Lulu Dark Can See Through Walls (25 page)

“Ahem.” Helena cleared her throat.

Hattie looked up suddenly, like she hadn’t even known anyone else was in the room. As she glanced around—from Helena, to her sister, Susan, to Daisy and Charlie—it seemed to dawn on her that she was still in trouble. She was frightened again.

“I—I’m sorry,” she stuttered. “I didn’t mean to hurt any of you.”

Helena and Susan wrapped Hattie in a group hug.

“It’s going to be okay, sweet pea,” Helena soothed. “I’ll be friends with you until my dying day, no matter what you happen to call yourself. I’ve had several names too, you know,” she added with a wink.

“And we’ll get this whole Berlin thing figured out,” Susan interjected. “I don’t know how I’ll do it, but I’ll get you the best lawyer money can buy. I’m not going to let them send you up the river.”

Hattie froze. “Up the river? You mean jail? Just for stealing her driver’s license? And taking her parents’ money and stuff? They can send you to jail for that?”

Susan furrowed her brows. “Well,” she said. “Berlin is dead, honey. And the police seem to think that . . . well, they just wonder how she got to be dead and how you got to have all her stuff.”

Hattie looked flummoxed. “I think she had a heart attack or something. I don’t know. I met her on the train. We got to be friends during the ride. And we went down to the pier to see if there was anything fun. When we were there, she just, you know, had a spaz! Maybe she choked on one of the pork rinds I gave her.”

“Pork rinds!” I exclaimed, remembering what I’d learned from Berlin’s school file. “Those are always fried in peanut oil. Berlin was severely allergic to nuts!”

“At least we’re not looking at murder,” Helena said optimistically. “There’s only the little issue of fraud. But I’m sure Charlie’s dad, the famous attorney, can make
that
problem go away.” She looked hopefully at Charlie.

“Oh, sure,” he said, “that’s my dad’s specialty.”

“I did push Berlin into the bay and take her stuff,” Hattie admitted sheepishly, shrugging. “But she was already dead.”

“Well, don’t do it again,” Alfy said. He wedged himself back onto the couch and wrapped his arms around Hattie.

Daisy gave me a bewildered look. “Isn’t Berlin—I mean Hattie—supposed to be the
villain?
Why are we all comforting
her?
” she asked.

She was right. Hattie had been through a lot, but the pity party was getting out of control. She was still seriously disturbed.

“There’s also the matter of Hattie trying to push people onto the subway tracks,” I said. “And purse stealing. And identity theft. And letter opener brandishing.”

Susan picked up on my train of thought.

“You’re going to have to go away for a little while, Hattie,” she said softly. “To a hospital, though, not jail. You just need to take some time to sort things out. Get better. I don’t want anything like this ever happening again.”

Hattie buried her face in her sister’s shoulder. “I know,” she snuffled. “Me neither.”

Charlie looked up, disappointed. “Does this mean we’re not going to get to beat anyone up?” he asked.

“I guess not,” I said.

“Rats. I’ve been practicing my karate all day,” Daisy grumbled.

“I was looking forward to rescuing you,” Charlie teased me. “My damsel in distress.”

“I’m no one’s damsel,” I said. “Do you see me wearing one of those pointy hats?” Hopefully I wasn’t blushing too hard.

“So, what now?” Charlie asked.

“Let’s go roller skating,” Daisy suggested. “The all-night rink is still open.”

So we did.

IT WAS MY SEVENTEENTH birthday, and I was having the party to end all parties. I had invited everyone—I mean
everyone
—and to my surprise, they’d all shown up. Even Rachel and Marisol.

My dad and Theo were there, of course, and Helena, and Alfy Romero, and Jordan Fitzbaum, whose relationship with Rachel had blossomed in the few weeks since the Hattie incident.

Genevieve was there too, standoffish in a corner with her latest boyfriend, Vince, who, to my delight, seemed to be just as annoyed with Viking’s yapping shenanigans as I had always been.

