by Gwenda Bond
“So,” Principal Butler said.
“So,” I returned.
Apparently he hadn’t come up with a topic of conversation for us this week. I thought back to James’s revelation about his dad’s possible innocence. Principal Butler had known him, at least in the capacity of a small-fry donor to the ex-mayor’s campaigns, and imagined them to be friends.
“Hey,” I said, “you used to know Mayor Worthington, didn’t you?”
“I still do,” he said. “I’m thrilled that they released him. I can’t imagine such an accomplished man in jail. He was the best mayor we ever had. You’ve never met him, I suppose, but he’s just a delightful human being. Everyone loved him.”
Coming from Butler, that was less than convincing.
“Huh,” I said.
He went on. “You and James are colleagues, aren’t you? How’s he doing? I should send flowers…”
Trailing off, he hit a button on his desk phone. It rang once before Ronda answered, her “Yes, sir?” sounding suspiciously like it came from a mouth filled with donut. I liked Ronda.
“Send Mayor Worthington and his wife some welcome home flowers from me. Don’t be stingy either.” He paused. “But not too pricey. Something just right.”
“Of course, sir.”
He clicked the phone again to turn the speaker mode off.
I didn’t envy her having to decipher his vague directive. “That’s nice of you.”
Putting my hands on the arms of the chair, I considered what else I might be able to find out from him, if he didn’t have an interrogation planned for me.
“Do you think the ex-mayor did it?” I asked. “Did the things he was accused of?”
He stared at me in surprise. Then, “What do you mean? Is this a trick question?”
“No trick, just curious about your opinion.”
He raised both well-groomed silver eyebrows. But he must have decided I was asking sincerely, because he answered. “He must have. Good men can fall subject to bad influences, corruption, and the schemes of others.”
“And some not-good men,” I muttered pointedly. I had no proof he’d known what Advanced Research Laboratories, Inc., had been up to with the Warheads, but I had plenty that Butler hadn’t intervened even though it was obviously unsavory and hurting a student.
His eyebrows came together in a scowl. “Be careful, Miss Lane. We’ve been getting along so well. But I am the authority figure here.”
Because the world is an unfair place filled with horrors.
“You’re right,” I said sweetly. “I’d better get on to AP Lit. If you don’t have anything else.”
He didn’t stop me when I stood, and only when I hit the door did he say, “Give James my best. Tell him to drop by and see me if he needs to talk about anything. It must be hard for him.”
“Will do.”
Did Butler have a soul? Or did he just think James’s dad—who everybody had loved—might be back on the rise now that he wasn’t behind bars?
I wasn’t the one who’d solve that mystery. At least not today.
*
Maddy had saved my seat in A.P. Lit with a notebook, which she moved for me when I slipped in. Everyone in class knew the reason for my delay, which I considered less embarrassing for me than for Principal Butler. We could meet on Monday mornings until all his sins came home to roost, or whatever. It would never stop me from pursuing a story.
I studied Maddy’s profile as we listened to our teacher, Mrs. Garrett, outline the virtuous sub-themes of the famous scarlet A. I wondered what would be off limits to report on at the Scoop, if anything. There were obviously still some things I couldn’t write about without the larger world (not to mention Perry) calling me crazy—like flying men. And Melody was Maddy’s sister, not just a story. I couldn’t forget that. But it was time to focus on finding some break in her case. It would save me from mini-obsessing over SmallvilleGuy’s weird behavior.
I was officially counting every second until I could get an explanation for his sudden MIAness in response to the flying man’s rumored appearance. Our Monday schedules didn’t match up well, so it wouldn’t be until tonight’s chat. And today we’d be at risk of missing each other more than usual, even, given that I had to go to City Hall first thing after school. I was torn about whether to hit the property office first to look up the address or try the business registration records to check for Ismenios. It was a tossup…
At the end of class, the first thing I asked Maddy was, “Anything new on the sister front?”
“Same old perfect self, now with added drama.” Maddy shrugged a shoulder. When she stood up, I could see that her T-shirt today was for a band called Sibling Rivalry.
Ha. But I also took it as a warning. She was worried about Melody, but only showed it to me.
“No more episodes?” I asked as we walked down the hall.
She shook her head. “Not that she told me, anyway. She might tell you.”
There was something about the way she said it. She wouldn’t look at me. The bright red streak in her hair draped forward to hide her expression. That was deliberate. She hadn’t used her hair to hide her face from me since we first met.
“Whoa,” I said. “Hold up. Talk to me.”
“It’s just… It’s stupid.” We’d reached her locker and she opened the royal blue door to use as a shield.
“You’re never stupid. Maddy, tell me what’s wrong.”
I glanced over my shoulder, and there was Melody, swanning through the hall behind us in a red dress like a very popular devil, in the company of the same clump of friends she usually traveled with. Only James was missing. She must have seen us standing at Maddy’s locker. In fact, I knew she had, because her nose lifted fractionally. But that was the only acknowledgement we merited, being in public and all. Her fingers absently circled her wrist, though, and I couldn’t help wondering if she was seeing the gray wristband she’d described through the unknown man’s eyes.
