Midnight at the Barclay Hotel

by Fleur Bradley

  THE DEEP VOICE belonged to Detective Walker. He strolled around the room and studied the sticky notes below each suspect.

  “You did this?” he asked Penny.

  Penny nodded. “With JJ and this girl Emma who lives here.”

  “Well done, kids.”

  Penny said, “Thanks. How did you find this room, Grandpa?”

  Detective Walker smiled. “You’re not the only one with detective skills, you know.”

  “You followed me?”

  “Correct.” The detective walked past the suspect list again and stopped by the extra clues page. “Do you have a pen?”

  Penny nodded and handed the detective one.

  Con man Gerrit Hofstra, Detective Walker wrote on a sticky note. Before JJ or Penny could ask, he said, “I spoke with my old partner last night. She mentioned that there were reports that this con man moved to the Aspen Springs area.”

  “You’re investigating, Grandpa?” Penny asked with a smile.

  Detective Walker grumbled, then said, “Just for this murder case. And maybe more from the sidelines. It sounds like I’m needed, so I’ll come out of retirement for the weekend. But you kids seem to have most of it covered.” The truth was that being a detective was like dodgeball: you were either in it or you weren’t.

  “Could this Gerrit guy have killed Mr. Barclay?” JJ asked. Another suspect could mean his mom was off the hook.

  “We don’t know if it’s related,” Detective Walker said. “But it’s worth considering. This con man stole millions from rich people. Since Mr. Barclay was very wealthy . . .” Gerrit Hofstra could have killed Mr. Barclay and stolen his money.

  “Is he in town? Did he come to the hotel?” Penny asked.

  “I haven’t seen him,” the detective said. “Could be that this is a red herring—you know what that is?”

  Penny nodded, since she’d read her share of mysteries. But JJ shook his head.

  “A red herring is a false clue. Information that distracts you from who the real killer is,” Detective Walker said. He walked along the evidence wall. “Something is off about this.”

  “Off?”

  “There’s a big puzzle piece missing.” Detective Walker sighed.

  “I thought the same thing,” Penny said.

  Detective Walker said, “When I investigate—or investigated—a crime, and the evidence wasn’t adding up, I would look back at who started it all.”

  Penny and JJ looked confused. This was a big crash course in detective work.

  “The victim. Maybe the puzzle piece that’s missing is Mr. Barclay himself.”

  * * *

  DETECTIVE WALKER LEFT after telling Penny to check in with him at lunch. He was going for a morning dip in the pool.

  “Let’s first interview the chef,” Penny said.

  JJ agreed. “If Emma doesn’t get to him first.”

  There were still breakfast smells wafting from the double doors that went into the commercial kitchen.

  They found the chef cleaning a griddle. He looked angry.

  “Hello?” JJ called. You don’t want to scare someone who is working in the kitchen.

  The chef looked up. “Yes?”

  “I’m JJ. Mrs. Jacobson’s son?”

  “I’m Penny,” Penny added.

  The chef nodded. He seemed to remember that he was upset and continued scraping the large griddle. “Ah, oui. I’m Dominique Pierre, but everyone just calls me Chef Pierre,” the chef said in a heavy French accent. “Did you get your breakfast?”

  “It was great, thank you.” JJ sat down at the small table on a wobbly old chair.

  Penny did too. It wasn’t until she sat that she realized that this was probably where Mr. Barclay sat and ate his cupcake, right before he died.

  Penny was a little weirded out by this fact, so she sprang up again and decided to just stand for this interview.

  Pierre noticed, and remembered too. “Oh, mon dieu. If only I had—” He stopped himself and shook his head. “Non. The police will come, of course, when the snow stops falling. But I cook until the end—that’s what Mr. Barclay wanted.”

  “Were you here when Mr. Barclay . . . ?” Penny couldn’t get herself to say was poisoned or kicked the bucket. It was all a little too real to think that the man dropped dead right here, in this kitchen.

