by Dave Barry
“Does this look familiar?” Sarah said.
Slowly, Mrs. Carmoody reached into her dress and pulled out a locket exactly like it.
“Please, come back in,” she said.
When the Georgia State Patrol car arrived, two cars—a Toyota Camry and a Ford Fusion—were crunched together in the middle of the intersection. It looked to the trooper as though the Camry had T-boned the Fusion on the passenger side. The drivers, both young women, were standing outside of the vehicles; nobody appeared to be hurt.
That’s good, thought the trooper. Less paperwork.
The trooper put on his flashers and got out to talk to the drivers. He was pretty sure he already knew what happened: the Camry driver was talking or texting on her cell phone, and she ran the red light. Happened all the time.
Except she swore that wasn’t what happened. She admitted that she’d run the light, but not because of her phone. Instead, she blamed birds.
“Like, a million of them,” she said. “Big black ones. I was, like, staring at them. I couldn’t believe it.”
The trooper looked at the other driver. She was nodding vigorously.
“I saw them,” she said. “They were going that way.” She pointed south.
The trooper sighed, and started filling out his accident-report form.
“Birds,” he muttered.
They quickly resettled in the living room. Mrs. Carmoody, ever polite, offered more lemonade; the trio declined.
“Now,” Mrs. Carmoody said to Sarah. “Why don’t you tell me where you got that locket.”
“It’s J.D.’s,” said Sarah. “I’m just wearing it.”
“And how did you get it, J.D.?”
“My father left it to me when he died,” said J.D.
“He specifically bequeathed it to you?”
“Yes.”
“All right, then,” said Mrs. Carmoody. “Then I’m supposed to give you this.” She reached behind her neck and, with shaking hands, unclasped her locket. She handed it to J.D.
“Pete gave this to me when he got sick and the doctor said he didn’t have long,” she said. “Pete told me never to open it or take it off, and never to give it to anybody unless that person had a locket exactly like it.”
J.D. was staring at the locket. “Did he say what that person should do with it?”
“No, he didn’t.”
“And you never peeked inside?”
“Never.”
J.D. looked at Sarah and Aidan. “What do you think?” he said.
“I think you should open it,” said Sarah.
“Wait!” said Aidan. “What if it’s full of…”—he glanced at Mrs. Carmoody—“…you know…”
“Aidan,” said Sarah, “he left that locket for a reason. He must have wanted the person who got it to open it.”
“I think you’re right,” said J.D. He turned the locket in his hands, finding the clasp. “Here goes.” He carefully undid the clasp, then opened the locket a tiny crack.
There was a burst of golden light, a rush of soaring sound. But as quickly as it came, it was gone. “My goodness,” said Mrs. Carmoody, smiling. “If I’d known it could do that, I might have opened it myself, no matter what I promised Pete.”
J.D. shook the open locket, frowning. “I guess that’s all that was in there,” he said. “Just a tiny, tiny amount. I wonder why.”
“Can I see it?” said Sarah.
J.D. handed her the locket. She held it open, peered inside. “There’s something written in here,” she said.
“What’s it say?” said Aidan.
“It’s really small,” said Sarah, squinting at the tiny engraved letters. “It says…okay, that’s weird.”
“What?” said Aidan.
“It says ‘Feed the bird…when Ben says.’”
“What?”
“That’s what it says,” said Sarah, handing the locket to Aidan, who read the lettering.
“What does that mean?” he said. “Feed what bird? And who’s Ben?”
J.D. looked at Mrs. Carmoody. “Does that mean anything to you?” he asked.
“I’m afraid it doesn’t,” she said. “I didn’t even know there was writing inside.”
“Was your husband friends with someone named Ben?” Sarah asked. “Maybe someone he worked with?”
She shook her head.
J.D. frowned. “Okay,” he said. “What about the machine?”
“Machine?”
“I asked you before if your husband brought a machine down from Princeton. That’s when you decided to kick us out.”