After Melody walked by, Maddy sighed and began rifling through her locker.
“Talk,” I told her.
“It’s just… Melody’s the perfect one, okay? I know you’ve heard me say that. James fawns all over her, and now… Now she’s even interesting to you. She gets everything she wants in the end. I was the interesting one, you told me that, and I can’t believe how I hung onto that. It had been so long since I felt not invisible, compared to her. I told you it was stupid.”
Ohhhh.
“Maddy, look at me.” I stepped in front of her and prayed that I was about to say the right thing. “You’re my friend. Your sister is someone I’m helping—and not in small part because she’s your sister. You are the interesting one. And the nice one. Not to mention, you’re you. Melody’s afraid to show anything of herself. You aren’t.” When her face and shoulders relaxed, I added, “Pretty sure a certain crazy-hot art boy thinks you’re more interesting too.”
I lifted my hand to indicate she should look over her shoulder, and she turned. Dante was the one passing by this time, and he was mooning at Maddy in the sweetest possible way. She smiled before she could stop it.
He beamed back and waved to her.
She tried to school her expression, but it was too late. I’d seen, and I was smiling too. “Like ships passing in the hall. You guys are so freaking cute.”
“Shut up,” she said, and started to her next class.
Before she was out of earshot, I said, “Mad?”
“Yeah?” She stopped.
“I’ve got Melody’s back for now, even if she doesn’t like it. But I’ll always have yours.”
She made no attempt to hide the smile that crossed her face. I took that as a win.
*
After last period, I waited for Devin on the steps out front of the long brick behemoth that was East Metropolis High.
The sun beat down on my bare arms and the top of my head as I sat and squinted down at the screen of my phone.
It would be hours before I could really talk to SmallvilleGuy, and I’d done a pretty good job not obsessing all day. But I signed in to the secure messenger app on my phone. In case he happened to be signed in too.
The message came immediately.
SmallvilleGuy: Sorry I worried you yesterday.
SkepticGirl1: You better be. If you were in front of me, I might punch you. Never do that again.
SkepticGirl1: Why did you?
SmallvilleGuy: Farm emergency. & TheInventor summoned me to chat. & other reasons. You’ll be around later?
SkepticGirl1: I’ll be around later. But I want the truth, not excuses.
No response for a long moment, then…
SmallvilleGuy: Okay.
SkepticGirl1: Gotta dash. Hitting City Hall with Devin.
“Okay” was a more noncommittal response than I wanted, but I could tackle that later.
I stowed my phone and looked up at Devin.
He gave me a teasing grin. “Did you know I was here?”
“Of course I did. I’m a reporter, remember?”
Devin was the Scoop’s master of data and computers, and so I’d asked him to come with me to City Hall. He might see something in the records that I didn’t.
“You looked like you were deep in conversation. The rest of the world tuned out.” He offered me a hand and pulled me onto my feet.
I’ll admit it. When I first came to Metropolis, I had the tiniest bit of a crush on Devin. He was smart, cute, and here. But as it turned out, I was only interested in one mysterious person. The two of us were a lot alike, though.
“I was,” I said. “But it’s time to get deep into the research for this story.”
CHAPTER 8
The Metropolis Municipal City Hall was a daunting stone palace of a building. A variety of flags hung from the tops of the third floor in front of the grand center dome and along both broad-windowed wings. Suited people with an air of importance about them arrived and exited via the wide granite staircase.
We started up it too, Devin a little behind me.
“This is going to be exciting, spy-filled intrigue kind of stuff, right?” Devin asked. “I’m ready to get my James Bond on.”
I bit back a smile. “Glad to hear it. You’re right—getting this information isn’t going to be easy.”
He rubbed his hands together jokingly—well, half-jokingly.
This was going to be fun.
We paused on the terrace at the top of the stairs, which led to a row of grand arched doorways, only one of which was open. “After you,” he said. “Oh, wait, what do we tell them we’re here for?”
“Leave that to me,” I said. “I’ll fill out the destination. Just copy it.”
I hoped he had a sense of humor about the minor trick I was playing on him. But, in fairness, he had provided too great a set-up to ignore.
Once inside, I assumed we’d have to put our bags through a metal detector and go through an old-school security checkpoint. Wrong. The system had been updated to the latest and greatest: a holoscanner. A solemn guard behind a nearly transparent display only he could read waved me forward first. “Next,” he said. “Sign in with your destination and then proceed into the scanner.”
I flashed an ID at the second guard behind the old-school sign-in book, scribbling in our time of arrival and destination: 3:45, hall of records. Then I walked forward to stand in the center of a person-sized circular sun inlaid in the marble. “Do you have any items to declare?” the solemn guard asked.
“Not that I know of,” I said.
He didn’t react, other than to touch a spot on the transparent panel in front of him. A column of pale yellow light sprayed up from the floor, surrounding me, scanning my body for any forbidden items.
