Abby couldn't help smiling. “What makes you think she'd do that?” she asked.
“Because she said so,” Sky said, staring up at Abby with huge unblinking eyes.
Abby hid another smile and started to explain that when people say they're going to skin someone alive, they usually don't mean it. At least not literally. But then, looking down at Skyler's wide blue eyes, trembling lips, and small clinging hand, she thought better of it. Some six-year-old boys, she decided, were a lot more charming scared than not.
“That's okay,” she told him. “I don't think she's going to skin you alive. Not today anyway.”
One good consequence of the orange juice disaster was that even after Skyler got over his fright, he continued to behave differently around Abby. The very next day, in fact, he warned her that Woody had written a nasty letter on Paige's computer and signed it with Abby's name. Abby appreciated the warning, even though after she read the message she knew Paige wouldn't have been fooled for a minute. The letter read Deer Page, I wish you were ded. Aby.
Although what happened that day definitely changed some things for the better, it left behind something new for Abby to worry about. Like, for instance, did it mean that she had read Sky's mind, and did that mean Dorcas was right about the abnormal things she and Abby might have inherited? Those were questions Abby wasn't sure she wanted answered, but she went ahead and checked them out anyway. But after she'd tested her mind-reading powers several times on different people, she pretty much stopped worrying. When she tried to guess what Dorcas or Tree or Paige was thinking—and then asked them—she didn't come close even once. Just your imagination, she told herself. Nothing to worry about.
ON THE FIRST Saturday in November, Abby made breakfast and took a plateful of pancakes to Tree in the office. Tree, who was there to catch up on her secretarial work, was really enthusiastic. Licking her syrupy fingers, she told Abby she'd overslept and had to skip breakfast. “No time even for a cup of coffee,” she said. “Or to put on my makeup.” She grinned, pointing at her face. “Didn't you notice?”
Abby checked her out and said she hadn't, which was the truth. Even without makeup Tree looked better than your average female would after a week at a beauty spa. But Abby knew better than to say so.
“Well, how's the snoop business going?” she asked. “How many cases are you working on now?”
Tree grinned ruefully. “Well, your mom had me doing surveillance on that fire insurance case. But I guess I didn't do too well.”
“Oh yeah,” Abby said. “I heard Mom talking to Dad about that.” What she'd heard was Dorcas on the phone to Abby's dad, telling him about a new case that involved a fire in a vacant apartment building. The fire had started in a rather run-down neighborhood where there had been two other recent fires, and the insurance company thought that an arsonist must be at work. The insurance company was investigating, but it had been Mr. Barker, the owner of the third burnt-out building, who had hired the O'Malley Agency. He'd come into the office and told Dorcas that he wanted her to put someone in the neighborhood to look for any kind of suspicious behavior. So Dorcas gave Tree her first surveillance assignment.
It had been Tree's idea to start out by borrowing a friend's dog so that she could pretend to be somebody from the neighborhood out walking her dog, while she got acquainted with the area.
“The dog-walking thing seemed like a good idea,” Dorcas told Abby's dad, “but the trouble with Tree doing any kind of surveillance is that she's entirely too noticeable.”
Abby could guess what Tree's problem had been, but she wanted to get Tree's take on the situation. “So why do you think you didn't do a good job?” she asked. “I thought your idea about pretending to be a dog walker was a good one.”
“I know. I did too,” Tree said. “But it didn't work too well.”
Abby could imagine. Before she'd been around the block twice, Tree had probably had dozens of guys following her around trying to make a date.
“Well …” Abby walked around Tree's chair, thinking and nodding. “Maybe I could help. Mom has a bunch of stuff in the attic that she uses sometimes when she doesn't want to be recognized. I'll go see what I can find.”
Not much later Tree Torrelli was wearing a wig of straggly gray hair, and some “little old lady”–type shoes. Her Miss America figure was hidden under a lot of padding and a dress that looked as if it had been snatched from a bag lady's cart. Abby approved. “Now you just need some big dark glasses and maybe smudge some eye shadow on your cheeks and hands.” She walked around Tree one more time and pronounced her camouflage a success. “Great,” she told Tree. “Nobody would look at you twice.”
