by Jen Malone
“She’s always up to nonsense like this and Dad says if she disappears again, she can’t have a pony for her birthday.”
For real?
I just—
I don’t even know what to say to a statement like that.
Sophie whispers, “Well, there’s also that Dad’s been mentioning military school for Alex, and if he learns we let Ingrid out of our sight . . .”
I sneak a glance at Alex. He’s pointing to something on his phone, happily oblivious to our megacrisis.
Sophie follows my look and says, “I’ll get him. He’ll know what to do. You two just look around under the tables or something. But don’t be obvious.”
Don’t be obvious crawling around on the floor of the Apple Store? Luckily, this is New York, and the Apple Store is crazy crowded.
Pay and I split up and do a quick sweep of the store. One of my eyes remains on Hans, and whenever he glances around, I quickly pretend to be examining whichever techie device is closest. Sophie says something to Alex, and he leaves Hans talking to Mr. Genius guy while he saunters over to me like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Paisley and Sophie join us.
“She’s not anywhere?” His body is all casual floppy, but his voice has a decidedly uncool edge to it. Good. At least someone is freaking out with me.
I shake my head. I’m not sure I trust my voice to come out anything other than pip-squeaky.
Sophie takes charge. “Okay. Be Ingrid. Let’s put ourselves in her shoes. Where would she go?”
Thunk. My stomach slides all the way into my patent-leather heels. I reach into my purse, already sure of what I’ll find there. Which is nothing.
“She took it.”
“Took what?” Alex asks.
“My wallet. It had the list of penny machine locations. And the quarters, all my cash, plus my MetroCard. Everything she’d need. Omigosh. She’s going to try to get to all the machines.”
“So she’s alone . . . up there?” Pay’s chin jerks toward heaven, but I know she really means street level. And not “up there” but “out there.”
As in 100 percent all alone in New York City.
“We gotta go after her! I’m positive she’d go to the Central Park Zoo first. I told her how close we were to it. If we run, we can catch her,” I say, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. I don’t think I do a very good job.
“We have to lose Hans first.” Alex is matter-of-fact.
“Are we allowed to do that?” I gape at him. This may be an emergency, but I still have protocol on my mind.
“Quite right we’re not. But if he’s along, he’ll tell Father right away and our gooses will be cooked.”
I suddenly have an even worse thought.
If Alex’s dad finds out, that means my dad finds out. I can kiss my Capable Chloe nickname good-bye, right alongside my golden key from Les Clefs d’Or. I’ll have to be an architect or a scientist or something totally boring instead of the greatest concierge in the history of New York City. This is now officially a megadisaster!
Okay, so maybe Hans would be the one in actual trouble, because technically, he should have been watching Ingrid, but just because he didn’t do his job doesn’t mean I shouldn’t do mine. My job is to help my guests get what they want, and what they want is to ditch Hans. So, um, aren’t I kind of obligated to do as they wish? My throat has a knot in it like it’s trying to tell me this isn’t the best idea, but I swallow it away.
“Let’s ditch Hans,” I say. “Except won’t he call in the police to find all of us, then?”
“Doubtful. He’ll chalk it up to a prank and figure we’re safe, especially since he knows you know the city so well. We’re always trying to get a little freedom from our bodyguards, so he won’t think anything’s actually wrong. Besides, five of us on our own is totally different than one nine-year-old alone in the city. He probably won’t want to get in trouble for letting us give him the slip, so odds are fifty-fifty he even tells Father. My guess is he and Frans will try to find us themselves.”
Alex heads back over to the Genius Bar, and I see him yukking it up with Hans and the Apple guy. How can he even fake laugh at a time like this? Then he leads Hans off in the direction of the restroom. While Hans is distracted, Alex places his hand down by his leg and makes a little pushing motion, telling us to move it. We’re halfway up the phobia steps (and the fact that I don’t even pause to contemplate them is a definite first) when Alex comes tearing around the corner from the bathroom.
