Case Closed #4, page 24
“Let’s go investigate Nadira,” I say.
We turn around and march back into the bosses’ tent. Only . . . Orlando Bones is sitting right there. Ooops. I forgot.
“What are you doing here?” he says.
“Um . . . we forgot something,” I say, trying really hard to come up with an excuse for why we’d walk into a tent we just left. Is there a question I can ask Bones? Something to cover my tracks?
“What’d you forget?”
Frank puts his hands on his hips. “We forgot to snoop through Nadira’s desk!”
Frank! What did you do?
Bones looks surprised for a second. And then mad. “And you were going to do that with me here?”
“We forgot,” I say.
“You forgot—even though you spoke to me mere moments ago?” He stands up. “This displays a serious lack of judgment!”
“Sorry, we’ll just go now,” I say.
“You know what? Perhaps that is best. I’m cashing in my chips. Pack your bags—I’m sending you all the way home.”
CASE CLOSED.
“YOU AND ZIP work in this tent together, right?”
“Yes,” she says.
“And . . . do you find them suspicious?”
“Not suspicious,” Smarty Marty says. “Incompetent. I have no idea how they got this job in the first place.”
I’m not sure what to say. After all, Smarty questioned our competence as detectives the very moment she met us. I’m starting to wonder if Smarty Marty just thinks she’s better than everyone else. Maybe in her eyes, everyone is incompetent . . . except her.
“What do you mean, incompetent?” I ask.
“Zip has one job, and they can’t even do it properly. On the first day, Mr. Bones asked them to make a map. With the laser scan and computer imaging, no problem, right? Well, Zip took forever and a day to do it. Then when we took the map into the tunnels, it was all wrong! It said there was a path where there was a wall, and the dimensions were off—it was just a complete mess. So Zip had to start over from scratch.”
“Everyone’s allowed one mess-up.”
“It’s happened three times already. They’re on the fourth iteration of the map. I know nothing about computers, but give me an hour, and I’ll learn everything I need to know about them, and then I’ll do a better job!”
That seems to be Smarty Marty’s refrain: she thinks she’s smarter—and could do a better job—than everyone else.
“So what excuse did Zip have for the map being messed up?” I ask.
“Did a dog eat their homework?” Frank says. “A dog always eats my homework!”
“Frank, you don’t have a dog.”
Smarty Marty ignores us. “Zip said something about the laser being misaligned and the equipment not working correctly. But way to blame the machine for your mistake. It’s so irresponsible.”
“Because the responsible thing is to own up to your mistakes?”
“No,” Smarty Marty says haughtily. “The responsible thing is to not make mistakes in the first place.”
“Well sometimes people can’t help that, right? Everyone makes mistakes.”
“I don’t.”
“Me neither!” Frank shouts.
Smarty sighs deeply. “Look,” she says. “I really have to get back to work. But . . . I have a juicy secret about Richard Leech. If you want it, it’s yours.”
* * *
TO HEAR SMARTY MARTY’S INFORMATION, CLICK HERE.
* * *
AS MUCH AS I hate to admit it, I think Eliza’s right: a drop of blood on the stone makes the most sense.
I step forward. “Do you have anything sharp on you? I can prick my finger, and we can clean it up with antibiotic cream—”
“No need!” Frank says, standing up and grinning. “Just call me Mr. Blood Bank!” And he starts wiggling his loose tooth aggressively.
Eliza cries out. “Frank, you don’t have to—”
“OH YES I DO. The tooth fairy is bringing me fifty dollars tonight!”
I shake my head. “You should know, Frank . . . the tooth fairy doesn’t dispense fifties.”
But he does not listen to me. He wiggles and tugs and pulls and twists. At last, when his baby tooth is on the last string, he yanks it out, and the blood comes rushing. He spits his blood on the stone and holds his baby tooth up to the luminescent cavern ceiling.
“HOORAY!” he cries. “ONE DOWN, SIXTY TO GO!”
“Frank, you’re not a shark. You don’t have sixty teeth in your—”
The ground begins to rumble. The stone that has Frank’s blood on it sinks deeper into the floor. And up rises a marble dais.
And on that dais is a necklace. It’s gold, with two snakes intertwining. Their mouths form the clasp, and their tails curve around a very shiny pearlescent gemstone. Its shimmer looks like a rainbow.
“This is it,” Eliza whispers. “We found the Necklace of Harmonia!”
“Pretty!” Frank says. “And even more important, I HAVE A TOOTH!”
“I don’t know if that’s more important,” I mutter, and Frank glares at me.
We walk around the pedestal, observing the necklace from all angles. Even if I didn’t know how valuable it was . . . I would know just by looking at it.
