The Name of This Book Is Secret (9 page)

“Well, then I’ll just have to go the magician’s house without you,” said Cass, very displeased with this turn of events.

“You’d go without me?” asked Max-Ernest in alarm.

“Don’t worry, I know how to handle myself,” said Cass, which was a line she had once heard in a movie.

“That’s not what I meant,” said Max-Ernest. “I thought we were partners. You said we were collaborating.”

Cass immediately bristled at this suggestion. “I never said that! That was just something to tell our parents. We’re not even really building that volcano. I’m a survivalist, remember? I don’t count on anybody but myself.”

“Oh. Well, I’ve never counted on anybody either.”

Something about the way he said this—maybe it was the fact that tears were welling in his eyes—made Cass think twice. Although Cass liked to think of herself as a fearless adventurer, she also wanted to be fair-minded. Technically, it was true, she had never agreed to collaborate with Max-Ernest on the investigation. But she had acted like they were collaborators, and it amounted to the same thing. Almost.

Maybe he was right: she shouldn’t go without him.

After a few seconds of intense, whispered negotiation, they agreed to go back to the magician’s house Monday after school. Even if it meant having to skip an oboe lesson (Cass) and a Mathletes meeting (Max-Ernest). Disappointed but resigned, Cass turned around and headed back to the firehouse.

When she got there, she let Sebastian off his leash and opened the big red front door. Usually, Sebastian would run in at this point and head for the kitchen in search of food. This time, Sebastian hesitated at the door, refusing to enter when Cass tried to nudge him in.

“What’s wrong? Don’t you want your breakfast? You know, food...eat...”

Cass waited until he finally entered the store, but he kept growling and turning his head this way and that, as if trying to catch an elusive scent.

Cass looked inside. Everything was the way it was when she left. It didn’t look as though her grandfathers had made any headway on the inventory.

“Grandpa Larry? Grandpa Wayne?”

Nobody answered.

Cass couldn’t remember the firehouse ever being so silent.

She called their names again.

Something was wrong.

Her instincts told her to turn around and leave as fast as she could.
^*
But what if her grandfathers were bound and gagged and locked in a closet and she could have saved them but she didn’t? Or what if they were lying in the kitchen in a pool of blood breathing their last breaths and she could have been there to hear their dying wishes but she wasn’t? Or what if...

Instead of entering quietly, Cass made a lot of noise as she walked in. She talked loudly to Sebastian. She banged on furniture. She figured if the bad guys heard her, maybe they’d sneak out to avoid being seen. It was better than surprising them and having them knock her unconscious in a moment of panic.

For about ten tense minutes Cass searched the firehouse. She had never realized how many hiding places there were in her grandfathers’ store, how many wardrobes to climb into and tables to climb under. Even so, it looked like her strategy had worked. The bad guys had left when they heard her. Or else they’d already left. Or else they’d never been there. Her grandfathers were not tied up in a closet. There was no blood on the kitchen floor. Everything seemed to be okay.

Except for the fact that her grandfathers were missing.

Then she heard a loud bang. It sounded like gunfire.

Cass held her breath, unable to move. Had someone been shot?

“Cass, what’s wrong? You’re white as a sheet!”

Grandpa Larry entered, followed by Grandpa Wayne, their arms full of new purchases.

What she’d heard wasn’t gunfire, only the front door.

“I—I thought something happened.”

“Didn’t you see our note?” asked Grandpa Larry. “There was a garage sale down the street. We couldn’t resist.”

“What’s with Sebastian?” asked Grandpa Wayne. “He looks worse than you.”

“He’s...I don’t know,” admitted Cass. “He’s been acting weird all day.”

Only then did Cass notice where Sebastian was standing: right next to the shelf where they stored the Symphony of Smells. Cass blinked in surprise. It was gone!

Grandpa Larry followed her eyes. “What happened to the Symphony of Smells? Did you take it down?”

“No! I mean, yes. But I put it back.”

“Well, where is it? I thought we agreed we’d only look at it together,” said Grandpa Larry, giving her a very slightly reproachful glance.

“Um, it should be there.”

This was perfectly true, but somehow it sounded like Cass was lying—even to herself.

“It wouldn’t be with your things, by any chance? Like in your book bag?” asked Grandpa Wayne.

She shook her head, blushing furiously.

“You know, your ears are telling a different story,” said Grandpa Larry.

She couldn’t believe it—her grandfathers were accusing her of stealing! Usually, they were the only ones who trusted her. And the worst thing was she couldn’t open the bag to prove the Symphony of Smells wasn’t inside—they would see the magician’s notebook.

No, the very worst worst thing was that they were right—she
had
stolen the Symphony of Smells. But she admitted that she had. And she’d put it back. Which made it borrowing, not stealing. So why did she feel so ashamed? It was all so unfair!

“Just try and think where you might have put it,” said Grandpa Larry. “I know you thought it was a game, but it’s very rare and valuable.”

“She knows that,” said Grandpa Wayne. “I’m sure she’ll find it, and put it right back where it was.”

Nobody mentioned the Symphony of Smells to her again that day, but Cass could tell her grandfathers were thinking about it. At one point, she heard them talking in low voices, speculating that she had broken some of the vials and that she felt too guilty to say anything. If only!

As far as Cass was concerned, there could only be one explanation for the Symphony of Smells’ disappearance: Dr. L and Ms. Mauvais had been there. Their scent must have been what upset Sebastian.

