"Jagger had the same etchings at his Coffin Club apartment!" I said excitedly. "It's just missing the coffin."
"He must have left in a hurry."
"Why would he leave? Jagger could remain undiscovered for several eternities in this place. And this elevator could easily fit two coffins."
"He must have felt threatened."
"By the ghost story?"
"This old elevator isn't moving anywhere," Alexander reassured.
"Then what could possibly threaten Jagger?" I wondered.
While Alexander examined the elevator, I tried to catch my breath and combed the hallway for any more clues. Next to the boxes I noticed something silver catching the moonlight.
"What would this be doing here?" I asked, holding a garage door opener in my hand.
Alexander came over to me and examined my discovery.
At that moment, standing in the window right behind him, was a ghostly, attractive teen with white hair, the ends dyed bloodred. His eyes, one blue and one green, stared through me.
"Jagger!" I whispered.
"I know," Alexander answered, repeatedly clicking the opener in frustration. "He was here."
"No. He's here now! He's right outside!" I said, pointing to the window again.
Jagger flashed a wicked grin, his fangs gleaming.
Alexander quickly turned around, but Jagger had vanished.
"He was standing right there!" I cried, pointing to the window.
Alexander took off and I followed him back through the factory, past the ghostly Halloween props and out the front door.
When we reached the gravel drive, Alexander suddenly stopped next to the Mercedes.
He pressed the keys to the car in my hand and handed me the flashlight.
"Drive to the Mansion. I'll meet you there in half an hour," he said.
"But—" "Please," he said, opening the door for me.
"Okay," I agreed, and reluctantly got inside.
Alexander closed the door. When I glanced back to say good-bye, he had vanished.
I locked the door and put the key in the ignition. As the crickets chirped and Alexander continued his search alone, I grew anxious. What if something happened to him? I couldn't hear his calls if I was miles away atop Benson Hill. I checked my container of garlic sealed safely inside my purse. I got out of the car and stuck the keys into my back pocket. I raced toward the east side of the factory with the flashlight in my hand.
The mill grounds had an eerie quietness to them. I felt as if someone were watching me. I looked up at the sky. I saw what appeared to be a bat hanging from the power lines above me. When I shined my light on the wire, it was gone.
I turned the corner of the factory to find Alexander pacing outside the hallway window.
"He was standing right here," I said.
"I should have known—," Alexander murmured.
"That I wouldn't stay in the car?"
Alexander shook his head and pointed toward the smokestack. Not twenty feet from where we were standing I could see plain as daylight what had threatened Jagger—a giant wrecking ball.
5 The Key
That night I sat in my computer chair, holding the garage door opener in my hand.
I felt I held the key to cracking the Case of the Missing Twin Teen Vampires.
In fact, an empty garage was an awesome hiding place for a vampire. If a family were on vacation, they would have to drive the hour and a half to the nearest airport, therefore giving vacancy to a waiting coffin. With no one in the residence, Jagger and Luna could go undetected long enough to seduce Trevor into their vampirey lair.
If Alexander and I walked from garage door to garage door, it could take decades to discover which one Jagger and Luna were calling their latest batcave. By then Trevor would be "fluless" and return to practice in enough time for Luna to have sunk her fangs into him and the entire Dullsville High soccer team.
I hardly spoke to anyone in this town, much less knew the travel plans of the other Dullsvillians. I had to figure out a way to find out who was traveling, their destinations, and the durations of their stays. How could I get access to that information? Just then an idea struck me like a bolt of lightning. Of course I couldn't get the information—but I knew someone who could.
The next day, after school, Becky drove me to the Armstrong Travel Agency.
I missed the old girl. Since she'd begun dating Matt Wells and I'd met Alexander, we didn't have the endless free time to hang out, talk on the phone, or climb the Mansion's gates. So when we did have girl time, we made the most of it.
"I've heard rumors about that white-haired girl from Romania," she said when I got into her truck.
