Dial Books for Young Readers
Penguin Young Readers Group
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
375 Hudson Street
New York, NY 10014
Copyright © 2016 by Linda Fairstein
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Ebook ISBN: 9780399186455
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Fairstein, Linda A., author.
Title: Into the lion’s den / Linda Fairstein.
Description: New York, NY : Dial Books for Young Readers, [2016] | Series:
The Devlin Quick mysteries ; 1 | Audience: 8-12. | Summary: “Twelve year
old Devlin Quick is determined to bring a thief to justice when someone
steals a page out of a rare maps book in the New York Public Library”—
Provided by publisher.
Identifiers: LCCN 2016005234| ISBN 9780399186431 (hardcover) | ISBN
9780399186455 (e-book)
Subjects: | CYAC: Mystery and detective stories. | Maps—Fiction. |
Libraries—Fiction. | New York (N.Y.)—Fiction. | BISAC: JUVENILE FICTION
/ Mysteries & Detective Stories. | JUVENILE FICTION Action & Adventure
General. | JUVENILE FICTION / Law & Crime.
Classification: LCC PZ7.1.F346 In 2016 | DDC [Fic]—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016005234
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Photo © 2016 Amy Cicconi / Alamy
Illustrations by Chelen Ejica
Design by Theresa Evangelista
Version_1
For my favorite supersleuths—
Isla, Mila, Eve,
and Sam
Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
1
“I’m trapped!” Liza said.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. “I’m worried about you. What’s taking you so long?”
“I’m stuck. And I can’t exactly talk in here.”
I held the phone closer to my ear. “What?”
“Tell me where you are, and I’ll meet you in five,” she whispered.
“I’m sitting on the lion,” I said. “And hurry up because it’s really hot outside.”
It was three o’clock in the afternoon on a Tuesday in late June. My mother had struck a deal with me at the end of the semester, when my seventh-grade classes finished. If I agreed to take three weeks of summer school courses—not because I needed the credits or anything, but mostly to keep me out of her hair—then I could go on vacation with my best friend’s family for three weeks in July.
So far my mother got the better part of the bargain. She usually did. There was a ton of homework that went with the program at the Ditchley School, and Katie’s family had changed their summer plans since I signed on to hang out with them. Instead of going to their cool beach house on the ocean in Montauk for the entire two months, Katie’s dad got it into his head that bone-dry Big Timber, Montana, was a smart place to buy a ranch just in time for the second half of our school break.
“Get off that lion’s back, young lady,” the security guard yelled at me from the top of the library steps.
“Okay, sir.” I waved at him and slid off the marble statue, jumping from its pedestal to the ground. “No harm, no foul.”
Patience and Fortitude, the two stately kings of the jungle, had guarded the entrance to the massive New York Public Library for more than a hundred years. They stood right on Fifth Avenue, in the center of Manhattan, watchdogs over all the action in midtown. I didn’t think my wiry frame would have ruffled their manes for the few minutes I had parked myself on top of one of them.
I was dying to call Katie, who had already stationed herself out at the beach until we headed west, to ask what her father, a hedge-fund honcho, suddenly found more appealing about rattlesnakes and mountain lions and black bears in the high desert than swimming and chilling and looking for cute surfers on the East End of Long Island.
“Dev!” Liza was shouting my name as she burst through the front door.
“Glad you unstuck yourself, Liza.”
For the moment, I was wrapped up with Liza de Lucena, an Argentinian student who’d gotten a scholarship to the Ditch for the summer and was staying with us as part of the program.
Liza was flying down the staircase like her hair was on fire.
“I was trapped in there,” she said. “You don’t get it, Dev. It was terrifying.”
“Rattlesnakes are terrifying, Liza. This is a library. Worst thing that can happen to you is a bad paper cut.”
“You think I’m kidding? It’s that man in the navy blue blazer,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “The one crossing the street right in front of the bus. I thought if he saw where I was hiding—well, I didn’t know what he would do to me.”
“Hiding from a librarian?” I asked. The light turned red as the tall man reached the opposite side of Fifth Avenue. “Look, Liza, they can be tough if you’re making noise, but—”
She started to run toward the curb. “You’ve got to chase him, Dev. You’ve got to take a picture of him with your phone.”
Just what I needed. A drama queen to enliven my summer studies.
“Why me? Is your phone out of juice?”
“Because he saw me, Dev. He knows I watched him take the paper.”
