Secrets at the Chocolate Mansion (7 page)

“You already told me you finished your homework,” said Finn.

“Don't you need to get ready?” I asked. “Take a shower or something?”

“Why, am I smelly?” Finn asked, sniffing under his arms.

“No more than usual,” I replied.

“Oh, you're so funny I forgot to laugh,” said Finn. And he headed into our room before I could even respond.

Not that I needed to.

I mean, Finn's response? Way weak, and if that was the best he could do, then I'd clearly won that round.

My mom and I ended up having a lovely evening on the couch watching some old movies: the original
Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory
and then
The Sound of Music
, because we both love musicals.

It was nice to be distracted from the fact that Milo was ignoring me, and that I had a big mystery to solve with basically zero leads.

Of course, once I was in bed that night, all the stress and worry came rushing back. I couldn't sleep because my mind kept going back over the day's weirdness. The harsh sound of shattering glass replayed in my head, which just reminded me of the broken mirror at Nofarm's house. Which brought me back to the whole Milo situation.

At some point in the night I must've drifted off to sleep, because hours later I woke up in a cold sweat.
My hair was plastered to my face, and I huffed and puffed like some big bad wolf trying to blow down a house. My heart raced as if I'd been sprinting for miles.

“Are you okay?” asked Finn, who must've heard me from the other side of the room.

“No,” I said. “I mean, yeah. I'm fine.” I looked around the room. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, the bedroom furniture came into focus—bookshelf dividing my side of the room from Finn's to my left, desk straight ahead, fireplace facade to the right. It all provided me some comfort.

I took a deep breath in through my nose, filling my chest with air and pausing for a moment before exhaling, something I learned during our yoga unit in gym class. At the moment, though, it did little to calm me down.

“What's wrong?” asked Finn.

“Nothing,” I said, not wanting to admit the truth. I'd had a nightmare, but this was no ordinary nightmare. It felt way more scary, more intense and real. I don't even remember all the details—just the sensations.

I was in a dark and scary place, and something was wrapped tightly around my body. It constricted my chest and made it near impossible to breathe. But when I looked down I couldn't see a thing, because nothing was there. And yet that nothing pressed into me, squeezing me from all sides. The air seemed to disappear from
the room, and I wondered whether I could drown even though there wasn't any water in sight.

My arms were free, so I tried to claw at this invisible thing, but I couldn't feel it.

Yet still it squeezed tighter and tighter and tighter.

When I tried to run, I couldn't make my legs work.

All I could do was sit in the small room with the dark walls closing in around me, creepy organ music blasting in my ears.

I couldn't even call for help, because my voice didn't work.

Even though I was awake now, with plenty of oxygen in my fairly large bedroom, I was still trembling.

“Sorry,” I said to Finn. “Did you hear me tossing and turning?”

“No, I heard you screaming.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

I heard the rustle of sheets and the creak of the bed as Finn sat up. “You were screaming your own name.”

I sat up myself, because this didn't make any sense. I didn't recall using my voice.

“Seriously?” I asked. “I was screaming ‘Maggie'?”

“Not Maggie,” said Finn. “You were screaming your real name: Margaret.”

I showed up at Sonya's Sweets at a quarter to ten to find the picture window covered with two large pieces of crisscrossed plywood. Someone had scrawled “OPEN” on one of them in all capital letters with a red Sharpie. It was functional, but a far cry from yesterday's gorgeous welcome sign.

When I knocked on the front door, Sonya's cousin, Felicity, looked up from the countertop she was cleaning at the back of the store. She seemed surprised to see me. “We're closed,” she called.

At least, I think she said that. My lip-reading skills are decent but not perfect.

“I know,” I said, nodding and pointing to the door. “Can you let me in anyway?”

She walked over to Joshua, who was mopping up behind the counter. They talked, then he looked at me
and nodded and gave me the thumbs-up sign. Felicity walked over and opened the door a crack.

“We met yesterday, remember? I'm Sonya's friend, Maggie.”

Felicity opened up the door a bit more so I could squeeze through. “Right. Ricki mentioned you might stop by. Please excuse the mess.”

“Don't worry about it,” I replied as I looked around the store. “Okay if we sit down for a minute and talk?”

She looked around nervously. “Um, I have a lot to do before we open. This isn't the best—”

“This will only take a few minutes,” I said, interrupting. “Ten at the most, and then I'll leave you alone.”

“It's okay, Felicity,” Joshua called from across the store. “I'll cover for you.”

Felicity didn't say anything, but I could tell by the look on her face that she wasn't thrilled with his offer.

I walked over to the nearest booth and took a seat before she could change her mind. “Please join me,” I said, whipping out my notebook and looking up at her expectantly.

Felicity sank down into the booth across from me. She was pretty, like Sonya, and they were both tall and thin and long-limbed.

Of course, Sonya is tall for a seventh grader, and Felicity is just plain tall for anyone. Except for maybe a
basketball player. Then she'd be average. Or perhaps below average, but only a bit. I think. I actually don't know the average height of professional basketball players. I could look it up; I suppose that's what Wikipedia is for. Or there's math, if the statistic isn't readily available. But who has time for that? Not me—I had interviews to conduct.

“So, how long have you been in Brooklyn?” I asked.

“Just a few weeks,” said Felicity.

“Sonya told me you're from Indiana?”

Felicity nodded.

“Indiana's pretty far from here, huh?” I said.

Felicity rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it. I'm from the tiniest town in the middle of nowhere. It's the exact opposite of New York. This is the first real city I've ever been to, unless you count Chicago. I was there once on a school trip.” She fiddled with the salt and pepper shakers as she spoke, staring at them rather than meeting my eye.

I couldn't help but notice that as Felicity talked, she kind of rambled on. I wondered whether that was always the case or she was nervous about speaking with me in particular. And if so, why? Did she have a legitimate reason to be worried?

Just then Joshua came over with two mugs of hot chocolate. “Here you go,” he said. “These are on the house.”

“Thanks,” I said. “But what are they for?”

Joshua shrugged. “I don't know. You looked thirsty.”

I took a sip. “Mmm. That's delicious!”

“Joshua makes the best hot chocolate,” Felicity said, smiling up at him.

“Old family recipe,” Joshua said with a wink.

Felicity turned back to me. “Did you have any more questions, or can I get back to work now?”

“I'm actually just getting started,” I said, checking my notes again. “Um, what brought you to New York, exactly?”

“You're writing all of this down?” she asked, glancing at my notebook.

“I remember things better when I write them down. And sometimes it helps me make connections later.”

Felicity swirled her spoon around in her mug, and some cocoa splashed over the edge. “Oh no!” she cried, alarmed. And when she reached for the napkins to clean up the hot chocolate, she knocked over the entire mug with the back of her hand. Hot chocolate spilled all over the table, and the mug began to roll.

Felicity reached for it, but rather than standing it upright she pushed it off the edge and it shattered on the floor.

“Yikes!” she yelled.

I cringed.

Joshua ran over with the mop to clean up the mess.

I had to wonder, was Felicity nervous, or simply klutzy? Or was she pretending to be klutzy because she was bent on sabotage? Or was I jumping to conclusions too fast? Why would she want to ruin her aunt's new shop—her aunt who was responsible for Felicity having a place to stay in New York City?

I drew a big question mark in my notebook. I would've written down more specific questions, except Felicity was squinting down at the page as if she were trying to read my notes upside down. I wondered why she was so interested. Her behavior made me even more suspicious.

“What are you,” she asked, “some sort of junior police officer?”

“Um, I'm more of an amateur detective,” I said, watching her carefully. She didn't seem to be making fun of me, but the question seemed odd.

“You mean like Nancy Drew?” she asked. “I used to read those books all the time.”

“Kind of,” I said. “So, how are you related to Sonya, exactly?”

“We're first cousins. Our moms are sisters.”

“How old are you?”

“Eighteen,” she said. “I was supposed to start college this year, but I'm taking a gap year instead.”

“So you work at the Gap, too?” I asked.

“No.” Felicity laughed. “A gap year means a year off. I'm supposed to be finding myself, figuring out who I am and what I want to do with my life. That way, college won't be a waste of time. My parents don't think I have enough direction, so they sent me here to Brooklyn.”

“Do you agree with them?” I asked.

“No. I've got plenty of direction—I just don't want to move in the direction they want me to. Here's the real story: I want to go to art school and my parents want me to go to business school. We couldn't agree, so as a compromise I'm taking time to explore both art and business.”

“That makes sense,” I said.

“In theory, yes,” said Felicity. “I'm taking a figure-painting class at Pratt, the art college in Brooklyn. Working here was part of the deal, because it's giving me experience with business. Plus, I need the money, because my parents want to teach me the value of a dollar. Whatever that means!”

“So how do you feel about working at Sonya's Sweets?” I asked. “It sounds like you're not so excited about it.”

“It's fine,” she said with a shrug. “You know—except for all of the flying glass. I guess you could say it's a lot more exciting than I thought it would be.” She peeked over her shoulder toward Joshua.

“Let's talk about the flying glass,” I said. “Do you have any idea who would have destroyed such a gorgeous window?”

“Not a clue,” Sonya replied quickly. “That's what we're all wondering—right?”

“Did you notice anything suspicious yesterday? Or any customers who seemed particularly odd?”

“I was too busy working,” said Sonya. “Check out my hands. They're totally wrinkled from all the dishes I've had to wash.”

Sonya held out her hands, palms facing me. They did look a bit prune-y. Her nails had specks of green and blue around the edges. She noticed me noticing them.

“That's paint, but it won't come off no matter what,” said Sonya.

“What are you working on?” I asked.

“We're doing self-portraits,” said Sonya. “Which aren't my favorite thing, but my teacher is amazing.”

“Sonya told me you're living with her family,” I said.

“Yup. Sonya and I share a room and everything. It's like we're suddenly sisters, which is funny because we're both only children.”

Felicity looked behind her again. Joshua, I noticed, was lingering in the background. He kept mopping the same two feet of floor, the tiles of which were already sparkling. He was obviously eavesdropping. I didn't mind, exactly; I just found it strange.

I put the letter
J
for “Joshua” in my notebook. Sonya pretended not to read it, but I saw her eyes narrow into a squint.

I turned to a fresh page and said, “Sonya and her mom are pretty excited about the soda fountain.”

“I know,” said Felicity. “It's all they've been talking about since I've been here.”

“They've got a lot riding on it,” I said. “So let me ask you again—do you have any idea who might have broken the window?”

Felicity shook her head. “Nope.”

I wasn't getting very far, which frustrated me. On some level I knew what the problem was. Detectives aren't supposed to ask yes or no questions. Leading questions—the kind that require more thought and explanation—are how you get interesting information. So, for example, I shouldn't have asked Felicity where she was from. I should've said, “Tell me about yourself.”

But for some reason—maybe it was the fact that Felicity was already so uncomfortable—things just didn't pan out that way.

Joshua was outside now, sweeping the sidewalk. I lowered my voice and pointed to him. “How well do you know that guy?”

“Who?” Felicity asked, even though there wasn't anyone else in front of the shop.

“Joshua,” I said. “That's his name, right?”

“Oh, him? I guess that's his name. I can't really keep track.” She brushed her bangs off her face and rolled her eyes. “I'm so bad with names. In fact, I'm bad with faces, too.”

“But he just brought us hot chocolate. And he's the only other employee here. The only one you're not related to, that is.” I couldn't believe I had to point this out.

Felicity turned bright red. “That's true. I guess I do know who you're talking about, but I hardly know him. I swear.”