Mrs. Carmoody blushed. “I apologize for my rudeness. But I didn’t know I could trust you.”
“So there was a machine?” said Sarah.
“There was something,” said Mrs. Carmoody. “Something large that Pete brought down with us. He insisted on driving the truck himself. I could have wrung his neck for that.” She chuckled at the memory, then went on. “But I never saw it. He told me it was best if I didn’t know anything about it—he’d always had his secrets, with Doctor Einstein and the others. I always assumed it had something to do with national defense.”
“So he brought the machine here?” said J.D. “To this house?”
“Yes. There was a special room in the basement, same as we had in Princeton. Lots of locks. It was like Fort Knox.”
“Was?” said Sarah. “You mean it’s not still here?”
“No,” said Mrs. Carmoody. “He moved it out in…let’s see…it would have been 1971. I remember because that’s when I was finally allowed to remodel the basement.”
“When he moved it,” said Aidan, “did you see anything?”
“No, he did it in the dead of night. Some fellows from his work helped him. He made me stay in the bedroom. Wouldn’t even let me offer them coffee!”
J.D. leaned forward. “Do you know where he moved it to?”
She shook her head. “No. As I say, everything about it was a big secret.”
“You said ‘fellows from his work,’” said J.D. “Where did he work?”
“Oh, he worked many places,” said Mrs. Carmoody. “Consulting work, he called it. He was very smart, you know. And he could build or fix anything.”
“Do you remember which work these fellows were from?” said Sarah.
“I’m sorry, I don’t,” said Mrs. Carmoody. “As I say, I didn’t even see them. And it was so long ago. I wish I could be more helpful.”
“No, you’ve been great,” said J.D. “Thanks for your time.”
“Not at all,” said Mrs. Carmoody.
She saw them to the door a second time. They said goodbye and trudged back to the Volvo, which was now an oven.
“Now what?” said Aidan, as J.D. started the engine.
“First off, we need to find someplace safe,” said J.D. “The cops have to be looking for this car, so the longer we’re driving around, the more danger we’re in.”
“And we need to figure out what this means,” said Sarah, holding up the locket. “‘Feed the bird when Ben says.’”
“How do you know it means anything?” said Aidan.
“Because he left it for us,” said Sarah. “It’s a message from Pete. He’s trying to tell us something.”
“Like what?” said Aidan.
Sarah was staring at the locket. “Like where he put the bridge,” she said.
CHAPTER 25
JAWS
A TRAFFIC CAMERA PHOTOGRAPHED the license plate of the green Volvo southbound on the Orange Blossom Trail near Kissimmee, but it was two hours before the hit was identified and reported to the FBI. The FBI then asked area police departments to check the other cameras in their traffic-monitoring systems. This search produced another hit, also on the Trail, a mile south of the first hit. But that was it.
The FBI also requested police dispatchers for Kissimmee and surrounding areas to issue a BOLO—be on the lookout—alert for the green Volvo. The problem was, there was no way to know whether the car had contin
ued south, or changed direction, or stopped at one of the many stores, malls, restaurants, hotels, and attractions in the heavily touristed area. And the local police were too busy dealing with the traffic and the usual tourism-related crimes to devote full attention to the search. Nevertheless, the FBI investigators were encouraged; they were close.
Also feeling encouraged was Lester Armstrong, who had arrived at the Orlando airport on a flight from Newark. The first thing he did when he got into his rental car was plug in and turn on his portable police-radio scanner. He heard the BOLO on his way out of the airport and smiled; the kids were in the area, and the police had not found them yet.
Armstrong headed for the Orange Blossom Trail, joining it near where the Volvo had first been photographed. He drove slowly south, passing strip malls, fast-food joints, and souvenir shops, his eyes flicking left and right. He came to a less-congested area, and on the left-hand side saw a sign that said gatorland standing in front of a building whose front doors were guarded by a gigantic set of green fiberglass jaws sporting enormous sharp fiberglass teeth. A tourist was standing in the jaws pretending to be terrified while another tourist took his picture.
