine had wandered onto the porch, sniffing, before the walker had called it back.
9:40 a.m.: A woman rang the doorbell. She was wearing dark blue coveralls, and I could see her van parked in the driveway with Skyline Appliance and Repair painted on the side.
“Finally something interesting,” Avery said. “Who’s that?”
“She looks sort of familiar,” I answered.
“Thanks for coming,” my mom said on the recording. “I’m hoping you can repair it, but it’s an old dishwasher, so . . .” Mom invited the woman inside.
“What was wrong with your dishwasher?” Avery asked.
“It only worked half the time.” I tapped my chin. “Who was that lady?”
“Umm . . . the dishwasher repair person.” Avery pointed out the obvious.
I nodded. “I guess that’s why she looks familiar. Mom’s had a couple of people check it out lately.”
Avery gestured to the screen. “When does your mom go to work?”
“She works a short afternoon shift at the grocery store on Tuesdays,” I explained. “Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, she’s at the billing call center. And she does Thursday nights and all day Saturday and Sunday at the grocery store.”
“Busy woman,” said Avery.
“That’s Mom,” I said.
The repairwoman moved between her van and the house a handful of times before she left for good at 10:38.
10:54 a.m.: Mom pulled out of the driveway.
“She’s off to the grocery store,” I narrated.
Footage of the mama bird continued until 3:17 p.m., when I got home from school.
“Okay,” Avery said. “What did you do after school that day?”
“Same thing I always do,” I said. “Had a snack and started on my homework.”
“You were home alone?”
“Fine!” I said. “You caught me. I played video games until I heard my mom open the garage door.” Wow. Avery was a good detective.
3:52 p.m.: Hamid stepped onto the front porch and rang the doorbell.
“Who’s that?” asked Avery.
“My friend Hamid,” I replied. I turned up the volume on the phone so we could hear a replay of the conversation, hoping that Hamid and I hadn’t said anything embarrassing.
“Hey,” said Hamid.
“Hey,” I said.
“What are you doing?” asked Hamid.
“Nothing.”
“Cool.”
“Wanna play Xbox?” I asked.
“Okay.”
Then Hamid came inside.
5:55 p.m.: Mom pulled into the driveway.
5:57 p.m.: Hamid went home.
6:04 p.m.: Mrs. Damakis rang the doorbell.
“Who’s that?” Avery asked.
“Our neighbor Mrs. Damakis.”
“Shh,” Avery hushed me as a conversation started between my mom and the neighbor.
“Hi, Susan,” Mom said.
“Thank you so much, Tamara,” said Mrs. Damakis as my mom handed her something. I squinted at the small screen.
“Onion,” I said.
“Making something delicious, I’m sure,” Mom said.
“Dolmas,” said Mrs. Damakis. “Nothing fancy.”
“Fancier than what we’re having,” Mom said. “Good ole mac and cheese.”
They talked about the weather for a moment, and then Mrs. Damakis asked how I was doing. My mom said, “Just fine,” and then Mrs. Damakis was gone.
6:09 p.m.: Bird.
6:11 p.m.: Bird.
7:04 p.m.: Someone I didn’t recognize rang the doorbell. He was dressed in a collared shirt, and he had a messenger bag slung over one shoulder. The sun was starting to set behind him.
“Are you the owner of the house, ma’am?” he asked.
“I am,” answered my mother.
“I can see you keep a tidy home. Do you mind if I ask what kind of cleaner you use?”
I heard my mom sigh. “Are you selling cleaner?”
“Yes, ma’am. We have three different products, all of them completely eco-friendly and—”
“I’m going to stop you right there,” Mom said. “I’m really not interested in buying any sort of cleaner today. I don’t mean to be rude, but we haven’t even had dinner yet, and my son just informed me that he has a book report due tomorrow and he doesn’t have anything prepared for it.”
The salesman tried to convince her a few more times, but I knew firsthand how stubborn my mom could be. He left by 7:06.
