Madhattan Mystery (23 page)

“Excuse me!” Kim Ling called out, flashing her fake ID to the leathery-faced lady in the Foo Fighters T-shirt. “Kim Ling Levine, reporter for the AP.”

“And I'm Angelina Jolie.”

“I just need a few quick quotes from—”

“Uh, nice try, kid, but it's not gonna happen,” the woman said over her squawking walkie-talkie. “Yeah, Josh, go ahead.” She scratched her head, listening to the distorted voice. “Uh-huh, I understand, but we really have to step it up. It's gonna pour any minute.”

“Miss?” Kim Ling insisted. “I'd really appreciate it if—”

“Hang on,” the woman said. She gave Kim Ling the look of death. “Okay, I'm really gonna need you to clear the area.”

“But—”

“Now!” she barked, and went back to the walkie-talkie. “Some kid wanting quotes for her school paper or
something. Listen, they've already had their break so get 'em back. No—
no
!” And lost in her conversation, she wandered off to the side.

Lexi and Kevin were crouched in the overgrown bushes alongside the courtyard, as close to the action as possible without being noticed. Lexi was fingering the good luck charms in her pocket, trying to activate them somehow; Kevin was taking deep breaths. Together they watched as Kim Ling breezed right past the female watchdog and went skipping over cables and wires in an awkward game of hopscotch, making her way directly to the perp on the bench.

“Sir, good evening. Kim Ling Levine, AP reporter.”

Lexi cringed when she saw Kim Ling actually shake the criminal's hand!
The girl is gutsy, that's for sure
. Thank goodness there were two thick-armed cops the size of tanks within spitting distance.

“I realize this is a difficult time for you,” Kim Ling said, “but I wonder if I can bother you for a few quick quotes?”

“Well, this is a bit unusual, isn't it?” the perp said in his thick British accent. “But, sure, why not? Off you go.”

“He's polite for a convict,” Kevin whispered to Lexi.

“Shhh!”

“Appreciate it,” Kim Ling said, and cleared her throat. “Let's see—can I have your name, just for the record?”

“Nigel Humphries. H-U-M-P-H-R-I-E-S.”

“And can you describe what you're feeling right now, Mr. Humphries? Remorse? Regret? Humiliation?”

“What I'm feeling?” His face twitched. “Is this some sort of joke?”

“I assure you, it's legit,” Kim Ling replied without missing a beat.

Lexi's heart did, though. In fact, she was having wild palpitations.
Now, why is there a perfectly good pair of handcuffs lying next to the perp on the bench? And—is that a Taser?

“Let's just skip ahead to the nitty-gritty then, shall we?” Kim Ling flipped through her pad, searching through imaginary notes. “All right. So—sir—what led you to such an unlikely location to carry out your plot?”

“Fair question. Well, originally we were leaning toward another spot entirely, but after a stroke of brilliance we decided to rework things a bit and shoot at Cleopatra's Needle—this fantastic obelisk in the midst of the park.”

Shoot, needle, obelisk, park
. Lexi checked off the clues in her head as he spoke, but was more confused than ever.

“Excuse me?” Kim Ling said. “I don't understand.”

“We really wanted to push the envelope for our last go-round,” Nigel told her as rolling thunder rattled the ground. “Really sort of leave our mark.”

“What?”

“Nigel!
Niii
gel!” someone called out. It turned out to be a bearded little man in a headset, making a beeline to the bench. “Andy needs the new pages pronto.” He turned to the two policemen. “And he wants all background personnel back to position one!”

Lexi could see the perp hand the bearded man a bunch of papers as the two cops grabbed the handcuffs and Taser off the bench and vanished into a wash of white light. She wasn't sure what was happening exactly—her brain had gone numb.

“I'm not following,” Kim Ling muttered, her eyebrows furling into knots.

“Yes, of course,” Nigel went on, “they haven't announced it to the press yet—so, I suppose I'm giving you a scoop then, aren't I? No more Primetime Crime-Time Wednesday nights,” he said, rubbing his soul patch like he was trying to erase it, “and after personally winning the network a bloody Emmy for writing the subway-slasher episode last season. Thanks a lot and out with the bathwater—ungrateful sods! Don't quote me.” He ripped off his glasses and crossed his arms and legs in a tangle. “You see, young lady, I'm afraid our show is being canceled.”

