Andi Unexpected Page 12

  Colin sighed and pushed the bottoms of my sneakers. I pulled myself the rest of the way inside by holding on to the edge of the worktable below the window. I slid across the tabletop and sent a pair of scissors and a stapler flying. As I hit the floor of the workroom, I froze and waited to hear if anyone had heard all of the noise I’d just made.

  The rest of the office was silent.

  I stuck my head out the window and whispered, “All clear.”

  “Hurry up.”

  “Okay.” I pulled my head back inside the room. The door to the workroom was closed. Slowly, I opened it. The hallway and the outer office were dark. I headed straight for the secretary’s desk. There was just enough light streaming in from the window to see that her desktop was clear. Not that I expected the proposal to be sitting on her keyboard, but it would have been nice. I opened a few drawers and found a stash of candy that would give any dentist a heart attack and an amazing number of stress balls. No proposal.

  On the wall across from her desk were mailboxes for all of the professors in the department. Dr. Girard’s box was empty, but there was a thick manila envelope lying in the out-box.

  “Andi!” Colin called, his voice muffled by the distance. “Hurry up!”

  I carefully opened the envelope and pulled out the first page. Book Proposal it said across the top. I’d found it. I took the envelope back to the secretary’s desk and pulled out all of the sheets of paper. The proposed title of the book was “Little Girl Lost.”

  I flipped through the pages, scanning for Andora’s name. I found it on the fourth page. “Andora Boggs was a poor girl born in a time of poverty—”

  “Andi!” Colin’s cry sounded more desperate.

  I hurried back to the workroom. “What is it?”

  “Andi, we need to leave. Someone could come. And I have no good reason to be lurking outside this open window on a Friday evening.”

  I pointed to the page. “This is where he talks about Andora.”

  “Andi …”

  “Okay, okay. Let me make a copy of it.” I turned on the copy machine, and hit the Copy button. After the copier was finished, I returned the original page about Andora to where it belonged in the stack of pages, put everything back inside the manila envelope, and ran the envelope to the outbox in the outer office.

  Back in the workroom, I folded my photocopy and stuck it in my shorts pocket before climbing onto the worktable. I stuck my feet out the window and got ready to jump down.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” a gruff voice shouted as I hit the ground. Colin helped me to my feet as a university security guard ran toward us.

  The security guard then made us walk our bikes to his office in the guardhouse near the main entrance of campus. We waited there for Amelie to pick us up. At least I’d managed to convince him to call Amelie instead of the police.

  Amelie stomped into the guardhouse fifteen minutes later. “Andora Boggs, I can’t believe you broke into a building!”

  “I caught her red-handed,” the security guard said.

  “Thank you, Wally. And thank you for not filing a report.”

  He smiled at her and scowled at Colin and me. “You’re lucky your aunt is such a nice lady, or you’d be at the police station right now facing charges for criminal trespass.”

  Amelie wrapped an arm around Colin’s and my shoulders. “Load your bikes into the back of my Jeep. We’re going home.”

  Amelie was silent during the drive back to Dunlap Avenue.

  Colin and I sat perfectly still in the backseat.

  Amelie parked the Jeep in the driveway. Colin got out and removed the bikes from the back. I went to help him. My aunt folded her arms. “Colin, it’s time for you to go home.” She didn’t have to ask him twice. He waved at me and ran his bike across the yard.

  Bethany stood on the front porch with her arms wrapped around her waist, watching us.

  Amelie closed her eyes for a moment. “You’ve taken this Andora thing too far. You can’t break into someone’s office. And this is the second time you’ve done it in a week! What if Dr. Girard found out?”

  I dropped my head. “I’m sorry, Amelie.”

  “You’re grounded, too. Tomorrow is the second day of the neighborhood garage sale, and you can help with that because you made a commitment. But for the next week, you’re not going anywhere else.”

  I opened my mouth to protest.

  “Don’t argue with me. I see I’ve let you girls think I’m just your pal, but I’m your parent now. Like it or not, I’m going to start acting like it. Now go inside.”

