Case Closed #2, page 20
Not quite the song I had in mind. Not quite a song. But it does the trick. Everyone turns toward Frank to watch his shrill rendition of the most annoying jingle on the planet.
“Here a QUACK! There a QUACK! Everywhere a quack quack—” He cuts off suddenly. “I can’t hear you! I said: everywhere a—”
“Quack quack,” everyone in the studio parrots back to him.
“Very good, maestro!” Frank says. Then he bows, and everyone offers him weak applause.
But it works. Frank has become the new gossip of the cast and crew, and every fight seems to have fizzled. As everyone exits the studio for the day, I can’t help but give Frank a hug, which he squirms right out of.
We leave the broken cameras just the way they landed as we head back to the hotel for the night. We eat room service, and I’m waiting for Mom to tell us about her interviews, so I can tell her what we found out while we were snooping around.
But then she says, “Maybe it was a mistake to let you three run around unsupervised.”
“What?” I say. “But I thought you were going to trust me! I thought we were a team!”
“We are . . . I want to be. But those crashing cameras shocked me back to reality. This case is dangerous. Even more dangerous than I thought. We have a missing person—and possibly a murder.”
“Murder!” Eliza gasps. “What makes you say that?”
“Statistically,” Mom mumbles, “after seventy-two hours of being missing . . . statistically . . . all I’m saying is, I would never forgive myself if something happened to you kids. If you could pause all your detective work—just for now.”
“Sure,” I mutter. “And cut out my heart while you’re at it.”
Mom flushes. “You will stay at the hotel tomorrow, and don’t you dare take that tone with me, alborotoso! Respétame, hijo!”
Sometimes she starts speaking Spanish when she’s mad.
I mumble an apology, even if I don’t mean it. Because I don’t mean it. Eliza, Frank, and I did amazing detective work today, but Mom doesn’t know. She keeps treating me like a little kid. What’s it going to take for her to really see me? And most of all—when is she going to start trusting that I can do this?
Our hotel room is cramped, and there’s nowhere for me to go, so I sulk in the chair in the corner.
Hours later, after Mom and Frank have both fallen asleep, Eliza puts her hand on my arm. “Want to talk about it?” she whispers.
But I shake my head no. “I want to talk about the case,” I say, soft as a hush.
Eliza raises her eyebrows, but she says nothing. So I continue.
“The crashing cameras have to be important somehow. We’re so close to figuring it out. I can feel it.”
“I know, Carlos, but what can we do? You heard your mom. Tomorrow we have to stay in the hotel. There’s no way she’ll let us come to the studio lot.”
“If only we could investigate a little more.” If only we had more time. If only we could poke around without anyone interrupting us—without the culprit getting scared and smashing cameras. . . .
I grab Eliza’s hand. “Put your shoes on!” I hiss.
She squints at me, and I can see the question on her face. I answer before she even has to ask. “We’re going back to the studio right now, to poke around while everyone’s sleeping.”
“What about Frank?” Eliza mouths.
“We can’t wake him,” I whisper. “Too loud, too risky.”
“Too risky not to,” Eliza says. “If he wakes up from a nightmare and sees us gone, he’ll make a big stink about it—and ruin our cover. Besides,” she adds, “he always finds good clues, even if accidentally.”
“Okay, fine,” I grumble.
Eliza puts the blanket over her brother’s mouth to muffle the sound, then lightly shakes him. His eyes pop open in a very abrupt, creepy way. But for once, he doesn’t shout.
Mom lets out a snore, and my stomach twists. I’m not betraying her; I’m helping her. Maybe if I can crack the case, she’ll see that I’m as capable as she is. Maybe she’ll see I don’t need to be protected—I need to be involved.
* * *
Day Three
* * *
WE ARRIVE AT the studio just after midnight. Our Uber drops us off at the gate, and we walk the rest of the way. We pick a spot away from the security guard and start shimmying up the fence. It’s hard because it’s made of vertical poles—nowhere to stick our feet. But I take a cue from Teen Witch, actually . . . an episode where Layla and Brad were climbing a smooth wall after their wands had both snapped. Layla climbed on Bradley’s back and then pulled him up.
