Harper was standing at their thirty-third-story window, looking down at the kaleidoscope of neon theater signs and rainbow crowds on Broadway. “For me, it’s flying home but also leaving home. I love Bluebell Bay, but my heart belongs to the U.S. of A.”
Kat knew what she meant. They say that once you’ve breathed the High Peaks’ air and felt the ruby rain on your skin, you’ll be changed forever, the woman in the Inquiring Minds bookshop had said. It was true. The moment the red maple leaves had brushed Kat’s upturned cheeks on that first day in the forest, something inside her had done a seismic shift.
A little piece of her heart would always belong to the Adirondacks.
All the same, she was counting the hours until she was on her not quite so extravagantly comfy futon in her attic room in Bluebell Bay, with Tiny taking up a leopard’s share of the bed.
The doorbell rang. Their breakfast tray and morning newspaper were delivered on a silver platter.
Wrapped in fluffy white robes, they laid out the New York Times on the coffee table. They read it between bites of croissant.
WISH LIST GANGSTERS WERE WISHFUL THINKING, SAYS ATTORNEY
Detectives have been accused of having overactive imaginations after two girls—one British, one American—solved the case of the heiress’s missing diamond necklace using sleuthing skills learned from mystery novels.
For close to two years, Americans have been gripped by the daring exploits of the Wish List gang. A 1964 Bob Dylan guitar, a fifth-century bronze, a priceless eighteenth-century Sofia Rossi masterpiece, and more, all snaffled with apparent ease while hapless cops ran around in circles.
Incredibly, it now appears that those heists may also have been the stuff of fantasy.
NYPD detectives claimed that the gang’s run of luck ended when alleged leader Gerry Meeks, 91, snatched heiress Cynthia Hollinghurst’s $50 million necklace at the Royal Manhattan’s grand east wing opening on September 27.
Yesterday, in a twist worthy of a thriller, schoolgirls Kat Wolfe, 12, and Harper Lamb, 13, sensationally revealed the diamonds to an enthralled audience of afternoon tea guests at the Royal Manhattan. The jewels had been in a stainless-steel ice storage unit all along.
How did the girls know where to look?
“It seemed obvious,” said Harper Lamb, the daughter of eminent Yale paleontologist Theo Lamb.
Both girls are based in Bluebell Bay, an idyllic cove on England’s Jurassic Coast. They became firm friends through a shared love of mysteries and animals.
Wolfe elaborated. “After we watched a news report where Mr. Meeks was charged with stealing the diamond necklace and other crimes, we felt sorry for him. People seemed to be judging him before he was proven guilty. When Storm Mindy came along, and we were trapped in a snowy cabin in the Adirondacks with nothing to do, we decided to put our heads together and consider other options.”
“We got lucky,” Lamb added modestly.
It was the latest in a series of rapid developments in the case. Earlier this week, an anonymous tip-off led police to recover all eight stolen items on the Wish List. They were undamaged and have been reunited with their owners. Did pranksters take them, or were the real thieves now suffering pangs of conscience? We may never know.
There have been winners and losers galore in this intriguing case.
The biggest loser is Clancy Hollinghurst, who has been charged with insurance fraud amid allegations that he claimed millions for the theft of an almost identical diamond necklace 30 years ago.
In a further twist, it has emerged that Mr. Meeks was the lead insurance investigator on the case.
Walking free from prison, Mr. Meeks had only one comment: “We’re all human. Every one of us makes mistakes. The real test is what we do about it.”
Of the many unanswered questions in the case, one stands out. How did Mr. Meeks’s DNA end up on the wish list found in his pocket on the night the diamonds were stolen?
His attorney, Rachel Scott, had this to say: “This case has only ever been about the wishful thinking of detectives. As I explained from the very beginning, Mr. Meeks has allergies. Soon after discovering the wish list, he sneezed on it. If everybody got locked up for hay fever, we’d be in trouble.”
To celebrate his freedom, Meeks plans to move to the Adirondacks to live with friends. He will not be returning to Shady Oaks Nursing Home.
