A Tangle of Knots (12 page)

30

Zane

T
HE HANDLE OF THE POWDER BLUE SUITCASE WAS SLICK IN
Zane’s hand as he made his way into the last of the upstairs bedrooms, the Owner’s. Zane had little hope that the grump of an old man had anything that could earn Zane even a penny, but he was . . .

WORTHLESS.

It couldn’t help to look.

Against the far wall sat a single bookshelf, stuffed to the gills with empty jars. Probably two hundred of them at least. Zane took them in. Empty jars wouldn’t fetch a lot of money, that was for sure. And they’d be bulky. Hard to carry. But there was something about them . . .

Without knowing precisely why, Zane removed one of the empty jars from the shelf. Studied it.

He was going to need more suitcases.

31

Will

“H
ERE WE ARE,” THE GIANT TOLD HIM AFTER THEY’D BEEN
walking no more than ten minutes. Will barely even noticed how sore his left foot was in its muddy sock. It was hard to notice a thing like that when you were walking with a real live giant. “And this is where we must part ways, I’m afraid.”

“This is where the monsters are?” Will asked.

“All sorts,” the giant replied, grinning that sideways grin of his. “Bony ones, old ones, ones with jaws of massive teeth, some with fins or fangs or scales.”

Will raised his head up, up, up to take in the immensity of the building before him. Four stories high, shaped from cold gray stone. At the tippy-top, the building’s name was etched in ten-foot-tall block letters.

POUGHKEEPSIE MUSEUM OF NATURAL SCIENCES

Clutching his hairpin sword, Sir Will let go of the giant’s hand and stepped across the lawn to continue his adventure.

32

The Owner

T
HE OWNER STUCK A TENTATIVE FINGER INTO THE FOOD PROCESSOR
, where his first batch of his mother’s peanut butter sat, waiting. He scooped out a mound. It felt crunchy, goopy. Perfect.

Toes tapping anxiously two inches above the floor, the Owner brought the peanut butter to meet his tongue.

And immediately spit it out.

When the food processor hit the wall, the putrid batch of peanut butter splattered. The food processor splintered to bits. The Owner sunk to the floor, chest heaving.

He’d followed the recipe, word for word. And it
was
his mother’s recipe, that was certain. The very same one he’d lost on that bus ride fifty-three years ago. But it did not taste anything like the Darlington peanut butter he had loved as a child. It did not taste like happiness. He closed his eyes, letting the truth sink in. It had taken fifty-three years, but finally Mason Darlington Burgess, the good-for-nothing heir to the Darlington fortune, had discovered the secret ingredient to his own mother’s peanut butter recipe.

Talent.

His mother had been Talented. All this time, and he’d never known. Nobody had ever known. It was a Talent for churning happiness into her peanut butter that made his mother’s results so stupendous. And even Mason Darlington Burgess didn’t have a Talent like that in his collection.

He rose to his feet, two inches off the ground.

Mason
didn’t have the Talent—but he thought he knew who might.

Mrs. Asher’s Honey Cake
surprisingly spicy for such a sweet cake

FOR THE CAKE
:

small sliver of butter (for greasing the cake pan)

2
¹
/
₃
cups flour (plus extra for preparing the cake pan)

¹
/
₂
tsp baking powder

¹
/
₂
tsp baking soda

¹
/
₄
tsp salt

2
¹
/
₂
tsp cinnamon

¹
/
₄
tsp ground cloves

¹
/
₄
tsp allspice

²
/
₃
cup vegetable oil

²
/
₃
cup honey

1 cup granulated sugar

¹
/
₃
cup brown sugar

2 large eggs, at room temperature

³
/
₄
tsp vanilla

1 cup coffee, at room temperature

¹
/
₃
cup orange juice, at room temperature

1. Preheat oven to 350°F. Grease two 9-by-5-inch loaf pans with butter. Sprinkle the inside of the pans lightly with flour, and tap the pans to distribute it evenly.

