The Impossible Clue (4 page)

A
s we walked back through the Delgados' entrance hall I tried to keep my dad between me and the stairs. I didn't know how long it would take Sammy to recover from his dad's scolding, but I didn't want to run into him if I didn't have to. Dad was so busy thumbing through the Manila folder, he didn't notice until we were almost out of the door.

‘Wait, are you using me as a human shield?' He stopped just inside the door and stared down at me.

I grabbed the folder out of his hand and looked over his shoulder up the stairs. No sign of Sammy yet. ‘I cover for you when you're behind on a deadline.'

Dad paused, thinking it over. ‘True,' he said. ‘All right, let's get out of here.'

He didn't have to tell me twice. I was out the door
before he finished his sentence.

‘Numbers!'

I stopped dead in my tracks, stumbling forwards slightly when my dad walked into the back of me. It wasn't Sammy. It was worse. The voice came from behind one of the decorative columns that stood next to the front door pretending to hold up the front of the Delgado Mansion.

‘Are you OK?' Kevin Jordan peered around the edge of the column, his cherub cheeks glowing in the rain.

‘What are you doing here?' I asked.

‘I saw those men grab you. I followed you. I rode your bike. We need to get out of here. Who's that?' The words tumbled out like marbles, clattering against each other. Kevin finally finished talking and stared suspiciously at my father.

‘That's my dad,' I said simply, and watched the confusion bloom on Kevin's face.

Maybe I should have been kinder and explained the whole situation. Kevin had obviously seen me get shoehorned into the back of Bruno and Brutus's car and tried to help out. Which was weird. Kevin Jordan hated me. I had the spitball marks to prove it. But I wasn't feeling kind. I stalked down the marble steps into the rain and across the large gravel drive to where the cars were parked.

It was easy to spot my dad's car, an ancient Plymouth station wagon, brick-coloured with faded wood panelling on the doors. It stood a little apart from all the other cars.
Like they were embarrassed to get too close.

‘Alice, who is this?' my dad asked, following me to the car.

‘This is Kevin. He sits next to me at school.' I opened the passenger door. The hinges screeched loud enough to be heard above the rain.

‘Not Kevin the Spitball King?' Dad asked.

‘That's the one.'

‘Well, well, well.' My dad fixed Kevin with a devilish grin. ‘It might get you noticed, but it won't get you what you want. Come on, we'll give you a lift home. Put the bike in the back.'

‘Thanks Mr Jones,' Kevin said quietly.

Kevin Jordan being polite to my dad. It was the strangest thing I'd heard all day.

We drove home in silence. Dad was thinking about his big story. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel like he was already typing copy. What he wasn't thinking about was the road. My dad drives like a maniac. I'm used to it, but for a first-timer like Kevin it must have been rough. I could actually hear his fingers crushing the cheap leather seat as he held on for dear life.

I almost felt sorry for him. But I had bigger things to worry about than Kevin Jordan. I'd just agreed to spend the summer playing detective, and I was pretty sure Sammy was going to want to tag along. I should have said no, but Mr Delgado made me too angry to think straight. I
sighed. It was too late to back out, I'd just have to do my best. At least Dad would be happy. He was getting first-class access to Delgado Industries.

From Sammy's, it was quicker to get to our house than to Kevin's. We live on Passfield Avenue, near South Street, so Dad dropped me off first. He stopped the Plymouth in the middle of the street and asked Kevin to get my bike out of the back.

I climbed out carefully, watching for traffic, and made my way around the car on to the pavement. It was littered with puddles.

Dad rolled down his window. ‘I'll be back soon. I'll pick up some dinner on my way home,' he said.

Kevin handed me my bike and then took a step backward, away from Dad's car.

‘I think I can walk home from here,' he said when my dad waved for him to get back in.

‘No, get in. I insist.'

My dad was a hard man to say no to.

While Kevin got into the front seat and fastened his seat belt, Dad leant out of the window and waved me closer.

‘He seems nice.' Dad winked at me. Then he pulled his head back into the car and drove away.

It had been a long day, the kind of day that called for a hot bath and a glass of cold milk. I trudged up the three concrete steps to our front door, dragging my bike beside me. I was still soaked to the bone, and shivering despite
the muggy heat. The Delgados' air conditioning system had done a real number on me. My fingers looked like raisins.

Our house was a small two-bedroom brick-fronted building. Wrought-iron bars protected the ground floor windows from anyone who wanted to do more than have a peek inside. It wasn't much, but it was home. I shoved my key in the deadbolt, but it was already open, which was odd. Dad always locked the deadbolt. I used the second key on the Yale lock and slowly pushed it open.

The front door opened on to our combined living room and kitchen. Living room to the left. Kitchen to the right. A waist-high counter separated the two sections. The deadbolt being unlocked had put me on edge, or maybe I was just too tired to think properly. Whatever the reason, I noticed the refrigerator was open and I panicked.

I jumped around the corner of the counter to the kitchen side of the room and shouted, throwing my backpack at the shape crouching in front of the fridge. I immediately wished I hadn't. The shape was my twin sister Della. Della screamed and jumped. The carton she'd been holding arced through the air in a low parabola: y+x
²
=0. Then it hit the ground and exploded, showering me and Della and most of the downstairs in semi-skimmed milk.

