Ah, I never thought of that. I feel useless compared to Eliza, but I have to shake off this feeling like I’ll never measure up. This won’t help my mom.
“So what now?” I ask Eliza.
“It’s your mom’s case, Carlos. So you make the decision. Do you want to question Smythe now? Or follow Maddock?”
* * *
TO QUESTION SMYTHE, CLICK HERE.
TO FOLLOW MADDOCK, CLICK HERE.
* * *
WHEN WE FINALLY arrive at my house, I run to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water. I fill up three cups, and we all drink like we’ve been walking across the Sahara Desert.
“Ahhhh!” Frank sighs. Then he puts the empty cup on his head like a hat.
“Can we sleep over, Carlos?” Eliza asks.
“SLEEPOVER!” Frank shouts, and the cup flies off his head and rolls around on the ground. He picks it up, puts it over his mouth, and sucks his breath so hard that the cup sticks to his face.
“I can take the couch,” Eliza says.
I survey my shabby house, and I can feel myself flush with humiliation. Lately I’ve been trying to get myself invited to Eliza’s house instead of having her come here, and I know it’s going to be especially bad tonight without the air-conditioning.
“Wellllllll,” I say. “You don’t have any pajamas or clothes for tomorrow.”
“Yes, I do,” Eliza says, opening her backpack. And to my surprise, she has a bunch of clothes wadded up in there—and two toothbrushes. “I already told Mom and Dad we’re sleeping here. I just promised to call them after dinner to let them know I’m safe.”
“Wellllllllll,” I say again, “I have to ask my mom.”
Eliza nods. “I just thought we could get an early start tomorrow . . . and this way we can leave together right from here.”
It’s a trade-off:
Eliza and Frank stay at my embarrassing house (bad), but we get an earlier start on the case (good).
I send Eliza and Frank home and save myself a night of feeling ashamed about our money problems (good), but we get a late start tomorrow (bad).
I hide my face in my hands.
“What is it, Carlos?” Eliza asks.
“We . . . we don’t have air-conditioning,” I whisper, still not looking at her. Please don’t ask why, please don’t ask why.
There’s a pause that feels like a decade. But then finally Eliza says, “We’ll survive.”
I escape as fast as I can, into Mom’s room, before Eliza can say anything else. Mom is so buried under the covers that I can only see her eyes.
“Mom?”
“ACHOOOOO!”
“Are you okay?”
“I fin ib worb.” Her words are all muffled from the covers over her head . . . and she sounds like she’s got a crab pinching her nose.
“Um, can Eliza and Frank sleep over? It’s just we had a really fun day, er, playing outside, and we don’t want the fun to end.” My face is burning up with the guilt of this lie. “But I promise they’ll be quiet, and their parents are okay with it, and we won’t come near your room, so we don’t get sick—”
“Ib yorb romb queen?”
Still not sure what she’s saying. But she clearly just asked me a question. “Uh . . . sure?”
“Den ib fye wib me.” She coughs.
I stare at her. Was that a yes? Or a no?
She pulls her hand out from under the covers and flashes me a thumbs-up.
And to be honest, I’m disappointed that:
She’s not sharp enough to catch me in a web of lies.
She’s subjected Eliza and Frank to our horrible state of living. I miss Healthy Mom.
Later, I make dinner for all of us. Mac and cheese for me, Eliza, and Frank, and soup for my mom. I knock on her door and walk in with the bowl, but she’s sleeping pretty heavily, so I leave it on her bedside table. I wonder . . . at what point do I have to call a doctor for her?
Eliza, Frank, and I don’t talk about the mystery—just in case Mom wakes up. She has ears like a bat. No, she has ears like a bat with enormous ears. And so we pass the time playing hide-and-go-seek with Frank. After all, the poor kid waited all day to play a game.
At nine, we all get ready for bed. Eliza takes the couch, Frank takes the plushy chair, and I sleep on the shaggy-carpeted floor. Once my head hits the ground, I drift off. I know there’s a lot to think about with this case, but this was a long, hot day.
* * *
Day Three
* * *
I WAKE UP to the sound of someone rattling around in the kitchen. “Mom?”