2. In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, cinnamon, cloves, and allspice.

3. Make a well in the center of the flour mixture and add the vegetable oil, honey, granulated sugar, brown sugar, eggs, vanilla, coffee, and orange juice. Stir with the whisk until well-blended, making sure that no ingredients are stuck to the bottom of the bowl.

4. Distribute the batter evenly between the two pans. Bake for 40 to 50 minutes, or until the tops of the cakes spring back when gently touched in the center. Cool the cakes in the pan for 15 minutes, then turn them out onto a cake rack to cool completely.

33

Mrs. Asher

T
HE GUARD AT THE DOOR OF THE POUGHKEEPSIE MUSEUM OF
Natural Sciences had seen Will entering through the turnstile. Had assumed he was with the family in front.

The curator of the dinosaur wing had seen him wandering up the stairs to the second floor. Had thought he belonged to the school group.

The second-floor janitor had seen him slouched on a bench outside the archaeology annex. Had figured he must be one of the several tuckered-out grandchildren touring the museum that afternoon.

But all Dolores and Marigold found was one very muddy right shoe.

Dolores sank onto the hard marble bench, a wail caught in her throat. He’d been here, her little boy had been here, but he wasn’t here now.

“Mom?” Marigold said, her voice thick with curiosity.

Something underneath the bench caught Dolores’s eye. She bent to snatch it up.

It was her hairpin. Beige and cracked and knobby, as wide as a rib of celery and as long as a pencil. She gripped it tight in her hand.

“Mom?” Marigold said again. And she was insistent this time, firm. Dolores looked where her daughter was pointing.

Above them, looming thirty feet high against the wall, was the name of the museum exhibit in which they currently found themselves.

FIFTY YEARS AND COUNTING:

THE SEARCH FOR THE MISSING PIECE

On the banner was an enormous illustration of Mrs. Asher’s hairpin.

34

Toby

H
E WAS ARRANGING BOOKS IN THE MYSTERY SECTION OF THE
store when the old man stormed up to him.

“Where is she?” he asked Toby. His voice was, if possible, even more of a growl than usual. “Where’s the girl?”

“Who, Cady?” Toby placed a book on the shelf between its brothers. “I think she’s—” He stopped. Squinted. “Why?” he asked.

“The pathetic little waif is Talented, did you know that?” The Owner flung his arms about as he spoke. “If I had
half
that Talent, I could—”

Toby didn’t realize he’d dropped his stack of books until he heard the thud. Didn’t realize he’d grabbed the old man by his collar until he felt the icy skin of his neck against his knuckles. “You leave her
alone,
” he breathed. Toby’s cheeks were hot, burning, the corners of his eyes tense and taut. “Her Talent isn’t yours to take, you hear me?”

The Owner let out a chilling laugh. With icy fingers he plucked Toby’s hand from his shirt. “You can’t protect the girl from everything, Tobias.”

Every part of Toby’s body burned now, from his heels to his hair. “No,” he said, remembering that horrible day in Africa. You certainly couldn’t protect anybody from all the terrors of the world. “But I can try.”

But the Owner seemed not to hear him. “It could be amazing, you know,” he replied, and there was that sparkle in the old man’s eye that was as rare as a comet but just as dazzling. “The Darlington Peanut Butter Factory, back in operation. How could you not want to be a part of that?”

Toby studied the man before him. Considered all the thoughts in his head. And when at last he spoke, Toby’s words came out like hot oil on a stove—still on the surface, but ready to pop at the slightest disturbance. “Is it so hard to believe that I don’t want to be like you?” he said.

They’d leave that hour, Toby decided. That minute. Toby could have his and Cady’s meager possessions packed and be out the door in no time, and then Cady would be safe. Toby would explain it all to her after the bakeoff tonight, after Miss Mallory had declared the trial period officially over. Cady wouldn’t want to leave him after that, even if she knew the truth.

He hoped she wouldn’t want to leave.

Toby turned on his heel and, half-delirious, left to find Cady.

“You know what your problem has always been, Tobias?” the Owner shouted after him as he crossed the storeroom floor. “You’ve never been able to admit who you really are.”

And a suitcase, Toby thought. He would need to find a suitcase.