Secrets at the Chocolate Mansion (10 page)

We sat in the dark for a few moments until Sonya broke the silence. “My dad is worried about us. He's even thinking about coming home from India, which would be bad, because he's in the middle of a really big deal there.”

Before I could say anything, Ricki came back inside. “The circuit breakers look good,” she said.

“Then why is the power off?” Sonya asked. “Did you forget to pay the bill or something?”

“I paid the bill. Felicity mailed the check for me.”

“Ha!” Sonya said. “Are you sure about that?”

“She was supposed to,” said Ricki, suddenly sounding a bit worried. “Let me try calling her again.”

But as Ricki pulled her phone from her back pocket, Felicity appeared at the door. She tried to push it open but it was locked, so she rattled the door and knocked on the glass.

Sonya ran over to let her in.

“Why are we closed?” asked Felicity. “I wish I'd known so I wouldn't have had to come.” She glanced at me and Bean. “Hi, there. Cute doggie.”

Bean growled at her.

“I cannot believe you said that when you stroll in here two hours late.” Then Sonya practically growled at Felicity.

Felicity looked at her watch. “What do you mean? It's three o'clock.”

“It's almost five,” said Sonya.

Felicity didn't answer because she was squinting down at the face of her watch. “I guess my watch stopped,” she said.

“And two hours passed without you even noticing?” asked Sonya. “How can anyone be that spacey?”

“Sonya, don't scold your cousin. She's my employee, not yours,” Ricki said.

“Sorry I'm late, Aunt Ricki,” said Felicity. “It was an innocent mistake. We were at the Museum of Modern Art and I lost track of time. It always happens when I go.”

“Who's ‘we'?” I asked.

Felicity turned around to look at me, blinking with surprise. “What do you mean?”

“You said ‘we were at the museum.'”

“No, I didn't. I said
I
was there. At least, that's what I meant. Who would I go to the museum with? I don't know anyone in New York.” Eyes wide, Felicity raised her shoulders in an exaggerated shrug.

“Come on,” said Sonya. “Why don't you admit it? You were with JAM.”

“Who?” asked Felicity, still playing dumb.

“Stop denying it!” Sonya said. “I know you have some super-secret boyfriend or whatever. So who is he?”

Ricki stepped between Felicity and Sonya. “Please stop fighting, girls. We've got bigger problems. The power is out because the bill never got paid. Felicity, dear, I gave you that envelope to mail two weeks ago, remember?”

“Of course I do,” said Felicity, nodding her head.

“And did you mail it?”

“Totally! I put it in my purse and walked to the post office to buy stamps, and stopped at Kiwi to buy a sweater because it was cold and the sweater in the window was really cute, and then I went to the newsstand to see if they had the new issue of
Vogue
, and then I …” Felicity's voice trailed off. She stopped in the middle of braiding her hair.

“And then you forgot to go to the post office?” Sonya asked.

“No. I went to the post office,” said Felicity. “But the line was too long, so I left and decided to go back later.”

“And when did you go back?” asked Ricki.

“Um, I'm still meaning to,” said Felicity. She reached into her gigantic red patent-leather purse, dug around, and pulled out a wrinkled envelope. “See, I have the
envelope right here. I'm totally going to mail it. In fact, I'll go to the post office right this second. Hold on.”

“Don't go anywhere!” said Ricki. She took the envelope out of Felicity's hands and ripped it up. “I'll call and pay the bill with my credit card. That way they'll get the lights on faster.”

“Good thinking. You're so smart,” said Felicity.

Ricki sighed. “I should've done that in the first place. But at least we know no one cut the power lines to the building.”

“I still think someone has it out for us,” said Sonya, glaring at her cousin. “I just didn't realize I'd be related to that person.”

When Ricki looked away, Felicitiy stuck her tongue out at Sonya.

I tried not to laugh. The two of them were acting like me and Finn. Or, more accurately, they were fighting like Finn and I used to when we were about five years old.

“We'll be fine,” said Ricki. “I'll just pull back all the curtains and put candles out on the tables. It'll be romantic.”

“Great,” said Felicity. “Problem solved.” Then she sat down at one of the tables, pulled out her cell phone, and started to text.

I left the shop quickly, brought Bean back home,
and then walked the rest of my dogs. After that I went home and took some more notes.

Did Felicity forget to pay the electric bill? Or did she hold on to it on purpose? Did her watch really stop, or was she just making an excuse? And whom did she go to the museum with? Was it JAM, the person she's been texting? If so, who is JAM? And why is she keeping his identity a secret?

I spent the rest of the evening trying to answer those questions, but didn't come to any conclusions.

When Saturday night rolled around, I showed up early to Beckett's house—and I showed up prepared. I lugged my biggest tote bag, filled with a bunch of fun stuff. Or at least, stuff I thought would be fun for a three-year-old: washable Magic Markers, the leftover clay from my Claymation workshop, scissors, and plenty of paper in all different colors. I'd also studied up on knock-knock jokes. Hopefully he wouldn't think they were all dumb.

I was a little nervous, but not about any potential ghosts.
Rumors
of ghosts, I mean. I don't believe in ghosts. I was nervous about humans. Well, one human in particular: Beckett. Taking care of dogs is one thing; I've been doing it for a while, and I know the score. But taking care of an actual human being? A three-year-old boy with a huge capacity for mischief and mayhem? That was going to be hard.

Of course, that's not all that worried me. In the back of my mind I also feared that Beckett didn't like me. We'd never spent much time together, and usually when I picked up Nofarm, Beckett completely ignored me.

The kid is only three years old, but I had jitters similar to the ones I felt before Milo and I went out on a date. Back when Milo and I actually went out on dates, that is. He hadn't been at school all week, and I still hadn't heard from him. I didn't know whether I should feel nervous for him or angry with him. At the moment, I felt both.

Also? I couldn't help but think at least a little bit about the ghost of Margaret. Like I said, I don't believe in ghosts, but the story of her demise gave me the creepy crawlies.

When I knocked on the door, someone shouted, “Door's open,” so I walked inside.

Beckett sat on the living-room floor, playing with blocks. He wore space-themed pajamas, dark blue with starbursts and rocket ships shooting across the front. When he saw me, he raced over and butted his head into my stomach.

“Yeeouch!” I shouted. Because being sucker punched—sorry, sucker headed—in the stomach? It hurts.

And let me tell you, Beckett's ample mound of blond
curls did nothing to soften the blow. He managed to get strawberry ice cream on my favorite sweater, too. My fault for wearing white to a babysitting gig, I suppose. Last time that'll happen!

“Hi, Maggie,” Caroline said. “Beckett, you remember Maggie, right?”

“No,” said Beckett. Then he giggled, and lucky for him his giggle was cute.

“You mean you head-butt everyone who comes through the door?” I asked, hands on my hips, playfully indignant.

“Can I come with you to walk Nofarm?” he asked.

“Oh, Maggie's not here to walk Nofarm. She's here to babysit,” Caroline explained.

“No!” yelled Beckett, clinging to his mom's leg.

“We talked about this, Beckett. You knew Maggie was coming.”

“Don't leave!” Beckett screamed. He held on to his mom like a clamp.

Yikes. Separation anxiety. We read about that in Babysitting 101, and not only that—I remembered the feeling from when I was little and my own parents left me for the evening. I really felt for poor Beckett. There's nothing like parents getting dressed up to go somewhere fun and abandoning you for the night with a near stranger.

It's been a couple of years since Finn and I have needed babysitters, and I must say, weekends have been a lot better since.

I bent down so Beckett and I were at eye level. “Hey, Beckett. Guess what? I brought something for you.”

I pulled out a big ball of yellow clay and started to explain to him that we could build something with it. “This is just one. I've got about eight different colors and lots of—” But before I finished my sentence, Beckett grabbed the ball of clay from my hand and took off.

Caroline shook her head. “I'm so sorry, Maggie. He never behaves this way.”

I tried not to laugh. “Don't worry about it,” I said. “He's a three-year-old kid. He's doing exactly what he's supposed to be doing.”

“I suppose,” said Caroline, frowning toward the back of the apartment. “Beckett? Come out here, please.”

I heard the flush of the toilet from the bathroom. Next came a clanging sort of noise. And then the water ran and ran and ran.

