Edison's Gold Page 6

  “Or he was in the Sub Rosa.”

  “ ‘One hundred yards north of the sun and moon.’ Like it says in the riddle.” Colby looked from Tom to Noodle as though she were dealing with preschoolers. “Sun and moon? Sundials? Ebbets Field’s in the photo? It has a famous sundial. Do I have to spell it out for you?”

  “That’s a bit of a stretch,” said Tom.

  “And Ebbets Field was torn down, like, fifty years ago.”

  “Okay, sure, but if the room where this photo was taken still exists,” said Colby, “it might lead us somewhere.”

  “Maybe.” Noodle’s fingers were already flying over the keys. “I can find the stadium’s old address.”

  Tom glanced at his watch. “If we left now, two hours to get to Brooklyn, look for clues, plus two hours back. We might be able to make it home by curfew.”

  “Nana’ll be asleep until dinner,” said Colby, “but we’ll have to go through the McFaddens’ yard just to be safe.”

  “Who knows? Maybe we’ll find something.” Tom shrugged, throwing all the papers into his bag and stepping out into the sunlight. “And it’s not like we’re doing anything dangerous or illegal. It’s just research.”

  “Like an extra-credit project,” Colby added.

  It was settled then. Next stop, Brooklyn …

  I don’t see any sundials.” Colby yawned.

  “And I’m seriously losing steam.” Noodle flopped down onto a patch of grass next to the sidewalk. The three of them had been searching this run-down neighborhood of Flatbush in Brooklyn for an hour and a half. So far, nothing.

  “Yeah, this is pointless. That photo could have been taken from anywhere in this entire neighborhood.” Colby collapsed onto the curb next to Noodle.

  Tom stepped back, scanning the south side of Sullivan Place, a street that was little more than a crumbling block of row houses, a few shabby storefronts, and a scaffolded parking garage.

  On the other side of them was a cluster of high-rise apartments where, half a century ago, Ebbets Field had once stood like a towering castle.

  “Okay, if the entrance to the ballpark was over there …” Tom stared at the apartment buildings, trying to picture the baseball stadium. It was impossible to mentally position where the photo would have been taken. There were simply too many variables.

  What is the missing piece? he wondered to himself for the hundredth time that afternoon.

  “Betcha Big T’s in heaven looking down on us right now, laughing at what idiots we are.” Noodle stared up at the cloudless sky. “I invent ze lightbulb, and zey can’t even zolve a few clues? Vat is ze matter vit zese brat-vurtzes?”

  “That’s a really good imitation of Albert Einstein, dummy.” Colby smirked. “But I don’t think Thomas Edison had a German accent, considering he was from Ohio.” She plucked a few strands of grass and mindlessly drizzled them over the sidewalk curb. “Let’s get outta here,” she called over to Tom. “My nana’ll be up from her nap soon.”

  “We can’t go!” he called back. “We’re already at the Bed, Ford!”

  “I get that’s a reference to the camera riddle.” Noodle stretched his arms over his head. “But I have zero idea what you’re blabbing about.”

  “He capitalized the B in Bed!” Tom was hopping up and down, motioning them over. “It wasn’t referring to Henry Ford at all.”

  “Still not following.” Colby shook her head as Noodle and she stood up and jogged over toward Tom, who was smiling wide and staring up at the street sign marking the intersection of Sullivan Place and Bedford Avenue.

  Tom pulled the scrap of paper from where he kept it folded in his wallet, and reread the riddle. “ ‘When you reach the Bed, Ford. You’re just one hundred yards north of the sun and moon.’ ”

  “So this whole time,” Noodle wondered aloud, “all we had to do was start at Bedford and go a hundred yards south?”

  “Three feet equals one yard,” blurted Colby.

  “You just can’t resist, can you?” Noodle smirked.

  Tom was already counting out his paces down the street. The others quickly fell into step.

  Ninety-eight … ninety-nine … one hundred.

  At the hundredth yard, they looked up.

  On one side, the road. On the other side, a dilapidated townhouse’s peeling facade and dark windows dared them to enter.

  “This place so does not look up to code,” said Colby. “Also, as a side note, I’m getting a slightly haunted vibe.”