  “I will not talk about it,” Pierre said resolutely.

  This was not going how they’d planned.

  JJ turned to face Chef Pierre. Why didn’t he want to talk about it? JJ could only think of one reason.

  JJ said to the chef, “Is that because you have a secret to hide too?”

  EMMA COULD FEEL herself getting more and more frustrated as she roamed the hotel. They weren’t getting anywhere with any of the suspects, and now the chef was a suspect too! Mr. Clark wasn’t any help either, and he’d been right here when Mr. Barclay died, right? Maybe it was time to look at the butler as a suspect.

  Emma was already near Mr. Clark’s room—might as well break in, she figured. Once you got started breaking and entering, one more time didn’t really matter. (It does matter. Breaking and entering is technically a crime, just ask Detective Walker.)

  Mr. Clark’s room was tidy—almost too tidy. There were no clothes lying around, no personal photos. There was only his work schedule, pinned neatly to an otherwise empty bulletin board.

  Then she looked in his closet and found . . . Well, it was difficult to describe. There were clothes, but not anything she’d seen Mr. Clark wear. Casual wear, even overalls, and Emma couldn’t imagine Mr. Clark wearing any of those things. There were hats too, wigs . . .

  Costumes. These were costumes.

  Was Mr. Clark into theater? Emma couldn’t remember, but then how well did anyone really know Mr. Clark?

  Emma moved to his desk, and opened the top drawer.

  There was a letter at the bottom of the drawer. Emma unfolded the paper.

  I know who you are. You will pay.

  It was signed His Daughter. A threat.

  Who was this daughter, and why was she so angry with Mr. Clark?

  NOW, SOMETHING TO know about JJ is that he was developing a radar for liars. Considering he was knee-deep in his own lying mess, it took a liar to spot a liar, one might say. And it also probably helped that Chef Pierre was a pretty terrible liar. One of the worst.

  Chef Pierre finally sighed, and said, “Do you know how hard it is to be a chef at a fancy hotel? Everyone assumes that you’re some sort of cooking genius. And I’m not! My skills are very limited.”

  “Breakfast was pretty awesome,” JJ argued.

  The chef sighed and dropped the spatula he’d been scraping the griddle with. “That’s just bacon and eggs. Anyone can make that.”

  “And those little sandwiches yesterday—those were great,” Penny added.

  But the chef’s face dropped. “I didn’t make those. I only know how to make kids’ food: pizza, hot dogs, and hamburgers. I love making food for kids—c’est ma . . . It’s my passion.”

  “I’m not seeing the problem here,” Penny said. “I love pizza and hamburgers!”

  The chef said softly, “I bought the sandwiches from the deli in town.”

  “Oh.” Penny tried to think of something nice to say, but she had nothing.

  “And the cupcakes weren’t mine either,” Chef Pierre said. “I bought them from the cupcake shop in town. I wasn’t even here when Mr. Barclay ate that cupcake. I was on my way into Aspen Springs, and on the phone the moment I got into cell phone range of the place to order. C’est—it’s embarrassing.”

  Penny thought about that for a moment. “That means you didn’t have opportunity to kill Mr. Barclay. We just need to prove it.”

  Chef Pierre nodded, but he looked sad.

  “Wouldn’t your phone records
show that you were going into town?” JJ said, feeling a lightbulb go off inside his head. “There was no way you could be on a cell phone call if you were here, which means you have an alibi!” He was talking fast now because he was so happy.

  This revelation could help his mom too! Because if the chef’s alibi was a phone call, his mom would be cleared for the same reason: she was on a conference call at the time of the murder. The lack of cell phone reception at the hotel turned out to be the saving grace for both his mom and Chef Pierre.

  Pretty smart thinking on JJ’s part.

  “Oui,” Chef Pierre said, and gave him a half-happy, half-sad smile. He still looked devastated that his secret was out: he wasn’t the chef everyone thought he was.