Harper folded the newspaper and tossed it on top of her suitcase.
“Do you think we did the right thing? With the money?”
“Yes, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat,” said Kat. “Why, are you having second thoughts?”
“No, and I never will. Far as I’m concerned, the million-dollar reward wasn’t ours to take. If anyone deserved it, it was Gerry. He was fighting to right lots of wrongs. We only helped with one.”
* * *
Kat’s phone rang as she brushed her teeth. She smiled as she wiped her mouth on a towel. “Hi, Grandfather.”
“Katarina, according to my diary, a mere nine days have passed since you messaged me to say that you had ‘sort of an emergency.’ In hindsight, it may have been a mistake to escort you and your friends to the airport in my helicopter so that you didn’t miss your flight.”
“It wasn’t a mistake, Grandfather. You were a miracle worker. I’m not sure what we’d have done without you.”
“Kat, why do most people go on holiday?”
“To rest and relax.”
“Did you rest and relax?”
“I, uh … not exactly, but that was Storm Mindy’s fault. She buried us under so much snow and ice that Mum got stuck in Lake Placid and Professor Lamb was delayed in London. Harper and I were fine, but we had a couple of scrapes coping on our own in the wilderness.”
“By ‘scrapes,’ I assume you’re referring to the part you played in the rescue of Riley Matthews, star witness to one of the most high-profile diamond heists in the United States? A little bird tells me that Riley credits you with helping to save her life in a snowstorm after an attempted kidnapping.”
“That wasn’t me,” said Kat. “It was Tiny.”
“Who’s Tiny?”
“You know—my Savannah cat in Bluebell Bay. Riley and I crossed paths in a forest. I ended up giving her a photo of Tiny because I got the feeling she needed a friend. His spirit kept her going when she was lost in a blizzard.”
“Your cat in Bluebell Bay kept her going?”
“It’s a long story,” said Kat.
“I’ll bet it is. In the fullness of time, I’d be most interested to hear the details. And I suppose it’s pure coincidence that you and Harper outsmarted some of America’s finest detectives and just happened to know where to lay your hands on the missing necklace that caused all the trouble in the first place?”
“It was a lucky guess.”
“So lucky that when you were offered a million-dollar reward, you promptly turned it down.”
Kat didn’t bother asking how her grandfather was so informed on matters that were known only to the people directly involved and would never see the light of day in any newspaper. Lord Hamilton-Crosse was always informed and always would be.
“We didn’t turn down the reward. We asked for it to be donated—”
“To the new cancer wing of the St. Francis of Assisi Children’s Hospital. Yes, I heard. I also heard that Gerry Meeks lost his young granddaughter to the cruel disease. I can do the maths. But weren’t you and Harper tempted by the thought of a college trust fund, or a million-dollar nest egg you could have spent on cars, clothes, or property once you came of age?”
“It wasn’t our money to take,” said Kat.
There was a long silence.
“Kat, I’m not sure where the truth in any of this lies,” said her grandfather, “but what is beyond doubt is that, faced with a winter storm and a series of life-threatening challenges, you and Harper met all that they could throw at you with a courage and selflessness more rare, and infinitely more precious, than any d
iamonds owned by any heiress ever.”
He seemed to have a frog in his throat and apologized for putting the call on hold while he blew his nose. “I hope you won’t mind, Katarina,” he said when he came back on the line, “but I’ve taken the liberty of donating an extra million dollars to the hospital fund on behalf of you and Harper.”
Kat nearly dropped the phone. “You’ve what … I—I—”
She’d put the call on speakerphone. Harper had brought over a box of Kleenex because she was crying and laughing too.
“I don’t know how to thank you, Grandfather.”
“You can thank me by flying home safely tonight. When you arrive at Heathrow tomorrow morning, my Spy Craft will be waiting to whisk you all home to Bluebell Bay. That way, you won’t have to wait a moment longer than necessary to be reunited with Tiny. Sounds like he’s a hero too—even if he doesn’t know it.”
TWO WRONGS AND A RIGHT
The girls spent their last day in New York City visiting the North and South Pools at the 9/11 Memorial and walking the High Line, an elevated park where nature and art intermingled on a historic freight railway line.