  “Maybe … but check that out.” The others followed Noodle’s gaze, now fixed above the house’s slated roof, to the wrought-iron weather vane above the chimney.

  A large gray stone sun and moon were fastened to its crest.

  “Wherever we are, we’re here,” said Tom as they climbed the narrow front steps to the building’s screened door, which opened with a push and creak …

  … leading them straight to a dingy vestibule.

  “Noodle, your cell phone is in range, right?” Colby crossed her arms in front of her chest. “This place looks like kidnapper central.”

  “Nothing that exciting. It’s a pet shop,” said Noodle, pointing to the purple block-lettered sign that read,

  MITZI’s PETS

  “But before that, it was this.” Tom tapped the brass plaque next to the intercom.

  Together, they all read the New York landmark engraving.

  This building formerly housed The Vesper Inn.

  An artist-only boardinghouse,

  where F. Scott Fitzgerald, Mary Cassatt,

  and Mark Twain once lodged.

  “The Vesper Inn,” said Noodle. “Why didn’t they just say so?”

  “Too easy,” said Colby. “If you’re in the Sub Rosa, why tell it straight when you can turn it into an insane wild goose chase?”

  The others weren’t sure how to answer that one.

  “Well, I’m going in,” said Tom.

  A bell jangled as they pushed in through the door, setting off a wild orchestra of barks, meows, and chirps.

  In cases and cages, burrowed-in or on show-off display, small animals, from furry to spiny to scaly, were everywhere.

  But there was not a single human in sight. Tom checked the area. Nobody was behind the cash register or tending to the animals. Faintly, from a back room behind the front counter, came the far-off hum of a vacuum cleaner.

  Colby sneezed. “Sorry. Too much fur and feathers for my sinuses.”

  “Shh.” Tom motioned for them to follow him down a windowless hallway that was banked on both sides with blue-lit, glubbing aquariums. “If anyone comes in and asks what we’re doing, just say we’re looking for a salesperson,” he whispered.

  “I’m getting Met déjà vu,” remarked Colby as they tiptoed down the hallway.

  The floorboards creaked under the weight of their shoes.

  “This place is so super old,” whispered Noodle.

  “It even smells old,” Colby added. “Don’t you think it’s kinda weird to convert a house like this into a pet store? It looks nothing like the ones you see at the mall.”

  “Mall pet shops are depressing,” said Noodle. “At night, everyone leaves—”

  “What don’t you two understand about shh?” Tom put a finger to his lips as the corridor opened up into a side room, sandbagged on one end with floor-to-ceiling feed and cedar-chip bags, as well as stacked cages of snakes and lizards.

  It was lit only by the indirect sunlight through a large window that faced out onto the street. The view was of the Ebbets Field Apartments, but there was no way to know for sure if this was the same room where Firestone’s photo had been taken all those years ago.

  Until Noodle glanced up at the ceiling rafters and saw the intricate painted pattern of family crests and fleurs-de-lis above their heads.

  “This is it, you guys!” He pointed toward the ceiling. “This is the spot!”

  “Say it a little louder. They might not have heard you back in Yonkers.” But as Tom stepped bac
k to get a better look at the rafters, it was clear Noodle was right.

  Tom reached into his backpack to grab the notebook where he’d put the Firestone photo and held it up in front of their faces, trying to position the picture in the exact spot where the old man would have been sitting.

  From this angle, with the window behind him … “Firestone’s definitely pointing toward that far wall,” said Tom.

  “Totally. His hand’s all stiff and posed.” In the air, Colby traced the arc of his finger.

  Whatever Firestone was trying to show us, Tom thought. It had to be located behind those cages of—

  “Lizards!” Noodle shouted. “He’s pointing behind the lizard cages!”

  “Will you stop screaming like that? Someone’s gonna—arghhh!” Tom jumped, slapping the back of his neck, where something very sharp had bitten him.

  Dustbuster in one hand, lettuce-green parrot on her opposite shoulder, an old woman had crept up on them silently. Woman and parrot were now staring at the three kids with similar, unblinking eyes.

  “Hey!” Tom rubbed the sore spot. “Your parrot bit me.”

  “Yoo-Hoo is my security system,” the old woman snapped. “Never met a neck he didn’t like. I’m Mitzi.”

  Tom had never seen anyone like Mitzi. She was taller than most men, with multiple gray, frizzy braids hanging down her back, and just as many stacks of clattering plastic bracelets weighting both arms.

  Clankingly, she pointed at Tom, Colby, and Noodle in turn. “Australian shepherd, American bobtail cat, and”—her finger hovered over Noodle’s head like a divining rod—“praying mantis.”

  “Is that a riddle we have to solve so you won’t, um, broil us?” inquired Colby.

  “Those are your animal counterparts,” the woman answered. “If this were a magical world, they’d be your familiars. Unfortunately, we’re in Brooklyn. You’re here to find a pet?”

  “What about me screams praying mantis to you?” Noodle sounded half offended, half curious.

  Tom offered Mitzi what he hoped was his most charming smile. “Maybe we’ll get Noodle a praying mantis next time. See, my friend here wants a dog. Really, really bad. And he heard you made the best pet connections in all the boroughs.” He slung an arm over Noodle’s shoulders, then pivoted him in Mitzi’s direction. “Work with me,” he whispered in his friend’s ear.

  “You heard that right.” Mitzi arched her brows. “But you won’t find a dog in the reptile room. Follow me, Mantis.” The woman wafted out into the hallway; Tom prodded Noodle with a helpful push.

  “No way, T. You better not be leaving me alone with that—”

  “Noodle, you’re the smooth operator,” Tom hissed back. “Be charming. Make her laugh with your jokes. Pet the puppies. It’ll buy us some time to check the place out.”

  “Maaaaan-tis!” Mitzi trilled from down the hall. “I’m sure we can find you a dog!”

  “Maaaaan-tis!” squawked Yoo-Hoo.

  “That’s your cue,” said Colby. “Mantis!”

  Once Mitzi and Noodle had left the room, Tom and Colby wasted no time squeezing themselves between the two towers of stacked glass cages. In one cage, a diamond-backed snake reared back, its tiny fangs bared at Colby. She instinctively moved a little closer to Tom and shuddered. Colby was on overload, trying hard to be nonphobic in the face of all these germy animals.

  “On three. Lift and slide.” As Tom’s fingertips hooked under two corners of a bottom cage, readying himself, three salamanders scurried to its other end and stared up at him with black, unblinking eyes.

  “One … two … three …” The metal screeched against the wood.

  “She mighta heard that,” said Colby, cutting her eyes toward the door.

  They waited, breath held, for Mitzi and Yoo-Hoo to come storming into the room, but there was no sign of them. Tom and Colby were in the clear. For now.

  Tom turned toward the now exposed brick wall behind the stack of cages. At first glance, it didn’t look too promising, so he ran his hand along its rough surface, his fingers searching the braille-like grooves for some sort of clue. And then he felt something.

  Near the bottom of the wall, in the middle of the brick, was a small indentation and a smooth patch no bigger than a quarter. He knelt, his face inches from the floor, and came eye to eye with an encircled rose imprint etched into the brick.

  “Colb!” he whispered loudly. “Over here. It’s the seal of the Sub Rosa!”

  “Shut up!” Her jaw was on the floor as she huddled in close next to Tom. “Up till now, this all seemed too farfetched … but …” She reached her hand out to touch the sanded grooves of the rose petals.

  The mortar surrounding the brick was a different texture, Tom realized. Lighter, too, as if it had been more recently replaced. Something must be hidden behind that brick.

  “How can we get to it?” Tom wondered aloud. “Ugh. I never have C-four explosives when I need them.”

  “That’s one sentence you are never, ever allowed to say in the presence of my nana.”

  Tom leaned against the wall and wracked his brain. Mitzi would be back soon—even Noodle couldn’t keep her occupied forever—and there was no way to get through that brick. In a week and a half, he’d be in Kansas and might never get an opportunity like this again. If he could just get his hands on a strong acid.

  Vinegar’s acidic, Tom thought. But not enough, unless I combine it with something corrosive.