Except, when Frank gets to the top, he doesn’t pull us up. He just unlocks the side gate. We’re in without detection!
Inside, Stage Eight is empty.
“It’s a ghost town!” Eliza says.
“Knock knock!” Frank says.
“Who’s there?” I reply.
“Boo.”
“Boo who?”
“I’M A GHOST!” Frank shouts.
“Frank, that’s not how the joke ends,” Eliza corrects. “It’s supposed to be ‘Don’t cry, it’s just a joke.’”
“Don’t cry, I’m a GHOST! Boo!”
“Shhhhh!” I snap. I hear a creaking noise coming from above. I look up into the rafters, and there’s a figure in shadow. “Look!” But the second I point, the figure is running across the catwalk. “Quick! We need to get up there!”
“No we don’t, actually,” Eliza says, bending over to pick up a piece of rope. “I think we should ambush them at the bottom of the ladder, once they come down.”
* * *
TO FOLLOW THE FIGURE UP INTO THE RAFTERS, CLICK HERE.
TO TRY TO STOP THE FIGURE AT THE BOTTOM OF THE LADDER, CLICK HERE.
* * *
“DON’T PANIC,” ELIZA says, breathing heavily. She is clearly panicking. “I hate small spaces . . . and the dark . . . and running out of oxygen.”
“Well, let’s solve one of these problems!” I say. “Mom, we need your phone flashlight.”
“But, Carlos, that drains the battery. What if I need to call the police?”
“You said yourself you don’t have service out here. Please, Mom, we don’t have much time.”
Mom flashes the light up at the ceiling. Whatever kind of doors are above us, they have, in fact, sealed shut. “Okay, Frank,” I say. “You’re up!”
Frank climbs up onto my shoulders and Eliza holds him by the ankles to keep him steady. He pulls on the door above, but it won’t budge.
“Wait a second,” Eliza says. “Ms. S, shine your light over at that corner.”
Mom obeys, and we find a weird box in the upper corner.
“I bet it’s a hydraulic door!” Eliza says.
“If that’s true,” Mom says, “then we’re stuck in here. The pressure in hydraulic equipment can build up to create an incredible amount of force. We can never pull it open manually.”
I have no idea what they’re talking about. “Uh . . . English please!” I say.
“A hydraulic machine,” Eliza says, “uses liquid that becomes pressurized through a series of motors and cylinders and circuits. Construction cranes that lift an insane amount of weight? They use hydraulics to do it. I won’t go into the physics of it—”
“Yeah, hard pass,” I say.
“But a door like this should have a control panel. And if we disable it, we should be able to pull open the doors above us, like they are normal doors.”
“And that’s the control panel?” I say, grabbing Frank by the hand. I drag him to the corner and hoist him up again.
He grunts as he stretches. “Can’t . . . reach . . .”
“Stop! Put him down!” Mom says. “Carlos, take the flashlight. Frank, get on my shoulders.” Mom crouches down, so Frank can climb on. While Mom isn’t exactly tall, she’s got height on Eliza and me. Now Frank can just barely reach the metal box, which pops open when he flips the switch on the side.
Inside is a circuit board with a bunch of tubes and shining buttons.
“Now what?”
“I . . .” Eliza breathes deeply. “When a circuit is lit up, it means it’s connected. We have to disconnect them in order to turn the power off on the hydraulic door.”
“Great, so disconnect them all!”
“Well, we have a bit of a problem,” Eliza says. “Circuits have lots of electricity running through them. That’s why they’re all lit. So the more we play around with the circuits, the greater our chance of getting electrocuted.”
“So, smashing them is off the table?”
“I’m afraid so,” Eliza says. “We need to find one channel to turn . . . one spot to rotate that would disconnect the whole grid all at once. But we have to hurry—I already feel lightheaded from lack of air!”
* * *
TO DISABLE THE CIRCUIT IN BOX ONE, CLICK HERE.
TO DISABLE THE CIRCUIT IN BOX TWO, CLICK HERE.
TO DISABLE THE CIRCUIT IN BOX THREE, CLICK HERE.
