Bonfire Masquerade (6 page)

“About that,” said Lenni. “I still don't trust them. Who are they? Why they are all secretive? And how do they have so much money? Seems a little suspicious to me. You're lucky I've always wanted to see New Orleans. And it sounds like whoever these people are, they're hurting innocent people.”

Lenni might not be one for rules, but she was big on protecting the underdog, which was why I knew she would come help us, regardless of how she felt about ATAC.

“People have been hurt in these fires. And everything they had was either stolen or destroyed,” Joe chipped in.

Lenni's lips flattened into an angry line. “What are we waiting for?” she said. “Let's get them.”

We hopped into a waiting cab and went back to the hotel. We'd had breakfast with our parents and told them we were spending the day at the National World War II Museum. We hoped Mom wouldn't decide to come looking for us.

On the way back, we briefed Lenni on what had happened so far. When we got to the part where everyone chased us, she couldn't help but laugh.

“Of course no one would talk to you! Look at you two!”

I looked at Joe. Joe looked at me. We shrugged. I thought we looked pretty good.

“You're obviously not from around here. And you scream money. Or cop. I made a few calls before I got on the plane, and I think I have a lead for you. But first, we need to get the two of you makeovers. Hey, driver!”

Our cabdriver turned his head as Lenni knocked on the glass.

“Yes?”

“Where is there a good costume store around here?”

“This is New Orleans—there are tons of them!”

“Well, take me to the best place to get some hair dye and old clothes.”

That was how we ended up at Fifi Mahoney's Wig Emporium, in the French Quarter. I'd never seen that many wigs and hats and crazy bangles and beads in one
place. I don't know how Lenni roped us into it, but five minutes after we walked in the door, two women were consulting on new looks for us, while Lenni perused the thrift store next door.

Three hours later we were back in our hotel room, staring at the full-length mirror in our bathroom.

“How are we going to explain this to Mom?” I asked Joe.

“Easy,” he responded. “We wear hats until this mission is over. Then we shave our heads.”

My hair was red. Bright red. Unnatural red. Fire engine red. And Joe? Joe's head had been shaved to the skin, except for a Mohawk rising up in the middle. We were both dressed in tight black jeans. Mine had patches covering both knees. His had been shredded at the bottom. We were both wearing threadbare old cotton T-shirts, so soft they felt like stuffed animals.

“On the plus side,” I said, “if we run into Mom and Dad on the street, they'll never recognize us like this.”

“Stop complaining,” said Lenni. “You want to solve this case or not?” She smiled and ran her hand through my hair. “Besides, you guys look cute like this.”

“So who are these people we're meeting?” I asked.

“They call themselves the Krewe de Crude. Weird name, right?”

“Actually, it makes sense,” I said. “Krewes are what people in New Orleans call the different groups who get
together to have floats in the Mardi Gras parade. And crude, well … judging from our outfits, that works too.”

Joe laughed. Lenni shot me a dirty look.

“
Any
way,” she continued. “I talked to some friends, and apparently, these kids are some kind of do-good, Robin Hood kind of deal. Rob from the rich, give to the poor. And New Orleans has a lot of poor people who need it. Did you know twenty percent of the city lives in poverty? It's ridiculous!”

That was Lenni, always full of righteous anger over any injustice.

“They've got a warehouse in the Bywater, which is where you guys got beat up, right?”

“We didn't get beat up,” I said. “But yes, we were in the Bywater.”

“Hopefully they'll know more about the scene. I doubt these are the guys we're looking for, but if we get in with them, they can give us some answers.”

“So the plan is we bring them the stuff we were trying to sell, convince them we stole it from some bad corporation, and then hope they talk to us?”

“That's about it, yeah.” Lenni nodded.

“I'm not sure I really like working with criminals,” said Joe. “Or pretending to be criminals.”

I had to agree.

“Look, sometimes you need to bend some rules.

Can't make a vegan omelet without breaking some tofu, right?”

“Gross,” said Joe.

