Project Jackalope (7 page)

When we got to Twitchett’s apartment, Agatha dug around in her hair and came out with a hairpin. She fiddled with the lock for just a second before it seemed to recognize her and give up completely. Then she practically kicked the door in and stomped inside. I think I ticked her off with the jackalope stuff. But at least it perked her up.

I peeked inside after her, because honestly, it probably would’ve been a better idea to make sure there wasn’t anyone inside the apartment before we just busted in. Agatha’s one lucky chick, because the apartment was empty. Cleared out. (Well, except for his furniture and stuff. Like anyone would take that.) It was just like the office—completely clean and organized, like a model home or something.

I took a step inside and then hesitated. Everything about that apartment felt wrong. It even smelled wrong. It was like we were at the apartment of Twitchett’s evil twin. Not the kind of thing I like to mess with, personally.

Agatha had already checked out the bedroom by the time I’d decided to suck it up and go inside.

“Well, this is ridiculous,” Agatha said, dragging her brush through her hair again. “The guest towel is folded. It’s
folded,
Jeremy. What’s going on here?”

I shrugged. I didn’t even know Twitchett had a guest towel.

“His suitcases are still here, there are clothes hanging neatly in the closet, and his stuff is all lined up on his dresser.
Lined up.
And I haven’t seen a single book or paper in the place.” Agatha pulled out a dining room chair with her foot and threw herself into it. So much for searching the apartment.

“Yeah, okay. So where do you want to search first?” I looked around the apartment. Agatha was right. The sooner we could get out of here the better.

Agatha rolled her eyes. “Weren’t you listening? There’s no point, Jeremy! His papers are gone. His books are gone. His computer is gone. And don’t even tell me he took them. It’s
them.
It’s the Suit guys. They’ve taken everything and tried to make it look normal.”

I felt a prickling on the back of my neck. “The towel was folded?”

“Folded. And the bed was made. There was an embroidered pillow, Jeremy. One I’ve never seen before. Propped against the headboard. It said ‘Confession Is Good for the Soul.’”

Okay, that was weird. Yeah, I tried to keep out of Twitchett’s toxic waste dump of an apartment, and maybe he could’ve hired a housekeeper or a maid or a hazmat crew. But an embroidered pillow? With a confession motto? I wrinkled my nose and realized why the apartment smelled so wrong. It wasn’t just that it smelled lemony and clean. It was the smell underneath that—a cigarette smell I’d probably be having nightmares about for the rest of my life. We had to get out of there.

“That’s it then,” I said. “We’re done here.”

Agatha sighed and heaved herself up. “It’s over. There’s nothing to find.” She trudged out of the apartment and locked the door behind us. The gloom of the hallway was a relief after that weird evil cleanness. I could almost pretend it wasn’t real.

Agatha hovered in the hallway, fiddling with the brush. “You can leave the hybrid with me, I guess. Hortense likes him.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Nice try, Agatha, but no way. You can’t use Jack in the science fair.” Plus she’d been pretty lackadaisical when he disappeared from the living room. Jack needs someone who looks out for him.

Agatha smacked me with the brush. “No kidding, you think I want those guys to come back? There’s no way he can be my project now. I was just thinking with your mom…”

She had a point. We weren’t really a household that was set up for a jackalope. Even if I shaved him bald, my mom would probably still be allergic.

“Just until we find Twitchett,” she said. “He’ll come back soon.”

Or until I come up with a plan,
I thought. But I nodded. It’s not like I had any choice. “Yeah, I guess. Okay. So…later.”

“Yeah, later.” We did a really awkward kind of wave thing, and then Agatha headed downstairs. It was really weird and anticlimactic.

I unlocked the door to my apartment and did a once-over of the place just to make sure there weren’t any Mr. Suit types hiding under the bed. But I didn’t find anything. (I say once-over, but it was actually four or five once-overs. I wanted to be sure.) But I was alone.