* * *
INSIDE, THE STUDIO is frantic. Cast and crew members are running around like chickens with their heads cut off. Which sounds a bit gruesome, but thankfully everyone’s head is firmly attached so far.
Eliza grabs my hand as I scan the crowd for Mom. Nothing . . . nothing . . . nothing. My palms are getting sweaty.
Something pushes me forward.
“Carlos!” Mom says from behind me, giving me a big squeeze around my chest.
“Mom!” I wrap my arms around her . . . tight. And she kisses my face a million times. I can’t even be embarrassed about it—I am that relieved.
“Are you kids okay? Were you in the room? Did you get hurt?”
As if on cue, we can hear Brad Bradley loudly complaining. “A piece of rubble hit me in the face. I could have a scar. They don’t pay me for my brains, you know! They pay me for my looks!”
He’s not the only one grumbling. Crew members and cast members alike are sharing battle scars and exaggerated stories already. And all our major suspects are scattered throughout the crowd: Miriam Jay is clutching her necklace, looking like she might faint. Wolfgang Westover looks livid, his nostrils flaring. Agatha Tuggle keeps edging through the crowd to get a closer look. Guillotine seems almost bored. I swear, more than once, I catch him looking for the exit. Even Wolfgang’s niece, Louise, is here—her mouth so wide a whole person could probably crawl in.
As the dust clears, I gasp: someone drove a car through the studio wall. The smashed-up car is damaged beyond repair, and that’s what’s causing all the smoke.
“Back up!” Mom says. As usual, she is good at commanding a room when she needs to. “The car might still explode!”
“Who was driving this thing?” Wolfgang demands.
“No one,” Tuggle says, standing on her tiptoes to get a better look. She’s so short that she probably can’t see through the crowd.
“What do you mean, no one?” Wolfgang says.
“It was a ghost!” Brad cries. “The ghost of Layla is out to get me! To get all of us!”
“What?”
“Ghost!”
“A ghost! Cool!” Frank says.
“Is she dead? Do we know that for sure?” someone shouts.
“Is there a body?”
“My baby!” Miriam wails.
“STOP IT!” Mom bellows, getting control of the room again. “We have no evidence that Layla is dead. This has a logical explanation, not a paranormal one: someone put a brick on the gas pedal, which made the car drive straight into the wall. So who was in the parking lot in the past ten minutes?”
I look to Louise in panic, and she looks back at me with suspicion in her eyes. Don’t tell, Louise! I am desperately sending her panic brain waves. Please don’t tell, please don’t tell!
Louise opens her mouth. “I was in the parking lot ten minutes ago!” she says with a sideways glance at us. There’s a pause. I’m holding my breath and wishing, hoping, praying. Maybe she won’t tell after all. Maybe we’re safe!
“And so were they,” Louise tattles, pointing directly at us.
Uh-oh.
“What does she mean? What were you doing outside?” Mom snaps. “Wait a second—where’s Maureen?”
I shrug.
“Maureen?” Eliza calls.
“OLLY OLLY OXEN FREE!” Frank shouts.
From the part of the set that’s a fake kitchen, the door to the lazy Susan cabinet pops open, and there’s Maureen, folded up like a pretzel, contorted in ways I didn’t think humans could bend.
“You three are very stubborn seekers!” she says. “I’m glad you finally gave up, though; my leg was falling asleep.” She climbs out of the lazy Susan like nothing’s wrong. Like a car didn’t just crash through the wall of the studio, like it isn’t still smoking and in danger of exploding at any moment.
While everyone’s focused on Maureen and Mom, though, Guillotine starts to sneak out the exit.
“HOLD IT!” I shout, pointing at him. “Nobody move!”
“Carlos!” Mom says.
“We’ll discuss it later, Mom. First let’s call the police.”
Mom looks at me in surprise . . . but then walks over to the landline on the wall and dials the police.
“They’re on their way,” she says a minute later, hanging the phone back on the wall.
“My set is ruined!” Wolfgang cries. “RUINED! Look at this rubble! We weren’t supposed to have rubble on set until three episodes from now, when Aurelia’s rival coven—”
“La la la la la,” Eliza whispers.