I caught up to her at the start of the crosswalk. “He couldn’t have taken anything. I told you no one can check things out of this place, Liza. It’s not a lending library. It’s only for research. It’s the most famous research library in the entire world.”
“Then he’s a thief, Dev. He stole something. You have to take his picture before he gets away.”
The word “thief” triggered a hot spot in my brain—there’s nothing I like better than a good mystery. I sprinted onto the pavement the second the traffic light switched to green, because Liza had a point. Her pink-and-orange T-shirt had the words NEW YORK plastered across the front. She might as well have been wearing a neon sign that said TOURIST. The chunky black braid and full set of braces made her a standout among the older bookworms in the reading room.
By the time I crossed the wide avenue, with Liza a few steps behind, the man had turned the corner onto Forty-Second
Street.
I had no idea if Liza was right—that he had stolen some kind of paper from the library—but I loved the idea of chasing a possible thief, a person of interest, as my mother would say. I sort of have investigative instincts in my genes, I liked to think. Friends are always coming to me to solve problems, most of which don’t take more than simple powers of observation and deduction. A healthy dose of strong nerves is another useful asset, and I seem to have an endless supply of those.
“Excuse me,” I said, squeezing between shoppers and sightseers who were hogging the sidewalk, making it impossible for me to get to top speed.
The tall man had long legs and was walking briskly, near the curb to avoid the strolling pedestrians. As nimbly as I could move, I didn’t seem to be gaining on him.
I turned to make sure I hadn’t lost Liza, who was proving to be a drag on my pace. “He’s not carrying anything,” I said. “No briefcase, no bag, no paper.”
“I saw him cut a page out of a book, Dev. It must have been a rare book, too, because the librarian made him put on white gloves to look at it.”
“Cut it?” I kept one eye on the tall man, who was jaywalking in the direction of Grand Central, the huge train terminal that had way too many tracks leading out of town, and dozens of subway entrances that could take him to the far ends of the outer boroughs of the city.
“Yes. He dropped his little knife on the floor and that’s what caught my attention. That’s when he glared at me. What I saw him doing can’t be legal, can it?”
Now I shifted into high gear. The yellow caution light was about to switch to red, but I ran into the crosswalk and made it to the north side of Forty-Second Street, certain that a crime had been committed.
“Wait up, Dev!” I could hear Liza shouting from the farside of a city bus.
There was no point waiting for her. Maybe the meek will inherit the earth, but they’re not likely to get Manhattan in that deal. And they sure won’t catch any bad guys. I was pumped up by a new fact: She had seen a sharp blade dissecting the pages of a rare book. That sounded like a really serious crime—maybe even a felony.
The tall man turned into the corner doorway of the vast train terminal.
Could be my lucky day. The way into Grand Central at that point happened to be a really long ramp—not a single step in sight—that led from the sidewalk down a slope into the very middle of the main floor. It was straight downhill from here.
I had my cell phone in my left hand, punching up the camera icon as I skirted all the commuters and tourists who were clogging the corridors of the terminal.
I saw the solution to my problem directly in my path. Three boys, younger than me, were studying a subway map, each holding a skateboard under his arm as they argued over directions.
“I’ll give it back to you in five,” I said, pulling the board away from the shortest one. “Meet you at the information booth.”
I put the board on the ground and stepped on it with my left foot, pushing off in pursuit of my long-legged adversary.
The boys shouted after me and gave chase. Good thing it wasn’t rush hour or I might have run over some tired feet. As it was, I got yelled at by stragglers of all shapes and sizes as I weaved a path around and through them. I didn’t understand why they couldn’t see me coming and just step aside.
I was nipping at the tall man’s heels when he made a sudden turn to the left as he reached the bottom of the ramp.
I tried to bail from the board, but it bucked and tossed me onto the marble floor.
The kid whose board I had borrowed was almost on me. That was when he let out a loud cry: “Stop, thief!”
The tall man’s head snapped around while the three boys charged directly at me. I was flat on my back but I scrambled onto my knees, lifted my hand, and snapped a few photos of him.
A small crowd was gathering around me—instead of the real thief—as I got to my feet. The boy had retrieved his board and was running to catch up with his pals without waiting for my apology or explanation, so people walked away.
Liza was running down the ramp, well-meaning I’m sure, but too late to be useful. “Did you lose him?”
I shook my head as I saw the suspect passing through the wrought-iron gates at Track 113, just before the conductor slammed them shut.