For a brief, mad moment, Cass considered telling her grandfathers everything that happened at the magician’s house, and how she was sure the Symphony of Smells had been stolen by Dr. L and Ms. Mauvais. But she knew it would sound like she was making up the story just to exonerate herself. Once she solved the mystery of what happened to the magician, maybe then she could confide in them—and maybe then they would trust her again.
^*

Cass hardly admitted it to herself but she was beginning to wish her mother hadn’t left town.

Before she left, her mother had given Cass her first cell phone, something Cass had wanted for years. “So we won’t really be apart,” her mother said. Just like she promised, her mother called every night at nine p.m. sharp to say good night (even though they both knew Cass never went to sleep before midnight). But Cass felt so much pressure to act like everything was fine that their conversations only made her feel more alone.

It was a new sensation—missing her mom. And she didn’t like it.

That night, she told her mother she was too sleepy to talk.

“So, Larry and Wayne are really running you ragged, huh?” asked her mother.

Cass forced a laugh she didn’t feel. “Yeah, totally ragged.”

After she said a rather abrupt good-bye and turned off her cell phone, Grandpa Larry came into her room. She figured he was going to ask her about the Symphony of Smells again, but what he said was:

“Hurry, they’re hot.”

He placed a plate of chocolate chip cookies and a glass of milk beside her bed.

“You better eat them really quickly if you want to burn your tongue and get chocolate all over your fingers.”

Cass laughed and bit into a cookie. It was warm and soft and the chocolate was still melted which was, as Grandpa Larry well knew, just how Cass liked her cookies.

As she swallowed the last bite, she held up her chocolate-covered hand to show him.

“Hmm. I don’t know, your other hand still looks pretty clean,” he said sternly.

Cass felt a little silly, but she obediently grabbed a cookie with her other hand and ate it even more quickly than the first.

“Good. Now, make sure you smear chocolate all over your glass. I want evidence!”

While Cass drank the glass of milk—soothing her burned tongue—Grandpa Larry moved her backpack aside, and sat down on the edge of her bed. Then he proceeded to tell her a story.

A year earlier, if someone had baked Cass cookies and tried to tell her a bedtime story, she might have been insulted and felt she was being treated like a little child. Now, she was just old enough to enjoy again the cozy comforts of a bedtime story. (Trust me, the older you get the more appealing the idea of a bedtime story becomes; and the rarer the chance to hear one.)

I won’t repeat Grandpa Larry’s entire story here because it is what some people call off-topic, but I will try to give you a sense of its general outlines: the story was about a time Larry got separated from his platoon during his stint in the army. The story involved a reed that Larry had pulled out of the ground where it was growing next to a pond. In a single day, Larry used the reed as an underwater breathing device, a fishing pole, a wind instrument, a weapon, and a straw. When the reed snapped in two, he was convinced his luck had run out. Without the use of his magic reed, he told himself, he would perish.

As it turned out, however, the sound of the reed breaking had alerted one of his comrades to his presence, and he was reunited with his platoon moments later.

“So you see, breaking the reed wasn’t the end of the world, just the end of the reed. And the end of this story. Not to mention the end of these cookies,” finished Grandpa Larry, taking the last cookie for himself.

Before Cass could respond, Grandpa Wayne, who had been listening from the doorway, stepped into the room.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “There were plenty more uses for that reed, even after you broke it. You could have made splints. Toothpicks. Chopsticks. A flute. Or at least a piccolo...I’m surprised at you, Larry. What happened to your imagination?”

“That’s not the point, Wayne, and you know it!” said Larry in one of the crossest tones Cass had ever heard him use. “Cass, listen, it doesn’t matter about the Symphony of Smells. Whatever happened, it’s just...a thing. I know you know we like things. And the Symphony of Smells was a nice thing. But, well, if it’s gone, it’s gone.”

“Right. We can always make a new one,” said Grandpa Wayne, at last catching the message of Larry’s story. “In fact, I have an old set of test tubes I found, and I’ve been wondering what to do with them. We could start collecting scents to put in the tubes—”

“What we’re trying to say is that human beings are more important than things,” said Larry, interrupting Wayne.

“At least,
Cass
is more important,” Wayne qualified.

“Cass, your appearance in our lives has been the greatest gift we could have asked for,” Larry continued, as if Wayne hadn’t spoken. “No matter how many boxes Gloria delivers to our doorstep, nothing inside them could match you. We love you very much.”

As he said this, he put his arms around Cass, and Cass snuggled gratefully against him. “I love you, too,” she said.

But she never said a word about what happened to the Symphony of Smells. Or about anything else.

Moments later, after her grandfathers had bid her good night, Cass picked up her backpack and placed it again by her pillow.

Just in case.

For most people, Monday mornings are a source of dread. Although Cass was unconventional in many ways, including her attitude toward most days of the week, she, too, often felt a sense of doom on Monday mornings, when she faced the prospect of the long school week ahead.

But on this Monday morning, on the school bus, Cass could hardly think about school. She was too excited.

That afternoon the investigation would resume.

Slipping down low in her seat, out of view of the other student pass engers, she pulled the magician’s notebook out of her backpack and examined it in her hands. The notebook was larger than the common, school variety, and it was flatter. It had no rings and was more like a binder than what you usually think of as a notebook. The leather cover was brown and shiny and embossed, Cass noticed now, with a familiar Art Nouveau design: the same swirling vines and flowers that decorated the Symphony of Smells. But Cass was certain the notebook was not nearly as old. The magician must have had it made to match. Maybe, when her investigation was over, she could ask her grandfathers about that.