“Uh, ‘Imagine the odds’?”
“Why?”
“Well, because, what are the odds of something like that happening? I mean, it’s quite a coincidence. Right?”
“Yeah, right,” Frankie said uncertainly. He had a feeling there was something, some connection he should be making. But it was just out of his reach.
“Frankie, what?” Matilda said.
“I don’t know. It’s probably nothing. Just that my aunt said the exact same thing when she told the story. Which makes sense, ’cause, like, what are the odds, right? But then, I remembered thinking the same thing a few days ago when I was walking Archie past Henry’s Market. I thought, ‘Imagine the odds.’ ”
“Why?” Matilda said.
“Because that’s where Oliver bought the mango-curry jam that took out Billy Fargus.”
“Mango chutney,” Oliver corrected.
“Sorry, mango chutney.”
“Never mind that,” Matilda said shortly.
“Anyway, we’d never been to that market before, and we weren’t even there to get jam.”
“Why were you there?”
“Well, we were there to get …” Oliver started, confused. He turned to Frankie. “Why did we go there?”
“My dad needed cardamom, remember.”
“Oh, yeah,” Oliver said.
“Cardamom?”
“It’s a spice,” Frankie said.
“I know what cardamom is,” Matilda snapped.
“Right,” Oliver said. “Because all the other grocery stores were out.”
“Hold on,” Matilda said. “All the other grocery stores in the area were out of cardamom? All of them?”
The boys shrugged, not yet following her train of thought.
Matilda closed her eyes and laid her hands flat on the table. For several moments, she just sat there thinking.
“Matilda,” Oliver began, but she gave him a shush finger.
“I am so stupid,” she said, eyes still closed and finger still in the air. Then she opened her eyes and pointed at Frankie.
“How’d you get your dog-walking job?”
“Archie got loose one day because some workman left the back gate open. I found him and brought him back to Steve’s house. Then Steve offered me a job walking Archie after school.”
“Where did you find him?” Matilda asked.
“He found me, actually,” Frankie said. “He started chasing after me. I thought he was going to tear me apart, but it turns out he just wanted the beef jerky in my backpack.”
“Since when do you eat beef jerky?” Matilda asked.
“Well, I don’t really,” Frankie said. “But I got it for free when—”
“—when I bought the jam that took out Billy Fargus,” Oliver said hesitantly, getting where Matilda was going with this.
“Okay,” Matilda said slowly, piecing it all together. “The beef jerky in your backpack and Oliver’s mango-curry—”
“Chutney,” the boys corrected in unison.
“—came from the same market. And this is the same day that Frankie’s dad ran out of cardamom?”
Oliver and Matilda shared a look. Then it hit Frankie, too.
“Whoa, wait a minute. You guys are saying that Preston Oglethorpe made all that stuff happen.”
“Uh-huh,” Oliver said.
“So my dad running out of cardamom was like the butterfly flapping its wings?”
“Yep,” Matilda said.
“Okay,” Frankie said. “Gonna be honest, I’m kind of freaking out over here.”
“Wow,” Oliver said. “Matilda, I can’t believe you figured all that out. That was amazing.”
“Thanks, but Frankie here was the one that pieced it together first.”
“Me?”
“Of course,” Matilda said. “The way you caught me saying ‘Imagine the odds’—that was because you were subconsciously making the connection.”
Frankie liked the idea that at least somewhere in his brain he was smart. “Thanks, Matilda.”
“Just one question, though,” Oliver said. “If Preston Oglethorpe is really doing all of this, then … why? What’s he trying to accomplish?”
Matilda frowned. “I don’t know. But when we find him, I’ll be sure to ask.”
“Josie can’t do it, obviously,” Frankie’s mom said. “And I don’t want to risk breaking in a new sitter for something this important.”
Frankie’s parents were trying to figure out a way for his mom to help out at his dad’s first big catering gig. Aunt Josie usually babysat for them, but she’d be running the waitstaff, and his dad could really use his mom there as another pair of eyes to make sure everything went smoothly.