“Should we take it?” Eliza suggests.
I gulp. “Do we think this is a scenario where if we lift the treasure off the stand, it’ll trigger a booby trap?”
“Only one way to find out!” Frank says, and he grabs the necklace from its plinth.
Nothing happens.
I sigh in relief.
But then—
Woosh! Woosh! Woosh! I don’t know what chemical reaction happened when we pulled the necklace off, but fire is being activated in the room, and it travels up each of the columns. The room is ablaze.
“RUN!” I scream, and we dash to the very small tunnel. We’re shuffling as fast as we can, but it’s hard to go sideways. The fire starts to heat up the stones we’re stuck between, and everything is suddenly very hot.
At least Frank is up ahead, lightning fast. “You still have the necklace, Frank?”
He doesn’t answer.
“FRANK?”
Eliza moves faster, and so do I. The fire is right on our heels—
And then, the door! The one that leads out through the three-headed dog. We open the heavy door and shut it again on the fire. Then we pant on the banks of the inky-black River Styx.
“The necklace?” I pant.
Frank is wearing it.
“Get that thing off—it’s cursed!” I yell.
“Cursed, schmursed,” Frank says.
“Mom wasn’t there,” I say. “That was a dead end. You were right all along.”
Eliza squeezes my hand. “We’ll search until we find her. We’re the best detectives I know. But first . . . we have to get out of here.”
We turn our attention to the boat. It’s a chore, but we know what we have to do: first, Eliza and Frank cross. Then Frank rows the boat back to me. Me to Eliza. Eliza to Frank. Both of them back again.
When it’s all over, I never want to see this boat or this river again.
We walk to the tiny crawl door—the one that will take us to the wall of alchemy symbols. Through it, we’ll exit the catacombs and go find Mom.
We open the crawl door.
There are legs in front of us, blocking our way. Tall legs in khaki pants. The person kicks, and Frank goes tumbling backward.
“FRANK!” Eliza yells, rushing toward him.
Frank seems more confused than hurt. “What was that?”
“See? Cursed!”
Frank sticks his tongue out at me.
I shine my flashlight on the little door. Whoever kicked Frank is coming in now. They crouch down and wriggle through. And as this mystery person gets to their feet, they adjust the fedora on their head—and at once, I realize who it is.
I nearly drop my flashlight.
“Orlando Bones,” I say.
He looks at me. Bones usually wears an excitable grin on his scruffy, sweaty face, but he’s not smiling now. He’s more serious than ever.
“Mr. Bones, did you come here to find us? Because we were about to find . . .”
I trail off. From his hardened expression and the way he’s obstructing the door, something tells me this isn’t a regular check-in. Alarm bells are blaring in my head. This is off.
I try to ease the tension with a chuckle. “Mr. Bones, we can’t get out if you don’t move.”
“Bingo.”
* * *
TO ASK HIM WHY HE’S IN THE TUNNELS, CLICK HERE.
TO DEMAND THAT HE MOVE, CLICK HERE.
* * *
I CLICK ON Orlando Bones’s email. A lot of boring stuff. Bills and email names I don’t recognize—one user in particular seems to email him a lot. I click on one of those emails.
OB—
I came to your house to collect what you owe. Seems like you’re gone. Did you run away? You can’t run away from your debt.
The email is unsigned.
“So here’s confirmation,” I say, “that he’s in debt.”
“And owes someone money,” Eliza says.
I keep scrolling through his email. Then I see something from Marta Higgins. “Hey—that’s Smarty Marty!”
Dear Mr. Bones,
I regret to inform you that your direct report, Nadira Nadeem, is completely incompetent. I have listed examples of her workplace negligence:
She comes in late to work every day and clocks out at five.
She does not give feedback, be it constructive critique or positive reinforcement.
She refuses to delegate work, taking on the bulk of the responsibility herself until she is overwhelmed with tasks.
She is unable to be found most times of the day.
She does not communicate.
She has been spotted crying in the corners of dig sites.
I look up. The list goes on for a while. A long, long while. Typical Smarty. She even overachieves at list making.
“Look at the last bullet point!” Eliza says.
She seems to be acting rather suspiciously. I have noticed that she does not seem very interested in recovering artifacts, or even work in general.
What I am suggesting here is a resolute redistribution of assignments. I am more than capable and ready to stand at the helm and lead this team to the Necklace of Harmonia. Let me prove myself—and my worth—to you. I will find the necklace for you no matter what.
Sincerely,
Marta Higgins
“Well, that was unpleasant,” I say. “Clearly, Smarty is eager to prove herself. Maybe too eager. Would she go into the tunnels alone, trying to find the necklace, just to prove her worth?”
