“Promise me there’s not going to be any more detective work,” Herb Rhodes said.
“No,” Randi said. “I can’t. Come and get me if you have to, but I’m not going to stop having fun. This is where I belong, Dad. You know it, too. I think that’s what really scares you.”
~ ~ ~ ~
When Randi stormed into the apartment, she expected to find Gigi talking to her father on the phone. Instead, her aunt and the two boys were huddled around a computer in the living room. The smell of caramel still filled the house, but the others barely seemed to notice it.
“Hey.” D.C. greeted her without looking up.
“Thought you wanted to be alone today,” Pudge added. It was clear she’d hurt their feelings by stomping out.
“What he means is that we’re glad to see you,” Gigi said. “We’ve got some exciting news.”
“Did my dad call?” Randi asked.
Gigi’s brow furrowed. “Were you expecting him to call?” she asked.
It wasn’t a straight answer, but it made Randi relax a bit. Maybe her father had come to his senses and decided not to call off his book tour. “I never know what to expect from Herb Rhodes. What’s your big news?”
“The guys downstairs. We finally heard one of them talking in English,” D.C. said. “We think he must have been on the phone. He said: The delivery is due on Friday.”
Randi plopped down on the sofa and put her shoes up on the coffee table. Mei-Ling would have had a fit if she’d seen Randi with her feet on the furniture, but Gigi didn’t seem to mind. “That’s your big break in the case?” Randi asked, feeling a little disappointed. “He just moved in. He might be having a couch delivered.”
“Or maybe he was talking about this.” Pudge turned the computer around to face Randi. On the screen was a story about the Brooklyn Museum’s Fabergé exhibit. “We’ve been doing some detective work. Says here that the Imperial Eggs are being delivered by armored car to the museum on Friday night.”
“And you guys think those men downstairs are planning to steal them?” Randi asked.
D.C. shook his head in exasperation. “What other explanation could there be?” he replied. “I saw one of the guys watching the museum with binoculars. Then he and two other guys end up moving in downstairs. Turns out one of them has a thief’s tattoo. Now we hear them talking about a ‘delivery’ on Friday night. He’s gotta be talking about the Fabergé eggs. I think we should contact the police.”
“You could, I suppose.” Randi didn’t want to be a killjoy. Nothing would have pleased her more than having a heist to foil. Still, she worried that the boys were getting way too excited way too fast. “But here’s another scenario. Let’s say a guy who likes bug tattoos rents an apartment in the building. He stops by the day he’s supposed to move in and sees a rare hawk in a nest on the building across the street. Because he’s moving, he happens to have his binoculars in the car. He takes a look. Later that day, his friends help him move some of his stuff in. He calls the movers to see when his furniture is coming. They tell him he can expect the delivery on Friday. Sound possible?”
“Yeah,” D.C. admitted.
“What do you think?” Pudge asked Gigi.
Gigi took a moment to consider. “Have you ever heard of Occam’s razor?” she asked.
“What’s a razor got to do with this?” D.C. asked.
“It’s not a razor,” Gigi said with a laugh. “It’s a principle that states that the simplest explanation is usually the correct one. In other words, as much as I’d like to think there are a bunch of egg thieves downstairs, Randi is probably right. Odds are it’s just a bunch of guys waiting for a furniture delivery.”
“Darn,” Pudge said. “I was really looking forward to some excitement.”
“Are you joking? This is New York City!” Gigi told him. “There’s a thrill around every corner. In fact, as I recall, we already have some exciting plans today.”
“We do?” Randi asked.
Gigi sighed dramatically. “Did everyone forget about the tournament? And look what I happened to pick up yesterday on our way out.” She grabbed the large handbag she’d been carrying and pulled out a pristine white gi, which she presented to D.C. “I think it’s time for one of us to get dressed.”
~ ~ ~ ~
The warehouse by the Gowanus Canal was even more packed than it had been the previous day. It took them ages to squeeze through the crowds as they made their way toward the junior competitions.
“Excuse me. I’m looking for Hector Cruz,” D.C. said to an official who was preparing to judge a match.