“Next,” he said, and Devin completed the same process.
The property records were on the second floor, in the same wing as the suite that housed the mayor’s office. We had to pass it to reach our destination, the propped-open doors at the entrance flanked by two flags and two suited members of his security detail.
As we navigated the marble halls, I thought of James. I imagined that he felt as at home here as I did at the Scoop offices. He must have visited this palace of government and the mayoral suite about a million times. That was, until his father began to act like it was a palace and he was an untouchable king.
Assuming he was guilty.
He must be, right?
Probably the ex-mayor wanted a clean slate to start over with his family, and I could be sympathetic to that. But if he was lying about his innocence, that might prove nothing had changed.
We reached a sign that read Hall of Property Records, and went into a long, high-ceilinged room filled with rows and rows of files that reminded me of library stacks. An older lady with penciled arches in place of eyebrows was the clerk on duty at the front counter. “May I help you?” she asked.
“I’m looking for information on this property,” I said. I handed a sheet of paper with the address on it to her. She entered it into a computer, clacking away at the keys.
Devin coughed, then asked under his breath, “What are you doing?”
I softly shushed him in return.
The woman stopped typing and frowned. “That’s odd.”
“You couldn’t find it?” I asked. “Me either. I don’t think it’s in the online database. Can we maybe check the paper files? We verified it exists.”
“How did you verify that?” she asked.
Devin and I looked at each other. “I stood in front of it,” I said.
She stared at us both, then nodded. “If you’re sure. Unusual to find kids these days who are willing to put in this much work.”
“We don’t give up easily,” I said.
“Lois doesn’t, anyway,” Devin said, the truth of the boring nature of our search sinking in.
I gave him a sheepish shrug, trying not to enjoy the moment too much. “I told you it wasn’t going to be easy.”
“That was mean, Lane.” He shook his head. “I will get you back.”
But he flashed me a grin, so I knew he wasn’t mad. Whew.
The woman got up from her desk and led us through the maze of long rows of shelves packed with thick three-ring binders with labels that indicated the blocks where the properties were located. Back and back and back we went, passing by every street address in Metropolis.
“Here we are,” she said finally. “I’ll be up front. Let me know if you need to make a copy of anything.”
“Sorry,” I said to Devin as she walked away. “I know public information isn’t exactly James Bond material. Next time.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Devin ran his finger along the spines, checking the labels, then stood on tiptoe to pluck a slipcase free. “It should be in one of these boring dusty old binders. Seriously, Lane, you brought me to a room full of binders.”
“You are the best of us at data research.” There were no chairs or comfy seats on offer, so I sat on the rough carpet in the aisle. A little cloud of dust puffed up as I sat down. “I’m not going to think about the last time this was cleaned.”
“Probably the seventies, but it doesn’t seem high traffic.” He joined me, and I reached up to accept one of the binders from him.
The items inside were visibly aged, faded ink on yellowed papers. There were dozens of documents included, along with some crammed inside without being hole-punched. Whatever was in here, not only had it not been digitized, it hadn’t been touched in a very long time.
I flipped through the contents, increasingly weirded out with each sheet. There were addresses, but not the one we were looking for. It wasn’t where it should have been, and not
anywhere else either. “It’s not in here,” I said.
“Hmm,” Devin said. “We should check the other ones nearby. Could be in the wrong place.”
So much for the excitement of reporting, but legwork was part of the job. He handed me another binder, and took one himself, replacing the set of papers I handed back. I was running out of hope that we’d turn up anything when—finally, after a good half-hour—I found a sheet almost stuck to another at the back of the last binder on the shelf.
I checked twice before I said anything, in case it was a mirage. I’d almost given up hope.
“This is it,” I said.
“No kidding.” Devin blinked. “We might get out of here someday after all.”
He scooted over next to me. The document had the right address and location, and even better, an owner. And the name listed as the most recent property owner—since the early 2000s—was familiar.
“Moxie Mannheim,” I read aloud. “That is quite a name, isn’t it?”
“An infamous name,” Devin said.
“James mentioned yesterday. Crime boss?” I hadn’t gotten to do my homework on him yet. Looked like that would be getting a priority boost.
“Yeah, better known as Boss Moxie. You know that controversial waterfront property that’s been in the paper lately, some people upset that a crime boss is going to profit from the city’s purchase?” Devin asked. “And the mayor’s into it? I know you’re new to Metropolis, but…”
“Definitely answers a few questions. Like how this property record magically doesn’t show up online.”
Dante had brought up the land deal the other day too, among the other things he’d said about the Boss. He’d told us that the tags outside meant stay out—orders of “the Boss,” in fact. No wonder, if he owned the place.
“Why is he not in jail? If he has the nerve to go around calling himself ‘Boss’?” I asked.
“That part is a nickname,” Devin said. “He’s known by Boss Moxie. The crime boss stuff is all rumors. Somehow, he never goes down for anything. He supposedly owns a lot of property. These days, the mayor makes him out to be a legit businessman.”
