Vanishing Acts (11 page)

“He doesn't hate you,” said Lucy. “He's just in a weird mood, I guess. I don't know. Maybe he's upset that we laughed at his whole makeup-allergy thing.”

“I didn't mean to laugh,” I said. “‘Beautifying products' sounds really funny. Try saying it without laughing.”

Lucy said, “Beautify,” and struggled to maintain a straight face, which just set us both off laughing again.

“Dude, give the guy a break and let it go. Anyway,
that's not it,” Finn said, standing up and chucking his soda into the trash can. “You're both missing the obvious. The guy is jealous!”

“Of what?” I wondered.

“Of Seth Ryan,” Finn said to me. “Because he thinks you're crushing on the guy!”

I couldn't sleep that night. And not just because I felt slightly sick from my pizza—I'm used to that. My problem was boys—as in, Seth and Milo.

My conversation with Seth Ryan seemed so odd, so out of the blue. I'm glad my friends saw me talking to him. Otherwise by now I'd probably have convinced myself I made the whole thing up. On the other hand, if I had made up our encounter, I wouldn't even be able to invent a character like Seth Ryan. He was nothing like the guy I'd imagined.

In every single movie he starred in, Seth came across as a brilliant mastermind—the kind of guy who always knew what to say and what to do, whether that meant thwarting a gang of giant lobsters or defending the planet from a madman by disarming a gigantic ticking time bomb with half a toothpick and only seconds to spare.

And it wasn't just the roles he played; even in interviews, Seth seemed cool and happy and completely together. From seeing his image on TV and his pictures in magazines, I'd figured he had an amazing fashion sense.

But Seth in real life? He reminded me of a brand-new puppy set loose in the park. He didn't know where he was, how to act, what to do, or which way was up. Also, and this part made me sad, he seemed completely lost and alone.

I'm not the best-dressed kid in the world, but at least I knew how to put my T-shirts on the right way. Unless wearing his T-shirt inside out and backward was some sort of new trend I hadn't heard about yet. Somehow, I didn't think so.

And how come Seth let Fiona boss him around like that? Shouldn't he be able to take a walk and grab a slice of pizza when he wanted to? He's twelve, not two. It didn't make any sense. If he really wanted a dog, why didn't he just go out and get a dog? What Fiona said about him working too much kind of made sense. But why couldn't he take some time off? As far as I knew, he'd been working his whole life. Everybody deserved a vacation.

The more I thought about our encounter, the less sense it made. And the less sense it made, the more my head hurt.

Then there was Milo, who'd not only acted like a total jerk, he'd also acted like a weird jerk. Was Finn right? Was he jealous of Seth Ryan? That sounded silly. Maybe he was really mad at me for something else. But why would he be mad? I didn't do anything wrong. And it's not like I wanted Seth to be my boyfriend. But even if I did, so what? Milo and I weren't officially together.

I tossed and turned in my bed, too worked up to sleep, and now annoyed with Milo for being mysteriously annoyed with me.

Unless something else was going on with Milo. Maybe he was nervous about his upcoming chess tournament, or stressed out about school, or fighting with his grandma. It could've been a million things. By the time I went to sleep, I'd convinced myself it wasn't about me. I must've misinterpreted his silence. Maybe he really was busy all weekend. I had bigger things to worry about: a report on Cindy Singer and an egger to track down.

But when I got to science the next day and said hi to Milo, he didn't respond. At first I figured he hadn't heard. He wasn't listening to music, but he was bent over a book. Some science fiction novel, I guessed, based on the cover. Milo reads them all the time.

“Good book?” I asked, raising my voice.

“Huh?” He turned around. “Oh, hey,” he said.

“I've been thinking about Mister Fru Fru's egger
and I'm wondering if he or she could be a cat owner. Like, maybe someone really upset with how Park Slope is overrun with dogs?”

I was half joking. Really, I just wanted to have a conversation, make things normal again. But Milo didn't even smile.

I took Preston on an extra-long walk after school that day because walking helps me think, and I had a lot of thinking to do.

Maybe Milo was mad because Lucy and I had laughed at his beautifying products comment. So should I apologize? What if that wasn't it? And even if it was—what if bringing it up now, a day later, made everything even worse? And how could I waste so much time worrying about it when I had a dog-egger to catch?

Unless Finn was right and Milo did like me and now I'd blown our entire relationship before we even had a chance to have one.

Wandering around the park did not bring any clarity to the situation.

I decided to swing by the set of
Vanished
. Yes, Jones had banned me, but Seth and I were friends. Okay,
maybe not friends, but we were certainly friendly, and he'd told me to stop by.

Rounding the corner from Prospect Park West onto Second Street, I expected to see the crazy winter wonderland I'd encountered on Wednesday. But Zander and the rest of the crew must've been working overtime, because today the street looked like a genuine crime scene.

Each of the six trailers was cordoned off with yellow police tape that read
CRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS
in bold black letters. A bunch of men and women in New York Police Department uniforms wandered around.

They looked so serious, and had authentic-looking caps and everything. But according to Beatrix and Sonya,
Vanished
took place in a universe overrun by teenagers and zombies and giant rats. So why the fake cops? Were they supposed to be teenage cops? These ones seemed too old. Maybe they were zombie cops? They weren't particularly pale, and everyone knows that if the walking dead are one thing, it's pale. The cameras weren't rolling, but some of them talked into walkie-talkies. Others marched around like they meant business. In other words, they looked like real, live cops. And I had this funny feeling, like something major had gone down.

I looked for my friends, thinking maybe they could tell me why the police were there. But before I found them, I noticed a familiar face.

It was one of the police officers who'd helped me when I busted the dog-napper last month. He stood off to the side, half hidden by one of the larger brownstones on the street, talking into his cell phone. I walked Preston closer so I could listen. Okay, eavesdrop. I couldn't help but be curious. “He didn't show up for work this morning, and his hotel room was empty. Dressing room, too,” the officer said. “His manager and legal guardian. Negative. No sign of a break-in or struggle. We've got to talk to the director, too. I know. Yeah, we have no choice. The note on the bed, that's all it said. ‘Don't bother looking, you'll never—'”

Just then he stopped talking and glanced at me.

I quickly crouched down to pet Preston. “How ya doing, big guy? Ready to move on?” I spoke in that overly friendly tone people use when talking to dogs and children. And I did my best to look the part of an innocent kid walking her dog—which I realize is not too much of a stretch. The police officer must have believed me, because he went on talking, although in a much lower voice.

Now I had to strain to make out the words.

“. . . Could be anyone . . . Not just a kid—the most famous kid in the world.”

Suddenly my ears perked up. Obviously there's only one most famous kid in the world: Seth Ryan. But did
the police officer just say something about a ransom note? That didn't sound good. I looked up at him right as he looked at me. Our eyes met, which meant one thing—I was busted.

He hung up and pointed to me in one swift move. “I know you,” he said.

I flashed him my most innocent look. “Are you talking to me?” I asked.

“You're the kid who saved all those dogs last month, right? Maggie Brooklyn Sinclair, is it?”

“You can call me Maggie Brooklyn.”

“I never got to introduce myself last time. I'm Officer Rudy Green, but you can call me Rudy. I'm impressed with your work. Brenda had been stealing dogs for years, all over the country. Every other detective was looking for a set of twins. No one realized she was a lone operator.”

“It took a while to figure out,” I admitted, going for a modest approach.

I shook his hand, which was large, like the rest of him. Rudy Green had dark skin and brown eyes. Tall and skinny, he wore his police cap back a bit on his shaved head.

“Is everything okay?” I asked. “I couldn't help but overhear . . .”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” he said.

Too late for that. I looked around. A few more police
cars pulled up. A lady in a dark gray suit took pictures of Seth's trailer. A group of officers talked to Vigor, Seth's bodyguard. Others seemed to be questioning Jones and various members of the cast and crew. The air felt tense, too serious. And someone was conspicuously missing.

“Where's Seth?” I asked, more than a little concerned.

Rudy smiled a tight smile. “You two on a first-name basis?”

“Um, yeah,” I said. “We are. Is he okay?”

“I'm talking about Seth Ryan. The actor,” said Rudy.

“Me, too. We hung out at the Pizza Den last night.”

Rudy laughed until someone else yelled, “It's true.”

The voice came from behind me, and it seemed familiar, but not in a good way. Once I turned around I realized why. It was Seth's manager, Fiona. Or, more to the point, it was a very angry Fiona.

“This is Seth's
second
time disappearing,” she told Rudy, pulling him aside, although not out of earshot, as if she didn't want me to be a
part
of the conversation, but she wanted me to know they were talking about me. “He first did so last night, and when I finally tracked him down, he was with her.” She tilted her head toward me. “Which is highly suspicious, don't you think?”

Rudy looked from Fiona to me. “Is this true, Maggie?” he asked.

“Well, yes,” I replied. “But the last time I saw Seth, Fiona was practically dragging him away.”

“Which was in his best interest and which I have every right to do as his manager and legal guardian,” she said to Rudy. “Part of my job is protecting Seth from the riffraff.”

“The what?” I asked, butting in. “Are you actually calling me ‘riffraff'? What does that even mean?”

“Let's all calm down,” said Rudy. He turned to me. “Please, Maggie. Is there any shred of truth to what Fiona is saying?”

I gulped. “There is, but it's not like she says.”

I explained what happened, how Seth approached me. Rudy listened carefully and took a lot of notes while I talked. “I know it sounds crazy, but I swear it's true.” I tried to give him as much detail as possible. “And that's when Fiona came in and whisked him away. So as you can see, this has all been a gigantic misunderstanding.”

“Uh-huh,” said Rudy. “Got it.”

“Good,” I said. “I should probably get going.”

“Not so fast,” Rudy said as he placed his pen in his shirt pocket. “I think you'd better come with me.”

“Where?” I asked.

“Down to the station.”