Armstrong looked at the snout and shook his head. They’re on the run, he thought. They’re not going to Gatorland. He aimed his gaze ahead and continued south on the Trail, searching for the green Volvo, and the Cooper kids, and his paycheck.
CHAPTER 26
TWO CALLS
“CHECK OUT THE FIRST ITEM,” said J.D., pointing to the menu board in the Gatorland snack bar.
“I don’t believe it,” said Aidan. “They sell gator nuggets?”
“That’s disgusting,” said Sarah.
“You don’t even want to try the gator sampler?” said J.D.
“What I want,” said Sarah, “is a nice, normal, nonreptile hamburger.”
“You get those at Cowland,” said Aidan.
The three shared their first laugh in a while, feeling safe for the moment. It had been J.D.’s idea to go into Gatorland—to get the car off the highway, put them in a place where they could blend in with a crowd. They parked in a far corner of the lot, away from the street, paid their admission, and, with barely a glance at the various gator attractions, headed for the snack bar. When they got their food—nobody ordered gator—they settled at a table and ate hungrily.
It was Sarah, as usual, who got them down to business.
“Okay,” she said, sticking a french fry into her mouth. “‘Feed the bird when Ben says.’ We need to figure out who Ben is. So who are some famous Bens?”
“Ben Franklin,” said J.D.
“What time would he say?” said Aidan.
“Dunno,” said J.D. “I do know he said a penny saved is a penny earned.”
“What does that even mean, anyway?” said Aidan.
“Dunno that either.”
“Ben Affleck,” said Sarah.
“Does he say a time?” said Aidan.
“Not that I know of,” said Sarah. “But he’s cute.”
“Helpful,” said Aidan.
“Ben Stiller,” said Sarah.
“Can’t be a modern Ben,” said J.D. “Has to be a Ben from back when Pete gave Fay the locket. It could have been a friend of his, or an associate of the Starcatchers, in which case the odds against our figuring out who he is are pretty huge.”
They sat silent for a minute.
“Okay,” said Sarah, “let’s try it another way. What could ‘Feed the bird’ possibly mean?”
“The ravens?” said Aidan. “That seems pretty obvious.”
Sarah said, “But then why does it say bird, not birds? Plus, the ravens are only here because they followed us. Back when Pete gave Fay the locket, they were in England.”
“I wish they still were,” said Aidan.
“Wait a minute,” said Sarah, snapping her fingers.
The other two looked at her.
“England,” she said.
“Maybe you could explain that a little more,” said Aidan.
“There’s a famous Ben there,” said Sarah. “Maybe the most famous Ben of all. Aidan, we walked past it like fifteen times.”
Aidan frowned. “Big Ben?”
“Bingo. And what’s Big Ben?”
“A clock,” said Aidan.
“Exactly,” said Sarah. “And clocks do what?”
“Tell time.”
“Yes!” said Sarah. “They say what time it is! You feed the bird when Ben says.”
J.D. shook his head. “You have the same problem you had with the ravens. Big Ben’s in London, not here.”
“Yeah, I know,” said Sarah. “But it just seems…right.”
“Except for the part about Big Ben being in London,” said Aidan. “You’d have to fly over there, which doesn’t make sense if the bridge is over here.”
“Wait a minute,” said Sarah, snapping her fingers again.
“What?” said Aidan.
“Fly over,” said Sarah. “You said ‘fly over.’”
“Yeah. So?”
“So you don’t have to fly to England to fly over Big Ben. We’ve both done it dozens of times.”
“What are you talking about?” said Aidan. “It’s in London.”
“The original Big Ben is, yeah. I’m talking about a miniature Big Ben, in a whole miniature London. Which happens to be right here.”
“In Gatorland?” said Aidan.
“No, moron! Disney World!”
Aidan’s mouth fell open. “You mean…the Peter Pan ride? Are you serious?”
“I’m dead serious,” said Sarah. “That’s my favorite ride. You get in a little ship and fly over London at night, and there’s Big Ben, right below you.”