“Or . . . more than that,” Eliza says. “Would she steal artifacts, just so she could look good and promotable when she ‘finds’ them?”
Typical Eliza. I have a good thought, and she has a better one. I sigh. “See? I told you we might find good stuff on Bones’s computer. I’m a good investigator too, Eliza.”
“I never said you weren’t!”
Mom whistles very loudly from outside the tent.
“DANGER! DANGER!” Frank chirps.
“Yeah, we got the message!” I say as we close out of the computer.
In walks Professor Phineas Alistair Worthington, exhilarated, nearly bouncing with energy. Mom and Frank come in behind him.
“Well?” the professor says. “Do tell! Did you find anything of note at the fiery ruins?”
Eliza and I accidentally look at each other, and the professor claps. “Oho! That means you did find something! Tell me!”
* * *
TO TELL THE PROFESSOR ABOUT THE KEY, CLICK HERE.
TO KEEP THE KEY A SECRET FROM THE PROFESSOR, CLICK HERE.
* * *
ELIZA’S RIGHT—THE FINGERPRINT idea is better. And I’m not so stubborn that I can’t see that.
I nod, and she stands up.
“We will reveal the location of the necklace,” she says, “once everyone gives us a fingerprint sample.”
“Why is that necessary?” Smarty says, and there’s a collective murmur of assent.
“Yes, I don’t feel comfortable giving out my personal identifying information—”
“This doesn’t feel proper,” Orlando Bones says, stepping forward.
“You have nothing to worry about if you have nothing to hide. If you don’t give us your fingerprint, we’ll assume you’re guilty.”
Everyone nods. One by one, we collect their fingerprints.
Then we take the print off a shard of a vase. All we need is a match!
Richard Leech.
Nadira Nadeem.
Smarty Marty.
Orlando Bones.
Zip.
Amanda Mandible.
Phineas Alistair Worthington.
* * *
IF YOUR SUSPECT IS ORLANDO BONES, CLICK HERE.
IF YOUR SUSPECT IS RICHARD LEECH, CLICK HERE.
TO ASK ELIZA FOR A HINT, CLICK HERE.
* * *
WE HAVE TO talk to Nadira Nadeem about Smarty’s letter. And we find her in her natural state—running from one side of the dig to the other with a clipboard.
“Can we talk to you for a second?” I ask her.
“If you can keep up!”
We have to run to keep pace with her. That’s how fast she’s walking.
“We found a complaint email from Smarty Marty to Orlando Bones,” I say.
“Oh? What’s the complaint about?”
“Er . . . you, actually,” I say, feeling awkward.
I expect Nadira to stop walking, but she walks even faster. We’re near the edge of the pit.
“She said you come late and leave early, that you refuse to share work with your teammates, and that you’re always overwhelmed.”
“Not true!”
“And,” Eliza adds, “she said you’ve been crying at the corner of the dig—is that true?”
“What? Why would I be crying?” Nadira says quickly.
“We were hoping you could tell us that,” Eliza replies.
“Show-and-tell time!” Frank says.
Nadira increases her speed. Why do I get the sense that she is trying to run away? “Are you stressed out?” I ask her. “I know you have a lot on your plate. Do you get any time for yourself? How’s your personal life?”
“My personal life? Why are you . . .” She turns her head to look at me. Her eyes are wide with panic as she continues to power walk. “Who said anything about tha—AHHHHHHHH!” It’s like I’m watching it in slow motion. Nadira trips and falls—right over the edge of the pit.
I can’t help but feel responsible because of our reckless questioning—especially knowing that Nadira is often multitasking and distracted. With four different fractures, Nadira Nadeem retires from archaeology, her career in ruins.
CASE CLOSED.
About the Author
Photo by Jose Hernandez
LAUREN MAGAZINER is the author of the Case Closed series, Wizardmatch, Pilfer Academy, and The Only Thing Worse Than Witches. She is originally from New Hope, Pennsylvania, and she currently lives in Philadelphia, where she writes full-time. Lauren is also a secret undercover international detective—but don’t blow her cover. You can visit Lauren at www.laurenmagaziner.com.
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The Case Closed Series
Case Closed: Mystery in the Mansion
Case Closed: Stolen from the Studio
Case Closed: Haunting at the Hotel
Case Closed: Danger on the Dig
Copyright
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CASE CLOSED #4: DANGER ON THE DIG. Copyright © 2022 by Lauren Magaziner. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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ISBN 978-0-06-320736-3 (trade bdg.)
Digital Edition MAY 2022 ISBN: 978-0-06-320737-0
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-320735-6 (pbk.)
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