It had been a few days since Frankie, Oliver, and Matilda had decided that they were going to find the smartest man in the world before George Kaplan could. Their progress so far had been, well, minimal.
The last lingering hints of summer were giving way; there was a brisk snap of fall in the breeze. It would be getting dark earlier soon. The slow but steady change of season had been getting to Frankie and his friends lately. Reminding them that there was a time limit to their search, and that time was running out.
However, listening to his parents trying to work out their childcare issues reminded Frankie that he had other people counting on him as well.
“I can do it,” Frankie said, the words popping out of his mouth before he’d fully formed them in the first place.
“Pardon?” his mom said.
Frankie took a breath. Volunteering was harder the second time, now that he realized exactly what he was saying. “I can do it. I can watch the twins. That way you can go and help Dad.”
“Are you sure?” his mom asked.
“Yeah, it’ll be fine.”
“Frankie, that would be a really big help,” his dad said.
“No problem,” Frankie said, trying to keep the growing fear that it would be a complete disaster from showing in his eyes. “I’ve got this.”
As soon as the words left Frankie’s mouth, they all heard a bloodcurdling scream from upstairs, followed immediately by a similar but slightly different bloodcurdling scream.
“And nap time is over,” Frankie’s dad said.
“You’re back,” Mrs. Gonzales said as she sat down at her desk.
“Yes, ma’am.” Billy fidgeted in his seat. As did Bad Becky. “We—um, we got a gig.”
“A gig,” Mrs. Gonzales said cryptically.
“Yes, ma’am,” Billy Fargus said. He went on to explain that the Dangerous Jams had been offered a chance to play at JoJo’s Bar and Grill, for money.
JoJo’s was an eatery only in the loosest sense of the word—they did have a grill, and occasionally they would burn meat on that grill, slap it between some bread, and call it a hamburger. But it was really just a dirty, rundown hole in the wall that catered to aging roughnecks with a fondness for motorcycles and drinking beer out of the pitcher.
Basically, old people with attitudes.
“JoJo’s, huh?” Mrs. Gonzales said. “And are they paying you in tetanus shots?”
Bad Becky barked out a laugh.
Mrs. Gonzales watched Billy sink in his chair. The truth was that she had spoken with Billy’s mom about JoJo’s the night before and had already offered to chaperone the little outing, per Mrs. Fargus’s approval.
But Mrs. Gonzales couldn’t let on right away. She had to play the stick in the mud, at least for a little while. After all, she was dealing with someone who had a history of hostility toward others, and she couldn’t afford to look like a pushover.
Still, it didn’t seem fair to make poor Billy squirm, too.
“What about Mr. Lindo?” Mrs. Gonzales asked.
“Chester’ll be fine,” Bad Becky said.
Billy took over. “Um, what she means is, we talked with his grandson, and he said it’s okay as long as …”
“Yes?”
“As long as someone from Shady Glades is t
here to keep an eye on him,” Billy said, trying to make it not sound like a big deal.
“That’s a big deal, Billy,” Mrs. Gonzales said.
“I know,” Billy said.
“It’s stupid,” Bad Becky piped in. “Chester’s not gonna wander off or anything. Besides, he’s pretty much all there when he’s playing.”
“That’s true, Mrs. Gonzales,” Billy said.
It was. Mrs. Gonzales had seen it for herself.
“And it would mean a lot to him,” Billy said. “I know it would, ma’am.”
“I understand that. But it would be a considerable expense. We couldn’t go short a staff member here, so we’d have to bring someone in on their day off. Pay them overtime, probably …”
“You could come,” Bad Becky said quietly.
“Pardon?”
“You could come to JoJo’s. Ma’am,” Bad Becky said. “You’re on salary, so it wouldn’t, you know, cost anything.”
“Except your time,” Billy interjected. “Which, we know, is worth a lot.”
“Ms. Tillman, are you inviting me to your gig?”
“Yes,” Bad Becky said. “Please.”
And there it was. Mrs. Gonzales would go down in Shady Glades history for getting Bad Becky Tillman to say please. This had gone better than she had even hoped.
