Unless ham sandwiches and half-eaten cereal bars can fix what she’s broken, we aren’t going to be much help. “Do you live here all by yourself?” I say.
My heart starts to pound again while I wait for her answer. I try to peer around her and have a look inside the door to see if maybe Grandpa Felix is just past her, there sitting at his desk putting a check mark beside his latest catch in The National Audubon Society Field Guide to North American Butterflies.
“No,” she says, pushing her thick glasses to the top of her nose and standing up straight. “Not all by myself. It’s me and the mister.”
I knew it. Grandpa lives here. I peer around her again and point inside. “It looks like your table leg in there is loose.” I push past her, pulling Lizzie and my toolbox along with me and into the house.
“Now, wait a second,” says the woman.
“What are you doing?” whispers Lizzie.
But I’m too busy looking for any sign of Grandpa Felix to answer. “Is he here?”
“Is who here?” says the woman.
“Your mister,” I say.
The woman laughs, holds out her cat to me, and says, “Right in front of your nose, dear.” The cat opens one eye, sees Lizzie’s marshmallowed hat, and meows. “This is Mr Jiggs.”
“Aww,” says Lizzie, reaching for the cat. “Can I hold him?”
The woman shakes her head. “I just got him back after he went wandering the city for a few days, so his nerves are shaken, if you don’t mind. My nerves, too. I put up posters around the neighbourhood and everything. Lucky he had the sense to find his way back home.”
“Then you’re F. Crumb?” I say.
“Francesca,” says the woman. “Now, which table?”
I grab Lizzie’s hand and pull her towards the door. “Your table leg looks fine then,” I say on the way out. “My mistake.”
Back on the train, we’re speeding towards Montville. This train doesn’t stink near as bad as the other one, thank lucky stars, but it’s so crowded, we can’t get a seat. “It’s only five stops,” says Lizzie when I set the toolbox on the floor between my feet and lean my head against the metal pole by the doors.
I don’t so much care about having to stand. My brains are fixed on finding the real F. Crumb:
explorer,
handyman,
insect-lover,
long-lost grandpa,
and who knows what else.
The train rattles and shakes, and we’re so deep underground that my ears close up. The train conductor says something that sounds like “Nah fopp bonkpill” over the loudspeaker. “What did he say?” I ask Lizzie.
Only I must have said it real loud because two people standing on the other side of Lizzie say to me, “Next stop Montville.”
Lizzie rolls her eyes at me like she’s never had plugged-up ears before, and then she squeezes her nose. I sniff the air but can’t smell anything that’s so bad, so I figure it must be coming from those two people beside Lizzie. I pick up my toolbox, thank the people for being so helpful and not rolling their eyes at me like Lizzie did, and tell them that I don’t think they stink at all. Then I explain that we’re off to find my grandpa. They say something else that I can’t hear, but is probably something like “Good luck” or “I hope you find him.” Because that’s what helpful people on a train would say.
We ride an escalator up and out of the station, and when we reach the street my ears finally get unplugged. “You were really loud in there,” says Lizzie, reaching for my toolbox.
“At least I didn’t make those people feel bad about the way they smelled,” I say, shifting the toolbox to my other side.
“What do you mean?”
“The way you held your nose,” I say.
Lizzie rolls her eyes at me again. “I was trying to get my ears to open.” She holds her nose again to show me. “You squeeze your nose and then blow.”
“Where’d you learn that?”
“My grandpa, the one who’s a pilot, showed me.”
I don’t know why, but that makes me tighten my grip on the toolbox and say, “Well, Lizzie Maple, aren’t you just the luckiest girl on the planet to have a grandpa to show you those kinds of things.”
Lizzie bites her thumbnail for at least two blocks after that. We don’t say anything and I’m not even sure where we’re going because Lizzie is the one with the map. Finally, she stops biting and walking and says, “There.”
A sign that says Good to the Last Crumb Bakery blinks in the window in front of us. “Here?” I say. “But this can’t be …”
“Come on,” says Lizzie. “We might as well see. And I could eat a cupcake.”