  I ran up the steps, past my sister, and into the house.

  That night was my first night sleeping in my attic bedroom. It would have been a happier occasion if I didn’t feel so terrible about being grounded. I sat in the middle of my bed with Mr. Rochester purring in my lap. I read and re-read the page that I’d copied from Dr. Girard’s book proposal. It didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know, except for the last line: “Andora Boggs is still alive.” I stared at it.

  If Andora didn’t die, then what happened to her?

  The ladder leading up to my room creaked, and Bethany’s head appeared in the opening.

  I stuck the sheet of paper under my pillow.

  “Hey,” Bethany said.

  I stroked Mr. Rochester’s back. “Hey.”

  “So, you’re grounded.” Bethany smiled. “It’s your first time. How does it feel?”

  “Crummy.”

  “Well as someone who’s had a lot of grounding experience, I say enjoy it. It’s not that bad, and I bet it will give you a lot of time to read more about the Great Depression.”

  I grunted.

  “It’s kind of nice to have you get in trouble for once. Mom and Dad were always grounding me, but they never grounded you. You were their perfect child.”

  “No, I wasn’t.”

  She shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “You were.” She crossed the room and sat on my desk chair. Mr. Rochester jumped off my lap and ran to hers.

  I was going to argue with her some more but then she changed the subject, “Zane’s not talking to me anymore. That’s why I got mad when you asked about him.”

  “Why not?”

  She ran her fingers through Mr. Rochester’s fur. “He said it’s too hard to keep a friendship, or whatever we had, with me being so far away. I’ve texted him a bunch of times, but he hasn’t texted back.” She bit her lip. “Now I’m like one of those desperate girls who’s been dumped.”

  I turned and set my feet on the floor. “It’s his loss. He was always a jerk, if you ask me.”

  Bethany blinked away tears. “He was nice to me after Mom and Dad died.”

  I paused then said, “I miss Mom and Dad too.”

  She frowned. “I know that.”

  “You do?” I raised an eyebrow.

  “You don’t think I do?”

  I twisted my mouth. “I heard you tell Bergita that I don’t miss them.” She glowered at me, but I continued anyway. “And I wasn’t their favorite child either. How many times did I have to hear them rave about your art?”

  “Maybe.”

  “You didn’t feel the same pressure that I felt with Mom and Dad. I was always trying to be like them. You never worried about that.”

  She watched me for a moment. “I guess I never thought of it that way.” She stood and Mr. Rochester jumped to the floor. “I just wanted to say I’m glad you’re home and I’m glad I didn’t have to use my portion of the garage sale money to bail you out of jail.”

  “Thanks.”

  She started down the ladder and then stopped with her head and shoulders still inside the room. “I love the attic room, by the way. It’s really cool.” She pointed at the periodic table poster hanging over my desk. “And that looks good there.”

  “Thanks.” I swallowed. “And thanks for your help with the garage sale.”

  She shrugged. “I got my texting back. Zane’s not the only person in
the world that I can text.” She climbed the rest of the way down.

  CASE FILE NO. 22

  I woke up in the attic with Mr. Rochester asleep on my head. I stretched and knocked my patchwork quilt to the floor. For the first time since the move, I didn’t have that uneasy feeling of waking up in an unfamiliar place. The attic had become my bedroom. Amelie’s house had become my home.

  And then I remembered that I was grounded.

  I reached over to my nightstand and picked up the little elephant block that I kept there. I stared at it and thought about what I’d learned from Miss Addy yesterday and our adventure on campus.

  I jumped off the bed, walked over to my desk, and pulled open the middle drawer. Most of my things were still down in Bethany’s room, so only Miss Addy’s journal was in there.

  I flipped through the pages. The red leather was so soft that it felt like cloth. The onionskin pages were a light gray, and some of them clung together. I separated them as gently as I could. The events in the journal spanned from January to December 1933, just one year in the life of a Killdeer girl. I could hardly wait to read it.

  “Andi! Are you up?” Amelie’s groggy voice floated through the hatch.