“Open up, please, sir!” I called to him as he also walked toward the train.
“Too late, young lady. Where are you going?”
I stepped back to see the stops on the large schedule posted next to the gate, but the conductor just kept on walking.
“I’m—I’m … going to … ,” I said, skimming the names of the familiar Westchester County towns from top to bottom before settling on a destination farther north. “I’m going to Poughkeepsie.”
“End of the line, is it?” he said, turning to point to his right. “Track 102 in forty-five minutes. This train has already left the station.”
2
“You’re bleeding, Dev,” Liza said.
She was sitting next to me in the last car of the 4 train, which is the Lexington Avenue Express. The Ditch uniform skirt was absurdly short, and my exposed knees were scraped and bloody. I dabbed at them with a napkin left over from our stop at the Shake Shack for a post-pursuit snack.
“I’m so bummed that we missed him,” I said.
“Me, too.”
Liza’s English was almost unaccented and practically perfect. In just our short time together, it was pretty clear that even our colloquialisms were familiar to kids at the American School in Buenos Aires.
“Beyond bummed,” I said, punching up the photos I took of the thief.
“May I see those?”
“Not my best work, Liza,” I said, holding out my phone.
The images I shot from my position on the floor of Grand Central’s main concourse were mostly blurry. The subject of my investigation appeared to be looming over me—quite out of proportion because I hadn’t really gotten all up in his face. The angle captured the smooth lines of his chin from below, his flared nostrils, the tip of his nose, and the rim of his tortoiseshell glasses. It wouldn’t make for a proper WANTED poster.
“That’s him,” Liza said. “That’s the guy. What are we going to do now?”
“I’d like to get some professional help.”
“We should have gone back to the library.”
“Oh, we’re going to do that, for sure,” I said. “But I want them to take us seriously when we go there. I want to make sure there are forensics to back us up.”
“Forensics? Good idea, Dev. But where do we go for that? Will one of the teachers be able to help us with it?”
“Better than that, Liza. The New York Police Department has an amazing range of new techniques to catch criminals.”
“I don’t even know what the man stole,” Liza said. I could hear her gulp as she tried to backstep. “You think the police will get involved in a case like this?”
“Count on it.”
“In my country, I don’t believe the officials would take kids like us seriously, especially about a matter like this, with no grown-up witnesses.”
“Zero tolerance here in New York, Liza. Quality of life crimes and all that. You can’t have people stealing from our great public institutions.” I was beginning to sound more like my grandmother than my grandmother did.
The subway car was rocking back and forth. There was only one stop between Grand Central and the Brooklyn Bridge station, and the express train could make the trip in fourteen minutes.
I turned on my phone and started texting.
“Who are you talking to?” Liza asked.
“I have to tell my friend Katie what’s going on. She might not appreciate us working this case without her,” I said. “And then I need to make sure the detective I want to meet with is in his office.”
“How about Natasha? Isn’t she expecting us at the apartment?”
“I’ll tell her next. She’ll be totally on board with it. She kno
ws my mother is coming home from her business trip tonight.”
Natasha has been living with us for years and was like a big sister to me. Now that I was twelve, I didn’t need a babysitter anymore, but I knew she was always watching out for me and she helped out my mom by cooking dinner most nights, too.
“If you’re sure that’s okay,” Liza said.
Liza still hadn’t met my mother, who’d been in Washington, DC, since Sunday afternoon. While I was texting, Liza opened her backpack and took out a book. It was one of those Brontë sisters’ novels, not that I could ever keep anything those three girls wrote straight.
“Subway rules, Liza. No reading on the train.” Liza had only arrived in New York on Sunday evening—the night before last. Ditchley was a short walk from my apartment, so she didn’t have any knowledge of public transportation.
“What are you talking about? It’s a perfectly good time to read.”
“Not in my experience,” I said. “You can’t bury your nose in a book. A lot of stuff goes down on the subway. You have to be alert and take it all in.”
She sighed and closed the book. “What are the other rules?”
“Never look at a map while you’re sitting on a train.”
“But this is only my second time on the subway. From school to the library, and now this. One day I’m going to have to go somewhere without you, and I’ll have to use one.”
“Oh, boy. That would really make you a sitting duck,” I said, shaking my head. “Plan your route at home—study the map on the kitchen table before you get on the train. Otherwise someone will target you as an out-of-towner and try to take advantage of you.”
“But—”
“You saw how I gamed that kid right out of his skateboard, didn’t you?”
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