I sat down at the kitchen table and fiddled with a twist tie. I didn’t know what to do with myself. Technically, I wasn’t even supposed to be home, since it was a school day and all. And even though it felt like the day had been thirty years long, it wasn’t even noon.

After I demolished the twist tie, three napkins, and a flyer about a car wash, I felt better. I headed into my room and lay down on the bed. I figured I’d earned a nap. And it’s not like anyone was there to stop me.

I’d barely closed my eyes when the knocking started. It was frantic, more like pounding, actually. I don’t know if people can levitate, but I swear I almost hit the ceiling in my rush to get to the door.

I flung the door open, sure that it was going to be Professor Twitchett standing on the mat. But it wasn’t. It was Agatha.

She pushed past me into the room and slammed the door behind her. “I got a note,” she hissed, looking around nervously.

“Where?” She didn’t have to tell me who it was from. There was only one person who would be leaving us notes.

“I was trying to feed the hybrid, but he didn’t want a carrot for some reason. And there was a knock on the door. I opened it, but there was no one there. That’s when I saw the note in the gargoyle mouth.”

Twitchett. I nodded. “What did he say?”

Agatha opened her sweaty fist and I took the note that was clenched inside.

Zoo. 3:00. Bring my experiment.

I stared at the note, trying to get my brain to work. “What do you think?”

“It’s pretty sloppy, but I guess it’s his handwriting. But it’s not really his style, is it? And he doesn’t say anything about the hybrid.”

“But he wouldn’t want to be specific in case someone else found it.” I stared at the note again. I wished Agatha
hadn’t sweated all over the ink. It’s hard to judge handwriting when it’s all smeary. “It was in the right place.”

“True.” Agatha bit her lip. “We should go.”

“But—” I hesitated. “Why did he knock on your door? Why not mine? He told me not to tell you.” Sorry to be rude, but he did.

“I know. Maybe Bob told him I came by?” Agatha took the note back and put it in her pocket. “We should go, just in case. We’ll be smart and keep our eyes open. I’ll get the hybrid.”

I didn’t like it, but I didn’t know what else we could do. “So we’ll meet a little before three and head over.”

Agatha nodded. She was just turning around to go downstairs when my phone rang. We both froze. It’s amazing how scary a ringing phone can be when you’re already on level ten freakout. We just stared at each other as it rang a second and third time, and then slowly I went over to it. It’s my house, so I figured it had to be me. But I really didn’t want to know who was on the other end.

I took a deep breath and answered it.

The connection was really crappy, and I couldn’t even hear at first. Then all I could hear was breathing. I took a chance. “Professor Twitchett?”

“Jeremy, you have to go.”

I nodded to Agatha and mouthed the word “Twitchett.” “Don’t worry, we are. We got your note. Zoo at three o’clock.” I tried to ignore the fact that he’d called me Jeremy instead of Igor. He’d never done that before. “Right? Zoo at three? I’ll meet you there?”

“
Jeremy
,” Twitchett’s voice sounded ragged and painful. “You have to go, now. GET OUT. Informant. They’re in the building.
You’re being watched.
”

You know those horror movies where people move into a fancy old house and then the house goes “GET OUT” and the people go, “My, what a strange sound! I’ll just unpack the china now.” And they don’t get out?

We got out.

I don’t even know if I hung up the phone, that’s how fast we were moving. Agatha was downstairs with that suitcase zipped before Jack even realized he was back inside. Our feet were like the Road Runner’s feet when he really gets going, just spinny wheels. I was going so fast I almost hadn’t caught the last few words Twitchett whispered into the phone. The ones I hadn’t told Agatha about yet.

Theoretically, getting out was the right thing to do. We definitely couldn’t stay there, not if we were being watched. But once we were out on the street dragging the jackalope behind us in the Dora the Explorer suitcase, we were stuck. We didn’t have any place to go.

“Well, home’s out, school’s out. The lab? Maybe Bob could help?” Agatha looked up hopefully.