  “Yeah,” I called back.

  “Well, get down here!”

  The journal would have to wait. I returned it to my desk and shut the drawer.

  I looked down the ladder at Amelie who was still wearing her pajamas. Her long hair was up in a messy knot on top of her head like a sumo wrestler. She yawned. “Good, you’re awake. You take the first shift today.” She rubbed her eyes. “My word, it’s way too early.”

  I gave a sigh of relief that she didn’t say anything more about last night.

  Ten minutes later, I ran outside and gasped. It was only eight in the morning, and police officers were adjusting barricades on either end of the road to stop the traffic. Food vendors in white trailers sold Indian fry bread, sausage sandwiches, and cotton candy. Homeowners up and down the street made final touches to their displays. The sale would officially start at nine, but customers were already wandering up and down the street.

  I grabbed a muffin and a cup of lemonade from a free breakfast table that Bergita had set up in her front yard. And then I headed to our garage. Amelie had already opened the door for me. I had until noon to convince people to buy things they didn’t really need. Then Amelie would take over.

  I pulled an old dress form out onto the driveway as Amelie stumbled out of the house and started walking toward campus for the Endless Summer Festival. She would be sitting at the literary magazine table this morning. Bethany, dressed for a fashion shoot in a mini skirt and flowered top, followed her. Her art class instructor had invited Bethany to sit at the Art Department’s table with some of her work on display.

  After they were gone, I sat on a lawn chair in the driveway, surrounded by decades of my family’s possessions. Even though they didn’t really belong to me, a part of me felt funny seeing them go. They’d been my constant companions over the last couple of weeks. I’d discovered them in unmarked boxes, sorted them, cleaned them, helped Bethany price them, and now I watched them drive away in the back of a minivan or the bed of a pickup truck.

  Colin waved from his yard where he was helping Bergita add some last-minute touches to their display. Jackson surveyed their progress from the porch. Their setup really was impressive.

  Colin ran over to me, waving the casebook. “I found it.”

  I gave a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. Where was it?”

  He blushed. “Under my bed.” He handed it to me. “You keep it from now on. Is Amelie still mad?”

  “She seemed better this morning, but I’m grounded.”

  Colin grimaced. “Sorry.”

  “What about you?”

  He shrugged. “Nothing. I don’t think Amelie told Bergita what happened.”

  I held the casebook to my chest. “I guess that’s good news.”

  Colin opened his mouth as if to say something more, but Bergita yelled, “Colin, get over here and help me move these bowling balls!”

  By ten o’clock, I’d sold a chest of drawers, two boxes of wire hangers, three football trophies, and a life-sized stuffed unicorn. I folded the five-dollar bill from my last sale and slipped it into the hot pink fanny pack I was using as a money belt. I spotted Mr. Finnigan thumbing through our collection of record albums. I zipped the fanny pack closed and walked up behind him. “Looking for something to add to the museum?”

  Mr. Finnigan jumped.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Finnigan. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  He patted his chest. “I’m all right.” He pulled a white handkerchief out of his back pants pocket and dabbed his sweaty forehead.

  “Can I help you find something?”

  “No, no, just looking. Amelie mentioned the garage sale to me. So I came by to see it for myself.” He looked from the yards littered with wares to the food vendors parked in the middle of the street. “I must say, your aunt didn’t exaggerate.”

  I grinned. An elderly couple approached the garage and looked at a box of broken china with interest. I started to walk toward them.

  Mr. Finnigan coughed. “Excuse me, Andi. Do you still have Miss Addy’s journal?”

  Distracted, I looked back toward the couple who was now drifting away from the broken china. If I didn’t grab them now, I would lose the sale. “Yes.”

  “And it’s safe?”

  I made a face. “Sure. It’s up in my room.”

  He smiled at me. “Good, good. It’s so important to Miss Addy. I’d hate for it to get lost.”

  “I won’t lose it,” I said firmly, still watching the couple out of the corner of my eye.