I didn't like their methods—but Lenni had a point. And besides, we needed help if we were going to find the real bad guys before they struck again. So, looking like idiots, we headed back to the Bywater.

We got more stares on the streets near our hotel, but not that many. Whether it was Mardi Gras or just New Orleans in general (or both), no one seemed to care how we looked. Once we crossed the railroad tracks that led to the Bywater, no one looked at us strangely at all—though I still felt a little nervous when we walked past that café. Thankfully, no one recognized us.

Lenni led us deeper and deeper into the Bywater, until finally we were on a street that was all warehouses.

“This is it,” she said, standing in front of a particularly abandoned-looking one. The front of it was covered in weird red scuff marks.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“They said look for the roses.”

Roses?
I thought. I looked around. There was nothing growing on this street, aside from some grass in the cracks of the sidewalk. Then I realized what she was talking about.

“Oh, wow,” I said. I took a step back to see better.

The scuff marks on the building? They were actually giant impressionist paintings of roses. Up close they didn't look like anything, but if you viewed the building from across the street, they were beautiful.

Lenni knocked on the door.

“It's open!” someone yelled from inside. I was shocked. They left their door unlocked? In this neighbor hood?

But once we got inside, I understood why. There had to be a dozen people lounging around inside a huge open space. There were couches and rugs and dogs, strange sculptures made of bits of mannequins and feathers hanging from the ceiling. There were plants everywhere, giant vines crisscrossing the space, soaking in the sun that came through the many windows and a partially destroyed roof. The place looked like a cross between a Salvador Dali painting and a junk shop.

“Is Sybil around?”

A voice called out from the couch, “Who dat?”

“It's Lenni. Sharkey told me to get in touch with you?”

“Come on over,” the voice yelled.

Sybil turned out to be a very young-looking girl in a retro sundress. If it hadn't been for the flower tattoos that covered her arms and legs, I would have guessed she was fifteen.

Lenni laid out the cover story we had devised. The three of us were in town, hitchhiking across the United
States. We had some stuff we came across along the way—“dropped off the back of a truck,” was the way Lenni put it. We'd heard they were the people to get in touch with.

“You think we can help you out?” said Sybil.

“That's what Sharkey told me,” said Lenni.

Sybil turned on Joe.

“So the three of you just show up, waltz into my house, and accuse me of dealing in stolen stuff? Are you trying to insult me?”

People were beginning to drift over, as Sybil's voice got louder and louder.

“No!” I broke in. This was not going the way we'd intended. “We're not—not trying to insult you. We're just—we—”

I was about to apologize and try to get us out of there, when Lenni cut me off.

“All's I know is I asked who were the major operators in this town, and your name kept coming up.”

Sybil had been sitting on the couch, but she leaped up at that. She and Lenni were suddenly standing toe to toe.

“You accusing me of something? Just come out and say it!”

Lenni opened her mouth, but instead of saying anything, she pushed Sybil. Sybil stumbled backward—and then jumped on Lenni. Lenni teetered for a second,
and then fell over on top of Sybil. They started twisting and wrestling on the ground. The other assembled people in the warehouse started howling and rushing us. Someone slammed into my back. I stumbled into someone else, who shoved me violently into Joe.

Two seconds later, we were in the middle of an allout brawl.

CHAPTER
7

NANCY
THE FIRE SPREADS

The stairs had collapsed to the ground. The landing I was on was tilting and shuddering as one by one the struts that held it up pulled out of the wall. I looked down: The floor was a good twenty feet below, and strewn with broken glass, bits of metal, and debris. If the fall didn't kill me, tetanus would.

There was a horrible screeching sound as the metal of the last struts pulled out of the wall. This was it. I closed my eyes. I couldn't help myself—I screamed.

Something slammed into my chest. The air was knocked out of my lungs. I felt myself flying through the air. I braced myself, knowing there was nothing I could do to stop myself from hitting the ground, hard.