“You just missed him,” the man said. “He said had to get home for Thanksgiving dinner with his family.”
“His family?” D.C. repeated. His whole body seemed to crumple a little. Randi stepped forward and threw an arm around the boy’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” the man said, seeing the impact the news had on the boy. “Hector might be back tomorrow if you need to speak with him.”
“Thanks for your help, sir,” Randi said when D.C. couldn’t answer.
He had started to sniffle when someone with a Southern accent called out, “There you are!” Jake Jessop was waving them over to the mat where the twelve- to fourteen-year-old boys were competing.
“Hi, Mr. Jessop,” said D.C., perking up a bit.
“Welcome back,” Jake said. Then he looked over and gave Gigi a wink. “Glad to see all y’all. You ready to have some fun, D.C.? I see you came prepared.” He pointed to D.C.’s regulation Tae Kwon Do uniform.
“I’m not sure I’m feeling up for it,” D.C. admitted, staring down at his feet.
“That’s too bad, ’cause I asked your dad if it was okay to give you a good workout today. Get you ready to show off tomorrow.”
When D.C. looked up at Jake, a tear ran down his cheek. “My dad knew I was coming today? And he didn’t stick around to see me?”
Jake Jessop squatted down a bit so he could look D.C. in the eye. “I know for a fact that he wanted to, but he couldn’t. He told me he was looking forward to catching up with you tomorrow. Now, get in this ring and let me see what you can do.” He opened up the gate in the black fence that separated the competition area from the viewing area and let D.C. pass through. “Hey, Kevin,” he called out to a boy who looked about thirteen. “I got you a sparring partner.”
Kevin was a full head taller than D.C. He was already wearing a helmet and padded vest, and he smirked smugly as he waited for D.C. to be strapped into protective gear. Then they took their places at the center of the mat, and Jake signaled for the match to start.
Kevin was good, but not good enough. D.C. bounced around the mat like a dynamo, never letting the older boy land a punch or a kick. Instead, he waited for Kevin’s energy level to drop. That’s when he pummeled him with punches and twice knocked the boy to his knees. Then D.C. spun around, leg high in the air. His heel made contact with Kevin’s chin. The thwack that came with the kick was so loud that Randi was surprised to see Kevin’s jaw remained intact. The boy was fine, but the fight was clearly over.
Jake whistled appreciatively from the sidelines. “Well, I guess talent does run in the family. Your dad teach you those moves?”
“No, sir,” D.C. said. “I haven’t seen my dad in three years. My friend Randi taught me.”
A cloud passed over the man’s face when he heard about D.C.’s dad. “Well, I’m impressed,” Jake said. “You think you might be able to show off some of those moves on Saturday? I get to pick the best from each division to take part in an exhibition at the end of the tournament. You want to represent the twelve- to fourteen-year-old boys?”
“You’re picking me?” D.C. asked.
“Yup,” Jake confirmed.
D.C.’s excitement seemed to fade in an instant. His looked down at the mat and touched his headband to make sure his hearing aid remained hidden. “You don’t have to choose me just because you feel sorry for me,” he said.
“Feel sorry fo
r you?” Jake Jessop let out a whoop of a laugh. “Boy, I’m jealous of you. I’m not interested in doing anyone any favor. I picked you ’cause you’re the best I’ve seen.”
* * *
CHAPTER ELEVEN
* * *
CAVIAR DREAMS
The cab shot over the Brooklyn Bridge toward the glittering island of Manhattan. In the backseat, Randi and Gigi were dressed in chic black dresses. D.C. and Pudge were both wearing sleek suits with festive orange ties, which had magically appeared in their bedrooms while they were cleaning up before dinner.
It was Thanksgiving night, and everyone was in the mood to celebrate. After a long chat with a very persuasive Gigi, Randi’s dad had reluctantly decided not to call off his book tour. D.C. would soon be showing off his skills at a Tae Kwon Do tournament. Pudge hadn’t followed a rule in more than thirty-six hours. And Gigi couldn’t stop giggling to herself about the special dinner she’d arranged for the evening.
