Read Partners in Crime (9780545463119) Online
Authors: Kim Harrington
Partners in Crime (9780545463119)
The
killer held his breath and huddled in the back of the darkened closet, hoping not to be found. But the woman with the wire-rimmed glasses paused and tilted her head to the side. A floorboard squeak, followed by the rattle of a hanger, told her that something â or
someone
â was in the closet. She stepped forward, one hand reaching out for the doorknob, and â
“Will you shut that thing off?” I said, looking over Darcy's shoulder.
“Norah! It's just getting to the good part!” Darcy protested.
I reached over and closed her laptop. “You shouldn't be watching those horror shows anyway. You'll have nightmares.”
Darcy ran her hand through the purple streak in her short black hair, which matched her outfit. Her entire wardrobe was black and purple.
“First off,” she began, “it's not horror. It's my favorite detective show,
Crime Scene: New York
. Second, I never get nightmares. Third, it's ten thousand times better than those sleep-inducing astronomy documentaries you watch. And fourth, I like to try to figure out the ending. Why won't you let me have any fun?”
“Because we have work to do.” I sighed. “Can we get back to it, please?”
Darcy gave me the stink eye. With love, of course, because we're best friends.
I sat back down, slid an elastic off my wrist, and pulled my long blond hair up into a ponytail. Darcy and I were in my room, sitting opposite each other on my polka-dotted beanbag chairs. My room is my favorite place in the world. I have cool astronomy posters on the walls and glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling, which are an exact replica of the night sky in October when Orion â my favorite constellation â is most visible.
Darcy and I were supposed to be working on our social studies project: creating a small business. Not a
real one â we're seventh graders. But we were supposed to come up with the name, logo, and a little business plan. And then we had to present it in front of our teacher, Mrs. Feldman, and the whole class (gulp!) in one week. But we couldn't even get started on the assignment until we decided what that business should be. It was stressing me out just a little.
I looked at the ideas I'd written in my notebook.
“How about a dog walking company? Or pet sitting?” I suggested.
“Meh,” Darcy said and blew a giant purple bubble with her gum.
I leaned forward and popped it with my finger. The remnants of the bubble stuck to her chin. “Why don't
you
come up with a good idea, then?” I asked her.
“I have.” Darcy crossed her arms.
I rolled my eyes. “We need something
legal
.”
Darcy and I are both nerds and proud of it, but I use my brainpower for good. Darcy, on the other hand ⦠Hmm, how should I say this? You know how compasses always lead north? Darcy's moral compass leads to trouble. Everyone says I'm a “good influence” on her. I try to keep her from going too far over to the
Dark Side, but some days I'm convinced she's one computer hack from being led away in handcuffs.
Darcy Carter moved into the house next door three years ago, when we were in fourth grade. My mom, model neighbor that she is, baked brownies and insisted we walk over as a family to welcome the new people to the neighborhood. Darcy and her mom answered the door. Darcy gratefully grabbed the plate of treats while her mother blushed and gave an embarrassed smile.
You see, Darcy's beautiful black hair looked like it'd been cut by a lawn mower. It stuck out at all angles around her face. I'd assumed she was a deranged moron.
I still believe the deranged part. But, as I quickly learned in school, Darcy is smart. Really smart. Like maybe, possibly, just a tiny bit smarter than me. (And she told me later that she'd hacked all her hair off like that on purpose to protest her mother's decision to move out of Boston and to our “boring little town” of Danville, Massachusetts.)
One day, several weeks after they moved in, Darcy came over and knocked on my door. Her hair had grown to a short bob, but one section was streaked purple. Apparently she was only half protesting then.
She said, “Well, it looks like I'm stuck in this town, and you're the only kid in school I could ever imagine myself hanging with, so ⦠want to be friends?”
I didn't know what to say to that. I think I stood there and blinked a few times. Then Darcy held out her fist ⦠for the first of a million times in our friendship.
“Give it a jab,” she said.
“Um, okay.” I made a fist and bumped hers.
“Cool,” she said. Then she walked into my house and we raided the kitchen for cookies.
We've been best friends ever since.
Now we sat rubbing our foreheads, struggling to think of a great idea.
“We need to be different,” Darcy said. “Everyone is going to do something typical like a babysitting company or a lemonade stand.”
That was true. And, honestly, the idea of gluing pictures onto yet another poster board was so boring, it made me want to puke. Darcy and I like a challenge.
I glanced over at Darcy's shut laptop. She always brings her computer when she comes to my house. She needs to be connected at all times. Most people breathe air. Darcy breathes Internet.
I have a computer, but my parents don't allow me to keep it in my room. It's in the living room, where they can watch me and make sure I don't get into any trouble. Me. Miss Has Never Been In Trouble.
(Meanwhile, Darcy, who gets in trouble on a regular basis, could ask her mother if she could keep a nuclear reactor in her room and her mother would say yes.)
But the sight of Darcy's beloved laptop gave me a flash of inspiration. “How about we do a website for the business?” I suggested, sitting up straight. “I can design the logo and do the writing for the site. You can do the programming!”
Darcy rose up from the beanbag chair, her eyes wide with excitement. “And on presentation day, you can talk to the class, and I can handle the tech stuff to make the website come up on the big screen.” She sat back down and immediately opened her laptop.