Abby was still hanging around the office when Dorcas's Honda pulled into the driveway. Tree jumped up and was starting to take off the wig when Abby stopped her. “No, don't.” Abby pulled Tree to the chair clients usually sat in. “There. Just sit here and let's see what happens.”
Tree seemed uncertain. She started to get up twice and then sat back down, and she was doing it again when Dorcas came into the office. Dorcas nodded at Tree, said hi to Abby, and, turning back to Tree, started to say, “Hello. I'm Dorcas O'Malley. Did you want to …” Then she did a double take and started to laugh. Tree laughed too, and so did Abby.
“Yeah,” Abby managed to say between giggles. “It was my idea. What do you think?” Apparently what Dorcas thought was that the disguise solved the “too noticeable” problem pretty well, because after she stopped laughing, she agreed to give Tree some more time on the arson case. “Dressed like that you could spend several days in the area without anybody being the wiser. Just another harmless old bag lady.”
After Dorcas went out, Abby congratulated Tree for being back on the job and Tree thanked Abby for helping with the disguise. Abby could tell how eager Tree was to be the one who solved the arson case.
“I'm going to keep my fingers crossed day and night for you to be the one to solve the case,” Abby said, letting her smile say that she was halfway joking. But Tree's answering grin wasn't halfway.
Giving Abby a quick hug, she said, “Thanks, Abbykins. I'll be counting on that.”
So Abby crossed the two first fingers on her left hand and tried to keep them crossed constantly, and she did remember to, most of the time. But it was the crossed-fingers promise that caused a big problem.
After school on Monday, Abby and Paige were on the bus to the Bordens' when Abby realized she'd been forgetting to keep her fingers crossed. So she quickly did it, all eight fingers, two crosses on each hand, to make up for all the hours she'd forgotten. She didn't do it noticeably at all, just down in her lap, halfway under her notebook, but Paige noticed. Paige was like that. Nothing the least bit sneaky ever got past her, which probably came from all the years she'd been on the alert for little-brother surprise attacks.
Poking Abby, Paige said, “Okay. What is that for? Why did you cross all your fingers just now? Do you always do that when we're almost to my house? I'll bet you do, and I can guess why.”
Abby laughed. “I'll bet you're wrong, but what's your guess? Tell me.”
Paige smiled in the lopsided way that usually meant there was an unfunny part to what she was going to say. “I'll bet it's because of my darling little brothers.” She pointed at the crossed fingers on Abby's right hand. “Like, that one's saying, ‘Please, no egg on my head today.’ ” And then, pointing to the other hand, she said, “‘And no catsup in my backpack.’ ”
Abby laughed and said, “Yeah, right! But no, not really. It's for Tree.” And then, before she had time to bite her tongue, she went on. “I promised to keep them crossed for her to be the one to nab the arsonists.”
“Arsonists. Really?” Paige's blue-green eyes went neon bright, as they always did when anything mysterious or slightly gross came up. Paige was really into stuff like that. So then of course Abby had to tell all about Tree's problems with her first surveillance assignment, and how she was trying again dressed as a bag lady. Paige
thought Abby's idea to disguise Tree as a bag lady was “absolutely insane.” Which meant she liked it a lot.
Paige had met Tree only a few times but she had been super impressed. Which was to be expected, since Paige was so into noticing the way people looked. She was the one who'd said that Tree had an insane figure, and that her face was a combination of Jennifer Lopez and the Olsen twins.
“So, do you think the disguise is going to work?” Paige asked eagerly. “Do you think she'll catch the arsonists?”
“Only if she's lucky,” Abby sighed. “At first I thought the bag lady thing was a good idea, but now I'm not so sure. I mean, no one is going to start a fire or do anything suspicious while someone's around, even if it's just an old bag lady.”
“Well, how do detectives usually do it? Do that survey … whatever you call it?”
“Surveillance,” Abby said. “Well, sometimes they sit in a car like they're waiting for someone. Or if there's an empty apartment nearby, they rent it for a few days and sit in a window with some binoculars. Or they pretend to be workers doing something in the area. Like fixing phone lines or weeding a garden. My mom has a couple of guys she hires to do things like that.”