“No, it’s just me,” Eliza calls. “I’m making toast. It’s the only thing I know how to make.”
“And I’m helping!” Frank says.
I yawn and sit up.
Eliza puts a whole plate piled high with toast on the table. And without a word, we all sit down and start eating. As I nibble, I watch Frank with curiosity. He is rolling his bread into little balls, then popping the bread balls into his mouth like they’re pieces of popcorn. He keeps doing this over and over and over.
“Save some for my mom!” I snap, and Frank spits the chewed-up pieces of bread onto his plate.
“Ooops!” he says.
I groan.
Eliza stands up and starts toasting another piece of bread for Mom. “I got it.”
“Thanks,” I say. “Mom likes it with margarine.”
“No, not the toast!” Eliza says. “I mean . . . I think I’ve got it! The answer!”
I stand right up, fast as a rocket. “You know who did it?”
“No,” Eliza says, “but I think I know where to go from here.” She looks thoughtful and determined. “Don’t you think it’s weird how Ivy and Guinevere refuse to talk about their big fight all those years ago?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Well, I just thought . . . maybe the key to this mystery is to figure out what happened back then,” Eliza says, grabbing the crusty bread out of the toaster and slathering it with margarine.
I think about it for a second. It does make sense to figure out what happened between Guinevere and Ivy. But those details might not necessarily lead us to the answer. Maybe the past should . . . I dunno. Stay in the past.
“I don’t know, Eliza,” I say. “Maybe we should tail Ivy. Follow her around until she does something guilty. She is our lead suspect, after all.”
Eliza shakes her head and moves my mom’s piece of toast out of Frank’s reach as he starts to lunge for it. “No, I’m certain about this, Carlos! There’s something there—in Guinevere’s past. And since Mr. LeCavalier’s treasure is at the heart of this mystery, it might be worth looking into his past, too. History affects the future, and that’s where we need to focus now. We have to dig deeper. That’s the only way to figure this one out.”
I’m still not sure. I feel like our best bet is to follow our prime suspect around and wait for a misstep. But I don’t want to shoot down Eliza’s idea. Maybe she’s right. Isn’t she usually?
* * *
TO FOLLOW IVY AROUND, CLICK HERE.
TO DIG DEEPER INTO THE LECAVALIERS’ PAST, CLICK HERE.
* * *
I UNPLUG WIRE A, and the whole room starts to shake. It rattles and rumbles and growls and grumbles, and I can hear all the books falling off the shelf in Mr. LeCavalier’s fake study.
“EARTHQUAKE!” Frank shrieks.
I jump off the desk and grab on to Eliza and Frank, just in time for the walls to collapse, with lots of snaps and cracks.
Eliza squeaks, and I protectively cover her.
“LONDON BRIDGE IS FALLING DOWN!” Frank sings.
It’s at least five minutes before the rumbling stops, and when it’s finally safe to look up, I gasp. The walls and ceiling are all down, and we’re practically sitting outside. In fact, there are no walls and no ceilings throughout the entire upstairs. We’re just sitting on the floor, in the open air.
We stay put, too nervous to even move from our
spots, just in case the floor decides to collapse beneath us. Eventually firemen come and pull us out of the wreckage, and we’ve destroyed half of Guinevere’s mansion.
We tell Guinevere everything we found out about the culprit, but it doesn’t matter. The second she pays us, she snatches the money right back out of our hands to repair the damages to her house. Boy, did that cost us!
CASE CLOSED.
ONCE WE FILL out the sudoku puzzle all the way, Patty’s phone makes a click! sound.
WE’RE IN!
My heart pounds with excitement and I don’t even hesitate: I open Patty’s email right away, and . . . JACKPOT.
There are tons of emails, all from the same person: Joe Maddock.
“She has tons of emails from Maddock!” I say.
I click on a random email message:
Dear Schnooky-Ooky-Lumpkins,
To my pookie bear—shall I compare thee to a plate of nachos? Thou art more beautiful and delicious. Shall I compare thee to a lawyer’s brief? Thou art more interesting by far. Shall I compare thee to chocolate cake? It’s a tough call. But you know how much I adore desserts.