“Your—
show
?”

“Yes. This is the final curtain for
The Streets of New York
.”

That was when the downpour came. Dense, furious, and stinging. Everyone immediately spilled in different directions like a broken strand of pearls, except for Lexi, Kevin, and Kim Ling, who stood motionless. Dumbfounded. Drowning in gallons of realization—and rain.

Lexi tried piecing everything together in her head, but her thoughts were spinning at tornado speed and all she could do was cry out, “Argh! A stupid TV show!
That's
what
this was all about? No freakin' way!” She practically fell out of the bushes but Kevin acted quickly enough to prevent her from landing facedown in the mud. Suddenly she felt as if she had been sucker-punched and kicked in the shins at the same time. And idiotic. Incredibly idiotic. “Omigod. How off in left field could we possibly be?”

She and Kevin watched grimly as the crew splashed around the courtyard, scrambling to collect cables and covering cameras in large plastic sheets. Kim Ling was still planted right in the middle of the chaos—probably in shock.

“Whoa,” Kevin muttered, shaking leaves off his head. “Whoa …”

“Is that all you can say?”

He looked up at Lexi through a hard squint. “Okay, so, let me get this straight. That angry British guy—Nigel—he really
isn't
the thief, right? He's really a—?”

“Scriptwriter.”

“Huh. And everything you heard in the Whispering Gallery was just a bunch of—?”

“Hooey.”

“So, all this time we've been risking our lives for—?”

“Nothing.”

They stared into each others' stunned, wet faces, riddled with disbelief.

“I'm totally sick to my—”

“Stomach,” Lexi finished. “I
knew
this whole thing didn't make sense!”

All of a sudden, Lexi saw Kim Ling bolt like a frightened deer, so she shouldered the duffel, grabbed Kevin's hand, and together they took off after her, shouting, “Kim, wait up!”

“We're officially wrapped, people!”
blared through a passing bullhorn.
“Extras, do not take off before seeing an AD or you will not get paid!”

Lexi and Kevin busted through the yellow crime tape, blowing their whistles to get Kim Ling to stop, but she didn't even slow down. They kept up the chase around the perimeter of the courtyard, slipping through mud, leaping over puddles—wincing at a fierce flash of lightning that split the sky in two.

“I still don't get it,” Kevin said, panting. “The jewels really were stolen, right? It was in all the news.”

“Yeah, but the show does stories ripped from today's headlines—and they make up their own crazy endings.” Lexi took a quick gulp of air. “We must've been following clues for the made-for-TV version.”

When they finally caught up with Kim Ling, under a lamppost just beyond the opposite end of the courtyard, she was sopping wet and gasping for breath. Lexi handed her the duffel, which she promptly flung across the grass.

“Talk about remorse, regret, and humiliation! I mean, I really didn't see that one coming.”

“I guess we screwed up big time, huh?” Kevin said.

“Understatement of the year!” Kim Ling gave the lamppost a swift kick—“
Ooow!
”—then recoiled from the pain.
“Well, I hope you're happy, red,” she growled. “I wasted a butt-load of time and energy, not to mention a substantial part of my summer, thanks to you.”

“Thanks to—don't even!” Lexi bit her tongue.
Where does she get off? It was
her
brilliant idea to go searching for the jewels in the first place
. “And it's only been, like, a week.”

“Check your freakin' sources. That's, like, journalism rule number one.” Kim Ling slapped at her temples as if to brand it onto her brain. “What a colossal boondoggle!”

“Well, at least we didn't get shot in the head,” Lexi said.

“Now, that would've been a kick-butt story. As it stands, I've got
bubkes
—you understand?
Bubkes!
”

Lexi didn't understand. It was probably more Yiddish or Chinese. Kim Ling stomped away but before Lexi could follow her, she got swallowed up in a flurry of pinks and purples. “Hey!” Female joggers? They just kept on coming. A whole troop of them wearing waterlogged pastel sweat suits. They had appeared out of nowhere, and Lexi couldn't seem to break free from all the wet fleece. “Kevin, where'd you go?”
Can tonight possibly get any worse?