‘What the heck, Alice?' Della said, flicking milk drops off her hands. Each flick was a miniature performance of her displeasure.

‘Sorry,' I said. ‘I'm so sorry. It's been one of those days.'

When our parents split up a few years ago, Mom took Della and me with her to New York City. Mom's a costume designer. I fitted in with her showbiz life like a pickle on an ice cream sundae, so I learnt how to do my own washing and moved back to Philly to be with Dad. But Della loved the city. She'd always wanted to be a star on Broadway. She's got a few parts too. Orphan Number Three and First Street Urchin were among her finer performances.

Most summers, Della and Mom would go upstate to do summer stock theatre productions, but this year Mom had got a job designing costumes for a new production of
The Magic Flute
. The problem was, the production was in Italy.

So this summer Della was staying with us. She'd been here for two days, and I was still getting used to it. It was hard to believe we shared a room until we were eight. I guess a lot can change in four years.

Della handed me a roll of paper towels, one eyebrow raised artfully. You could have seen it from the stalls. It said,
You made this mess
.
You clean it up
.

Della is the older twin.

I started to sop up the milk while Della went upstairs to change. We're fraternal twins, so we don't look that much alike. Della has honey-blonde hair that she styles so it bounces when she walks, like a little floating exclamation mark making all of her actions more dramatic. I'm blonde too, but it's the gingery variety. I wash my hair with
whatever shampoo Dad has left in the shower and put it back in a braid while it's still wet. If I didn't know we were twins, I wouldn't believe we were even related.

As I scrubbed the floor, I could hear Della banging around my room. I'm not a neat freak, but I like to know where my things are. Della didn't have that problem. Her idea of unpacking was dumping her suitcase into the drawers I'd emptied out for her and asking me if I knew where she'd left her shoes. I think Mom still puts away Della's clean clothes.

‘Alice,' Della called down the stairs. Her voice was crystal clear, even through the closed door. My sister knew how to project. ‘Where are my socks?'

‘Top drawer on the right,' I yelled back.

It was going to be a long summer.

I
'd got the worst of the mess cleaned up by the time Dad came home. Della had come back downstairs and was sitting cross-legged on our brown corduroy couch doing deep-breathing exercises. Dad looked at us both and smiled.

‘My two favourite girls together!' He paused, savouring the moment. I think Dad wished Della came to stay with us more often, but he wasn't the one who had to share a room with her. Dad put the takeaway bag on the counter and began unpacking the food.

He'd gone to Pho Hoa, the Vietnamese restaurant up the street. The hot, tangy smell of lime juice and chillies began to fill the room. Dad's glasses fogged over from the steam.

‘Smells great,' I said. ‘What level did you get?'

Dad and I had been building up our spice tolerance since the beginning of the year. I laid out three bowls at the end of the counter.

‘Level four. Prepare yourself.'

Della scrunched up her nose and looked worried.

‘Uh, Dad,' I said, checking the bag to see if there was another container. ‘Did you get a mild one for Della?'

Dad's face fell. ‘Oh, sweetie, I'm so sorry. I didn't think. Do you want me to go out and get you another one? It's just up the road.'

‘No. It's fine,' Della said quickly. ‘We have spicy food in New York too . . .'

Maybe
, I thought, but Dad and I had been working up to level four for months now.

I took a sip, the hot, sour soup burning all the way down the back of my throat. I could feel my sinuses clearing. It was just what I needed after the air conditioning at the Delgado place.

‘So, Della.' Dad took a mouthful and then wiggled the empty spoon at my sister. ‘Any luck with the casting agent?'

Della smiled. ‘There's an open audition at the Walnut Street Theatre tomorrow. They're doing
Annie
.'

I saw the flame in Della's eyes go from ember to bonfire.
Annie
was The Big One, the
Hamlet
of twelve-year-old theatre girls. She took a triumphant spoonful of soup and immediately started to cough and splutter.

Level four was definitely not for beginners.

I got up to get her a glass of milk, but then I remembered there was no milk. Not any more. Instead, I handed Della a slice of white bread. She stuffed it in her mouth and let it soak up the spice. Tears ran down her cheeks.

‘I'm so sorry sweetie, why don't you let me go out and get you something else? Anything you like. Do you want me to go get some Italian ice?' Dad had his keys in his hand and was almost out of the door before Della managed to speak.

‘Dad, I'm fine,' Della wheezed. ‘I'll just have some toast. I shouldn't really eat anything spicy before an audition anyway.' She poured her soup back into the styrofoam cup and sealed the lid.

‘Oh, of course not. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking.' Dad sat back down at the counter slowly. He always tried way too hard when Della came to visit and ended up getting mad at himself.

We sat in silence while Della put two slices of bread in the toaster. Awkward silence. I had some more soup and tried not to make any slurping sounds.

‘Why don't you tell Della about the press conference?' I suggested. It was the best thing I could think of to make him feel better.