“Then I would love to come,” Mrs. Gonzales said.
Frankie figured his plan would either be a stroke of genius or a gigantic mistake right up there with chili dogs before a roller coaster. When his parents left for the catering job around three, Frankie told his little brothers that if they were good, he had a surprise for them.
To his absolute shock, they were good—they didn’t injure themselves or each other, break anything, or try to knock down any load-bearing walls. They even put more of their dinner into their mouths than they dropped on the floor.
Steve showed up promptly at five thirty to drop off Archie. If anyone could absorb the limitless, destructive energy of Frankie’s twin brothers, it was a one-hundred-and-thirty-pound rottweiler.
Frankie took Seamus, Hugh, and the dog out back, and for the next two and a half hours, his little brothers hung on Archie, climbed on Archie, chased Archie, threw their bodies at Archie, and even tried to ride Archie like a horse. Though never aggressive with the boys, Archie gave as good as he got, and by eight o’clock the big dog and the savage twins were all passed out on the living room carpet, positively exhausted.
Frankie carried the twins up to their room, one at a time, and tucked them in their beds. On his way out the door, he heard Seamus stir slightly.
“Frankie?” Seamus said, waking just a bit.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you,” Seamus said.
“Sure thing. Good night, Seamus.”
“G’night, Frankie.”
“Frankie, Frankie,” a sleeping Hugh instinctively mumbled into his pillow.
Frankie’s mom came home just after eleven. The event was a huge success, and everyone loved his dad’s food. She thanked Frankie again for helping out.
“It’s no big deal,” Frankie said, though in truth he was pretty proud of himself for keeping his brothers out of the emergency room and the house in one piece.
“Now tell me the truth,” his mom said as she sat on the floor and rubbed Archie’s belly. “Was this really just a clever way of showing us how much we could use a dog?”
Frankie laughed. “Nah, I don’t need a dog of my own anymore. Archie here might get jealous.”
Matilda took out the old yearbook from under her bed again and opened it to the picture of Preston Oglethorpe, Oliver’s mom, and the third kid. A boy.
She still hadn’t said anything to Frankie and Oliver. She told herself it was because she wanted to be sure first.
But she was sure.
So sure that she didn’t even need to check the official class picture to get the full first and last name. She already knew that the third boy in the picture was Jimmy Sandoval.
The third boy was her dad.
She knew because the third kid in the picture, the boy on the other side of a young Floss DiCamillo, was wearing a Big Trouble in Little China T-shirt.
So her dad had been best friends with Oliver’s mom. And Preston Oglethorpe. It explained a lot. But like most answers, it came with a bunch of new questions.
And Matilda was going to get the answers.
Black Lincolns and Stop Signs * Kaplan’s Real Address * Finding Oglethorpe * Tesla Speaks * Front and Follow * Oliver Is Running Out of Time * Five Questions (and One Lie) * Matilda Crosses a Line
Archie’s walk started out like usual. Frankie took him by the Cadillac at the top of the hill, where Archie made his daily lunge for the darting cat. Over the last few days, the two had expanded their little dance. The tabby seemed more playful and had begun slipping in and out from under the car in a game of hide-and-seek. Archie, who loved courting injury almost as much as the twins did, couldn’t resist throwing his body into that rear tire block repeatedly to try to catch his friend. But the cat was too quick, and Archie always eventually gave up.
Today Frankie took Archie into the last section of Matilda’s search grid. If after today he didn’t find the Lincolns or anything that hinted at where George Kaplan was hiding out, he didn’t know what they were going to do.
Frankie walked the blocks and his fears were confirmed when, once again, he came up empty. Dejected, he turned around and started back. He was about to cross the street when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a car that clearly had no intention of stopping at the stop sign, and he pulled back just in time.
“Hey! It’s called a stop—” Frankie started to yell, but then he noticed something.
The car was a black Lincoln Town Car.
Frankie watched as it drove up the block and pulled into a driveway. He walked past the house and subtly checked the license plate. He had a pretty good feeling he knew who it belonged to.
Matilda answered the door to find Oliver and Frankie on the front porch, goofy smiles on their faces.
“I saw one of the black Lincolns,” Frankie said. “I found George Kaplan’s hideout!”
Matilda hugged them both. “That’s great, that’s just great!” Then she looked back into the house and closed the door behind her as she joined the boys on the porch.
“It’s over on Euclid,” Oliver said, handing her a piece of paper. “Here’s the address.”
“I’ll see what I can find,” Matilda said, taking the paper. “But I’m sure the registration will be bogus, and we probably won’t learn anything new. But, hey. We found George Kaplan! One down, one to go.”
“Yeah,” Frankie said. “Only I doubt a grid search is going to help us find Preston Oglethorpe.”
“Maybe,” Oliver said, an idea forming. “Maybe we don’t need one.”
“Huh?” Frankie said.
“Yeah, I’m with Frankie on this one.”
“Think about it. No matter how smart this guy is, if he wants to control the future, Oglethorpe still has to do his research. He had to know that Frankie’s dad was a chef and that Billy Fargus was allergic to something in that mango-chutney jam and that the guys working on Steve’s house kept leaving the gate open. And he also had to connect those variables to us somehow, right?”
“Right,” Matilda said.
“So if Oglethorpe knew that I was about to lose my lunch to the school heavy and that Frankie wanted a dog and that Frankie’s dad needed clients for his new catering business …”
“Then he had to be close by, watching us,” Frankie said. “Closer than George Kaplan.”
“Exactly,” Oliver said. “Mr. Kaplan just had to keep an eye on me and Mom. But for Oglethorpe to collect his intel …”
“He’d need to study us,” Matilda finished the thought.
“Study us,” Oliver repeated Matilda’s words, rolling them over in his mind. He slapped his hand on the porch railing. “That’s it!”
Matilda an
d Frankie looked at him, not following yet.
“School!” Oliver exclaimed. “He’s gotta be working at the school.”
Matilda thought about it. “That makes the most sense,” she said. “Okay, wait here. I’ll grab my laptop and then we can go to Frankie’s and follow this up.”
“Why can’t we just stay here?” Frankie said.
Matilda looked back into the house. Her dad was in his office, working. Ever since she saw that picture in the yearbook, the one with Oliver’s mom, her dad, and Preston Oglethorpe as kids, she’d been trying to figure out how it all added up—those three kids in the past, and her and Oliver and Frankie in the present—but she was having a hard time connecting the dots. She did have one theory, though. But she didn’t like it and didn’t want to say anything until she was absolutely sure.
“We just can’t,” she said, shutting the door and leaving them there waiting on the porch.
Matilda ran upstairs to grab her laptop from her room. She was almost out the door again when she heard her dad say, “Matilda? Are there two boys on our porch?”
Matilda turned around to see him peeking out the window in his den.
“Oh, them,” Matilda said with forced nonchalance. “Yeah, we’re working on a group project together. For school. Bye, Dad!”
Matilda bolted out the door before he could respond. “Come on,” she said, ushering the boys down the steps and onto the sidewalk.
When they got to Frankie’s house, his dad made them try some sliders he was working on before they went upstairs. They were really good. So good they almost forget they had work to do.
Almost.
“Okay,” Matilda said, sitting down at Frankie’s desk, her fingers already dancing across her keyboard. “I’m in the school district database. Accessing Preston Oglethorpe Middle School.”
“Oglethorpe disappeared a year ago, so we can rule out anyone who’s been at the school longer than that,” said Oliver.
“We can also rule out any women faculty or staff,” Frankie added.
“Got it,” Matilda said, typing away.
“Ooh, don’t forget height,” Frankie added. “You can’t fake short.”
Matilda finished typing. “Good, okay. That narrows it down to five men.” She pulled up an old photo of Preston, then scrolled through the profile pages of possible Oglethorpes. “Nope. Nope. Definitely not.” Then one picture caught her eye. “Hold on.”
Connect the Dots Page 10