“Go!” he yells.
Slamming out the glass doors, we book it for the entrance to Central Park. I barely pay attention to the traffic we dodge between. I do notice when Alex maneuvers to the outside of Pay, Sophie, and me, so that he’d get flattened by the crush of yellow taxis before we would. He might be sort of full of himself, but if that isn’t true princely behavior, I don’t know what is.
We thud down the pathway into the park, flying by people enjoying the early spring day on the green benches. We barrel past the hot dog carts and the soft pretzel carts and the ice cream carts. We zoom past the street artists sketching caricatures and weave around rollerbladers, until we stop, huffing and puffing, in front of the zoo entrance.
I usually love walking the pathway alongside the zoo, especially when it’s time for the musical clock to chime and the brass animals to march along the top of the brick archway. Obviously, I am not noticing the clock now. I give only a sliver of attention to the seal enclosure, even though there’s a crowd gathering, which means it must be close to feeding time. I spin in place at the zoo entrance: the café . . . the restrooms . . . the ticket booth . . . THERE! The penny machines (there are two of them) sit tucked to the edge of the brick walkway, right by the gift shop. These are more modern looking than the ones at FAO, but one thing is decidedly missing: Ingrid. There are children everywhere, but not one single ponytailed, freckled-faced Somersteinian. Somersteiner? Somersteiny?
Doesn’t matter. She’s not here.
We all spread out in different directions. I choose the pathway under the musical clock that links the main zoo with the Children’s Zoo. I’m so frantic, I can’t even remember what Ingrid is wearing, so I peer into the face of every girl I pass. There are blondes, brunettes, redheads, girls in hats, girls in hoodies, girls on their dads’ shoulders. There are no princesses. Or at the very least, there is no Princess Ingrid.
I turn and do the same systematic check back to the penny machines, where everyone else is already waiting. I hold my breath in the crazy hope that Ingrid will pop out from behind Alex’s legs and we’ll all hug, and by later this afternoon we’ll be laughing and joking about the scare she gave us. But all I have to do is look at Sophie’s face to know that isn’t going to happen.
Sophie takes her royal role waaaay too seriously, but I will give the girl this: So far, she’s looked like she was ready to hold court with her subjects at a moment’s notice. Not now. Her eyes are all wild, like Mr. Whilpers when he realizes I bought up every last one of his precious Dr Peppers from the break-room soda machine.
We are so dead.
Chapter Seventeen
What do we do now?” Sophie shrieks, and grabs Alex’s arm. He puts it around her and strokes her hair gently.
I feel like I should be the one to take charge here. Here’s the thing: If you want to pay homage to the Breakfast at Tiffany’s movie by actually having breakfast on the sidewalk outside Tiffany’s, I can secure a café table and a delicious assortment of croissants. If you want to sit next to Spike Lee courtside at a Knicks game, I’m your girl. Organizing a search party for a missing princess who could be anywhere in the city at the moment? Um, I’m not so sure I’m qualified.
Luckily, Alex steps in. How very princely.
“Okay, let’s all keep our wits about us. Whatever we do, we can’t let Father find out just yet. We’re the ones who were supposed to be keeping an eye on her, and Father will have our heads if we’ve shirked our responsibilities. As well, I think we ca
n find her on our own. If I’m going to be king one day, I don’t want to go running to dear old Daddy every time I have a problem.”
Interesting. So Alex is also trying to show his dad how capable he is? This makes me like him a teensy-tiny bit more.
Sophie doesn’t seem to feel the same rush of respect. “Heavens no. I don’t care if Father does follow through on his threat of military school for you, Alex. This isn’t like when it happens at home.”
“Um, happens at home?” Pay asks. She just beats me to it.
Sophie and Alex exchange a look before Sophie answers. “Ingrid’s been sneaking off the castle grounds since she was about five. Mother and Father actually think it’s good for her to learn her way in the world, so they sort of encourage it. Or at least they don’t punish her.”