“We’re going to a restaurant in Manhattan?” D.C. asked.
“Looks that way, doesn’t it?” Gigi responded mysteriously. “But I’m not saying anything else. I told you guys it was a surprise. Hope you aren’t disappointed, but I’m pretty sure there won’t be any turkey this Thanksgiving.”
“That’s okay,” Pudge said. “I always thought turkey was kind of fowl.”
“But you sure do enjoy cheese,” Randi ribbed him.
“Cheese!” D.C. cracked up. “Good one!”
“Hardy-har-har,” Pudge responded, and then started laughing for real.
The taxi sped up the FDR Drive on the east side of Manhattan until they reached Midtown. Soon, they were traveling across Fifty-Seventh Street through the city’s ritziest shopping district. The cab stopped in front of a narrow building with a bright red awning and three dancing gold bears on its facade.
“The Russian Tea Room,” D.C. said, reading the words written on the awning.
“Surprise!” Gigi said. “I hope you’re in the mood for caviar!”
~ ~ ~ ~
Even Randi gasped the moment she stepped inside. The interior of the Russian Tea Room was one of the most spectacular things she had ever seen. The walls were green and decorated with phoenixes gilded to match the golden ceiling. The plush banquettes that lined the walls were a brilliant cherry red, and the chandeliers appeared to be decorated with red Easter eggs. As the maître d’ guided them toward their table, Randi couldn’t help but stare at the exotic dishes the other guests were eating. Red soup, escargot, and tiny black fish eggs in crystal bowls. Randi had never even seen caviar before—and now she might actually get to try it.
The party of four slid into a banquette and each was handed a menu. Gigi immediately laid hers down on the table.
“Your attention, please. Before we kick off this special Thanksgiving dinner, there are a few things I’d like to say.” She paused to smile at each of them in turn. “First, I’d like to thank you for being here with me tonight. It’s been so much fun having you in New York. You’re a fabulous group of ninjas, and it makes me very happy to know that Randi has such good friends.”
Then Gigi trained her gaze on Randi. “You’re the only family I have left, Miranda,” she said. “And you’re the best niece I could have ever asked for. My Thanksgiving wish is that I get to spend a lot more time with you in the future.”
Randi hugged her aunt. “I really hope I can make that wish come true.” She’d been thinking about it all afternoon. There was no reason to return to Deer Creek. Her dad was back on the book tour circuit, and he’d never be home. Amber-Grace and her popular girl posse were determined to get Randi expelled from school. And if the incident with the burglar that morning had taught Randi anything, it was that Brooklyn was where she belonged.
“Really?” Gigi whispered.
Randi nodded. What could be better than living with a rich, wonderful aunt who loved a good adventure and didn’t believe in having any rules? Her friends would always be welcome to visit. And she could probably talk Gigi into hiring Mei-Ling, too.
“We’ll talk about it later,” Gigi said, squeezing Randi’s hand. “What about you, Pudge? Are you thankful for anything?”
Pudge had been cramming bread rolls and butter into his mouth. He chewed vigorously and swallowed until there was just enough room in his mouth for his tongue to form words.
“No sisters. No parents. No chores. No rules. No Thanksgiving green bean casserole. This has been the best vacation ever.”
“I’m glad you’re having a blast.” Gigi laughed. “D.C.? Seems to me that you’ve got a lot to celebrate tonight. Want to tell us what you’re thankful for?”
“I’m thankful for Jake Jessop,” D.C. said with no hesitation. “He is, hands down, the coolest guy in the entire world.”
“That’s funny,” Gigi replied with a mischievous wink. “I’m thankful for Jake Jessop, too. What do you say, kids? Should we invite Jake over for dinner on Saturday after the Tae Kwon Do exhibition?”
“Yeah!” they cried in unison.
“Then consider it done,” Gigi said. “Now, let’s get some food in our bellies. I’m thinking we should start with a little bit of that.”