Paige thought for a minute. “Well, I think we ought to help,” she said. “I don't think we could make anyone believe we're phone repair people or gardeners. But maybe we could.”
“Wait a minute—” Abby tried to interrupt, but Paige went right on.
“I know. We could take a soccer ball and pretend we're just kids practicing for a big soccer game. I think that's a great idea. Don't you?”
Abby shook her head. “No. I don't think so. Your parents would never let you hang out in that part of town and my mom wouldn't let me either.”
Paige sighed and nodded slowly. “No, I suppose they wouldn't.” She grinned slyly. “At least not if they knew about it. But what else can we do? Think of something.”
Nothing sensible had come to mind by the time the bus reached their stop, but when Abby started to get up, Paige pulled her back down. “Wait,” she said. “Sit down. This bus goes to Van Ness. If we stay on for a few more blocks we'll be almost there.”
“No. We can't do that,” Abby protested. “How can we? And besides, where are we going to get a soccer ball?”
“You're right.” Paige frowned. “So there goes the soccer-playing idea.” Then her eyes got that neon glow again. “But I have some chalk in my backpack. If anyone starts getting suspicious we can draw some hopscotch squares and start hopping.”
It was a ridiculous idea, but Paige wouldn't turn loose of it, or of Abby's arm, until the doors closed and the bus was on its way. And many blocks later, with Abby still arguing and holding back, Paige pulled her down the aisle and off the bus. They hadn't walked far before they came to an area jam-packed with three-story apartment buildings, between occasional liquor stores and small takeout cafés. Not many people were on the sidewalk, and the few who were didn't look too reassuring. But Paige didn't seem aware that she and Abby might be getting into trouble.
“All right,” she said in a businesslike tone of voice. “Now, this is the right area, isn't it? Exactly where were the fires?”
“I don't know,” Abby said. “My mom didn't mention any exact addresses. She just said they were in this area.”
“Well, come on,” Paige said. “Let's start walking and maybe we'll see some burned buildings. And if anyone looks suspicious we'll start playing hopscotch.”
As nervous and upset as she was, Abby couldn't help admiring Paige's courage—if that was the word for it. Courage maybe, or else just plain ignorance. Abby checked out how confidently Paige was marching along. It was as if people like Paige were so used to having things go the way they wanted them to, they just couldn't believe that anything bad might happen to them. Not even when what looked like serious trouble was just ahead. A group of guys, tough-looking characters, were standing on a street corner in front of a liquor store, and some of them stopped talking to stare at Abby and Paige as they walked by. Grabbing Paige's arm, Abby whispered, “Come on, let's go back to the bus stop. They're staring at us.”
But Paige kept walking. “Why should they be staring?” she said. “We're just two girls on our way home from school. There must be lots of kids who live around here coming home from school this time of day.”
“Oh sure,” Abby said. “In Barnett Academy uniforms? I don't think so.”
Paige glanced at her monogrammed blue blazer and pleated skirt. “Well, maybe not,” she said. “I didn't think about the uniform.” She slowed down and looked around just as they passed a corner where a bunch of boys were hanging out across the street. Teenage guys, maybe, with baggy pants and tight T-shirts and wide grins that somehow didn't look particularly friendly. As Abby and Paige started up the block, several of them yelled comments that Abby couldn't quite hear, or at least tried not to. Part of the threat was just things you could see, like squinty eyes and jutting chins. But what Abby couldn't shut her mind to were some silent messages that seemed more dangerous than anything that could be said out loud.
Pulling Paige to a stop, Abby turned to look back the way they'd come, back to the bus stop, where they might … But then some of the baggy-pants guys started crossing the street, blocking off the only route back to Van Ness and the next bus.
And now Paige finally began to get the picture. “What do you think we should we do?” Her voice had lost its confident ring. “Run?”
“I don't think so.” Something told Abby that running at that point would be almost like asking to be chased. And there was no hope that they could outrun teenage guys. She was whirling around, desperately searching for she didn't know what, when she saw up ahead, halfway up the next block, a stooped gray-haired figure in a baggy dress, moving slowly in their direction. An old homeless lady—or Tree Torrelli?
