“What are you pretending to be?”
“A writer,” she said. “I’m writing an adventure story. With villains and monsters and heroes and people who steal things that don’t belong to them.”
“My favorite kind of story,” said Mr. Stoop. “Do you think we could read it when you’re done?”
“You can buy it in the bookstore,” said Cricket. She was watching them very carefully now, because she wanted another glimpse of the little leathery hand thing that she’d seen with them before, a creature they let out of its bag when they thought no one else was watching. It was so metal, the little leathery hand thing. And also, the tiniest bit scary.
“Where’s the LLHT?”
“Pardon?” said Mr. Stoop.
“The little leathery hand thing.”
“Ah. So you like our friend, do you?”
“I didn’t say that,” Cricket said. “It’s PECULIAR, that’s all.”
“It’s a new invention. Cutting-edge science.”
Cricket didn’t understand how little leathery hand things could be inventions or science, so she said, “Hmph.”
“Our friend senses things we don’t,” said Mr. Stoop. “Would you like to know what it’s made of?”
“Nightmares and leftover meatloaf,” said Cricket.
“You are an imaginative little person, aren’t you? Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Pinscher?”
Mr. Pinscher snorted. “Sure.”
“How would you like to do a job for us?” said Mr. Stoop.
“What kind of job?”
“Well, you seem to enjoy watching people. How about you watch other people?”
“Which other people?” said Cricket.
“The other residents in this building. Maybe you can observe them. Ask them if they’ve ever found anything interesting in their apartments. Hidden under the floorboards, say. Or in the closets. Watch what they do when they think no one is looking. Then you can tell us what you’ve seen, and we will give you a prize.”
Cricket doubted that Mr. Stoop and Mr. Pinscher had any sort of prize that she would want. Still, she asked: “What kind of prize?”
“What would you like?”
“A rocket ship.”
“I’m afraid I can’t help you with that. How about something smaller?”
Cricket thought a minute. “A million jillion dollars.”
“That might be a little out of our range as well. Anything else?”
“A secret.”
“Ah, secrets are the best sort of currency, it’s true.”
Cricket did not like that she didn’t know what the word currency meant. “Hmph,” she said.
“All right,” said Mr. Stoop. “If you spy on the other residents of this building, and report back to us, I promise that I will tell you a secret.”
“It has to be a real secret,” said Cricket. “A secret secret.”
Mr. Stoop smiled.
It was not a good look for him.
“A secret secret it is,” said Mr. Stoop. “You have a deal.”
“Hmph,” said Cricket.
And she and Mr. Stoop shook hands like real spies.
Which meant that both of them were lying.
But Cricket did watch the other residents, because what else did she have to do while her parents packed up their apartment and tried to find a new one (though they would have to spend some weeks at Cranky Cousin Gordon’s house in Bayonne, New Jersey, which made her dad APOPLECTIC). She followed Mr. and Mrs. Adeyemi and the Hornshaws and the Schwartzes. She wrote down what they did and what they said, even when what they said wasn’t very interesting. She even followed Mr. Perlmutter once, but when he offered her a sugar-free lollipop if she’d stop, she agreed, because eating a lollipop, even a sugar-free one, was much more fun than following Mr. Perlmutter, who kept perlmuttering that she should be outside playing in the park like a normal kid instead of annoying old men. As if she could be out in the park SOLO, spy or not.
But she spent most of her time following the Hairball Twins and their friend, Jaime Cruz. They were much more interesting. They were always huddled close together, whispering, as if they were the ones with the secret secret, one that they had no intention of sharing with anyone else. As good a spy as she was, Cricket never heard more than snatches of their conversations: letter, chair, cemetery, octagon, Ava, Ava, Ava. Whoever Ava was. And now they were dragging around a janky old suitcase as if there were a million jillion dollars in it.
Mr. Stoop wanted to know what they talked about.
Cricket opened her notebook and read from it: “‘Better,’ ‘bear,’ ‘cement airy,’ ‘concoct a gong,’ and ‘flavor, flavor, flavor.’”
“You can’t concoct a gong,” Mr. Pinscher pointed out.
Cricket shrugged. “I can’t help it if they talk a lot of nonsense.”
“Maybe you’re the one who is talking nonsense.”
“Now, now, Mr. Pinscher. I’m sure our friend wouldn’t invent things, would you?”
“Hmph,” said Cricket.
Mr. Stoop peered down at her. “So, that’s what they said. What have they been doing?”
“Counting the tiles,” said Cricket. “And eating. They eat a lot.”
“Counting the tiles?” said Mr. Pinscher. “There’s nothing special about the tiles.”
“Then why do you keep taking them off the walls?” Cricket said.
Mr. Stoop laughed.
It wasn’t a nice sound.
“I’ve told you everything that’s been happening,” Cricket said. “So, I’d like my secret, please. A secret secret. Just like you promised.”
“I suppose you’re right. I did promise. And a promise is a promise.” He took a step closer to Cricket, and his long shadow fell over her. “Once everyone in the building has moved out,” he said, his voice low, “I will release my friend from this bag. The, uh, little leathery hand thing, as you so charmingly named him. I’ve told him that he will be free to roam the halls of this place, and anyone that he finds inside, he’s allowed to eat.” Mr. Stoop took another step forward, and Cricket had to crane her neck all the way back to see him. “But that’s not the real secret, not the secret secret.”
“What’s the secret secret?” Cricket whispered, unable to keep herself from asking.
“The secret secret,” said Mr. Stoop, “is that he has no mouth.”
“How . . . how does he eat with no mouth?”
“I don’t know,” said Mr. Stoop. “But when he’s done, there’s nothing left behind but a few scraps. An ear. A toe. A single nostril. He can be, er, a bit messy.”
Cricket heard Mr. Stoop and Mr. Pinscher laughing as she raced her trike all the way back to her apartment.
She didn’t like the twins much and she liked their friend, Jaime, only a little bit more, mostly because he had famous hair. But they were better than Mr. Stoop and Mr. Pinscher, that was for sure.
Cricket liked her ears. She liked all her toes and both nostrils.
She liked all these things exactly the way they were.
“How can you eat with no mouth?” Cricket asked the twins.
“Is that a riddle?” Tess Biedermann said.
“No,” said Cricket. “It’s a serious question.”
“About that necklace,” Tess said.
“It’s mine,” said Cricket.
“I know. I’m just wondering if I could borrow it for a second.”