“You didn’t tell your mom about the book report until the night before?” Avery said.
I shrugged defensively. “I knew she’d spend the rest of the night trying to help me. And I really didn’t know what the book was about, so I was just making stuff up to satisfy her.”
I hadn’t expected any more video for Tuesday, so I was surprised when someone showed up on the step at 10:22 p.m. I had already gone to bed by that time.
I didn’t recognize the figure as he knocked on the door, but I certainly recognized the item in his hands.
The music box.
“Hi Tom,” said Mom as she stepped onto the porch. “Thanks for bringing this so late.”
“Hey, no problem. I know how kids can be.” Tom Pedherson looked like he was in his late forties, maybe ten years older than my mom. He handed her the dreaded music box.
“He’s going to bomb his report anyway,” Mom said. Ouch. Thanks for the confidence boost, Mother. “I’m pretty sure he didn’t even read the book. But it had a music box on the cover, and he thought a good visual aid would at least give him something to talk about.”
“Hopefully this does the trick,” Tom said. “See you at the office tomorrow.”
Tuesday’s videos ended.
“Okay,” said Avery, who had scrounged up a pad of paper and a pen from my nightstand. “Let’s write down Tuesday’s suspects.”
“Tom,” I said.
She shook her head. “Start at the beginning. Your mom.” She wrote it down. “Then the dishwasher repairwoman. Then Hamid.”
“Hamid didn’t frame me,” I protested. “He’s only ten.”
“All the suspects,” Avery said. “Then there was Mrs. Damakis. Then the cleaner salesman and then Tom Pedherson.”
“But none of them came inside,” I said, “so they couldn’t have planted the boons in my room.”
“Your mom and Hamid came inside,” Avery corrected.
I scoffed. “But they didn’t do it. Besides, if someone had stashed those boons in my room on Tuesday, I would have noticed them later that night.”
“Really?” Avery said, glancing up at me. “In this junk heap?”<
br />
I sighed. Fair point. Maybe I wouldn’t have seen a few extra items cluttering my room that night.
“Let’s watch Wednesday,” said Avery.
I tapped on the video of the fateful day of my arrest. The first thing I saw was the robin leaving the nest at 6:59 a.m.
Then I saw myself leave for school at 7:12.
“You’re not holding the music box?” Avery asked.
“It was in my backpack,” I explained. “I didn’t want to look like a total dork carrying around a cute little wooden box.”
“Then when was the first time you actually opened it?”
“During my book report,” I answered.
“You weren’t curious that morning?” asked Avery. “You didn’t crack open the lid to see what kind of song it played before presenting it to your whole class?”
“My mom opened it at breakfast,” I answered. “I heard the song. . . . It wasn’t as cool as I’d hoped it would be, but it was all I had for my book report. After breakfast, Mom stuffed it into my backpack.”
8:04 a.m.: Mom backed out of the driveway.
“Where’s she going?” Avery checked.
“She’s off to her other job,” I answered. “The call center.”
The next clip was at 11:12 a.m. The FedEx guy pulled up to the curb and dropped a big box on the front porch.
12:05 p.m.: My mom pulled into the driveway.
“She’s home from work already?” questioned Avery.
“She must have come home for lunch,” I said.
“Does she do that often?”
“No,” I said, inwardly admitting that it did seem a little strange.
12:07 p.m.: Mom collected the package off the front porch.
12:26 p.m.: A pizza delivery guy rang the doorbell.
“What?” I cried. “Mom ordered pizza on her lunch break? She never orders pizza when I’m home!”
“Sounds like suspicious behavior for our suspect,” Avery said, squinting at the phone screen. There wasn’t much to see on the porch. The pizza delivery guy looked like he was in his early twenties, with three boxes balanced in his hand. His silver truck made a loud putter as it idled at the curb, the magnetic logo of Patrick’s Pizza Place on the driver’s door and a bunch of stickers in the back window.
“Here are those pizzas you ordered,” said the delivery guy on the recording.
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