  JJ turned to Penny. “I need to go find my mom. I might have found a way to clear her name.”

  “Let’s go!”

  The two left the confused chef, but JJ didn’t have time to explain. He had a clue, and an important one . . .

  EMMA PUT THE letter she had found in Mr. Clark’s room in her pocket, locked up, and left. This letter had to be some sort of clue—her new friends JJ and Penny would be excited to see it.

  She made her way to the library—her favorite place to think.

  Her uncle couldn’t possibly be the killer. Of course, Emma hadn’t told JJ and Penny that he wasn’t actually her uncle. Emma was just so afraid that if they found out her secret, they wouldn’t want to be her friends anymore.

  Emma sighed as she sat down on the library stairs. Not only was she being a terrible detective, she was being a pretty lousy friend too.

  She had to do two things:

  Prove the chef didn’t poison Mr. Barclay.

  Find JJ and Penny and apologize for running off.

  She was about to stand up when she saw something in her peripheral vision. It was a round eye, watching her. A camera.

  Emma got up and made her way to the second level of the library, where the camera was perched. It was set up in such a way that it had a sweeping view of the whole room.

  She picked up the camera. Emma recognized what it was: an infrared camera, designed to detect fluctuations in temperature. Designed to catch ghosts.

  It had to be JJ’s. Either he had set it up and forgotten about it, or it was here to capture a ghost.

  Emma tried to turn the camera on, but it was dead. Probably because it had been running all night. Or maybe because the spirits had drained the battery. At least that’s what she’d seen on those ghost hunting TV shows: ghosts needed energy to appear, and they would draw it from whatever device they were near.

  She should return the camera to JJ. It might have evidence on it, right?

  Now, Emma was smart, kind, and respectful of others’ property. But she was lonely. And a little afraid that JJ and Penny might leave right away, or get distracted from the investigation. They were supposed to be a team.

  Emma was worried she’d lose her new friends.

  She hesitated, but then gave the camera a good smack on the floor. The camera’s case was cracked—that made it unusable, right? She felt bad, but she had good reason to break it. JJ would be back for the camera, so the best thing would be to just leave it where she found it.

  Emma had to keep the secret of the Barclay Hotel. JJ and Penny didn’t have to know.

  She had to go find them, so they could prove her uncle innocent. And find the real killer.

  JJ WAS SO excited that he took the stairs two at a time. He’d just cleared the chef’s and his mom’s name in one fell swoop! His mom was going to be so happy that he figured out she had an alibi, and JJ couldn’t wait to tell her.

  He hurried down the hall, and used his key to get into the room.

  “I have good news,” JJ started, as he walked through the door, but he quickly stopped when he saw the look on his mom’s face.

  She was sitting in the chair, looking as angry as he’d ever seen her. Her arms were crossed, and she had a dark expression on her face.

  “You forgot to give me a letter,” his mom said. Her voice was calm—the kind of calm that’s only achieved when someone is actually really, really angry.

  This was not good.

  His mom went on, “I talked to your father this morning. He got a phone call from the school yesterday. Apparently, we missed a late-afternoon meeting with the principal and a few of your teachers.”

  JJ tried to swallow the lump that was in his throat, but it wouldn’t go down.

  “Thankfully, your father was already near the school for groceries, so he stopped shopping and met the principal. I’m sure you’re very relieved to hear that, JJ.” Her eyes were like dragon fire.

  This was really, really bad.

  JJ tried to think of something to say, but didn’t have a comeback. His secret was out, and he felt terrible for lying all this time.

  His mom sighed. “Why didn’t you tell us about your grades?”

  “I don’t know,” JJ said, his voice small as a mouse’s. “I’m sorry you’re disappointed in me.” He wanted to live up to his mom’s expectations. And he really tried. But every time he had to read long passages or work on a test, he’d read the sentences but none of it made sense. Sometimes it didn’t even stick after reading the passage three times.