A FEW STEPS more and Abby was sure that what looked like a bulgy old lady with a dog on a leash really was Tree. Grabbing Paige's hand, she pulled her forward. “No, don't run,” she said. “Just walk fast. And when we get there pretend you don't know her. Pretend we just want to pet her dog.”
“Get where?” Paige sounded slightly frantic now. “What dog?”
“That old lady with the dog,” Abby said, pointing.
Looking in the direction Abby was pointing, Paige said, “Oh, her. But how can she help? How can one old bag lady …?” She glanced over her shoulder to where at least a half dozen guys were moving toward them, their slow, swaggering saunter becoming faster and more purposeful.
“No. Not a bag lady,” Abby told her. “It's Tree.”
“Tree?” Paige stared and then delightedly started to wave. “Tree …,” she was shouting when Abby grabbed her arm and whispered fiercely, “Shhh.” There was a creak to Abby's voice as she said, “We have to act like we don't know her. So we don't give away her disguise.”
Paige nodded uncertainly. “But what …? How can she make those guys leave us alone if they think she's just an old homeless woman?”
“I don't know,” Abby said desperately. “But remember, don't act like you know her. Just pretend we want to pet her dog. If we're lucky maybe those guys won't bother us with somebody right there watching.”
But then Tree raised her head and saw Abby and Paige walking toward her, and just behind them a circle of teenage guys. A threatening circle that got tighter and louder until suddenly Tree stood up straight, snatched off her gray wig, and, reaching into her bag lady–type canvas purse, pulled out a pen and a small black notebook.
“All right,” she said in a sharp, official-sounding tone of voice. “You boys want to give me your names?” Pointing at the nearest kid, a big overgrown hulk with a lot of gold chains around his neck, she demanded, “You first. Your name and address?” The kid stared goggle-eyed. “Why? Who…,” he stammered. “Who're you?”
“You want to see my badge?” Tree's voice snapped angrily. The kid shrugged, turned, and walked away. And the others did too, scatterin
g in every direction.
On the walk to Tree's car, Paige talked a lot, telling Tree how they had been planning to help her, and how grateful they were that she'd been able to scare off the gang of toughs by pretending she was an undercover policewoman. Tree didn't say much and Abby could guess how she felt about having to blow her disguise to rescue them.
“I guess your disguise won't work anymore,” Abby said ruefully.
Tree shrugged, raising her wing-shaped eyebrows. “I don't suppose so,”she said. “It will probably take about ten minutes for it to be all over the neighborhood that the old bag lady with the dog is really some sort of undercover police.”
Paige gasped and said, “Oh, I didn't think about that. I'm sorry. We just wanted to help and instead we messed everything up.” Grimacing, she turned to look at Abby and then looked quickly away. “It was my fault,” she told Tree. “Abby said we shouldn't come down here but I wouldn't listen to her.”
One of the things Abby liked about Paige was that when one of her ideas didn't work too well, which happened quite a lot, she never tried to put the blame on someone else. And what she had said was true. It hadn't been Abby's fault. Except in a way it was. She should have tried harder to talk Paige out of doing such a crazy thing. The rest of the walk to the parking garage and the ride to the Bordens' house in Tree's car was pretty uncomfortable, and Paige was still apologizing when she got out of the car.
Back at the agency Tree went to get cleaned up and Abby sat in the office feeling bad and wishing there was some way she could make it up to Tree. But then Tree came back dressed in her own clothes and looking a little tired, but otherwise as gorgeous as ever.
“Look,” she said. “It's okay. I don't blame you. I probably couldn't have used the bag lady disguise much longer anyway. So don't feel bad about it. Oh, yes. There's a message on the phone from your mother. She says she won't be home until eight and you should go ahead and heat up the leftovers from last night and have your dinner.” She looked at her watch. “So how about we go down to the kitchen and see what we can find. Okay? What kind of leftovers are we talking about? I'm hungry.”
The Magic Nation Thing Page 4