Kat was starving by the time they found a table at the Buttercup Bake Shop on Broadway. But as she studied the menu, the cake choices kept blurring. Ever since her grandfather’s call, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the unbreakable bond of hope, love, and reading that had held the Wrong Writers together through so many years and had, in the end, made the best of all wishes come true.
“Mum, can I ask you a question?”
“Depends what it is,” said Dr. Wolfe, inhaling rapturously as a tray full of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies sailed by. For the past hour, she’d seemed distracted, as if something had upset her. Kat had put it down to end-of-holiday blues, but now she wasn’t so sure.
Her mum looked at her expectantly.
“Can two wrongs ever make a right?” asked Kat.
“No, darling, they can’t. Well, except where cake and dessert are concerned. Ordering both the banana pudding and a red velvet cupcake might be wrong in some people’s books, but it feels deliciously right.”
“Mum, I’m serious.”
“Are you asking if two wrongs and a right can ever be justified in a Robin Hood sense—by, say, taking from the rich to help the poor?”
“Exactly.”
“No, it’s still wrong. Morally, it’s far better to put one’s energy into volunteering for charities or picking up plastic rubbish on beaches or helping to rescue birds and animals. Real things that require real effort and care.”
“But what if the wrongs involve stealing blood diamonds, like those in the necklace that me and Harper found, and the right involves saving sick children?”
“That,” said her mum, “is a gray area.”
Nothing further was said until they’d each eaten a banana pudding. Kat was making inroads into her hummingbird cupcake when Professor Lamb gave Dr. Wolfe a meaningful look and they laid down their cake forks in unison.
Kat had an awful feeling that the moment of reckoning she and Harper had thus far avoided had arrived.
“Speaking of ‘wrongs,’” Theo Lamb said heavily, “an hour ago, I received a text that shocked me to my core. Ross Ryan, who kindly lent us Nightingale Lodge, forwarded me a message from the caretaker, Mrs. Brody. She wished us a safe journey home and said what a pity it was that because of Storm Mindy, she’d never had a chance to meet any of us.”
“Any of us,” repeated Dr. Wolfe with quiet fury. “That includes you, Katarina Wolfe, and you, Harper Lamb.”
“We debated whether to say anything,” the professor continued, “but we didn’t want to ruin your special day in New York City.”
“Even though you’ve ruined ours,” said Dr. Wolfe, glowering at the girls. “If I’d had the slightest inkling that while you were sending me chipper notes about apple crumbles and painting watercolors, you were alone in the wilderness in the midst of a deadly winter storm, I’d have had a nervous breakdown.”
Theo Lamb, the most mild-mannered, easygoing man Kat had ever known, was apoplectic and struggling to keep his voice down. “How could you lie about Annette Brody taking care of you when you hadn’t even met her?”
“We didn’t lie,” protested his daughter. “We’d never do that.”
“You neglected to mention it, which is exactly the same thing.”
“We didn’t want to worry you,” said Kat.
“Well, honey, you’ve worried us now—retrospectively,” raged her mother, albeit in a stage whisper.
With much sighing and scraping of chairs, the family at the next table moved tables. Dr. Wolfe smiled apologetically, but they ignored her.
Professor Lamb resumed the lecture. “Just because you’re famous in the New York Times doesn’t mean you get a free pass on deceiving us. If either of you ever pull a stunt like this again, you’ll be grounded until you’re eighteen. We’d ground you now except…”
A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. “Except that in our heart of hearts we realize that you did what you did with noble intentions and for the best of all reasons. We’re bowled over by your bravery.”
“And by your housekeeping skills,” added Dr. Wolfe. “Nightingale Lodge was spotless. Given the usual state of your bedroom, Kat, I’d never have believed you capable of it.”
“You should see Harper’s,” Professor Lamb told her. “Volcanoes are less destructive.”
“It was almost…” Dr. Wolfe’s brow wrinkled, as if a concerning thought had just struck her. “It was almost as if you’d never set foot in the place until shortly before we arrived. I remember thinking at the time that your sheets looked freshly pressed.”