"What did you hear?" I asked, perking up after a long, mind-numbing school day.
"Well, that dude that was lurking at the drive-in when we saw Kissing Coffins was her brother."
"Yes…," I began, hinting for more info.
"Matt says they've been asking around for Trevor. I think the dude wants to play on the soccer team, but he doesn't even go to our school."
"That's it?" I asked, disappointed. "I wouldn't worry about it. No one will take Matt's position away. Not even a vampire," I mumbled.
"What did you say?" she asked as she pulled the pickup in front of Armstrong Travel.
I stepped out of the truck.
"Are you sure you and Alexander aren't going to elope in Romania?" Becky teased.
"No, but if we do, I'll get four tickets."
I was happy to walk into Armstrong Travel in full goth garb—Herman Munster-
size black boots, purple tights, and a black torn T-shirt dress— instead of their Corporate Cathy dress code of tailored skirts and blouses.
I smiled at Ruby, who was seated at her desk, handing pamphlets to two customers. Ruby's friendly expression strained as I stood like an ill-mannered eyesore in the very conservative business.
"I'll be right with you," Ruby said, hinting at an out-of-the-way chair behind a rack of luggage tags.
"I'm just browsing," I said, and began glancing at a map of Hawaii.
Finally the young couple with Mexico brochures in their hands rose. They looked at me oddly, then cowered past, as if at any moment my bat body tattoo was going to jump off my arm and bite their heads off.
"I'll call you to confirm," Ruby said with a wave as the couple scurried out the door.
"Raven, it's great to see you," she greeted sincerely. "What brings you by?"
"Is Janice in?" I asked, secretly hoping she wasn't.
"No, she's at the post office. Is there something I can help you with?"
"Well…has anyone in town booked a vacation in the last few days?"
"People book vacations every day. This is a travel agency, you know," she said with a smile.
"I mean—" "Why would you want to know?"
Well, there are these two teen vampires who are hiding out in town, waiting for the right moment to bite Trevor Mitchell. I believe they are living in a vacant garage, probably belonging to a vacationer, I wanted to say. I imagined Ruby's pleasant face turning to shock, then horror, then her plugging away at her keyboard for a list of addresses. "You go, Raven Madison. Save Dullsville. Save the world."
"Uh…for a school report," I said instead. "I'm doing statistics on spring vacations."
"I'm sorry, hon, but I can't give out that information. You ought to know that; you worked here."
"But that's precisely the reason I thought you'd tell me."
"I'd love to help, but I just can't give out names, addresses, and itineraries," she said with a laugh. "In the wrong hands that information could be used for home invasions."
"Or at least garages," I said.
Ruby appeared confused just as the phone rang.
"Armstrong Travel, Ruby speaking. Can I help you make a reservation?" she said in an ultra-perky voice.
I fiddled with the white pens on her desk.
"Of course, let me see," she said, and began plugging aw
ay at her computer keyboard.
The phone rang again, this time lighting up line two of Ruby's white phone.
"Can I put you on hold?" Ruby asked. "Oh…you are calling from where?"
As the red light flashed and the phone continued to ring, I spun Ruby's lucite organizer and wondered how I could hack into their computer without the FBI finding out.
Ruby covered the receiver with her hand. "Do you mind answering that?" she asked, pointing to Janice's phone.
Who did she think I was? I didn't work here anymore, and I most certainly wasn't on the clock.
I went to Janice's desk, pressed line two, and picked up the phone. "Armstrong Travel, where Spain is hot and the men are hotter. Can I book you a trip there?"
"Do you have any specials on cruises?" a woman's voice asked.
"Janice?" I said. "Janice, is that you?"
Ruby glanced over at me.
"No, my name isn't Janice," the caller answered. "It's Liz. I'm interested in a vacation cruise to Alaska."
"Keys?" I asked loud enough for Ruby to hear. "You need car keys?"
"No," Liz corrected. "I said 'cruise.'" Ruby looked over.
