“I do not enjoy sharing,” said Cricket.
“Nobody enjoys sharing,” said Theo. When his sister gave him a look, he said, “What? It’s true.”
Tess bit her lip. Then she said, “Listen, Cricket, can you keep a secret?”
“What kind of secret?” Cricket said.
“A secret secret,” Tess said.
Cricket stood perfectly still. Maybe Tess had been spying on her.
“You see this suitcase?” Tess asked, pointing at the cart.
“Everyone does,” Cricket said. “It’s janky.”
Tess’s eyes darted to her parents, who were just outside the lobby doors, loading up their car. “We can’t open it. We need a key. And it looks like the charm on your necklace might be that key. Did you happen to find it somewhere in this building?”
Cricket stared.
Tess was a spy.
DOUBLE CROSS.
“I found it in the dumbwaiter,” said Cricket.
“I thought that didn’t work anymore,” said Theo.
“It only works for Karl. He has monkey fingers.”
Everyone looked down at Karl, who waved a cheese curl in triumph.
“If you let me borrow that necklace for a second, and it is the key we’ve been looking for, we’ll let you see what’s inside the suitcase,” said Tess.
Cricket thought about this. She wanted to see inside the suitcase, but maybe she didn’t. What if there was a little leathery hand thing in the suitcase? Or a little leathery foot thing? Or an actual face with an actual mouth?
With actual teeth?
Cricket was suddenly very tired. This was a weird place filled with weirder people. Sometimes, the most metal thing you could do was to spy on them all. Other times, the most metal thing you could do was get in the car and take a long nap.
Cricket pulled the necklace over her head, handed it to Tess. “Keep it.” Who needed to share like some dumb baby? Giving a gift was better than sharing. Besides, she didn’t need some cheap necklace. She had her word book. And that was way more important. The most important.
PARAMOUNT.
Tess Biedermann held the necklace in the palm of her hand as though she were cradling an egg. “Are you okay, Cricket?”
“I’m fine,” Cricket said. And she would be. Even if she had to go to Cranky Cousin Gordon’s house in Bayonne, New Jersey, with her tired mom, her screamy dad, and her not-so-ninja brother.
Bayonne, New Jersey, wouldn’t know what hit it.
She hoped Cranky Cousin Gordon had lots of Cheez Doodles.
As Zelda “Cricket” Moran rode her trike slowly through the lobby of 354 W. 73rd Street, so intent on taking that nap, she forgot to warn the Hairball Twins: Beware little leathery hand things with no mouths.
Who knew what they were hungry for?
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Jaime
As Cricket three-wheeled her way toward an epic car nap and possibly a whole new future, Jaime returned to 354 W. 73rd Street to get the last of his things. The new apartment in Hoboken was as big as his dad had said, with enormous floor-to-ceiling windows that faced the wrong side of the Hudson. The rooms were bright and white and clean, with some exposed brick along one wall, polished wooden floors, a sparkling new kitchen with all sorts of fancy appliances. Nothing needed to be painted or grouted or sanded. Nothing needed to be fixed or patched or welded. It was a nice place. An excellent place. Mima had taken one long look around and slumped on their lumpy old couch. She’d stared off into space until Jaime made her a cup of tea and promised to go to 354 W. 73rd alone. As the Underway trundled under the river back to Manhattan and then uptown, he felt like he’d abandoned her. Or failed her. Or failed his mom and dad. Or something.
In front of 354 W. 73rd, Mr. and Mrs. Biedermann were wedging more stuff into the trunk of an ancient van, one solar panel like a broken wing. The twins’ aunt Esther was there, too, telling Mr. Biedermann how best to pack the van in order to get the most into it. There was a lone reporter trying to get a statement from them all, but Mrs. Biedermann gave the reporter a look of such loathing that the reporter stuffed the microphone in his pocket and ran away, the camera operator loping after him.
“Hey, Jaime,” said Mr. Biedermann, noting him standing there. Mr. Biedermann’s hair and beard hadn’t been trimmed for so long, they looked as if they might engulf his whole face. “I thought you and your grandmother had already left. Everyone else has.”
“We had a few boxes that couldn’t fit in the cab, so I came back for them myself. We have until midnight. Technically.”
“Technically,” Mr. Biedermann echoed.
And then Tess and Theo Biedermann burst through the lobby doors. Tess had a strange expression on her face. She jerked her chin at the suitcase on the cart, eyes wild. She touched her neck, where a key on a chain now dangled.
Aunt Esther grabbed the twins’ cart and jammed the boxes into the backseat of the van. She rested the suitcase by Jaime’s feet.
Mrs. Biedermann protested: “How will the kids fit in the van with us with all that stuff in the backseat?”
“Oh! They won’t,” said Aunt Esther. “But it looks to me like they need a little more time to say good-bye to their home.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Mr. Biedermann.
Mrs. Biedermann gave Tess a long, appraising look, a look that said I love you, a look that said I’m sorry, a look that said I understand. “Just don’t stay too late. It will be dark soon. Well, darker.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Tess said, her eyes now glinting with tears. Or maybe it was just the rain.
Mrs. Biedermann got into the passenger seat of the van while Mr. Biedermann squeezed into the backseat with the boxes.
Aunt Esther said, “You should probably keep Nine Eighty-Seven with you. She might be able to help.”
“How can she help?” said Theo.
“How do you know she can’t?” Aunt Esther asked.
She winked and climbed into the driver’s seat. Jaime, Tess, and Theo watched as the van eased onto the street, turned the corner, and was gone.
Then they were alone. Jaime looked up at the building, squinting into the rain. Maybe it was the gloomy weather, the unseasonable chilly drizzle, but 354 W. 73rd Street seemed shrouded in shadow. It looked—there was no other word for it—dead.
But maybe not just yet.
Back in the empty penthouse, Tess unclasped Cricket’s necklace and slid the key off the chain. She slipped the tail end into the lock and turned.
Click!
This was it.
This was it.
This was—
The silver case popped open. And nestled inside a nest of red velvet—
“—a walking stick?” Jaime said. Long, black, with an ornate pewter handle shaped like a dragon. Engraved on a pewter ring underneath the handle were the words All that opens is not a door.
“There’s a letter, too,” Tess said, pulling a piece of thin paper from inside the suitcase, unfolding it. She read: