Girl's Best Friend (13 page)

It’s an elephant!

It’s a unicycle!

It’s two kids playing in the sand!

In one instant this problem went from scattered numbers to a clear picture, from nothing to something.

I suppose it was there all along, but I only just then figured out how I was supposed to see it.

Isabel disappearing.

Chloe complaining about mice.

Glen’s bass and the reverberating E note.

The “sealed-up” crawl spaces.

That tiny door in the basement—the one that led to nowhere. Or so I’d thought … 

My room looked so much smaller than Lucy’s for a reason.

It wasn’t just that I shared it with Finn and we had more stuff.

Our room looked smaller because it was smaller.

And it was smaller because it was more than two feet too short!

As for the missing two feet? Well, that explained even more … 

I raced downstairs and knocked on Isabel’s door. Then, too impatient, I used my key and walked inside.

“Hey, Isabel?” I called. “Are you home?”

Isabel stood in her kitchen washing dishes. Her crutches were propped up by the front door, all the way on the other side of her apartment. “In here, dear,” she called. “Didn’t you already take Preston out today?”

“I did,” I replied. “But I need to talk to you about something. Something I should’ve brought up a long time ago. You know I love taking care of Preston, right? And how, even if you didn’t have a bad knee, I’d still walk him all the time? Since he’s the closest thing to my own dog that I’ll ever have.”

“That’s so sweet of you to say,” said Isabel.

I swallowed. “So, um, can you walk? Because I can’t help but notice that your crutches are at the other end of your apartment. And, well, your surgery was a while ago … ”

Isabel turned off the faucet and looked at me. Then she stared down at her leg. “Well, yes. I suppose my knee has been doing better.”

“That’s great news!” I said.

“But I’m not faking,” said Isabel. “It still gets sore sometimes. In the rain, for instance, and when I’ve been on the treadmill for too long.”

“You still go on the treadmill?” I asked.

“Care for a glass of juice?” Isabel asked, turning to the fridge. “I have your favorite—pear cider.”

“No thanks. I actually need to talk to you about something else.”

“Oh, I see.” Isabel walked (smoothly and unassisted) into the living room and sat down in her easy chair. “Is everything okay?”

I flopped down on the couch across from her. “Yes! I mean, no. I mean, well, it’s complicated. But I think I’m getting close.”

She tilted her head to one side. “So cryptic.”

“Are you, um, looking for something?” I asked. “When you use the secret passage in the building? The one you can enter through that door in the basement, behind the quilt? The one that leads to those sealed-up crawl spaces? Which aren’t really sealed up and aren’t really crawl spaces, right?”

Isabel looked worried. Or embarrassed. Or maybe both. One thing was sure, though—Isabel looked guilty. And for once, she was completely silent. Also? Her face got really pale, like the time she’d bought the wrong shade of powder but was too stubborn to change it until she’d used it all up.

“You don’t have to tell me,” I said. “And I’m sorry for bursting in here like this. It’s just, well, a lot of things haven’t been making sense lately. And when I finally figured out this one thing, I got so excited, but I shouldn’t have … ”

Isabel shook her head. “No, it’s fine. You’re absolutely right, Maggie, about everything. You just caught me off guard.”

“So what are you looking for?” I asked carefully.

“My money,” she replied.

“Your money?” My mind raced, trying to catch up to what she was saying. But it didn’t make any sense. “You mean you hid some money and you can’t remember where you put it? But you think it’s in Glen’s or Chloe’s apartment? Or in mine?”

“No, I’m looking for the money that my ex-husband John hid. The money I thought he stole when he left me fifteen years ago.” She looked up at me with tears in her eyes. “But what I want to know is, however did you figure it out?”

Chapter 23

♦     ♦     ♦

I made Isabel a cup of tea to help her calm down, and once she did, I insisted that she tell me her side of the story first.

1) Yes, she could walk. She’d had knee surgery in July—she never lied about that—but she’d recovered in a few weeks. Still, she didn’t want anyone knowing how easily she moved around because she didn’t want to get caught sneaking into her tenants’ apartments.

2) Not wanting to get caught was also why she used the building’s secret passageway. As our landlady, she has keys to every front door in the building, but sneaking in through the back bedroom wall was much, well, sneakier. In other words, she knew she could get away with it.

3) Isabel said she needed to sneak around in order to find her missing money. She wasn’t interested in other people’s stuff. She was merely trying to recover what was rightfully hers.

Here’s what happened: when John left Isabel, he stole all of her savings, too. This she’d told me ages ago. But what she never knew was that he felt guilty afterward and decided to return it. Since he felt too ashamed to face her directly, he snuck back into the house—just days after he’d left for good—and hid the money in a safe place. Then he wrote Isabel a letter.

A letter she never opened at the time because she was too heartbroken to read his final words.

A letter she put away and then forgot about because it was buried under a bunch of junk in her back closet.

A letter she only came across last month, while rifling through said closet in search of more jewelry to hock.

“So he told you he returned the money but didn’t say exactly where it was?” I asked, just to be clear.

“He told me he left it in our secret hiding place. But that was fifteen years ago! I can’t remember where I left the remote control last night. How am I supposed to remember where I used to hide things way back when?”

I handed Isabel her remote, which I found wedged between the couch cushions as usual. “Okay, so I get that’s why you were sneaking around everyone’s apartments. But it doesn’t explain why you had that secret passageway built in the first place.”

“That’s the funniest thing,” said Isabel. “I never did.”

This I found hard to believe. “What do you mean?”

“I told you about the famous magician who built this brownstone—The Coney Island Fakir? Well, it seems he had the false wall built so he could do his disappearing act at home.

“It’s always been there,” she continued. “But I promise you, before I went looking for this money, I’d never snuck into anyone’s apartment. It’s just wrong and I’ve felt so bad about it, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

“It’s an amazing story.”

“What’s amazing is that you figured it out,” said Isabel.

“I had plenty of clues,” I said. “So it was just a question of recognizing them and sort of … connecting the dots.”

“How did you do it?” asked Isabel.

“First there was Chloe complaining about mice in the walls. Or raccoons. Something loud and clumsy, she’d said. And you’d acted so insulted. I didn’t really get it at the time but now it makes perfect sense. You were offended because, unknowingly, she was calling you a klutz.”

“It’s hard, stumbling around in a dark, dusty secret passageway,” Isabel cried defensively.

“I’m sure it is,” I said. “And I never would’ve given it a second thought if it weren’t for Glen complaining about the sound quality in his studio. Glen was describing the room right below mine and Finn’s, which is basically identical. I just knocked on all four walls in my room and the one on the left sounded different. Flimsy and hollow. Something that makes sense, considering the little door I found in the basement this weekend. The one that’s the size of the ‘sealed-up’ crawl space in my room.”

“I should’ve put that padlock on ages ago,” said Isabel.

“Lucy’s house really confirmed it, though. Our rooms are supposed to be identical, and I’d always figured hers seemed bigger because she didn’t have to share it. But it turns out it seems bigger because it is—by over two feet, since she has no crawl space.”

“Very clever,” said Isabel.

“Thanks,” I said. “Do you think I can see the note?”

Isabel reached for her crutches.

“It’s okay,” I said. “You don’t need to pretend anymore.”

Isabel opened her mouth to protest, but instead she smiled. “I shouldn’t have tried to fool you,” she said. “You’re too smart.”

I shook my head, wishing she were right. But if I were really smart, I’d have rescued Kermit by now. We were running out of time. Ivy’s parents would be home in a few days. And her grandma might actually notice he’s missing before then.

That reminded me of something. “I think there’s something strange going on at that new veterinarian practice,” I said.

“I think you’re right,” said Isabel. “I took Preston to his old vet this morning and he’s as healthy as a horse. Not that every horse is so healthy, of course. Have you seen the poor souls pulling carriages in Central Park? It’s simply heartbreaking. Anyway, Preston is healthier than them. He hasn’t got any sort of heart problem, just some bad breath. But we had his teeth cleaned and the vet gave me some plaque-busting doggie mints, and—”

“That’s great news!” It wasn’t until I said the words that I realized how worried I’d been. “This whole thing with Preston really frightened me.”

“I know, it’s a huge relief,” said Isabel. She handed me a thin yellow envelope. “And you’ve done so much for me already, Maggie. I hate to ask for another favor, but do you think you might be able to figure this out? I feel so foolish for not reading this sooner … ”

“It’s not your fault,” I said. “Who puts cash in hiding places?”

“John, apparently,” Isabel said with a sigh. “I can’t believe how long I’ve been angry with him. He still left, of course. Still robbed me of the life I was supposed to have. But he didn’t take everything, like I’d thought. And I’ve wasted so many years being bitter.”

“It’s good that you know now.”

“Now that it’s too late,” said Isabel.

“It’s never too late.”

“Maggie, he’s dead.”

“Oh no!”

Isabel blew her nose loudly. “It happened months ago. I read the obituary. Never in my life did I think I’d have to read about John’s death in the newspaper.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Isabel shrugged weakly. “It happens,” she said. “Of course, now I may never find the money, since I’m out of places to look. And anyway, it’s pretty much too late. My home has been carved up into apartments. I’ve been forced to sell most of my jewelry. And forget about the travel. The parties. All the years I’ve missed. And now I’m an old woman.”

“You’re only fifty.”

Isabel dabbed the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief. “Thank you for humoring me, dear. But since I’ve come clean about everything else, well, we both know that I’m well over fifty.”

“So quit pretending,” I said, and then I studied the note.

Dear Isabel,

I’m so sorry for the pain I’ve caused you. Please know that this was unavoidable. You have done nothing wrong. It’s all me. I am weak but I’m no thief. I’ve returned your money and I’m sending you a thousand apologies for all the pain and distress I’ve caused. I didn’t mean to fall in love with someone else. These things just happen. Our love burned strong, as bright as fire. But all fires fade and turn into ash. Well, that’s it. I’ve now found a new spark. And speaking of which—you’ll find your savings in an envelope in your favorite hiding spot. Please forgive me but I couldn’t bear to face you in person. I am a coward and you’re probably better off without me.

I hope you can cherish the good times. I know I will. And it’s just a sad reality that all wonderful things must come to an end.

With fond memories,

John

Isabel looked over my shoulder and asked, “Did you get to the part where he claims I’m better off without him? Like he’d done me a big favor by leaving me for another woman!”

She blew her nose again. Loudly.

I didn’t answer her because I was too focused on the letter. “You definitely had a favorite hiding spot?” I asked. “He didn’t make that up?”

“I’ve had lots of favorite hiding spots,” said Isabel. “And I’ve been to all the ones I can remember. I’ve searched this house high and low: the secret passageways, the safe on the second floor, the trick bookcase in Glen’s living room, the—”

“There’s a trick bookcase in this house?” I asked. “How cool!”

Isabel smiled. “There are lots of cool things in this house, Maggie. You’ve just got to look closely. And I have. It seems that the one thing this house doesn’t have is my money. I’m wondering if John changed his mind and decided to keep it after all. Perhaps he even sent a letter in retraction and I’ll find that in another fifteen years.”

I read the note a second time, this time really studying it.

“It’s probably time to give up,” said Isabel. “I don’t know why I even bothered. I’ve been fine without the money and I will continue to be fine. I should burn his note. It’s better than dwelling on the past. More honorable than searching for something that’s maybe not even—”

“Hold on,” I said, interrupting. “I think I know where it is.”

Chapter 24

♦     ♦     ♦

Once I thought about it for half a second, John’s clues became obvious, but I guess Isabel was too close to recognize them.

So I pointed them out to her. “See how he writes about a spark and fire?”

Isabel nodded. “Yes, so what?”

“And then it burns out.”

“Gibberish,” said Isabel.