She takes a jagged-sounding breath. “Everyone in our kingdom knows she does this and they keep an eye on her.”
“Everyone in your kingdom? Everyone?” I know her country is small, but what, are they on a first-name basis with all the commoners?
“You could fit seven Somersteins inside New York City. We’re the fifth-smallest country in the world. There are probably more people in one city block here than there are in Saint Mert, where our castle is.” Sophie’s voice loses its raggedness. In fact, she sounds a little defensive. Whoops.
“Sorry, Princess Sophie.” It won’t do me any good to annoy my guests now. With one missing, I need to make doubly sure to keep the other two extra happy.
She smooths her not-a-strand-out-of-place hair. “My mother set up a hotline and people call in when they spot her. Then my father sends a bodyguard to trail her after the first phone call comes in. Ingrid doesn’t know that. But of course, that’s back home, where no one would harm her. She knows she’s not allowed to behave like that here, and Mother and Father talked to her about it before we left. She swore she understood. They have all sorts of punishments lined up for her if she gets up to mischief here.”
What I want to know is why didn’t we hear about this ahead of time? Why weren’t there ten more Hanses and Franses assigned to us? Why would Frans have left us at the Apple Store knowing Ingrid’s past history of escape acts? If he were still trailing slushy footprints behind us, none of this would have happened. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have taken my eyes off her, not even for a second.
But I hadn’t known.
I turn to Alex, even though Sophie was the one talking. “I picked up on the fact that Ingrid liked to hide, but I didn’t know she actually takes off. Why didn’t you tell us so we could have kept eagle eyes on her?”
Alex looks sheepish. Good. I’m sure I’ve already crossed a line with the way I’ve just challenged him, but at the moment, I couldn’t care less. Forget protocol.
“We didn’t think it would be a problem,” he says. “We had the bodyguards with us, and she really did seem like she understood how dangerous New York City is, so we didn’t imagine . . .”
I bite my tongue. Seriously, people. One of the safest big cities in the United States. That’s right. But I guess maybe not for a nine-year-old all alone. Now I’m starting to get even more worried about her because reality is settling in.
“So what do we do now? We have no idea where she’s going next, or even if she came this way to begin with,” Sophie asks, and now she’s moved on to twisting strands of hair around her finger. I really wish Queen Caroline could have skipped the hotline and gone straight for implanting Ingrid with a homing device, like a nice, responsible parent.
Wait. Homing device.
Dad’s been letting me watch Law & Order ever since I got a guest a walk-on role while they were shooting in Madison Square Park. On that show they’re always triangulating cell phone signals to figure out where the bad guy is. I don’t want to involve the authorities, but at this point, if it means an easy fix . . .
“Hey, does Princess Ingrid have a cell phone? Maybe we could trace the signal and figure out where she is.”
Alex and Sophie just look at me. “She’s only nine!” says Sophie.
Okay, so how am I supposed to know King Robert and Queen Caroline follow the pretty standard “no phone until your twelfth birthday” rule? Geez, for royalty, they sure are really . . . normal.
Alex groans. “But we do. If we don’t want Hans and Frans on our tails in five minutes, we’d better turn ours off. I don’t think they’d call in the authorities, but we’ve never actually all taken off like this, so I’m not totally sure what measures they’ll take.”
I taste something like acid in the back of my mouth. This is getting way out of hand. I probably shouldn’t even be worrying about my future as a concierge. I should probably be worrying more about my future as a person. Because Dad? Is going to kill me.
Alex can tell the rest of us are on the fence. “Please, everyone! Trust me. We can do this. We just need to be smart and think like Ingrid. Turn off your phones.”
Pay reaches into the front pocket of her hoodie and pulls out her flip phone. She hits the power button without a word. Then she goes right back to cranking pennies through the machine. It suddenly registers with me what she’s doing.
“Pay, what are you doing?”