“Beckett!” someone screamed from the back of the apartment.

Beckett had flushed the clay down the toilet. Tried to flush it, I should say. I could tell by the sounds of the pipes that somewhere along the way it got stuck.

“Perfect, just perfect,” Lisa said, clomping into the
living room in a red dress and very high patent-leather heels. She held up the dripping ball of clay. “Why would you get him this? It's not at all age-appropriate.”

Caroline cringed and whispered, “I didn't.”

“Then where did he get it?” asked Lisa. “Everyone knows he's not supposed to play with anything that'll fit into the toilet.”

I cleared my throat and raised my hand, somewhat guiltily. “Sorry. I had no idea.”

Lisa spun around and looked at me, surprised. “You're here!” she said.

“Indeed,” I replied.

She smiled warmly and took a deep breath. “Thank you. That was so thoughtful, Maggie, and normally it wouldn't be an issue, but Beckett is having a hard time at the new apartment.”

“I miss Brooklyn,” Beckett cried.

“We still live in Brooklyn,” Lisa informed him.

“No, the other Brooklyn,” Beckett explained, losing patience.

“It's the same Brooklyn, sweetheart,” Lisa reasoned, lowering her voice. “We're only two streets away.”

“And now we have more space, and we're even closer to Prospect Park. You can see the Long Meadow from our living room,” Caroline said, pointing to the back windows. “How many people can say that?”

Beckett didn't seem to care about his fabulous new view. He screwed his face up into a stubborn pout. I've seen this look on him before, and had to admire his consistency.

“Actually, before we leave, do you mind walking Nofarm?” asked Lisa. “I'd do it myself, but these heels are ridiculously uncomfortable.”

“Then why are you wearing them?” asked Caroline.

“Because they look good, obviously!” Lisa winked at Caroline, who rolled her eyes.

“You're still shorter than me,” she teased.

“See you guys in a few,” I called as I clipped Nofarm's red leash to his purple collar and pulled him out the door. We headed down the first flight of steps without a problem. Once we got to the fourth-floor landing, though, Nofarm paused and then pulled me toward the door of apartment 4A. Then he started to whine—a painful-sounding, high-pitched noise I'd never heard from him before. Moments later I heard someone behind me.

I spun around, surprised. There in front of me were two people—father and daughter, I assumed. The girl was dressed in a Girl Scout uniform: green jumper, white shirt, sash with an impressive number of patches (if you are impressed by that kind of thing—and I am, since I never did very well as a Girl Scout). She had
dark hair and heavy, severely cut bangs. She also wore slightly chunky, black-plastic-framed glasses.

She blinked at me and cringed into her father, as if she were afraid of Nofarm.

Her dad was tall and skinny with long sideburns and similar glasses. He had sleeves of tattoos on his arms: a paisley pattern around his wrists, and spider-webs on each elbow. He wore a ski cap on his head, even though it wasn't so cold. Probably he wanted to cover up his bald spot. A lot of Park Slope dads do that—my own included.

“He must smell our cat,” said the dad. “I'm Rex, by the way. And this is my daughter, Clementine.”

Clementine seemed to be sucking on lemons, judging by the expression on her face.

I smiled at her, but she wouldn't meet my eye. And when I said hi, she shrank into her father even farther, as if she were trying to disappear.

I didn't take it personally, though. I figured she was just a shy kid. And scared of Nofarm, which was a little strange, considering Nofarm is the friendliest, most nonthreatening dog I know. But whatever—I tried not to judge.

“So, you must've just moved in, right?” asked Rex.

“Not exactly. Nofarm did,” I said, pointing down to the dog. “I'm just the dog walker. Oh, and Beckett's
new babysitter. Beckett's the three-year-old with the curly blond hair.”

“Right.” Rex nodded. “I haven't seen him yet, but I've definitely heard him stomping around upstairs.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” I laughed. “I'm taking care of him tonight.”

“I see. Well, nice to meet you, anyway.” He waved.

“You, too. Oh, I'm Maggie.”

“Nice to meet you, Maggie,” Rex said. As soon as he opened the door to the apartment, Clementine dashed inside.