I follow Lizzie inside right up to the counter. She orders a red cupcake with white frosting from the man at the register, and she lets out a squeal when he puts it in her hand. “Do you use beetroot in your red velvet?”
“Beetroot? I don’t think so.”
“Really?” she says. “I guess that’s gone out of fashion. Many bakers used beetroot during World War Two to colour their cakes. You know, because food was in short supply …”
I don’t know why she’s talking about beetroot when we’re supposed to be detectives on a case, so I elbow her in the side so she’ll remember why we’re here. It works, because then she says, “Excuse me, sir. Can you tell me if a Mr Felix Crumb is the proprietor of this business?”
Where Lizzie learned to talk like that I don’t know. The man wipes his hands on his apron and says, “No, Frederick Crumb owns the place. He’s in the back with the croissants. Do you want to chat to him about beetroot?”
I tell the man, “No, thank you, we definitely do not,” and then we leave.
Once outside, I pull the paper with the F. Crumb addresses on it from my pocket. The peppermint leaf from Francesca’s garden falls to the ground and I just leave it there. I cross off the two F. Crumbs and stare at the address of the only one left on the list: 247 East Montgomery Avenue.
Lizzie hands me half of her cupcake and says, “Let’s go. Third time’s lucky.”
There’s no luck at 247 East Montgomery Avenue. Which is exactly what I tell Lizzie when we get to the lobby of the apartment building and see the names of the people who live there posted just inside the door. F. Crumb at 247 East Montgomery Avenue is actually Fern P. Crumb. Fern, like the plant. Not Felix, like the grandpa.
The walk back to Montville train station is long, and I wish I had never eaten half of Lizzie’s red cupcake because it’s not agreeing with me. Lizzie tries her best to cheer me up on the way, saying things like,
“At least we had an adventure”
and
“Your grandpa will turn up someday.”
Which doesn’t make me feel one bit better.
“Look!” says Lizzie, pointing to a line of trash cans outside the train station. “Did you see that cat?”
I don’t see anything but garbage. “Mr Jiggs probably escaped again.”
“No, this one’s grey,” she says. “Aww! I wonder who he belongs to.”
I shrug. “I hope he can find his way back home.” And then I don’t know how it comes into my brains, but that runaway cat makes me think of a way to help Grandpa Felix find his way home to us.
Chapter Eleven
There don’t seem to be any dead people, or even mostly dead people, on the train on our way home, thank lucky stars, so I keep my finger to myself.
The whole way Lizzie is talking up our adventure like we just sailed around the world on a raft made of peacock feathers. “We did it,” she says with a smile on her face. “A real adventure. On our very own. And we didn’t get lost or murdered or robbed or killed or kidnapped like my mum is always saying will happen.”
“You’re going with me tomorrow, right?” I say, as we climb the stairs of our apartment building. “To put up posters.”
“Count me in,” says Lizzie. “Are we going back to Montville? Because those cupcakes were good. I’m just saying.”
; “No, just Simmons. That’s where Grandpa Felix used to live. Somebody should know him from the posters.” In front of Lizzie’s door I look her square in the eyeballs and say, “You can’t tell a soul about our adventure, Lizzie. Cross your heart and hope to die a painful death.”
“M-U-M is the word,” she says, crossing her heart and her lips and then spitting on the floor to seal it.
But I don’t know what she means or what it has to do with telling secrets. So I say, “Your M-U-M can’t find out where we’ve been. Detectives have to be secret keepers.”
We shake on it, but truth be told, it’s really me that I’m worried about. Secret keeping is not my best subject.
As I take a step inside our apartment, every part of me tingles with secret-knowing and I’m afraid that even my fingernails could give me away. But before I can even close the door behind me, Terrible is there with arms folded across his chest. Don’t aliens have other things to do? I set down my toolbox by the door and try not to look at him.
“Where were you all day?” he asks.