But everyone besides the dog seemed to be having a great time, and that included Rachel Buttersworth-Taylor. Marisol confided to me that Jordan had given her an ultimatum: be nicer or else. I had to say I was a little surprised at her for agreeing to such a thing. Yes, being nicer is good, as I’d learned for myself, but still. To change your whole personality just because a boy tells you he’ll dump you otherwise? Someone get Gloria Steinem on the phone, please.

At least Rachel was following her orders starting with me. I didn’t ever expect to be great friends with her, but at least we could coexist peacefully. Maybe even be friend
ly.
And I’d always be grateful to Marisol and her mom.

As for Hattie, she had left for the rehab center a week ago. And by “rehab,” of course, I mean “the loony bin.” The psychiatrists had prescribed a six-month stay, after which they promised that she’d be able to integrate herself into normal society. Alfy couldn’t wait. He told her he’d visit her every week and send her a letter every day, and he meant it. Sally Hansen, I mean Lisa Whatever Her Name Was, had been wrong about him being a lying, cheating dirtbag. When he fell for a girl, he fell hard.

The other big news was that I’d gotten a job. No, it wasn’t as an apprentice to Detective Knight. My days as a girl detective were done for. Instead, Helena Handcart was opening her own cosmetics shop, and she’d hired me as a part-time consultant. I couldn’t wait to start.

The detective thing was still a sore subject because there had been a hugely embarrassing article on the front page of the
Halo City Times
just that Sunday. The headline had read: REAL-LIFE NANCY DREW SOLVES SHARK GIRL MYSTERY. I was utterly humiliated except for the part of me—the minuscule part, I might add—that was sort of proud. Inside, the
Times
ran a picture of me, Charlie, and Daisy sitting on a couch at Little Edie’s, smiling.

No one would leave me alone about it.

Everywhere I went it was Nancy this, Sherlock that, and Angela Lansbury the other.

Dad and Theo were the worst culprits, of course, followed by Charlie and then Daisy and Genevieve. Everyone seemed to want to get in on the act—mainly because they could see how crazy it made me.

Even my mom, who normally would never have noticed such details from my life, called from LA the day the article came out, just to torment me.

“Honey,” she said in the low, sultry voice that was her trademark. “I have a mystery for you. I can’t figure out what happened to my career. I was hoping that you and your chums could investigate for me. There must be a criminal behind it somewhere, and I suspect it’s my agent. I need you to do me a favor and get him thrown in jail.”

With my birthday party in full swing and with that conversation in mind, I approached Rachel, who had taken a moment away from Jordan and Marisol to get a piece of cake.

“Hey,” I said, tapping her on the shoulder.

“Hey,” she responded.

“Thanks for coming to my party.”

“I love parties,” she said. “It’s nothing personal.” She was joking, for once.

“I—I just wanted to say sorry,” I began haltingly. “For the stuff I said about your mom, I mean. To tell you the truth, my mom’s just as crazy. If not more.”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” Rachel said, giving me a jocular punch on the shoulder. “I’ve seen that painting your dad did of her peeing in the sink. At least my mom knows what toilets are for.”

I laughed. Rachel was somewhat hilarious—as long as you took it the right way.

“Anyway,” she told me, “I’m sorry too. If I hadn’t spilled that stuff on your skirt, your purse never would have been stolen. And the whole fiasco with Hattie would never have happened.”

“Yes, it would have,” I said. “Hattie-slash-Berlin had been following me for weeks, waiting to make her move. She was starting to run out of cash, plus she had to do something before her not-mom came to visit. So it was just a matter of time.” I thought about it for a second, then decided to make a confession. Just to cement things.

“Plus,” I said. “You can never, ever tell anyone this, but being a detective was kind of fun. I wouldn’t want to make, you know, an
identity
out of it. But just for two weeks, I enjoyed it.”

Rachel smirked. “I bet that’s what they all say—right after they solve the Mystery in the Old Clock.”