I nodded, grinning. “That will be so cool.” Then I frowned. “But we're still no closer to picking a business.” I threw my arms down to my sides. “We need help.”
“Help ⦔ Darcy repeated in a whisper. She looked at her laptop screen, which showed a paused image from the crime show she'd been watching. Then her whole face lit up and she turned to me. “I got it! A
detective agency. Our fake business will be a detective agency!”
“Detectives?” I said, feeling hesitant. “Us?”
“Think about it,” Darcy said. “It's a business that's mysterious and edgy, so that's perfect for me. But it exists to help people, which appeals to you, the big goody-goody.”
“Gee, thanks,” I said, but I was smiling. I did like the idea of a business that helped people. But I wasn't obsessed with crime shows like Darcy was. I didn't even read mystery books. What did I know about running a detective agency?
“But what would I even put on the website? Or say in the presentation?” I asked.
“Oh, that's easy! Watch one episode of
Crime Scene: New York
with me, and you'll learn so much!”
I bit my lip. I'd never seen Darcy so enthusiastic about a project before. And we didn't have any better ideas. And it was due in a week â¦.
My mom called up from downstairs. “Norah! Time to eat! Darcy, are you staying for dinner?”
“No, thank you, Mrs. Burridge!” Darcy yelled out the open doorway. “So what do you think?” she asked me.
I nodded quickly before I could change my mind. “Sure. A detective agency. Let's do it.”
Â
Mom
made spaghetti and meatballs for dinner â my favorite â and I totally pigged out. She always complained that I “ate like a bird,” never realizing that if she'd just make spaghetti and meatballs, say ⦠three nights a week, it would make up for all the other nights I picked at her vegetables and over-cooked chicken.
Most nights I slipped half my dinner under the table to Hubble. That's my dog. I named him after the world's most famous telescope. My parents wanted to name him Fluffybean. Seriously. Fluffybean. It was one of those moments when I questioned who the grown-ups are here and who's the kid.
For years, my parents told me we could never have a dog because I have allergies. But, last year, I did some research on my own, called a family meeting, and presented my case. I'd found that there are certain breeds that are almost hypoallergenic. Also, they don't shed. (I said this in a very dramatic voice while looking straight at my mother. I knew that fact would
appeal to the clean freak in her.) My pitch was so good, my parents couldn't say no. And now we have Hubble. He's a goofy little guy with brown fur. You know Chewbacca from
Star Wars
? Picture him fifteen pounds and a dog and that's Hubble.
He sat under the table and stared at me with his tongue hanging out. I shook my head. He wasn't getting any secret food slipped to him tonight. This spaghetti was all mine. I slurped it up happily while my parents talked about their day and made googly eyes at each other.
My mom and dad were prom king and queen in their high school. For reals. She was the perky blond cheerleader (that's where I get my hair). And he was the star football player (that's where I get my height). But other than shared physical characteristics, we have nothing in common. Dad is a mailman and lives for sports. Mom teaches at a dance studio and loves fashion and makeup. Meanwhile, I spend my days on advanced mathematics and my nights staring through my telescope. I don't know how I came into being. Sometimes I don't think my parents know, either, because every now and then when I mention some astronomical fact, they look at me like I'm an alien.
“How did that math test go this week, honey?” Dad asked as we cleared the table.
“I got an A,” I said, handing him my dish and fork.
He patted the top of my head. “As always, kiddo.”
But I wasn't sure I'd do as well on my social studies project. Was a detective agency
too
different? Plus, the thought of presenting in front of everyone was enough to make me want to start biting my nails.
I took Hubble for a quick walk, then headed back into the kitchen, thinking I'd get some ice cream. My parents were supposed to be doing dishes, but instead I walked in on a lip lock.
“Eww, guys!” I screeched. “That's gross.”
They rolled their eyes in unison. Mom said, “Norah, we're married. We're in love. We kiss. Get over it.”
“Well, I just vomited in my mouth and swallowed it,” I said, retreating from the kitchen. I didn't want dessert anymore.
Listen, I realize people kiss. And that's cool. But parents should not kiss. Especially not in a kitchen, where some unsuspecting child could walk in. Please. Think of the children.
The phone rang. The house phone, because my parents won't let me have a cell. Meanwhile, Darcy
has the latest iPhone, a landline in her room,
and
an untraceable TracFone she bought off eBay (for what, I don't even
want
to know).
I answered, and right away Darcy said, “Have you thought of any names for our detective agency?”
“Oh,” I said, feeling guilty. I should have been thinking of one, but instead I'd been getting nervous thinking about the presentation. “How about, um, The Girls Detective Agency?” I offered.
“Ehhhh,” Darcy said. “I want something that says we work together on your case ⦠but also something with a little oomph.”
I sighed.
Something that says we work together â¦
“Okay, how about The Partners Agency?”
Darcy took in a sharp breath. “That's it!”
“Huh?” I didn't think it was so great, honestly. I was just tossing ideas out there.
“Partners in Crime!” Darcy yelled.
I grinned. As nervous as I was about this whole detective agency thing, I had to admit ⦠that name? I kind of liked it.