“Mostly, I’m just trying to stay out of the way while you guys figure out what you want to do. But I figure, when we find Ingrid, I can give her these in case she didn’t actually beat us here.”
When we find Ingrid. I really, really like the sound of that. But do I actually think we can do this on our own? Should I just call Dad and let him take over? I mean, I’m definitely in over my head, and I obviously don’t want anything bad to happen to Ingrid. But at the same time, I know New Yorkers, and we’re a lot nicer than our reputation. Half the time, even those “ripped from the headlines” cases on Law & Order are taken from newspaper stories in Detroit or Poughkeepsie or something. I honestly do believe she’ll be safe. I just hope she isn’t too scared. Can we actually figure out where she’s headed next?
My thoughts spin around like they’re on the Zenobio ride at Coney Island. For every point I come up with, my brain comes up with an “on the other hand.” I just don’t know. If we can find Ingrid safe and sound and get her back to the St. Michèle, everything will take care of itself.
And if we can’t . . .
I don’t even want to think about it.
I face Alex. “I think we should call my dad and yours.” I make my decision. This is definitely the responsible thing to do.
Alex places his hands on his hips. “We’re not going to do that.”
“Princess Ingrid’s all alone in the city. She doesn’t know where she’s going, and she’s just a kid.”
“Of the two of us, which of us knows Ingrid better? Which of us knows how clever she is and how well she takes care of herself?”
“Of the two of us, which one of us is in charge of today?” Now my hands are on my hips. Two can play this game.
Alex arches an eyebrow as if to suggest that I might only think I’m running this show. In a way he’s right. The guest is actually always the one calling the shots. Crud. I narrow my eyes so he won’t think he won that point. He is seriously so annoying. He’s all obsessed with his hair and being in charge. How did I ever think he was so cute?
He barely blinks before talking again. “And of the two of us, which one of us is related to the missing person? She’s my sister. Don’t you think I’d be the one arguing hardest for whichever solution would keep her safe? Here’s the thing. When you run a country, you’re responsible for the people of your country even more than for your own family. We can’t embarrass our father and therefore our whole country by causing a citywide search for a little girl on a penny spree. Imagine what CNN would do with that.”
“So what, we just sacrifice Princess Ingrid’s safety so you can save your reputation?” Some brother. But I can already see on Alex’s face that he’s all torn up about this. He might be annoying to argue with, but it doesn’t seem like he’s totally heartless.
I stare at him for a long time, my thoughts still all topsy-turvy. Paisley and Sophie are wisely staying out of things. Pay continues cranking penny designs, even though I can tell she’s listening to every word, and Sophie has abandoned her hair twirls for biting her cuticles.
So it’s up to me. My belly feels all hollow, like when I know I’ve done really badly on a history test, only this is even more serious than a grade.
Then I remember who I am and whose city this is. I am the best junior concierge in town and this is my city. We can do this. Ingrid will be fine because we’ll find her in no time at all. It’s barely lunchtime. We’ll have her home for tea. I’m not actually sure what time tea is usually served, because the St. Michèle doesn’t do high tea, but I do know it’s sometime in the afternoon.
Failure is not an option. Mr. Whilpers said that the last time the AAA reviewer stayed at the hotel and we were vying for our five-diamond rating. Without a word to Alex, I pull out my phone and power it down. Sophie does the same.
He exhales. “Okay, now we need a plan.”
I jump in. He might have decided what we’re doing, but Capable Chloe is calling the shots on how we’re doing it. “We need a hard copy of that list of penny machines. We could go back to the Apple Store and get another printed. We also need a picture of Princess Ingrid we can show people. I have a few on my phone, but if you don’t want me to keep turning it on and off, we’ll have to get one of those printed too.”
Alex pushes his hair out of his eyes. “We can’t go back to the Apple Store. Too risky. Hans could still be there searching for us or thinking we’d be coming back. And Frans could have returned too by now.”