It’s best not to open my mouth in case my secret decides it wants to fly out, so I walk past him into the kitchen and pretend he’s talking to somebody else. “Where’s Mum?” I ask. If she’s home, the chances of me being alien-murdered are pretty low, I figure.
“She’s still at school.” He follows me into the kitchen and corners me by the oven. He steps closer and the smell of him makes me cough. “Where were you?” he asks again.
“Lizzie’s?” It comes out like a question.
“Try again,” says the alien, “because Lizzie’s mummy came over here looking for you.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Uh-oh,” Terrible repeats, leaning his face close.
I switch to breathing through my mouth. “Wha-wha-what did you tell her?”
His eyes lock on to me like they are trying to shoot out laser beams that will slice my brains in half (NUMBER 10)
“Wha-wha-what did I tell her? I told her that I didn’t know where you were.”
“But I said we were working on a school project!”
“You did?” he says. “I must have forgot.”
“Terrible! Lizzie is going to be in big trouble with her mummy now!”
“Calm down. First I told her that I didn’t know where you were. But then I might have said something about a school project or something. When she started to get all worked up.” He finally looks away from me like he’s decided that he can’t kill me with laser beams. Which makes me wonder if my real brother is somewhere in there after all.
“You did?” I say.
His eyes are on me again. “That doesn’t mean I’m not going to tell Mum. Unless you say what you’re up to.”
I swallow. “A project for school is what I said we were doing, and that is what we did.” I inch along the counter and keep going. “But we went outside for a while … outside … outside … outside because Lizzie wants to learn how to ride a skateboard. Right, and then she needed more marshmallows for her helmet, so we walked over to the store. And you wouldn’t think that would take all day, but those marshmallows take a long time to glue on. You know, because they are the mini kind. And it really did take a long time. And there might have been other things that we did, but those are the big parts.”
Terrible leans in real close and stares at me, at my nose. “What are you looking at?” I ask, leaning backwards against the counter.
“I’m just watching to see if your nose is growing with all the lies coming out of your mouth.”
I cover my nose with my hand. The door to our apartment opens and closes then, and Mum’s voice calls out, “I’m home!”
“In here,” says Terrible, giving me the Stink Eye.
“You won’t really tell, will you?” I say.
Mum pops her head into the kitchen and smiles at us. “Had a great study session today. Let me just drop my books in the laundry and I’ll make us dinner. How do ham-and-egg sandwiches sound?”
Terrible says, “Fine” and then puts his hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “Fine,” comes out of my mouth before I know it and for a second I feel like a puppet. Pinocchio.
“I want to hear all about your day,” says Mum as she heads down the hall.
“Did you hear that?” Terrible says, after she’s gone. “She wants to hear all about your day.” He smiles and gives my shoulder another squeeze. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Mum what you’ve been up to today.” I wait for the part that’s going to sting. I don’t have to wait long. “But it’s going to cost you.”
“No.” Aliens find sneaky ways to get your money (NUMBER 9)
“Have it your way,” he says. “Mother?”
“I’ll be there in a second,” she calls back.
Terrible grins at me, and I glare at him. Today it’s my money, tomorrow he’ll be stuffing my face into his shoes. Mum’s footsteps in the hallway get louder, closer. “Last chance,” he says.
And only because I haven’t found Grandpa Felix yet, I say fine.
Chapter Twelve
Later, after Mum goes to bed, I make copies of Grandpa Felix’s picture on our printer and get to work on the posters. This is how they turn out:
Even though I gave Terrible all of my money and don’t have any left for a reward, I decide that a reward can be lots of things and doesn’t have to mean only money. For example, I could draw a picture, make a ham-and-egg sandwich, or even show them a real live alien.
Mum has already left for somewhere by the time I get up. Before I can think of a way to leave the apartment without getting caught by Terrible, Lizzie Maple comes knocking. She’s got a look on her face that says, I’m Not Supposed to Be Here.
She holds up the stopwatch she’s got in her hand. “I’ve got exactly four minutes and twenty-eight seconds to tell you what I have to tell you before my mummy gets out of the shower. So don’t say anything.”