But it didn't happen. I landed on something only a
few feet away. I heard the booming sound of the stairwell landing hitting the ground below. Whatever had hit my chest had held me up. I opened my eyes to find myself twenty feet up in the air, on the branch of a big old oak tree, staring into Bess's face.

“Bess?”

“Oh, Nancy! Thank God we got here in time.”

I looked down. The thing that had hit my chest was an arm—Aaron Pexa's arm, to be exact. He must have yanked me right out the window. I grabbed the trunk of the tree, and he let go.

“Thank you! If you hadn't come along, I don't know what I would have done.” A thought occurred to me. “How did you guys end up in this tree, anyway?”

“Aaron and I went out to dinner in the French Quarter, and afterward, he wanted to tell me about his plans for his next building. It's going to be here, if he can buy the lot now that Daniel is … you know.”

“It's going to be the gem of New Orleans,” said Aaron, breaking in. “It will be a boutique hotel, which will look just like a traditional New Orleans mansion, but the facade will be cast entirely from glass, a perfect blending of the modern and the traditional.”

“We were standing outside,” Bess continued, “and Aaron was describing it all to me, when we first heard the noise. Then you screamed, and I knew you were in there! I was about to run in, when Aaron started climbing
the tree—since the scream had come from above us and all. What happened?”

I told them about the strange noises and the collapsing staircase. “If it wasn't for your quick thinking, Aaron, I think Bess and I would both be dead—me from falling, and Bess because I landed on her!”

“What were you doing in there?” asked Aaron. Was it the adrenaline from my near-death experience, or was there something weird in his tone?

“Nothing—I went for a walk after the graveyard tour George and I took, and I heard a weird noise coming from inside. I thought someone was crying or something. The next thing I realized, the stairs were collapsing. I didn't even know it was Daniel's warehouse!”

Bess shot me a look. She knew it wasn't the full truth. But even though Aaron had saved me, I still didn't know for sure if I could trust him. And besides, it was close enough to the truth.

“You should be more careful before running off into strange buildings, Ms. Drew.”

Now he was beginning to sound like my dad. Or worse—Chief McGinnis.

“Let me help you down.” Aaron offered me his arm. Instead, I grabbed the branch below my feet and swung down, then wrapped my legs around the tree and shimmied to the ground. The day I needed help to get out of
a tree would be the day they took away my girl detective card!

Aaron and Bess slowly made their way down behind me. While they descended, I spotted a pay phone across the street and ran over to make a call—one I didn't want recorded on my cell phone.

“Hi, 911? I was just walking down the street and I heard a crash from inside this burned-down building—I think something big fell!” I gave the address and quickly hung up before they asked for my name. Someone needed to check the rest of the building out before workmen came in the morning. I would feel terrible if something else collapsed and hurt somebody.

Aaron insisted on walking Bess and me home. I didn't mind, really. They mostly chatted with each other, and it gave me some time to think about what had just happened.

What was that voice I'd heard? No one else came running when the stairs collapsed. Perhaps they'd stayed upstairs. Or there may have been another exit to the roof—but most of the roof had been destroyed. Maybe it was the Haunted New Orleans tour I had just been on. Maybe it was the weird shadows that played off the flickering gas lamps on the streets. Maybe it was just some residual fear from nearly falling to my death. But the hair on the back of my neck began to prickle. Daniel had mentioned something about the
construction site being cursed. This was New Orleans, city of voodoo, after all. What if what I'd heard … wasn't a person at all?

“Hello, Earth to Nancy?”

I shook my head hard, to dispel the creepy horror-movie thoughts that had taken over. Somehow, without my noticing, we'd walked all the way back to what had been Daniel's house. I tried to recall the conversation, but I couldn't remember what anyone had said.

“I'm sorry, what did you say, Bess?”

“Aaron was wondering if we wanted to come with him to the ball his friend Andrew is hosting tomorrow.”

I thought about it for a second. What I really wanted to be doing was some more investigating … but Aaron was a suspect.