My forever love, from the moment I saw your luscious locks, your abundant makeup, your distinctive waddle, I knew you must be MINE. I think about you all the time: the skip in your step, the curve of your lips, the sparkle in your eyes. Why, even right now, I’m thinking about your stout ankles. What sturdy ankles you have, my dumpling doodle.
Every second we’re apart is agony—perhaps because I left my inhaler at your house last night, and I can barely breathe through this pollen! When you come over at four, please bring my inhaler, schnookums!
Affectionately yours,
Joe
“EWWWWWWWWW!” Frank shouts. “That was gross!”
“Open another,” Eliza says eagerly. “Let’s see how Patty responded to that email. Was she offended . . . or—”
“Or?” I say.
“Let’s just see!”
I click on the next email.
My dearest snugglebunny honey-pie lovey-dovey shmoopsie,
Today, as I reflected upon your visage, I wrote down a very scholarly poem. (Please! Do not treat me any differently now that you know I’m a literary genius.)
There once was a man named Joe
Who made me feel all aglow.
He gave better smooches
Than all of my pooches
And that’s why I call him my beau.
xoxo Patty
“What’s a bee-ow?” I ask Eliza.
“It’s pronounced ‘bow,’ like rainbow,” she says, correcting my pronunciation. “And it means . . . boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend!” I shout. “So Maddock and Patty! Patty and Maddock!”
Eliza nods. Frank gags.
“Are they working together?”
“Maybe,” Eliza replies. “Maddock knows about the treasure, and Patty wants revenge. Together they could make the perfect crime duo. Patty has the motive, while Maddock has the means, with his access to the house.”
“So they did it?” Frank asks, pulling on Eliza’s arm.
“Frank! Stop!” Eliza says, wrenching her arm away from her brother. “They definitely have both motive and means. But . . . it doesn’t prove they did it.”
“It doesn’t prove they didn’t!” I grumble.
“We’ve gotten NOWHERE!” Frank groans, and he lies back down on the blacktop.
Silence falls between us. Well, not silence, exactly, as Otto comes around the house with the lawn mower. It is so loud I cover my ears. But still . . . when I think about our latest clue, I can’t believe it! Patty and Maddock . . . in a relationship! I’m thinking if they look guilty, and they seem guilty, then they’re probably guilty. But I don’t want to jump to conclusions. Good detectives are patient. We have to find conclusive evidence—something that proves they’re the ones behind the threats.
“What are we waiting for?” I finally say. “Let’s go follow Patty around!”
We run down Guinevere’s driveway. Patty’s yellow house is across the street, and her Yorkie hedges gleam in the afternoon sunlight.
It’s hard to see into her windows, but as we get closer, I have a better view. At the left side of the house, Patty is standing near an open window.
“Let’s go!” I say, and the three of us run across her yard and crouch beneath the window.
“. . . can’t find my cell phone, schmoopsie-poo. I must have left it in another purse or something. This is my house line.” There’s a pause. Then Patty says, “I memorized your number, of course.” Pause. “Oh, she’s in for the surprise of a lifetime tomorrow. I can’t wait to see her face.” Another pause. Then Patty says, “No! We have to go over the plan tonight.” Pause. “Why? Because I’m afraid you’re going to spoil everything. You have to be a good decoy.”
Secret plans? Spoiling everything?
“Honey bunny, I have to hang up if I’m going to drive over to your house right now. I just called to tell you I was running a few minutes late. Didn’t want you to worry if you called my phone and couldn’t reach me.” Pause. “Yes, I love you too, schnookums.”
Frank pretends to vomit.
And I agree.
Moments later, we hear the slam of the window above us closing. Eliza lets out a yelp.
“Sorry—the noise just frightened me.”
I pull Eliza and Frank to their feet, and I gesture for them to follow me. Like a graceful gazelle, I leap across the yard and peer into another window. Patty’s setting her home alarm system and leaving! Yay!
“Wait a second,” Eliza says. “We can’t investigate while she’s gone—we don’t know her alarm code.”