  He would often have to guess the answer. Whatever it took to get out of the classroom before the bell rang. And at home, he would pretend to be in his bedroom reading, but really, he was ghost hunting.

  “Reading is so hard,” JJ said. “I’m really trying, Mom. I think I’m just stupid.”

  “Oh, JJ.” His mom got up from her chair and wrapped him in a big mom-hug.

  Now, JJ was twelve, but these mom-hugs were just the thing he needed when the chips were down. No matter how old he got.

  “Don’t ever say you’re stupid.” She gave him a big smile. “You’re so smart. Remember that time you won the robotics competition? That was a really complicated robot you built—the judges even said so.”

  JJ nodded, but he still felt like he’d let his mom down. “Now what? What am I going to do about my failing classes?”

  His mom sighed. “We’ll figure it out when we get home. At least now that your dad and I know the truth, we can help you, JJ.”

  That made a lot of sense.

  His mom said, “If we were at home, I would ground you. But it turns out we’re stuck here.” She got up. “So you’re grounded, JJ, at the Barclay Hotel. We’ll figure out what your real punishment is tomorrow when we talk with your dad.”

  She went on, “Now I’m going to go meet Mr. Clark. And you had better stay here.” She closed the door to their hotel room before JJ could come up with a reason to argue.

  JJ exhaled. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath. Boy, was he in big trouble!

  And he didn’t get the chance to tell his mom that he found her an alibi. Next time he saw her, he’d tell her the good news.

  JJ was sitting on the bed replaying the conversation with his mom in his head when he saw something white fly by, out of the corner of his eye. It was on the floor, near the door.

  A sheet of paper. A note. Was this from his mother? She liked the yellow sticky notes, but she didn’t usually write to JJ using regular paper. This note looked like it was written on the hotel stationery, the kind that was on the pad by the bed.

  JJ picked the note up off the ground.

  Meet me at the Barclay Carousel as soon as possible.

  That was it? No name to say who sent it, or a date? JJ turned the paper over and read it again. He opened the door to see who might’ve left the note, but the hall was deserted.

  Whoever left this note obviously needed to see him. What if it was Penny or Emma, with important information about their investigation?

  He hesitated for a second, while thinking of his mom’s orders
to stay in their room, but then told himself he would be back before she even missed him. JJ grabbed his backpack, which didn’t feel all that heavy anymore. He put the note asking him to come to the carousel at the bottom, and found the pad of sticky notes.

  On a whim, he wrote three notes:

  SORRY

  REALLY

  SON

  He pasted them throughout the room, and hoped his mom would understand.

  JJ walked out of their hotel room and closed the door behind him.

  Off to the carousel.

  AFTER TALKING TO the chef, Penny left the kitchen feeling both excited and frustrated. On the one hand, they’d ruled him out as a suspect, so that was good. And JJ seemed to have cleared his mom, but other than that, their investigation was at a standstill.

  Penny didn’t like this part of being a detective. In her dreams, she was the one who solved the mystery easily, and made her grandpa proud. And then maybe everyone would finally see her as someone other than a small girl who liked to read.

  Maybe they’d finally see her as a budding detective.

  Penny was so lost in thought that she almost ran into her grandpa.

  “Ah, good,” the detective said. “I was looking for you.”

  This didn’t sound good. Penny could tell by his tone.

  Her grandpa cleared his throat. “I spoke with your mother.”

  Uh-oh. Penny tried the casual response. “How are things in Florida?”

  “You can cut the chitchat, kiddo.” He sounded grumpy. “They know we’re stuck here. And that there was a murder. They want you staying as far away as possible from all this. That means no more investigating, you hear?”

  “Okay,” Penny said.

  Her grandpa sighed. “Just stick to your books.”

  But she had no intention of stopping. Her parents were all the way in Florida. They didn’t need to know what she was up to. Penny would just keep her detective work a secret.