I shake her. “What?”
“I don’t want any spoilers!” she says. “I still want to be surprised by all the twists and turns when I watch it on TV. La la la la!”
Frank, who thinks Eliza’s just singing for the fun of it, chimes in. “LAAAA LA LA LA LAAAA LA!” Only he’s so loud, he draws the stares of everyone on set.
Mom pulls us aside as Wolfgang starts directing the writers on how to change the script. She brings us into a corner that’s supposed to be the couches in the Teen Witch school common room.
She gives us her mommiest Mom glare. It’s so severe that even Frank curls himself up into a tiny ball. “Even after I told you no, even after I caught you in a lie, even after I hired a babysitter to supervise . . . you kids have been investigating, haven’t you?”
She looks at me, waiting for an answer. I can’t help it—I begin to sweat. I’ve never felt more like my life was hanging in the balance. I’ve been so afraid that she would take this away from me . . . that I would never have the chance to show her what I could do.
If I tell her the truth, I could be risking everything. It feels like too much to risk. I have to lie to her.
Suddenly, Eliza links her arm in my elbow, and I remember what she said earlier this morning: “You’re not alone. You have a team. You have us.”
That’s right. If Eliza, Frank, and I do better together, then maybe the same is true with Mom.
Maybe Mom has a place on my team too. But only if I open up.
* * *
TO LIE TO MOM, CLICK HERE.
TO TELL MOM THE TRUTH, CLICK HERE.
* * *
“YOU SEEM TO be obsessed with Layla . . . a little too obsessed.”
Louise’s smile melts into a frown. “Are you accusing me of something?” she says, suddenly aggressive.
“YES,” Frank replies, and I elbow him.
She glowers. A memory pops into my head. Last year, Eliza and I found a cute stray cat at recess, but when it knew it was surrounded, it arched its back and hissed until we ran away. Louise looks just like that: a cornered cat about to attack.
“I—I’m just passionate!” Louise says. “There’s nothing wrong with that! I mean, it’s not a crime to be a fan of someone’s work.”
“We know,” I say soothingly.
“It’s just,” Eliza cuts in, “we heard from Brad Bradley—”
“You’re going to listen to that two-faced, backstabbing wannabe? Jeez, did he tell you about that Kids’ Choice Awards incident? Because I can explain that! I didn’t mean to cut a lock of Layla’s hair off—I just had scissors in my hand, and I slipped onto the red carpet, and in panic, I accidentally snipped. A perfectly innocent mistake that could have happened to anybody!” she says.
Okay, but it’s not an accident if Louise brought scissors to a red-carpet event. Who does that?
Eliza steps protectively in front of her little brother. I can tell she’s nervous.
“No, wait,” Louise continues. “Did he tell you I have a shrine to Layla, made from her dirty old tissues? Because that’s a lie!”
What a relief!
“It’s not a shrine—it’s just a collection!” she explains.
I’m not sure that’s any better. Frank makes a gagging noise.
Louise is at fever pitch now. “You can’t believe anything Brad says! He’s an absolute phony. I know things about him that would make your hair curl, and I can tell you all about it. I know everything about what happens backstage! Between Uncle Wolfgang, all the exclusive interviews I read, and my own, er, detective skills,” she says, patting her camera, “I’ve got the 411 on all the drama.”
* * *
TO ASK LOUISE ABOUT THE ON-SET GOSSIP, CLICK HERE.
TO ASK LOUISE ABOUT PICTURES OF LAYLA, CLICK HERE.
* * *
I HAVE TO follow our culprit—it might be the only way to find Layla.
“I’m so sorry, Eliza,” I say into the locker slit. “I’ll be back for you!”
I sprint after Tuggle. She dashes through the set and—to my surprise—exits Stage Eight through the side door. We run into the studio lot. She’s weaving between concrete stages, and I’m very careful to stay out of sight.
Eventually Tuggle stops at Stage Twenty-Four, which is a museum full of old props from movies that came out before Abuela was even born. Is this where Layla is hidden?