“Yeah, right. The hair tousler? I don’t think so.” I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something about that guy still bugged me. Besides, I think if Twitchett had intended us to go to Bob, he would’ve said something along the lines of “Go to Bob.” And that’s not what he said.

“Well, wandering around isn’t doing us any good. We need to make a plan.” Agatha plunked down abruptly on the curb and started rooting around in her book bag. I sat down next to her. She was right. It felt like we’d been walking forever, and I didn’t want to be the kind of guy who wanders the streets with a pink cartoon character suitcase. (I know, too late, right?)

Agatha pulled out a spiral notebook and started tapping her pencil thoughtfully against her teeth. “We need someplace to go where nobody’s going to bug us. Someplace where we won’t stand out.”

“And someplace where a jackalope can get a little breathing space,” I said, watching the fabric on the Dora suitcase ripple. You could see the prongs of the jackalope’s antlers almost poking through in the corners. Just call him Quality Inspector Number Four.

Agatha stopped tapping for a second and frowned. “Right. Breathing space.”

I hoped she was better at coming up with ideas than I was, because I was totally drawing a blank. Even someplace like the mall would be too risky for us, what with the high-tech teenage sensors they seem to have down there. Those guards are always giving me grief, and that’s when I’m just hanging out, not carrying a top-secret imaginary killer in my wussy suitcase.

Agatha started tapping again. Apparently tapping is a big part of her brainstorming process. I watched a white van turn onto our street up the block. That tapping was starting to get on my nerves.

“Any ideas?”

Agatha stopped tapping and suddenly grinned an evil grin. “Oh yeah. I know just the thing.”

I was impressed. “Cool, so what do you think?”

“Okay, this is what we do. We—” Agatha stood up abruptly and grabbed me by the arm. “Get the suitcase and come on.”

She started walking briskly down the street, looking straight ahead. I scrambled to my feet and hurried after her.

“What? What’s the deal? We what?”

“We get out of here, that’s what. That white van has driven by three times.” Agatha didn’t even turn her head, but of course I whipped my head around like an idiot just in time to see the white van driving off down the block. Slowly.

Since I was already rubbernecking, I tried to get a look inside, but windows were tinted or something. Which is never a good sign.

“Why is it always a white van?” Agatha said through gritted teeth. “Don’t criminals have any imagination?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s always a stupid white van! Every time! Read the newspaper sometime, Einstein.”

The white van turned the corner up ahead. Agatha whipped around. “Quick, before they come back. We’ve got to split up. Give me the hybrid.”

I pulled the suitcase closer to myself. “No way.”

“We don’t have time to argue about this! Give me the hybrid and we meet up in one hour.” Agatha snatched at the suitcase again.

I shook my head. Don’t ask me why I was so eager to be saddled with a hot pink girly suitcase for an hour, but I was. She wasn’t getting Jack. She couldn’t keep him safe like I could.

“Forget it. The jackalope stays with me.”

Agatha swore in frustration and shot a look over my shoulder. The street was still clear, but not for long. “Fine! Fine, whatever. Meet me in one hour. The fountain in the middle of town. Across from the Grand Empyrean Hotel.”

I nodded, but apparently I was taking too long, because Agatha pushed me in the chest so hard I stumbled off the curb. “Now GO!” she said. She turned
and took off running in the opposite direction, her long hair streaming out behind her.

I picked myself up, grabbed the suitcase, ran across the street, and ducked behind a 7-Eleven just in time to see the white van drive by again. I crouched behind the Dumpster until it had gone by once and then a second time. I waited, but it didn’t come by a third time.

I hoped Agatha had gotten away too. I checked my watch. I wasn’t sure what to do with myself. I didn’t want to start wandering again, not with whoever was in that van looking for me. But I didn’t feel like spending the next hour crouching behind a Dumpster, either. Besides, my knees were killing me.

