Edison's Gold (9 page)

“Colb, your dork meter's off the charts right now,” Noodle interrupted. “Sloooowww it down.”

“Here, see for yourself.” She shoved a piece of paper into his hands and caught her breath. “Second paragraph.”

Noodle read. “ ‘Overlooking the Ebbets Field bleachers is the Robinson Sundial, named for longtime Dodgers' manager Wilbert Robinson.' ”

Tom and Noodle went silent.

“I don't get the connection,” Tom said after a moment. “Unless this Robinson guy was friends with Henry Ford or something.”

“Or he was in the Sub Rosa.”

“ ‘One hundred yards north of the sun and moon.' Like it says in the riddle.” Colby looked from Tom to Noodle as though she were dealing with preschoolers. “Sun and moon? Sundials? Ebbets Field's in the photo? It has a famous sundial. Do I have to spell it out for you?”

“That's a bit of a stretch,” said Tom.

“And Ebbets Field was torn down, like, fifty years ago.”

“Okay, sure, but if the room where this photo was taken still exists,” said Colby, “it might lead us somewhere.”

“Maybe.” Noodle's fingers were already flying over the keys. “I can find the stadium's old address.”

Tom glanced at his watch. “If we left now, two hours to get to Brooklyn, look for clues, plus two hours back. We might be able to make it home by curfew.”

“Nana'll be asleep until dinner,” said Colby, “but we'll have to go through the McFaddens' yard just to be safe.”

“Who knows? Maybe we'll find something.” Tom
shrugged, throwing all the papers into his bag and stepping out into the sunlight. “And it's not like we're doing anything dangerous or illegal. It's just research.”

“Like an extra-credit project,” Colby added.

It was settled then. Next stop, Brooklyn …

I
don't see any sundials.” Colby yawned.

“And I'm seriously losing steam.” Noodle flopped down onto a patch of grass next to the sidewalk. The three of them had been searching this run-down neighborhood of Flatbush in Brooklyn for an hour and a half. So far, nothing.

“Yeah, this is pointless. That photo could have been taken from anywhere in this entire neighborhood.” Colby collapsed onto the curb next to Noodle.

Tom stepped back, scanning the south side of Sullivan Place, a street that was little more than a crumbling block of row houses, a few shabby storefronts, and a scaffolded parking garage.

On the other side of them was a cluster of high-rise
apartments where, half a century ago, Ebbets Field had once stood like a towering castle.

“Okay, if the entrance to the ballpark was over there …” Tom stared at the apartment buildings, trying to picture the baseball stadium. It was impossible to mentally position where the photo would have been taken. There were simply too many variables.

What is the missing piece?
he wondered to himself for the hundredth time that afternoon.

“Betcha Big T's in heaven looking down on us right now, laughing at what idiots we are.” Noodle stared up at the cloudless sky.
“I invent ze lightbulb, and zey can't even zolve a few clues? Vat is ze matter vit zese brat-vurtzes?”

“That's a really good imitation of Albert Einstein, dummy.” Colby smirked. “But I don't think Thomas Edison had a German accent, considering he was from Ohio.” She plucked a few strands of grass and mindlessly drizzled them over the sidewalk curb. “Let's get outta here,” she called over to Tom. “My nana'll be up from her nap soon.”

“We can't go!” he called back. “We're already at the Bed, Ford!”

“I get that's a reference to the camera riddle.” Noodle stretched his arms over his head. “But I have zero idea what you're blabbing about.”

“He capitalized the
B
in
Bed
!” Tom was hopping up and down, motioning them over. “It wasn't referring to Henry Ford at all.”

“Still not following.” Colby shook her head as Noodle and she stood up and jogged over toward Tom, who was smiling wide and staring up at the street sign marking the intersection of Sullivan Place and Bedford Avenue.

Tom pulled the scrap of paper from where he kept it folded in his wallet, and reread the riddle. “ ‘When you reach the Bed, Ford. You're just one hundred yards north of the sun and moon.' ”

“So this whole time,” Noodle wondered aloud, “all we had to do was start at Bedford and go a hundred yards south?”

“Three feet equals one yard,” blurted Colby.

“You just can't resist, can you?” Noodle smirked.

Tom was already counting out his paces down the street. The others quickly fell into step.

Ninety-eight … ninety-nine … one hundred
.

At the hundredth yard, they looked up.

On one side, the road. On the other side, a dilapidated townhouse's peeling facade and dark windows dared them to enter.

“This place so does not look up to code,” said Colby. “Also, as a side note, I'm getting a slightly haunted vibe.”

“Maybe … but check that out.” The others followed Noodle's gaze, now fixed above the house's slated roof, to the wrought-iron weather vane above the chimney.

A large gray stone sun and moon were fastened to its crest.

“Wherever we are, we're here,” said Tom as they climbed the narrow front steps to the building's screened door, which opened with a push and creak …

 … leading them straight to a dingy vestibule.

“Noodle, your cell phone is in range, right?” Colby crossed her arms in front of her chest. “This place looks like kidnapper central.”