“Okay,” I told her. “That’s enough. And if you ever tell anyone I just admitted that, I’ll track you down and kill you. Either that or put a dead fish in your backpack.”

“Touché,” Rachel said. Then Jordan snuck up behind her and grabbed her in a bear hug. Rachel squealed and Jordan planted a big smooch on her cheek.

Gag me.

I looked around the room. Jordan and Rachel weren’t the only ones having a good time. Everyone was talking to each other and laughing and flirting. Perversely, it made me feel lonely at my own party. I wished I had someone to flirt with.

My eyes landed on Charlie and my loneliness evaporated. Charlie and I were still somewhere in limbo land after our night in the Dumpster. I’d been dying to ask him about it, but once again words failed me. We’d been hopelessly skirting the issue ever since. He was standing by the sliding door that led to the balcony, hair mingling with his long, perfect eyelashes. When he saw me watching him, he beckoned, and I followed him outside.

The late May air was perfect. There’s nothing like a warm night with a blue sky. Full moon. Bright stars. Et cetera.

We stood there, surveying the busy street below us. Charlie pulled out a cigarette and moved to light it. Before he could, I knocked it out of his hand. He watched it fall to the sidewalk in dismay.

“What did you do that for?”

“Come on, Charles. It’s so not suave. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that you look like Bea Arthur when you smoke?”

“I don’t even know who Bea Arthur is,” he grumbled. He turned up his nose, but he didn’t light another one.

I pressed my palms against the wrought iron railing, pushing myself up onto tiptoe, and leaned out as far as I could over the edge.

“School’s over in a week,” I said. “Summer is almost here. The possibilities are, like, so endless.”

“Maybe another mystery?” he suggested.

“Yeah, right. I’m still getting over this one.”

“You seem pretty recovered to me,” he said.

I considered it.

“I guess the part that still freaks me out is the fact that Hattie was able to fool all those people. It was one thing for her to impersonate Berlin because Berlin wasn’t even from around here. But she had everyone in Halo City thinking that she was me. It’s kind of hard to stomach.”

“Oh, you’re exaggerating,” Charlie chided me. “The people she actually tricked were people who didn’t even know you. Like the Stratfords and Alfy Romero. But I would have known without a second thought. Daisy would have known too.”

“I hope so.” I sighed. “But I’m not so sure. Looking at her, dressed like me—in my exact same cowboy boots, the same glasses, and eyeliner, and lip gloss and everything—even I got confused for a second.”

Charlie waved his hand dismissively and gazed out over the Halo City skyline. “That’s just because you, and everyone else for that matter, are way too wrapped up in clothes and appearances and shallow stuff like that. It’s so
silly.
” At that, his voice cracked, and he gave an embarrassed laugh. He plucked a few petals from a potted geranium before speaking again.

“Let’s face it. You’re beautiful,” he finally mumbled. “With or without your cowboy boots and makeup. But that’s practically the least important thing about you.”

“I’m beautiful?” I asked. I found myself grinning from ear to ear.

“Yes, you’re beautiful,” Charlie said softly. “Now get over it.” He grabbed my hand and leaned in toward me. This time, nothing interrupted us.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I AM NOT TRYING to be Elizabeth Wurtzel with the acknowledgments, but some people really deserve thanking.

 

Thank you to my editors, Margaret Wright and Kristen Pettit, for being reasonably patient and infinitely helpful, and for making
Lulu
a better book than I ever thought it could be. Thank you to my agent, Rebecca Sherman, for being my Jewish fairy godmother and for bearing with me through sweeps week. Thank you to Eloise Flood and everyone else at Razorbill for letting me write a book. Thank you to my friend and erstwhile psychic advisor, Jordan Schuster, for helping me with the Tarot card stuff—and for everything else, too. Thank you to my mom or else she will kill me. Thank you to Laird for being wonderful and steadfast. Finally, and most Wurtzel-y, thank you to Stevie Nicks—for the glitter.