by Sarah Rubin
‘I don’t know. But now we really need to talk to him.’
I scrolled through the contact list until I found an entry labelled Home. I smiled, I couldn’t help it. Benji didn’t just have his home phone number saved in his phone. His address was there too.
‘What’s that?’ Kevin asked, peering over my shoulder.
‘The graffiti bandit’s home address.’ My smile grew a little more wicked. ‘Let’s go take Benji his coat back.’
Benji’s house was all the way out in North Philadelphia and it took us almost half an hour to get there. As we pedalled up Route 611, the houses got older and older, the wooden porches went from straight to sagging and the ratio of windows-made-of-glass to windows-boarded-up-with-plywood shrank considerably.
We pulled up outside number 307. Once upon a time it had been the height of suburban sophistication, but that time was probably the late 1800s. There were hints of the old style, but the gingerbread shingling was filled with gaps like a row of rotten teeth. The house next door looked abandoned.
I started to lock my bike to the front porch, but the wood felt like it would give way with a sharp kick, so I locked it to the stop sign on the corner instead. Kevin pushed his bike next to mine, and I wrapped the chain around them both. Then I grabbed Benji’s coat and phone and started up the steps.
A flash of magenta caught my eye and I stopped with my foot in mid-air. Kevin ran into the back of me and I stumbled forward slightly. The snow had been packed into ice on the pavement and it took me a second to get my feet back under me.
‘Why’d you stop?’
I pointed to the magenta stain in the snow, and the trail of size nine footprints leading up the steps to the abandoned house. Number 305.
Before I could tell Kevin we should check it out, the plywood over the far window slid to one side and a small figure in an oversized jacket clambered over the ledge. I grabbed Kevin’s arm to keep him quiet, but I was too slow.
‘Hey!’ Kevin shouted.
Benji froze, but only for a fraction of a second. I could see the questions gathering behind his eyes, but his instincts told him to run. He swung back through the window, sliding the plywood shut behind him.
Kevin was on to the porch in two steps and I was right behind him.
‘Wait!’ I yelled. There was no reason to chase the kid, we knew where he lived. But Kevin’s a lot faster than I am. He made it to the window in five steps, pushed the board open and slid through the gap headfirst.
I paused at the open window. My eyes were used to the sun glaring off the snow and all I could see on the other side of the window was greenish murk.
I heard Kevin trip over something and let out a shout. I sighed and then I slid in through the window after him.
The room on the other side of the window was cold, dark and dry. There was no furniture or carpet to absorb the sound and my footsteps echoed against the bare wooden floorboards.
‘Kevin?’ I said.
‘Shhh . . .’ he hissed from somewhere to my right. I looked, and slowly his shape started to melt out of the shadows as my eyes adjusted to the light.
‘It’s not like we’re going to be able to sneak up on him,’ I said. ‘He saw us in the street.’
Kevin was quiet for a minute. I could almost feel him blushing.
‘I heard him go upstairs,’ he whispered. ‘Come on.’
I followed Kevin up the stairs, keeping close to the wall just in case there were any rotten boards ahead. There was more light at the top of the stairs. The windows weren’t boarded here and still had their glass. But snow from the storm covered the bottom half of each pane, making the light cool and diffuse. I blinked. The walls were covered in graffiti. Letters, shapes and pictures in all the colours of the rainbow chased each other along the walls. I recognized the style from the Beryl immediately.
‘I think we found his lair,’ Kevin whispered.
I stifled a snort. What kind of a ten-year-old has a lair? And then I looked down the hall and got my answer. The kind of kid who spray-paints an entire door black and then writes KEEP OUT in giant red letters.
Kevin took one look at the door and his face split into a wolfish grin. I could almost see him thinking, I’ve got you now.
Kevin was down the hall with his hand on the doorknob before I could blink. I looked at the door. Why bother to write KEEP OUT on it? If anything, it made the ‘lair’ even more obvious. It was almost like Benji wanted us to go that way.
‘Wait!’ I yelled, but it was too late.
Kevin grabbed the knob and pulled, yanking the door open wide and charging through the doorway right into an explosion of sparkling gold paint.