  Chemical combinations and reactions swirled through his mind at rapid-fire speed, years and years of basement experiments coming back to him.

  After a moment, Tom popped to his feet, snapping his fingers.

  “All right, Colb,” he said, turning to her, his face the picture of focus. “We need to split up.”

  “Uh-uh, Tom. I know that look. What’s going on inside that brain of yours?”

  “I can’t explain right now, but chemically speaking, this should work.”

  “On second thought, I don’t even wanna know what—”

  “I know you don’t. But we don’t have time. You need to go to the bathroom, get us some powdered bleach, a plastic bucket if you can find one, and a whole buncha paper towels. And whatever you do, don’t let Mitzi see you.”

  Colby was about to rattle off the top twenty reasons why whatever Tom was thinking about doing was a terrible idea, but something stopped her. Maybe it was the pleading look in his eyes. Maybe it was the excitement about what could be behind that wall. Or maybe Colby McCracken had become so used to the sneaking and risk taking of this odd treasure hunt that she’d grown a teeny bit braver these past few days. Whatever the reason, she found herself nodding her head.

  “Okay, I’ll do it. What about you?”

  Tom hesitated, surprised by her response, then smiled, with eyes glimmering mischievously. “I’m going through that window. We’ll meet back in five, so you can hoist me up.”

  “Cool.”

  Placing trust in her friend when safe logic and sound reasoning had failed her, Colby disappeared into the hallway.

  On their hundred-yard walk to the pet store, Tom remembered seeing Mel’s Grocery Mart, a shabby little convenience store on Bedford, but with Mitzi in the front room, probably explaining to Noodle the pros and cons of cockapoos versus schnauzer doodles, there was only one way to get there without arousing too much suspicion.

  Paint had gummed the window shut, but after a few heaves, he was finally able to force it open a crack. After that, it was just a three-foot drop to the sidewalk.

  Hurrying across the street, he noticed a black Cadillac parked along the curb. Its windows were tinted, and its engine was running. Tom could make out a shadowed figure in dark glasses slumped behind the wheel, but he was too nervous to take a longer look at the driver’s face. Instead he stared straight down at his shoelaces until he was safely inside Mel’s.

  The convenience store was bare-bones and dusty, and most of the items on the shelves looked to be way past their expiration dates.
Tom was still able to assemble all the ingredients he needed: vinegar, salt, baking soda, dish-washing gloves, a plastic jug of springwater, and a Hershey’s bar. Weighted down, he approached the register, pulling a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet. Good-bye to a month’s savings.

  “An investment,” Tom mumbled to comfort himself as a shaggy, incurious teen rang him up.

  He grabbed his change, a measly $1.17, and slipped back out the jingling door. Outside, the Cadillac had been vacated. Tom stopped to peek through the window. What a mess. The backseat was littered with fast-food wrappers and empty soda cups, plus sun-faded magazines and newspapers. Whoever drove that car spent a lot of time in it.

  “You’re just being paranoid over nothing,” Tom said to himself as he crossed the street back to Mitzi’s, but he couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched.

  Colby, who was already waiting in the reptile room when he arrived, leaned out the window to help hoist him back into the pet shop.

  “Some really strange guy just walked in the front door,” she whispered as she handed Tom a plastic bucket filled with everything he’d asked for. “Didn’t look like he was too interested in buying a pet either.”

  Tom wondered if this guy and the Caddy outside were related, but he didn’t want to make Colby any more nervous than she already seemed.

  “What’s Noodle up to?”

  “Last I saw, they’d moved on to snuggling kittens. Mitzi didn’t see me.”

  “Noodle’s got the gift,” said Tom, dumping almost all the springwater out the window, then spreading the rest of the ingredients in front of him. “And every good posse needs a maverick.”

  “How long do you think this’ll take?” Colby nervously peered out the door. “That fat guy in the other room’s weirding me out.”

  “Less than a minute. Just need to mix the vinegar with bleach to form a vitriolic solvent.”

  “And you know you need a three-to-one ratio of salt to acid for any vitriol compound, right?” Colby pivoted from her guarding spot near the doorway to address Tom. “I remember that from science class.”