“Alexandra? Is that you?”

“Aunt Roz!”

And we have an answer
.

Lexi's heart fossilized in her chest.

“What on earth are you doing here, young lady?”

Okay, this is NOT actually happening. Life couldn't be that cruel
.

“I—was about to ask you the same question.”

“Background work. For
The Streets of New York
. You knew that! I even told you specifically I'd be playing a jogger, remember?” With a frustrated groan, Aunt Roz threw off her lavender hood and glared at Lexi through a mask of runny mascara. If she was expecting a response, it wasn't coming. “My God, I can't believe it. Where's your brother?”

Kevin peeked around the last of the soggy joggers, holding up a meek finger. “Right here.”

“Is that Kimmy over there? Are her parents here?”

Lexi shook her head, her bottom lip trembling.

“Then what's going on? What could possibly have possessed you kids to come to the park at this hour? Alone?” Aunt Roz's mouth tightened as she waited for an answer that never came. “Oh, Alexandra, I'm so angry I could shake you!”

Lexi could hardly breathe as the sharp rain beat at her face. Had her aunt really told her about the jogger thing being tonight? In Central Park? Had she not been paying close enough attention? She tried stitching together snippets of past conversations—but it was no use. Her brain had turned to fudge.

“This was totally my idea, Ms. M.,” Kim Ling said, sloshing into the glow of the lamppost. “There was this concert earlier—at the Naumburg Bandshell. I thought it'd be fun.”

Taking one for the team? Well, that's kind of a shocker
.

“Fun? I'm—I can't even respond to that right now.
Let's just get everyone home and dry and we'll discuss this in the morning. Thank God you didn't get lost, or hurt, or worse!”

The cab ride home was soggy and silent except for the harsh pelting of rain against the windows. When they arrived at the brownstone, a shadowy figure was tripping down the steps carrying two giant plastic bins—another one of Mr. Carney's weird relatives, Lexi guessed. Or maybe their apartment had just gotten ripped off—who knew? She would never assume anything ever again.

As soon as she got upstairs, she dumped all her good-luck charms in the trash, except for the white feather—
that
she couldn't let go of—took a fast shower, and climbed into bed, hoping to escape quickly into sleep.

But the bone-rattling alarm that went off when her head hit the pillow wasn't about to let that happen.

Please, please, please let it be a burglar and not who I think it is! At least give me that
. With goose bumps in full bloom, Lexi jumped out of bed, flew past the chaise—where her headphone-wearing brother was already fast asleep—and dashed into the hallway. She covered her ears and peeked over the banister to see tenants gathering on the various floors below. Mr. Carney, clutching a squirmy cat; Miss Carelli in a Japanese kimono; Mr. Findlay bickering with Mrs. Rivera, who was rocking her wailing baby—but even little Julio was no match for the brutal alarm.

Lexi swallowed a lump of fear at the sound of climbing footsteps, which she could just barely hear over the nonstop
RIIIING
. It turned out to be Kim Ling in her cowboy boots with a baseball bat in hand.

“Was it you, red?” she shouted over the noise. “Did you accidentally set the thing off again?”

“Nuh-uh.” Technically it was Kevin who had set it off before, but this was no time for petty details.

Kim Ling reached up on tiptoes and switched off the alarm in less than a millisecond. A groan of relief came from the tenants below as she clomped over to the metal door that led to the rooftop and pounded it with her fist. “Who goes there?” she yelled.

“Kim!” A lanky man in a cranberry robe and slippers came whooshing up the steps right past Lexi. “You never listen! I specifically told you
not
to go upstairs!”

“Well, how else was I supposed to dismantle the alarm, Dad? I'm not defenseless—I've got a bat. And four-and-a-half years of tae kwon do.”

Lexi had only seen Kim Ling's father in passing once before. Tonight he was barely recognizable with extreme bed-head, beard stubble, and an angry distorted face.

“All clear down here!” someone shouted from below. “No sign of any intruders inside the building.”

Mr. Levine looked instantly relieved. “The alarm must've scared them off.” With a rattling exhale, he turned to the gaggle of tenants peppered on the steps. “It's all over, folks,” he announced. “Nothing to be afraid of. Just double-lock your doors and go back to bed.”