There was a grassy patch behind the store, so I headed over to it and sat down. The jackalope hadn’t been very twitchy lately, so I unzipped the suitcase a bit to peek inside.

Two glowing eyes glared back at me, which I guess meant he was fine. (Ticked off, but fine.) I zipped him back up and did some of Coach Reynolds’ deep breathing to clear my head. I would’ve felt better if I had some idea what Agatha’s plan was. Meeting at the fountain in an hour didn’t give me a heck of a lot to go on.

I picked up a crumbly-looking stick on the ground and started shredding it. Agatha seemed to have big ideas, but Agatha hadn’t been on the phone with Twitchett. Agatha hadn’t heard those last few words he’d said. And I didn’t know why I hadn’t told her.

Except, deep down, I did know.

I bit my lip and threw the stick away. Twitchett had said there was an informant. Someone in the building, that was one of the last things he said. And I couldn’t help but remember that one of the first things he’d told me, in that note when this whole thing started, was not to tell Agatha.

It made a lot of sense. Twitchett and Agatha had had a falling-out. She said it was about him stealing her ideas, but I didn’t really know that, did I? And if Twitchett was warning me about someone in the building, who else could it really be? My mom? The flight attendant who was never home? The crazy shut-in lady or the cookie couple? He didn’t know any of them like he knew Agatha.

And I couldn’t help but remember that the entire time I’d been grilled by Mr. Jones (Agatha’s idea), she’d been on her own. Supposedly in Mrs. Simmons’ apartment, but again, I didn’t know that for sure. And then the Suits had left, just like Agatha had told me they would. Almost like she’d planned it.

The whole thing made me feel cold in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t want to believe it, but it’s not like I knew what to believe. There wasn’t a single person I knew I could trust.

There was one thing I knew, though. I sure as hell wasn’t meeting Agatha at the fountain.

Yeah, I know I was probably being stupid, but I had to trust my gut. And my gut was telling me to take care of number one. Me. (And I guess also number two: Jack.) Besides, if she wasn’t the informant, she’d be better off out of the whole thing.

I got up, dusted my butt off and headed into town with my wussy pink suitcase. I wasn’t going to skulk in the bushes for the rest of my life. I was going to take action. So what if I didn’t know what that action was yet? That wasn’t the point.

I’d told Agatha that Twitchett had told us to get out. And that was true. But I hadn’t told her those last two words he’d said. And that was a huge relief. Because without those last two words, she didn’t have the whole picture. And I wouldn’t need to worry about her showing up when I met Twitchett later on. Or spilling the beans to the Feds.

The last thing he’d said, after he’d told me to get out, was just for me. Two words that sound pretty lame unless you know what they mean. So brace yourself for lameness. Those two words he said? “Señor Slappy.”

(Okay, shut up and stop laughing.) I know, dumb, huh? It wouldn’t mean a thing to those Mr. Suit types, and it wouldn’t mean a thing to Agatha. But I knew exactly what he meant. So I knew where to meet him.

The sea lion pool at the zoo.

There’s this big old sea lion at the zoo who lives to splash people. He lures people close, being all friendly and inviting, and then when they get near enough, he slaps the water with his giant flipper and they get a huge faceful of water. Then he laughs his butt off. Privately, I’ve always thought of him as Señor Slappy, and I’d let the nickname slip to Twitchett a week or two ago when I’d accidentally sprayed myself in the face at the sink. He didn’t seem to care, so I’m surprised he even remembered.

But when he whispered “Señor Slappy,” I knew just what he meant.

I still wasn’t sure about that note that Agatha got (or claimed to have gotten. For all I knew, she wrote the stupid thing herself. Pretty convenient that it was too smudgy to ID the handwriting). But I figured three was as good a time as any to head over to the Señor. So I still had a couple of hours to kick around before me and Jack went to feed the seals.

I’d wandered downtown and was pretty much doing my aimless wandering thing when I realized I was only about three blocks from the Grand Empyrean. I glanced at my watch. Only a few minutes before I was supposed to meet Agatha. I turned around to go in the opposite direction, and then I hesitated.