I rushed forward, my heart thumping in my chest. I kept close to the wall, out of the line of fire, and peered around the door frame just in time to see Benji’s size nine boots disappear out the first-storey window. I swallowed the urge to give chase. Benji was on his home turf here. He probably had dozens of hiding places.
Behind me, Kevin was stumbling around the hallway, bumping against the walls leaving gold body prints on whatever he touched. He coughed a few times, but he didn’t sound like he’d breathed in too much of the paint. He was swearing too hard to be in serious trouble.
I raised my eyebrows.
‘You OK?’ I asked as Kevin caught his breath and downgraded his language to PG.
Kevin wiped the back of his arm across his eyes and blinked at me. Every centimetre of the front half of his body had been gilded, even his eyelashes. He looked like the golden cherub ornament on our Christmas tree. All that was missing was the harp. Kevin flicked the paint off his fingers and looked down at his jacket.
‘I’m going to kill that kid,’ he said.
I shrugged. ‘I tried to warn you.’ And then I stepped up to the door.
It took me a minute to find Benji’s booby trap. It looked like something he’d built in design and technology class. A wooden box just the right size for three cans of spray paint, three holes cut into the front so the paint could spray whoever walked through the door. The lid was loose, and when I pulled it out, I saw three drawing pins lined up with the nozzle of each can. When the door opened, the lid snapped down and the drawing pins pressed down to let the paint fly. It wasn’t going to stop an intruder entirely, but it was perfect for giving Benji time to make his escape.
I looked out the now-open window and saw the track Benji’s body had made as it slid down the roof of the porch and the footsteps leading to the street. I sighed, and then I had another idea.
He’d had less than five minutes to set the trap and get out the window. I got out Benji’s phone and dialled my own number, and the duffel bag behind the door started ringing.
I was across the room in seconds and unzipped the bag. It was full of every colour can of spray paint in the rainbow, and then some. I pushed the cans aside and they rattled and clinked against each other, and then there it was: my phone.
I snatched it up with a small grateful sigh. And flicked through it quickly. Everything seemed fine. And there was even a video of Benji spray-painting the Beryl. He hadn’t erased it. I let me smile grow a little wider. I guess he didn’t think I’d find him.
There wasn’t much battery left, but I used some of it taking pictures of the inside of Benji’s lair. And his duffel bag full of spray paint. And his booby trap. I also copied Benji’s contact list, and his recent calls list. When I was satisfied I’d collected enough evidence, I put my phone carefully back in my pocket and turned to Kevin.
‘Come on, let’s go give Benji his coat back.’
Kevin stared at me. ‘Are you kidding? He just ran. He’s not going to be waiting for us at home.’
‘No, but his parents might.’
I found a rag and helped Kevin wipe off the worst of the paint and tried not to laugh. He’d need a good hour under the hot tap with a scrubbing brush and a bucket of soap to get really clean. When I’d finished, Kevin still sparkled, but it was a lot more subtle. Then we made
our way out of 305 and up the steps to 307.
I brought up my fist to knock and then noticed the look of glee in Kevin’s eyes.
‘What are you smirking for?’ I asked.
‘What do you mean?’ He looked shocked. ‘We’re gonna drop him in it, right? I’m imagining him getting walloped back to the Stone Age.’
I put my hand down. Part of me agreed with Kevin. But I knew it would be a lot easier to figure out why Benji was spray-painting the Beryl if he wasn’t grounded for life. Besides, if I told on him now, I wouldn’t be able to threaten to do it later.
‘What?’ Kevin asked, his voice moving down the scale from confused to suspicious.
‘Benji will never talk if we don’t have any leverage.’
Kevin stared at me blankly.
‘Once we spill the beans, that’s it. That’s the worst we can do. There’s no way he’ll tell me about why he’s been spray-painting the Beryl then.’
Kevin opened his mouth, I could see the words so what forming and I held up my hand to cut him off.
‘Just let me do the talking.’
Kevin grumbled, but nodded his head.
The door opened on my third knock. A middle-aged woman in jeans and a hand-knitted sweater opened the door. She was holding a two-year-old girl. The girl and the sweater wore matching sticky orange stains.