“OK,” I say.
“Don’t even say OK. There’s no time for OK.”
I nod and wonder if there’s even time for that.
Lizzie takes a deep breath and says, “I got in a large amount of trouble yesterday because I was gone so long and didn’t check in like I’m supposed to, and now I’m not allowed to leave Mummy’s sights. So …”
“But today we’re supposed to …”
Lizzie puts her hand over my mouth and says, “Sorry, but I can’t go with you to put up posters today.” She cocks her head like she heard something. “I better go. But don’t worry, I didn’t tell Mummy where we went or anything or that I was even with you the whole time, so I don’t think she’ll say anything to your mum. I’m just saying.” Then she’s gone before I can say anything else.
All of a sudden, I’m Sherlock Holmes without a Watson. A detective without an assistant is like a foot without toes. What I need is another Watson. So I call Patsy Cline Roberta Watson and pull at my shoelaces until she answers.
“Mum wants to know if we’re picking you up or you’re meeting us there,” she says without even saying hello.
I have no idea what she is talking about and wonder if she thinks she’s talking to someone else. So I say, “This is Penelope Crumb calling.”
“I know who it is I’m talking to,” she says, jabbing her words at me like they are made of spears.
“Oh,” I say, “in that case, meet you where?”
“The auditions. You didn’t forget, did you?”
I pull the phone away from my ear because the spears are sharper now. Truth be told, I kind of did forget on account of the fact that my brains have been busy with other important things. For example, finding my grandpa Felix and trying not to get alien-murdered. Both things take up a lot of brain space and must have squeezed out the tiny little pea-size thing about going with Patsy Cline to the auditions today.
But this is not what I tell Patsy Cline because that is not the sort of thing you say to your best friend. So I say, “Of course I didn’t forget. But here’s the thing …”
>
“Oh, whew!” says Patsy. “For a second there I thought you were going to say you forgot all about my audition and aren’t coming. I mean, that would be worse than dropping a doughnut in a sandpit. Especially after the nose incident at school.”
And that’s when I decide not to say anything about putting up posters to find my long-lost grandpa. Instead I make up a teeny, tiny white lie about how my mum is sick with a mysterious flu bug and needs me to stay here and bring her beef stock cubes in hot water. Which is the only thing that will keep her from going dead.
“What kind of flu bug?” she asks. “Can you catch it?” Patsy Cline has a thing about germs ever since the time we learned that some germs have tails.
“I think it’s one of those alien bugs,” I whisper.
Patsy Cline seems very worried after I tell her this and says, “Don’t think a thing about ALL-STAR KIDS. You have to stay home with your mum, Penelope. So she can get better lickety-split.”
I tell her that I know she will. And after I hang up, a strange thing happens. My nose does some twitching. I put my hand over my nose to make sure it didn’t grow just now. Then I say out loud, “It’s not like Patsy Cline needs me there at the auditions with her or anything. She’s sung without me plenty of times. Besides, she’s got her mum. Which means she’s not all by herself like me.”
I pack up my toolbox, roll up my posters, and tell Terrible that I’m going to the library. I tell him this while he’s in the bathroom, while the water’s running. And I say it in a whisper from the kitchen.
It’s not my fault if he doesn’t hear me.
After walking for a bit, I slow down a little and stop looking behind me for Terrible. I pat my shirt pocket to make sure I still have Lizzie’s train card. Which I forgot to give back to her yesterday, thank lucky stars. Going on the train is a little scary without Lizzie, but detectives have to be brave, especially when they are without their assistants.
Outside the Simmons train station I get out my scissors and tape from my toolbox and fix a couple of posters to telephone poles. Then I head towards the neighbourhood where I think Francesca and Mr Jiggs live. Along the way, I put up more posters: on street signs, parking meters, and lampposts. But when I tape a poster to the side of a big mailbox in front of the Simmons post office, I find trouble.
Penelope Crumb Follows Her Nose Page 5