"You're at the post office? Your cell is breaking up. You need Ruby to pick you up?"
"I thought you said this was Armstrong Travel," Liz said.
"Let me talk," Ruby said to me. "Excuse me," she said politely to her caller, "I need to put you on hold."
"I'm sorry, I must have the wrong number," the inquiring Liz said, and hung up.
Ruby switched lines just as line two's red light went dead. "Janice? Janice?"
"Her cell kept dropping, then went dead. Maybe it wasn't her—" "No, she's been frazzled all day."
Ruby hurried over to her business partner's desk and found a spare set of keys in her top drawer.
"Do you mind riding these over to the post office for me?"
This plan wasn't for me to leave. Ruby was making this difficult.
"I don't have my bike."
"Do you have your driver's license?"
"I have my temps."
Ruby glanced at me, then outside at her white Mercedes parked in front of the agency. I could see her mind race as she imagined me screeching down the street, blasting Marilyn Manson, and returning her car with newly painted black widow spiders running alongside the exterior.
"I'll have to close the agency," she said.
"Well…," I began, twisting a lock of hair. "I could watch the office, if that would help you."
"You really aren't dressed appropriately," she said, eyeing my morose-looking outfit. "But I guess I don't have a choice. You wouldn't mind staying here for just a few minutes? I hate to close the agency."
"Well—" "I won't be long, really," she said, gathering her purse and keys. "It would be a big help."
"Will I be paid the same rate as before?"
"Paid?" she asked with her hand on her hip. "I'll only be gone for a few minutes."
"How about throwing in a few plane tickets, too?"
Flustered, Ruby paused. "I'll give you ten dollars and a coupon for a free movie."
"Deal."
"You drive a hard bargain. That's what I've always liked about you," she said as she raced out the door.
I sat at Ruby's desk. I flipped through a Conde Nast magazine until I saw her get in her white Mercedes and drive off.
Now that I was employed again, even if only for twenty minutes, it was part of my job to be informed. I logged on to her computer using the same password I had when I was in her employ. Within moments I was surfing through the itineraries of vacationing Dullsvillians.
6 The Hiding Place
After my brief re-employment at Armstrong Travel, I arrived home, and geared up for my continuing mission. Wearing my Olivia Outcast backpack, I hopped on my mountain bike and headed for Loveland.
On the good side of the tracks sat Loveland, a quiet, middle-class community filled with vintage and modern homes.
I stopped at the corner of Shenandoah Avenue. I put on my sunglasses and Emily the Strange hoodie, so I wouldn't be recognized, though no one else in town dressed like I did. I pulled out my list of three Dullsvillian vacationers. For seven days and six nights, three Matten families—all related—were traveling to Los Angeles.
I felt like a gothic Goldilocks as I crept up the first driveway. The senior Matten Victorian-style house was gigantic. Their three-car garage could easily fit a few cars and a few sleeping vampires. I pressed the silver button and waited for the white door to open. It remained still.
A few houses down, the Mattens" eldest son's home appeared to be way too small.
The one-car detached garage could barely fit a car, much less a coffin. I pressed the door opener anyway, but the door didn't budge.
Determined to find my nocturnal bounty, I made my way across the street, to the third Matten house. The Tudor-style home had a backyard garage hidden by a few trees.
Their two-car garage seemed just right. Only it wasn't. The door didn't move.
Frustrated, I checked my list again.
By the time I headed for Oakley Village, I felt like I needed a few blood-filled amulets to recharge my pounding heart.
Oakley Village was a prosperous community of ultra-upscale homes. A who's who of successful Dullsvillians. I discovered on Ruby's computer that the Witherspoons, a retired couple who had just sold Witherspoon Lumber, were booked on a trip to Europe. They had departed three days ago and were scheduled to return in thirty days.
I rode up Tyler Street and turned into number 1455. The Witherspoons lived in a beautiful yellow-shuttered Victorian-style home with an attached three-car garage.
I quickly snuck up their driveway.