‘Well,' he said, ‘I guess it
was
pretty interesting.'

Dad ran through the facts of the case, slowly at first, but picking up speed as he went.

‘And then the scientist working on this top secret invisibility project walked into his office and vanished without a trace. It was a locked room, with only one exit and we know from the security cameras that Dr Learner didn't come back out that way. But when his assistant went to look for him, he wasn't in his office.'

‘So someone messed with the security cameras,' Della said, spreading peanut butter on to her toast.

‘Ah, that's what I thought, but Mr Delgado's assistant assured me that the security cameras are controlled by a professional security company in the city. And there's no way someone tampered with the recording.' Dad slurped up a noodle and then wiped the drips off his chin.

Della sat back down at the counter. ‘Then there must be another way out of the office.'

‘Not according to the floor plan.' Dad was enjoying himself now.

Della took a bite and chewed thoughtfully.

‘Well, then I guess he must have turned himself invisible. That's what he invented, right?'

I groaned. Della's idea of what scientists do was based on the time she played Dr Frankenstein in the fourth grade.

‘People can't turn invisible,' I said.

‘But Dad said he was a scientist studying invisibility. What else would he be trying to do? He probably drank some chemicals that turned his body clear.' She giggled. ‘Maybe he's running around the lab naked right now.'

‘He didn't turn himself clear,' I said, rolling my eyes. ‘Besides, even if he did, clear isn't the same as invisible. You can still see things that are clear.'

Della raised a disbelieving eyebrow at me.

‘Glass is clear, but you can still see glass. It refracts light.' I could feel my voice starting to rise. ‘If you really wanted to turn invisible, you'd have to figure out a way to stop light from touching you. Sure, maybe Dr Learner can do that on a small scale, like molecular-level small, but there's no way he could invent something that could make him actually disappear. He'd have to change the laws of physics, and even then—'

I stopped mid-sentence when I noticed the smile on Della's face. She was winding me up.

‘You're too easy, Alice!' Della laughed, and licked a bit of peanut butter off the side of her hand.

I put my face on the table and covered my head with my arms. I couldn't believe I fell for it. No one knew how to push my buttons like Della.

‘That was payback for the milk shower you gave me before.' Della paused. ‘But I still think his research must have had something to do with how he disappeared. I mean, he must have tons of gadgets and gizmos in his lab that he could use. Or some other scientist kidnapped him or something.'

I wasn't a huge fan of the way Della used ‘gadgets and gizmos' to describe state-of-the-art scientific equipment,
but she had a point. If anyone could figure out how to disable a security camera, it would be a scientist studying the physics of light.

‘Well, as much as I'd love to sit and banter with you two sweethearts, I'm afraid I have a story to write,' Dad said. I'll leave you girls to clean up. I need to go do some research.' He slurped down the last of his soup and kissed each of us on the forehead. Then he put his bowl in the sink, grabbed a water bottle out of the fridge and went into his downstairs office.

‘Story fever's setting in,' Della asked after the door shut.

The door swung open again and I jumped. Dad stuck his head out.

‘Alice, we'll take a drive over to Delgado Industries in the morning and check things out, OK?'

He popped back into the office, closing the door behind him before I had a chance to answer.

‘Oh, yeah. It's setting in big time.'

‘I don't know how you live with him.' She finished her toast and put her plate in the sink. I shrugged. I liked living with Dad. He let me do things my own way.

Della leant against the wall and watched as I washed up. ‘So how do you fit into all this?' she asked.

‘You remember that kid I texted you about? Sammy?'

‘The one who follows you all over the school?'

I waited until she took the clean bowl I held out and started drying it before I answered her. ‘That's the one.
Well, his father is Mr Delgado.'

‘And he asked you to find the scientist?'

‘That's about it.'

Della tilted her head to the side. ‘Is he serious?'

I snorted. ‘No. He just wants me to run around and make a good story.'

‘And you said yes?'

I didn't answer, but I could feel my face starting to go hot. I rinsed the last bowl and turned off the tap.

‘Let me guess,' Della said. ‘He made you angry and you took the case to prove him wrong.' I blushed a little harder. We didn't live together any more, but my sister could still read me like a book. Della handed me the tea towel. I guess I was finishing the drying too.

‘I want to call Mom before I go to bed,' she said in answer to my raised eyebrow.

I looked at the clock. ‘Della, it's after midnight in Italy right now. Mom's probably asleep.'

Della let her shoulders slump tragically.

‘Just call her when you wake up. She'll be having lunch when you have breakfast. It'll be like you're having brunch.'

She seemed happy with that solution and made her way to the stairs. Della put her foot on the first step and then turned around.

‘You'll let me have the bed tonight, right? I need my REM sleep before an audition.' She smiled sweetly.

I knew better than to argue. Arguing with Della was like arguing with a brick wall. You might make the best point in the world, but that wall wasn't budging for anyone.

‘No problem.'

Della walked upstairs belting out ‘Maybe'. Her voice filled the house with an almost physical presence. I sighed. It looked like I'd be spending a lot of my summer holiday in the library. But then again, I would have done that anyway.