“No, I think there’s more to it. I think it’s a clue. He’s not just talking about your romance—or not
only
talking about that. It’s a metaphor.”

Isabel sniffed. “I’m not really following.”

“Think for a second. He’s dropping hints.” I read what I thought was the most important line out loud: “ ‘All fires fade and turn to ash.’ ”

“I still don’t see it,” said Isabel.

“Then answer me this—where else do you find ashes but in a fireplace? And considering that the ones in
this
house are no longer functional … where better to hide something important?”

Isabel grabbed the letter and scanned it. “There are fireplaces on all four floors. Can you tell which one he meant?”

“No, but there’s only one way to find out.”

We checked Isabel’s first, but it wasn’t there. “I suppose that would have been too easy,” said Isabel, frowning into her empty fireplace.

“You’re right,” I said. “And it can’t be in mine, either, because Finn and I use our fireplace to hide stuff. So let’s try Glen’s.”

“All right.” Isabel stood and lifted up one of the couch cushions.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Looking for the key to that padlock I put on the basement door. I know I put it under a cushion somewhere. Or did I hide it in a kitchen cabinet?”

“Um, I think maybe we’re better off using the front door,” I said.

“Oh, okay.” Isabel blushed. “I suppose I’ve done enough sneaking around for this lifetime.”

Isabel was so excited, she beat me up the steps. We knocked on Glen’s door, but he didn’t answer.

“I suppose he’s not home,” Isabel said, and she turned to me with a gleam in her eye. “Are you sure you don’t want to sneak in through the wall? It’s kind of fun.”

“It’s tempting,” I said. “But let’s try Chloe’s place first.”

We went downstairs and tried Chloe, who was at home cooking chili. “Can I help you?” she asked, answering the door in a gravy-stained apron.

“Isabel lost something,” I said. “A long time ago. And we think it might be in your faux fireplace. Mind if we check it out?”

“Um, I guess not,” said Chloe. She stepped aside so we could go in. “Good thing I just cleaned up.”

I couldn’t tell if Chloe was being sarcastic or not, but her apartment looked pretty messy to me. We had to step over piles of books and a couple of electric guitars on our way past the living room. And Isabel tripped on a drumstick in the hallway, but luckily I caught her before she fell.

When we finally got to the fireplace in Chloe’s bedroom, Isabel knelt down in front of it.

“It’s painted shut!” she cried, shaking the handle.

“Let me try.” I turned the handle and banged the upper left-hand corner, but the door didn’t budge. “Um, do you have a chisel I can borrow?” I asked Chloe. “And a hammer?”

She tilted her head and stared. “But I just painted that last week.”

“It’s an emergency,” I said.

“I’ll pay to have it repainted,” said Isabel. “And if Maggie’s hunch is correct, it won’t even be an issue.”

Chloe sighed and untied her apron. “Okay then. I’ll get the tool kit.”

A moment later, I was banging away at the chisel, carefully so as not to damage the door (or my fingers). The seal broke pretty quickly, and the thick red layer of paint peeled away, revealing layers of blue, green, and gray. I chipped harder and the flakes scattered to the floor like confetti.

“You sure you know what you’re doing?” asked Chloe, staring down at the mess.

“Um, not exactly,” I said as I turned the handle and pulled. The door was jammed, of course. I gritted my teeth and yanked harder. The door swung open with a loud creak.

“Well done!” Isabel clapped.

“Let’s not speak too soon,” I said, reaching into the cold, dark space. I felt something lumpy stuck to the top of it—a large envelope of some sort. I pulled it free. It was covered in ash and stuffed full of something. I handed it to Isabel, figuring it was hers to open.

She peered inside and gasped, hugging the envelope to her chest. “Oh my.”

“Don’t leave us in suspense,” I said.

With tears in her eyes, Isabel nodded. “It’s there. I’ll need to count it, but from the looks of it, well, John wasn’t as bad as I’d thought.”

“Um, what’s going on?” asked Chloe.

“It’s a long story,” I replied, sitting back on my heels. “But let me put it to you this way: we just solved your mouse problem.”