If I got there early, I might see her talking to the Suit goons. And if I saw the traitor meeting her goons in person, I’d know for sure I couldn’t trust her, plus I could rub her face in it later. So I turned back around and hustled over to the plaza with the fountain. I’m not an idiot, though—I didn’t go wait in front of the fountain like a doofus. Instead I pulled out my sunglasses, bought a baseball cap from the drugstore on the corner, and positioned myself behind a postcard rack down the street from the fountain. (My masterstroke? I bought a Yankees cap. Everybody knows how much I hate the Yankees. Genius, if I do say so myself.)

I couldn’t help but grin. She’d never spot me.

I watched the people at the fountain, but frankly, they were pretty boring. There was a mom with the most elaborate stroller I’d ever seen, probably fully equipped with GPS and a helipad. Her kid wasn’t in it, though; he was too busy touching the water in the fountain and then shrieking and running in circles. There was a business guy in a suit (but not a Suit suit) talking on one of those ear cell phone hookups, a French girl with a beret and chin-length black hair, and a couple of tourists taking pictures of each other. Another chick was just standing around looking awfully suspicious, but after a few minutes she put on an apron for the coffee shop next door and went back to work. So probably just a barista.

I watched until my eyeballs got too bored and then I looked at the exciting postcard display again. But there are only so many times you can look at a picture of a Civil War guy on a horse saying “Wish you were here” before your brain starts to dribble out of your ears.

I checked my watch. It was five minutes past when Agatha was supposed to show. But there was no sign of her.

I tried to turn the postcard rack for a little variety, but it must’ve been rusted solid, because it just screamed in protest and refused to move. I checked the fountain
again. Still no Agatha. And no real change, except that the French girl was gone, and the tourists were arguing over a map.

I didn’t want to blow my cover, but there didn’t seem to be anyone around. So I decided it was safe to abandon the postcard area. I’d only taken a couple of steps when I slammed right into the French girl.

Who promptly cussed me out in a completely non French accent.

“I knew you were going to pull something! I knew I couldn’t trust you!” she hissed, her beret sliding down over one eye. “You’re the informant! I knew it!”

I blinked. There was no mistaking that talent for swearing.

“Agatha?” I peered down into the face. It was definitely her.

“Who do you think, dipstick? What were you doing skulking over here? I spotted you a mile away.” Agatha pushed the beret back up and glared at me.

“Excuse me if my disguise isn’t elaborate enough for you. I didn’t know the plan involved a skanky wig,”
I said. I was definitely offended. Didn’t she notice the Yankees cap? So I didn’t buy a French-looking black wig and a beret, big deal. Who would fall for that anyway?

“A wig? A wig wouldn’t keep you from looking like the most average boring guy on the planet. But most guys don’t go around town with a hot pink suitcase, brainiac.”

I glanced down at the jackalope and said a couple of choice swearwords of my own. Yeah, probably should’ve thought to camouflage that. Dora was pretty distinctive.

“So what? At least I’m not a filthy spy,” I shot back. “You’re the one who’s the informant.”

“Have you gone mental?” Agatha spat. “If I were the informant, why would I have shown you the note?”

“How do I even know that was from Twitchett?” I said angrily. “Maybe you’re setting me up!”

“
I had the hybrid!
” Agatha said, a little too loudly. “I could have just
left.
”

Which was a valid point, and one I hadn’t thought of. Kind of made the whole suspecting Agatha thing feel kind of stupid. I glanced around. We were attracting
attention, which, for people on the run, is not a good idea. The tourists had stopped arguing over the map and were taking pictures of us. Not good.

I pulled Agatha behind the postcard rack and blocked our faces with a yellowing postcard of a kitten hanging from a branch saying “Hang in there!” It had to be seventy years old at least. “Look, I’m not an informant, okay?”