“Nothing that exciting. It's a pet shop,” said Noodle, pointing to the purple block-lettered sign that read,

“But before that, it was this.” Tom tapped the brass plaque next to the intercom.

Together, they all read the New York landmark engraving.

“The Vesper Inn,” said Noodle. “Why didn't they just say so?”

“Too easy,” said Colby. “If you're in the Sub Rosa, why tell it straight when you can turn it into an insane wild goose chase?”

The others weren't sure how to answer that one.

“Well, I'm going in,” said Tom.

A
bell jangled as they pushed in through the door, setting off a wild orchestra of barks, meows, and chirps.

In cases and cages, burrowed-in or on show-off display, small animals, from furry to spiny to scaly, were everywhere.

But there was not a single human in sight. Tom checked the area. Nobody was behind the cash register or tending to the animals. Faintly, from a back room behind the front counter, came the far-off hum of a vacuum cleaner.

Colby sneezed. “Sorry. Too much fur and feathers for my sinuses.”

“Shh.” Tom motioned for them to follow him down a windowless hallway that was banked on both sides with
blue-lit, glubbing aquariums. “If anyone comes in and asks what we're doing, just say we're looking for a salesperson,” he whispered.

“I'm getting Met déjà vu,” remarked Colby as they tiptoed down the hallway.

The floorboards creaked under the weight of their shoes.

“This place is so super old,” whispered Noodle.

“It even smells old,” Colby added. “Don't you think it's kinda weird to convert a house like this into a pet store? It looks nothing like the ones you see at the mall.”

“Mall pet shops are depressing,” said Noodle. “At night, everyone leaves—”

“What don't you two understand about
shh
?” Tom put a finger to his lips as the corridor opened up into a side room, sandbagged on one end with floor-to-ceiling feed and cedar-chip bags, as well as stacked cages of snakes and lizards.

It was lit only by the indirect sunlight through a large window that faced out onto the street. The view was of the Ebbets Field Apartments, but there was no way to know for sure if this was the same room where Firestone's photo had been taken all those years ago.

Until Noodle glanced up at the ceiling rafters and saw
the intricate painted pattern of family crests and fleurs-de-lis above their heads.

“This is it, you guys!” He pointed toward the ceiling. “This is the spot!”

“Say it a little louder. They might not have heard you back in Yonkers.” But as Tom stepped back to get a better look at the rafters, it was clear Noodle was right.

Tom reached into his backpack to grab the notebook where he'd put the Firestone photo and held it up in front of their faces, trying to position the picture in the exact spot where the old man would have been sitting.

From this angle, with the window behind him … “Firestone's definitely pointing toward that far wall,” said Tom.

“Totally. His hand's all stiff and posed.” In the air, Colby traced the arc of his finger.

Whatever Firestone was trying to show us
, Tom thought.
It had to be located behind those cages of—

“Lizards!” Noodle shouted. “He's pointing behind the lizard cages!”

“Will you stop screaming like that? Someone's gonna
—arghhh
!” Tom jumped, slapping the back of his neck, where something very sharp had bitten him.

Dustbuster in one hand, lettuce-green parrot on her opposite shoulder, an old woman had crept up on them silently. Woman and parrot were now staring at the three kids with similar, unblinking eyes.

“Hey!” Tom rubbed the sore spot. “Your parrot bit me.”

“Yoo-Hoo is my security system,” the old woman snapped. “Never met a neck he didn't like. I'm Mitzi.”

Tom had never seen anyone like Mitzi. She was taller than most men, with multiple gray, frizzy braids hanging down her back, and just as many stacks of clattering plastic bracelets weighting both arms.

Clankingly, she pointed at Tom, Colby, and Noodle in turn. “Australian shepherd, American bobtail cat, and”—her finger hovered over Noodle's head like a divining rod—“praying mantis.”

“Is that a riddle we have to solve so you won't, um, broil us?” inquired Colby.

“Those are your animal counterparts,” the woman answered. “If this were a magical world, they'd be your familiars. Unfortunately, we're in Brooklyn. You're here to find a pet?”

“What about me screams
praying mantis
to you?” Noodle sounded half offended, half curious.

Tom offered Mitzi what he hoped was his most charming smile. “Maybe we'll get Noodle a praying mantis next time. See, my friend here wants a dog. Really, really bad. And he heard you made the best pet connections in all the boroughs.” He slung an arm over Noodle's shoulders, then pivoted him in Mitzi's direction. “Work with me,” he whispered in his friend's ear.

“You heard that right.” Mitzi arched her brows. “But you won't find a dog in the reptile room. Follow me, Mantis.” The woman wafted out into the hallway; Tom prodded Noodle with a helpful push.

“No way, T. You better not be leaving me alone with that—”

“Noodle, you're the smooth operator,” Tom hissed back. “Be charming. Make her laugh with your jokes. Pet the puppies. It'll buy us some time to check the place out.”

“Maaaaan-tis!” Mitzi trilled from down the hall. “I'm sure we can find you a dog!”

“Maaaaan-tis!” squawked Yoo-Hoo.

“That's your cue,” said Colby. “Mantis!”