“The cabin was so cold; that’s what I noticed,” said the professor, giving his daughter a hard stare. “Many of your messages mentioned blazing fires, yet the grate was curiously free of soot and ash. How did you stay warm with snow banking up to the windows? I’ve since learned that there was a power outage too. You never mentioned that. How did you survive?”
“With the help of three-bean chili heated on the gas stove and long bubble baths,” enthused Kat, wincing when Harper kicked her beneath the table.
Her mum frowned. “Nightingale Lodge doesn’t have a bath.”
“Didn’t stop me dreaming about them,” Kat said hurriedly.
“What Kat’s trying to say is that we are very, very sorry that we didn’t tell you that the caretaker had gone AWOL,” Harper put in.
“Mortified,” agreed Kat.
“However, once Storm Mindy had gone and the four of us were together at Nightingale Lodge, we had a heavenly vacation, didn’t we, Dad? Dr. Wolfe?”
Their parents unbent and admitted it had been the best holiday ever.
“Maybe Ross’s car breaking down was a good thing, Mum,” said Kat. “You seemed to be thoroughly enjoying yourself at the spa in Lake Placid.”
“I wouldn’t say enjoying…”
“What would you say?” asked Kat with a sly grin.
“Okay, I admit it. I loved every minute,” Dr. Wolfe said huffily. “Does that make me a bad mother?”
“It definitely doesn’t. Besides, now that you’ve rested, relaxed, and recharged, you’ll have more energy to give me extra attention,” teased Kat.
Her mum laughed. “Perhaps I should have spa days on my own more often.”
“I feel sorry for Dad,” said Harper. “While you were having pedicures and massages, Dr. Wolfe, and Kat and I were off having entertaining adventures in the wilderness, he was stuck doing nothing in a soulless airport hotel.”
“Er, since we’re being honest, I didn’t exactly do nothing,” confessed her father. “I took the opportunity to catch up with friends at the Natural History Museum in London and see a few art exhibitions.”
“So it wasn’t quite the vacation we planned, but somehow it worked out magnificently,” said Dr. Wolfe with a smile. “Although I’d be most interested to hear more ab
out your entertaining adventures in the wilderness, Kat and Harper … No, on second thought, don’t tell me. I have enough gray hairs already.”
“There were times when it did start to feel as if we were starring in our own mystery novel,” mused Harper. “And who wouldn’t want to get lost in a book?”
Kat grinned. “Beats being lost in the woods.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Long before I wrote The White Giraffe, my first children’s book, I was a journalist for the Sunday Times in London. At that point I hadn’t yet discovered the joy of writing mysteries for children, and I was quite sure that reporting on sports and music was the best job in the world.
Why? Well, for one thing it’s a passport to meeting some of the most extraordinary people on earth. I don’t mean famous people, although I’ve interviewed Dolly Parton, Sia, Tiger Woods, and other stars of music, film, and sports along the way.
Looking back, the people who made the deepest impression on me were often the unseen and unsung heroes. Men and women who risked their lives to save refugees of war or natural disasters. Conservationists working in remote and dangerous outposts to save pangolins, rhinos, leopards, and other vanishing species. The teachers and librarians who inspire hope and transform difficult lives.
Not all heroes wear capes.
Many of my favorite assignments were investigations. I loved hunting for clues, meeting secret sources, and combing archives for snippets and links. It was a bit like being a detective. Once, I was sent to interview a traitorous spy on the run. Another time, a “good” spy helped me investigate Russian “sleeper” agents for a Sunday Times story. What I learned from him inspired the first book in this series, Kat Wolfe Investigates.
Becoming a writer is no way to get rich quick, but it’s an excellent way to see the world. I’ve swam with wild dolphins in Australia, rescued leopards and dolphins from Cyprus and Turkey with the Born Free Foundation, cruised in the Galapagos Islands, and researched mysteries in places as far flung as St. Petersburg, Russia, and Namibia in Africa.
Kat Wolfe on Thin Ice Page 16