‘I’m sorry to bother you. My name’s Alice Jones,’ I said in my most polite voice. Kevin’s eyes popped open in mock surprise, but I ignored him.
‘What do you want?’ Somewhere in the background another child wailed and the woman threw an annoyed look over her shoulder.
‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘But I found these and I wanted to return them.’ I held up the coat and phone like exhibits in a courtroom.
‘Is that Jamie’s phone? I didn’t know that was missing too.’
Jamie must have been Benji’s real name. I shrugged and feigned ignorance.
‘Well, thank you. Jamie isn’t home right now . . .’
Kevin snorted. ‘We know.’ I stepped on his foot, but it was too late. Benji’s mom had noticed him. Her voice trailed off and she stared at the golden angel on her front porch.
‘What on earth?’ she asked, her eyes narrowing.
I interrupted her train of thought before she could jump to any conclusions. ‘Sorry, we just came from some community service work cleaning up graffiti.’
‘Uh-huh,’ she said. ‘Where did you say you found Jamie’s coat?’
I swallowed. I didn’t want to tell her what Benji had been up to. I needed to keep that card in my pocket. But from the way she was looking at Kevin, I got the feeling she knew all about her son’s extracurricular activities. And she didn’t approve.
‘Near the Beryl Theatre.’ It wasn’t a lie, not technically.
She blinked. ‘That old place?’
‘Anyway,’ I said quickly, putting the coat into her free hand and dropping Benji’s phone into his pocket. ‘We need to go. It was nice to meet you.’
I grabbed Kevin’s arm and hauled him down the steps.
I could feel Benji’s mom watching us, but I didn’t look back and after a moment the door slammed shut.
Kevin exploded. ‘What was the point of that?’ he asked. ‘You just brought the brat back his coat. And his phone. I thought we were coming here for payback?’
I unlocked the bikes and threw my leg over the side before getting out my phone. It was good to have it back.
‘Payback is useless,’ I said. Benji’s number was saved as an incoming call and I smiled wickedly. ‘What I want are answers.’
I typed a short sharp shock of a message.
STOP SPRAYING THE BERYL AND ANSWER MY QUESTIONS OR ELSE I’LL TELL YOUR MOM EVERYTHING.
I attached the video of Benji in action and pressed ‘send’.
It was mid-morning by the time we got back to the Beryl. The clouds from last night’s snowstorm were gone and the sun bouncing off the fresh snow dazzled my eyes. Red foil hearts and cartoon cupids decorated almost every shop window we passed.
‘You doing anything for Valentine’s Day?’ Kevin asked, jerking his head towards the display of heart-shaped soft pretzels in the window of the 7–Eleven.
‘I’m going to see my sister in a show.’
‘Got a date?’
‘My dad.’
Kevin snorted.
I didn’t get the big deal about Valentine’s Day, but I did like the box of chocolates Dad always got me. He sent one to Della too.
‘Hey, look, there’s Matthew Strange!’ Kevin said, pointing at a man on the other side of the street. He wore a navy blue baseball cap pulled low over his face, a pair of sunglasses and a scarf. ‘Let’s go say hi.’
I squinted at the figure. ‘How do you recognize him? You can’t even see his face.’ I thought for a moment. And where had his sling gone?
Kevin grabbed my arm and started pulling me across the street. ‘I don’t know. I can just tell it’s him. Maybe it’s his walk? I brought my copy of Zero Tolerance today. Do you think he’ll sign it?’
‘Sure,’ I said, slowing my steps along with my words.
Matthew Strange didn’t go up the steps to the Beryl. Instead, he kept walking and turned down the alley that led to the Stage Door.
‘What’s he doing?’ I asked. ‘Why isn’t he going in the front?’
Kevin shrugged. ‘I don’t know, maybe he doesn’t want to wait for Captain Creepy to open the door. Come on.’
‘Wait.’ I grabbed Kevin’s sleeve. ‘Don’t you think it’s a little suspicious?’
Kevin shook his arm free. ‘Don’t tell me you think Matthew Strange is behind all the stuff going wrong?’