A car engine rattles, and Patty’s car pulls out of her driveway. I push Frank and Eliza behind a large Yorkie hedge, and we hide until Patty’s car speeds down the street.
“On the plus side,” Eliza says, “Patty said she and Maddock were planning for something tomorrow. If the plan has anything to do with Guinevere, at least we know it’s not going to happen tonight.”
“But it will happen tomorrow,” I say with a gulp. And suddenly my hands are sweaty and my stomach feels all squirmy. One day left to crack this case. One day left to save my mom’s agency.
“Carlos, at least we can go home knowing that Guinevere is safe . . . for now. . . .”
“Dum dum dummmmmmm!” Frank sings.
Even though I’m nervous about tomorrow, I feel proud of all the work we did today. We made awesome progress. Patty is up to something, and I’m going to follow her until I find out what.
By the time we get to my neighborhood, my stomach is growling, so I say a quick good-bye to Eliza and Frank and head inside.
I make myself a PB&J sandwich and scarf it down so fast that I barely taste it.
After that, I check on Mom. She’s sitting up, eating a crusty piece of toast.
“Are you feeling better?” I ask her.
She shrugs. “I fink my fever’s gone down, but I stew can’t get outta bed.”
“Stew?” I say. “Oh! Still!”
She smiles weakly.
I set a glass of water on her bedside table. “You should be drinking fluids, Mom.” Which is exactly what she says to me whenever I get sick. “Do you need me to get you any medicine?”
“Ib good. But yourb sweet, hijo.” She sneezes, then says, “Waddya do today wif Ewiza?”
My heart does a kick. “Oh, nothing interesting,” I lie. Then I pepper the lie with a truth so that she doesn’t catch on. “I miss summer camp.”
“Oh, Carwos, I know. I’m sowwy.” Beneath her Rudolph-red nose, she is genuinely upset.
Great. Now I feel extra guilty for making her feel bad. My face is all hot and my stomach feels queasy. I think the guilt of lying is finally getting to me. The only thing I’m missing is the Pinocchio nose.
I really hate lying to Mom. And I’ve never told her a lie this big before. But I have to remember that I’m doing a good thing here. It’s the
only way to save her job, her agency, fix our money problems. Once we solve the mystery, I’ll tell her. I swear I will.
Still, even a silent promise doesn’t make me feel that much better.
“Carwos?” Mom sniffles. “You shouldn’t be in hewe. Germs awe evewywhere.”
“Just . . . feel better soon, okay, Mom?”
“Fank you, sweetheart. Wuv you,” she says, and then I feel so terrible for sneaking around behind her back that I almost confess everything right there.
Keep it together, I think. For Mom.
I slip out of the room, feeling worse—and more determined—than ever.
* * *
Day Three
* * *
I WAKE UP, ridiculously excited. Today’s the day I get to follow Patty Schnozzleton around! I shower, change, and eat as fast as possible. Then I peek my head into Mom’s room to find she’s still sleeping.
When I’m ready to go, I call Eliza’s house and have to wait five minutes while their mom watches them as they cross the street. Mrs. Thompson always does this. Which I think is funny, because she’d probably go bananas if she knew that Eliza and Frank were really solving a murder threat investigation—instead of playing in the neighborhood, like she thinks.
Suddenly there’s a knock on my door, and Eliza and Frank peer in.
“Ready to go?” I say, quickly slipping out of my house.
“YAY!” Frank shouts, and he jumps in the air with a pose like Superman about to zoom off. “One day, I’m really going to fly!” he announces.
“Frank’s in a good mood this morning,” Eliza says. She squints at me. “But you’re not.”
I wring my hands together. “I’m just nervous.”
“About what?” Eliza says. “We’ll do our best, and that’s all anyone can ask of us.”
Our best isn’t good enough, I want to tell her. So much is on the line—my mom’s livelihood is at risk. I know it’s my fault for not telling Eliza what would happen to my mom if we failed, but still, I can’t help thinking that Eliza has no idea how much this case even means to me.
Mystery in the Mansion Page 3