I checked out my surroundings to make sure there weren't any nosy neighbors eyeballing me. When I saw I was in the clear, I aimed the opener at the door. I took a deep breath and pressed the silver button.
The door didn't move. I pressed it again.
Nothing happened. This couldn't be!
I tapped it over and over. Still, the door remained fixed.
I ran to the front of the house and pressed my face against the carport's yellow-
shuttered window. The garage was empty of cars and coffins.
I stormed down the driveway to retrieve my bike and checked my Hello Batty watch. I had only a few more hours left of sunlight until this hunter would become the hunted.
I held the door opener in my hand. Which garage did it belong to?
Frustrated, I decided to return home, wait until sunset for Alexander to awake, then confess I hadn't made any Underworldly discoveries. I coasted down the winding road, heading for a shortcut through the Oakley Woods.
I began riding over the bumpy terrain, but then I saw something odd. Sticking out from behind a large pile of wood chips was a vintage hearse!
I pulled my bike up alongside the ghastly car. The circa 1970s Cadillac midnight mobile was beautiful; it had a sleek, long black hood with a silver bat ornament, white-
walled tires, a black carriage adorned with a chrome S-shaped insignia, and black curtains. On the left rear quarter panel was a decal of a white skull and crossbones.
I hopped off my bike and peered into the driver's seat, where I could see restored shiny black vinyl upholstered seats and a tiny white skeleton hanging from the rearview mirror.
I tried to peer in the back window, but the curtains were drawn. The license plate's county sticker was from Hipsterville—the town a few hundred miles away from Dullsville where the Coffin Club was and where I first encountered the nefarious Jagger.
The license plate read: I BITE.
"What are you doing here?" a familiar voice asked.
I nearly jumped out of my boots.
I turned around to find Billy Boy and Henry standing right in front of me.
"I told you it was for real," Henry proudly proclaimed.
"Wow. It is freaky," Billy Boy remarked. "But why is it parked in the woods?"
"I don't know. I discovered it yesterday on my way home from math club," Henry replied.
"Is there a body inside?" Billy Boy asked, nervously trying to peer into the back window.
"No. But I think we could arrange that," I said.
Billy Boy backed away from the macabre mobile.
"Have you seen anyone driving it?" I inquired.
Henry shook his head.
"You still haven't told me why you are out here," Billy Boy charged.
I fingered the garage door opener in my hand. And then it hit me.
There was only one person I knew in Dullsville who could help me whittle down my search—one person who could figure out how to use a garage door opener to unlock his locker or even unbolt his bedroom door. And his five-foot-two-inch nerd body was standing right in front of me.
"I found this," I said, showing Henry. "I'm sure the person who lost it would like to get their car out—or back in."
"You want to know which door it is so you can break in," Billy Boy alleged.
"I wouldn't be breaking in if I had the opener, now would I?" I snarled. "Besides, I'm not a thief. It's my civic duty to return it to its rightful owner."
"Let's see it," Henry said like a jeweler inspecting a precious stone. "This is an Aladdin. I'd say one out of ten homes use this manufacturer. It's the same kind we use."
"You do?" I asked curiously.
"Yes. And this one looks familiar."
"You've seen it? Can you tell me which homes might use them?"
"I was missing one the other day," he said, wrinkling his face in thought. "Hey—" Henry lived in a five-bedroom Colonial-style house just up the road. I'd visited his house once before, when Becky and I were in need of accessories for our Kissing Coffins outfits. Henry supplied us with fangs, blood pellets, and scars.
I imagined bloodthirsty vampire twins anxiously waiting in coffins in his family's garage as he innocently played with fake blood and fangs above them in his bedroom.
"This couldn't be it," I said protectively, and immediately grabbed back the opener.
"But I swore—" "Are your parents home?" I asked.
"No, they went to San Diego for a medical convention."
My heart stopped pulsing. "Did they plan their trips through Armstrong Travel?" I asked.
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