I shrugged. I didn’t think the movie star was, but I didn’t have any proof that he wasn’t either. And until I knew who was causing the problems, everyone was a suspect. Kevin looked at me the way he did when I told him I liked factoring quadratic equations.
‘That’s ridiculous. He’s way more likely to be the victim. He came all the way from Hollywood to be in this show, and he’s the only reason people are coming to see it. If he wanted to make trouble, he could just quit. Especially after that safe fell on him.’
I didn’t say anything. Kevin had a point, but I didn’t like the idea of leaving Matthew out as a suspect just because he was famous. That’s not how a good detective works.
Kevin turned the corner. ‘Great, now we missed him.’
I looked into the alley. It was empty. ‘Where’d he go?’
‘Into the theatre. Obviously.’
Kevin stood in the mouth of the alley with crossed arms, watching as I tried the Stage Door.
‘It’s locked,’ I said, walking back to where Kevin was waiting.
‘He probably propped it open while he ran out to get a snack.’
I snorted. Matthew Strange liked to pretend he was just a normal guy, but he hadn’t gotten so much as a drink of water for himself since he’d arrived. And I was starting to suspect he hadn’t really needed that sling all along, he just liked the attention.
‘Whatever,’ Kevin said. ‘It isn’t him.’ And he stormed round the corner and up the steps of the Beryl, banging on the door without waiting for me to catch up.
We walked into the middle of a meltdown.
‘I won’t wear it. I won’t!’ Vivian Rollins’s voice rolled out through the lobby, sending fear, determination and a hint of hysteria ringing down the hall.
I edged through the door slowly and stuck close to the wall, ready to duck and cover if Vivian decided she needed to throw something to really make her point. Kevin kept behind me.
‘But, Vivian, think of the press. The original ballgown from the original production of The Curse of the Casterfields,’ Linda said, pleading.
‘I won’t! Kittie Grace is already angry enough that I’ve taken her role. What will happen if I take her dress too? She’s already tried to kill me once . . .’
I slid sideways into the room. Vivian had her back to t
he door, her shoulders stiff and arms held rigidly against her sides. Mom stood across from her, the ballgown I’d found in the gas house hung over her arm.
She’d been busy. The dusty blue fabric had been sponged clean. And the metres of lace trim had been carefully removed so she could reattach it after the alterations were finished. She had dark smudges under her eyes, but she didn’t look tired. Mom’s eyes sparkled, reflecting the blue of the dress.
Linda stood next to Vivian, her thumbs flying across her phone. She was probably writing up a new blog post about the fitting. Her face was smooth and expressionless, but her voice gave away her frustration.
‘Vivian, we’ve been over this,’ Linda said soothingly. ‘I’m sure Miss Grace would understand.’
Vivian didn’t budge.
‘Look, Vivian,’ Mom said. ‘I need to take the whole dress apart and replace all the bits with holes. It will be like a brand-new dress when I’m done.’ Linda looked aghast, and Mom added quickly, ‘It will look just like the original, but there are too many holes to reuse all of the same fabric, and unless Vivian wants to wear a corset, there’s no way she’d fit into it anyway.’ Mom turned to Vivian. ‘Just come with me and try it on so I can see what needs to be altered and then you can take it right back off.’
Linda turned back to Vivian. ‘She’s right. The show must go on, and so must the dress.’
Vivian sighed so dramatically I worried she might deflate. She looked at us each in turn, her lip trembling just enough so we could see it. ‘I’ll do it. I’ll do it for the good of the show.’ She gave a brave little sniff, and let Mom lead her away.
‘Wow.’ Kevin shook his head. ‘She really thinks the ghost is coming to get her.’
‘Seems like it,’ I said. Part of me wanted to think Vivian was just pretending, for attention. I’d thought so at first, but the more things that went wrong, the more frantic Vivian became. If we didn’t figure out what was going on soon, she might have a full-scale breakdown.
Linda finished typing and looked up. ‘Ah, Alice, I’m glad you’re here. I really need you and your friend to come through with this lobby display. We’ve sold out opening night, but we need everyone who comes to the show to be so impressed with the Beryl that they tell all their friends. I want people taking pictures and posting them online, real buzz creation.’ She looked at us expectantly.