“Wait,” said J.D. “Are you saying you actually think the bridge could be in Disney World?”
“What I’m saying,” said Sarah, “is that Pete Carmoody brought the bridge here. Disney World is here. Pete left the locket here. The locket says ‘when Ben says.’ There’s a model of the world’s most famous Ben in Disney World.”
“But,” said Aidan, “how…I mean, to put this machine in a Disney ride…how in the world would he do that?”
“I don’t know,” said Sarah. “But word is that he was a really, really smart guy.”
“That’s your argument?” said Aidan.
J.D. was drumming his fingers on the table. “Okay,” he said. “I think Sarah’s probably crazy.”
“Thank you,” said Aidan.
“But,” continued J.D., “we don’t have much else to work with. Is there a pay phone here?”
“Over there, near the snack counter,” said Sarah, pointing. “Who’re you going to call?”
“You’re going to call them, actually,” said J.D., rising.
“Call who?”
“Disney. You’re a high-school student working on a research project. And you need to know what year they built the Peter Pan ride.”
“Ah,” said Sarah. “Because Mrs. Carmoody said Peter moved the machine out of the basement in…”
“…in 1971,” said J.D., heading toward the phone. “C’mon.”
It took Sarah several calls, followed by twenty minutes of being transferred, but finally she reached a helpful man at Imagineering by the name of Alex Wright.
“Right,” she was saying, as Aidan and J.D. stood by, listening. “The Peter Pan ride. No, the one at the Magic Kingdom. Yeah. Oh, really? Okay, I didn’t know that. Anyway, so the year it was built was…uh-huh…right…uh-huh…okay, thanks very much.”
She hung up.
“Well?” said Aidan. “What’d they say?”
“He said the correct name of the ride is ‘Peter Pan’s Flight,’” Sarah answered. “He was really strict about that.”
“But what did he say about the year it was built?” said J.D.
Sarah smiled. “1971,” she said.
“Whoa,” said Aidan.
J.D. picked up the phone handset. “One more call,” he said, punching in
a number. “Who?” said Sarah.
J.D. held up his hand to indicate hang on.
“Hello,” he said into the phone. “Mrs. Carmoody? This is J.D. Aster again…Fine, thanks…We did, too, thanks. Listen, I’m sorry to bother you again, but I had one more question. You mentioned that Pete worked as a consultant…right…right. So I was just wondering if you happen to remember any of the specific places he worked around 1971? When you finally got your basement back? Uh-huh…right…right…right. Oh really? He took you? Right…uh-huh. Well, that’s great, Mrs. Carmoody. Thanks for your time. Okay, I will. Thanks again. Bye.”
J.D. hung up and turned to Sarah and Aidan.
“What’d she say?” said Sarah.
“She said to be sure to say hello to both of you nice young people.”
“J.D.! What’d she say?”
“She said Pete consulted for Disney.”
“I knew it!” said Sarah.
“It gets better. He consulted for a couple of years, impressed them with his management skills, and ended up pretty much running one major project. Guess which one.”
“No!”
“Yes. He took Fay to the grand opening of Peter Pan’s Flight. Their last real date, she said.”
“Aw,” said Sarah.
“Okay,” said Aidan. “I guess we know who Ben is. Or what Ben is. What about the bird we’re supposed to feed? Where’s that?”
J.D. arched his eyebrows at Sarah. “Any ideas about the bird?” he said.
She shook her head. “Not at the moment.”
“So what do we do?” said Aidan.
“I don’t know about you,” said J.D. “But I’m going to Disney World.”
Fay Carmoody hung up the phone and headed for the living-room sofa. She found herself drawn to that particular place—the place where J.D. had opened the locket, and where for a moment that wonderful golden light had filled the room. It had made Fay feel wonderful—as if she were young again, as if in that instant all the pain and weariness of all the years were gone. Whatever had been in the locket, it was still there, in her house, in the air, just a little. She could feel it. And in some strange way it made her feel as though Pete were near.