Gigi pointed to a waiter who was carrying a tray with what appeared to be a gigantic bowl of caviar on top. A large spoonful of the ebony fish eggs could cost three hundred dollars, and there had to be ten times that amount on the tray. Wondering who could have ordered such a pricey appetizer, Randi followed the waiter to a corner of the restaurant with her eyes.
He delivered the dish to a dashing silver-haired gentleman with a tan that suggested he’d walked right off a yacht. A pink silk tie and matching pocket square added a dash of whimsy to his crisp navy suit. He thanked the waiter for the caviar, but made no move to eat it. He was too busy examining a small vase filled with wildflowers that sat in the center of his table. There were daisies and daffodils. Pansies and irises. From a distance, each flower looked absolutely perfect.
A second man was sitting across the table from the gentleman, his back facing Randi. He reached out and pulled the caviar toward himself as if he didn’t plan to share. Randi couldn’t see his face, but she could tell that the second man’s table manners were a bit rusty.
“Excuse me,” Randi mumbled to Gigi and her friends. “I’m going to wash my hands before we get started.”
She headed in the direction of the table where the two men were seated. There was something about the pair that didn’t seem right. Over the years, Randi had learned to trust her instincts. As Glenn Street always said, A hunch is your gut telling you something that your brain doesn’t know yet. Whenever Randi’s gut decided to say something, she tried to listen.
“Sweetie, I don’t think the restroom is over there,” her aunt called out, but Randi pretended she hadn’t heard.
As she drew closer to the two men, the sound of Russian being spoken met Randi’s ears. Though she couldn’t understand a word, it was easy to tell that the men came from different walks of life. The gentleman spoke softly while the other often grunted in reply. Just as Randi was about to get a glimpse of the grunter, a third man magically appeared. He wasn’t a waiter. Judging by his smarmy smile, he was some kind of lackey.
“May I have them bring you anything else, Prince Gorchakov?” he asked the man in the suit.
“No, thank you, Yuri,” the man replied without looking up. He continued to examine the flower arrangement in the center of the table, turning the vase slowly and brushing the blooms with his fingertips.
“Tell them to bring more vodka,” the man across the table ordered. He reached out an arm and grabbed an empty bottle that sat in the center of the table. As he thrust it toward the waiter, his shirtsleeve rode up, revealing the bottom half of a scarab beetle. It was the watcher. “So you like?” He gestured toward the flowers.
The refined older man smiled. “Oh yes,” he said. “They’re absolutely marvelous. Thanks to these beauties, it won’t be long until I’m rearranging my wi
ne cellar.” Then he plucked a daffodil out of the arrangement and popped it into his mouth.
Randi froze, unable to comprehend what she had just seen. Before she had a chance to turn around, the smiling lackey was standing over her.
“May I help you?” he inquired in a voice that wasn’t nearly as friendly as the one he had used to address the prince.
“I’m just looking for, uh, the ladies’ room,” Randi stammered.
“You might want to look the other way,” the man announced, pointing toward the opposite side of the restaurant. “There’s nothing for you back here.”
* * *
Go to Appendix C to complete the Ninja Task!
* * *
CHAPTER TWELVE
* * *
PRINCE OF DARKNESS
“He’s not a real prince,” Randi said. She was sitting at the desk in Gigi’s living room, her eyes skimming over one of the many articles she’d found online. “Says here that he gave himself the title.”
“You can do that?” D.C. asked.
“Guess so,” said Gigi.
“Then from now on, I want you guys to call me Prince Pudge.” The boy started to cackle, then held his belly and curled up into a ball on the living room couch. “Arrrggghhh,” he groaned miserably.
“I told you not to eat two orders of beef stroganoff,” Randi said, feeling very little sympathy for the tall, thin kid whose growing belly looked like it might burst out of his jeans. “The way you’ve been shoveling food down your throat, Pudge, you’re gonna finally live up to your name.”
“But those noodles were sooooo good.” Pudge moaned. “And my mom and dad never let me eat whatever I want when I’m at home.”
“Yeah, well, maybe your parents know something you don’t,” D.C. said without shifting his gaze away from the computer screen.
The Sweetest Heist in History Page 8