  “Of course, you won’t.” He dabbed his forehead again. “Well, I must be off. The museum is open today. I’m expecting some visitors from the festival to drop by.”

  I nodded and hurried over to the elderly couple. “Three dollars for the whole box,” I said.

  That got their attention.

  Amelie settled into the lawn chair on the driveway promptly at noon. I handed her the fanny pack, and she opened it with surprise. “You made a killing! Are you sure you want to be a scientist and not a business mogul?”

  “I even sold the broken china,” I said proudly.

  She grinned. “Not bad for someone who’s grounded.”

  I relaxed. She wasn’t mad anymore.

  I ran into the house and up the ladder into my attic room. Even if I was grounded, I could still read Miss Addy’s journal. And Mr. Finnigan’s question had made me nervous about it. I pulled open the middle desk drawer.

  The journal was gone.

  CASE FILE NO. 23

  How could the journal be gone? I saw it just that morning.

  Colin pulled his head out from under my bed and sneezed. He wasn’t wearing his surgical mask, and his eyes were red and puffy. Even with all of the junk now removed to the garage, an army of dust bunnies still camped out in the attic. “Are you sure that’s where you put it? Remember, I thought I lost the casebook yesterday. But it was just in a different place.”

  “We’ve looked everywhere a thousand times. It’s not here!”

  “You didn’t take it out of the house?” he asked me for the four-hundredth time.

  “I already told you I didn’t.” I sat on my desk chair. “I can’t believe it’s gone.” I felt sick to my stomach remembering how Miss Addy had trusted me with her precious journal, a journal that had survived for eighty years until I’d gotten a hold of it. “We have to tell Mr. Finnigan,” I said. “We should go right now.”

  “Andi, you’re grounded. I had to sneak in the house just to help you look for it,” Colin argued.

  “I know. But it’s Miss Addy’s journal. We’ll be back before Amelie even knows we’re gone.”

  Colin’s bangs fell over his glasses and he pushed them aside. “Okay. Mr. Finnigan knows Miss Addy better than we do. He’ll know how to tell her.”
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br />   Thankfully, when Colin and I went to collect our bikes, Amelie was distracted by a buyer who was interested in buying that old dress form. As they haggled over the price, Colin and I made a clean getaway.

  We parked our bikes outside the museum door, which was unlocked. Although the building was open for visitors, Mr. Finnigan was nowhere in sight.

  Colin coughed. “Well, I guess you lucked out. He isn’t here.”

  I picked up a brochure sitting on Mr. Finnigan’s desk. “The door’s unlocked. He has to be here.” I glanced around the reception area and saw that Mr. Finnigan had placed a coffee urn and some paper cups on a small card table in one corner. A little sign beside the urn read, WELCOME, GUESTS!

  I glanced in the trash can beside the table. Empty. Poor Mr. Finnigan. He hadn’t had any visitors.

  “Let’s look for him.” I wanted to get my confession over with as soon as possible. I thought it best to treat this situation like ripping off a Band-Aid: Do it fast. “He’s probably in the archives.”

  Our footsteps echoed on the stone floor as we walked past the gallery of photographs depicting Michael Pike Ginger Ale executives sitting behind their wide cherry desks, and employees polishing bottles on the factory floor.

  We were still a ways down the hall from the archives, when I paused in front of the four portraits of the Pike family—all of the Michael Pikes and Margaret. I stared at Margaret’s portrait and noticed again how she looked nothing like her dark-haired, olive-skinned relatives. And then my brain clicked.

  “Andi,” Colin whispered.

  I waved him away as I thought about this some more. Dr. Girard’s book proposal claimed that Andora didn’t die as a baby. Miss Addy wrote that Patterson had asked Number Three if Emily could see “her” because Emily was sad. What if Margaret was Andora? What if my great-grandfather had given Andora to the Pikes so he could attend college? I felt sick to my stomach. Could I be right?

  I didn’t have time to tell Colin my theory because shouts erupted from further down the hall. I pressed my finger to my lips as Colin and I silently slid along the wall toward the open door.