Amelia had never heard of either serendipity or zemblanity. She was also completely unaware that someone was setting her up along with the other seventh graders. She had no idea at all that they were being used to do all the hard work of discovering where, exactly, the Hoäl jewels were hidden.
Right now, Amelia had bigger problems than that.
Because it was Friday night, and that meant golf. And listening to her family talk at her. Not to her. At her.
“I see on PowerSchool that your English grade has dropped down to a C minus,” her mom announced, as she whacked a golf ball over a rolling green hill at Ironwood Golf Club. She didn’t say it cruelly or angrily, just factually. And briskly. Amanda Poe, financial advisor, said everything briskly.
“Don’t you have Mr. Roth?” Amelia’s half brother, Aiden Miller, barked before Amelia could answer. He teed up a ball and then whacked it over the same green hill. Like his stepmom, he didn’t intend to be mean. It was just that everyone in their family said everything in too-loud, too-confident voices. Aiden was a sophomore at the University of Toledo, and he’d just moved back home that day for the summer break. “He’s, like, the best teacher ever. How are you getting a C minus in his class?”
Amelia opened her mouth to answer, but her dad got in first as they all moved on to the next hole, chasing the balls like they were very slow golden retrievers. The Honorable Alexander Poe announced his verdict as though he was still sitting in his courtroom at the Fulton County Courthouse. Everyone always called him the Judge—even his own family. “She needs to apply herself more. Don’t you, Amelia?”
Once again, Amelia tried to answer, but her half sister Ashley Poe, a student at UT as well, cut in first. “What you need is to be better organized, Amelia. I can help you put together a color-coded study system like I use.”
“Yes, that’s an excellent plan,” their mom confirmed decisively.
“Listen to Ashley. She’s a valuable resource.” The Judge nodded enthusiastically. “She’s never gotten so much as an A minus in her entire life, you know.”
Amelia did know. It came up frequently.
“Aiden, either,” her mom agreed.
Amelia knew that, too.
“You’ll have to step up your game, Amelia.” Her dad was trying to tease her as they reached the water hazard her ball had ended up in. Gloomily, she teed up her new ball as he continued, “Your siblings have left some big boots for you to fill!”
Fill with what, exactly? No one ever actually said. Personally, Amelia was voting for slugs.
Not that she didn’t like her siblings. She did.
Well, sort of. Most of the time.
It was just that they were both so much older than her. And smarter than her. And more accomplished than her. And better looking than her. And, well, everything than her.
“We’ll sign you up for summer lessons at Kumon,” her mom declared.
“And put together a summer reading list of classic novels,” her dad added.
“I’ll organize your room and study desk,” said Ashley.
“And I’ll help you put together a summer workout routine,” Aiden said. “An organized body leads to an organized mind.”
Well, didn’t that all sound perfectly awful?
Amelia’s second ball ended up in the water hazard too. Her family had lots of advice on how to keep that from happening again.
The sun was setting by the time the game was over and they finally trudged back home to their enormous, sparkling house right on the golf course. Everything in the Miller-Poe house sparkled blandly, daring you to impress any sort of personality on it. Growing up, Amelia had never once been brave enough to make a pillow fort out of any of the couch cushions or play the-floor-is-hot-lava in the living room.
Even her bedroom sparkled. The pictures and furniture and everything had been picked out by an interior designer. Any time Amelia tried to alter any of it, the cleaners put things back exactly the way the designer had left them.
The only thing she had any control over was her clothes—and only then because everyone else left the house before she did in the morning and came back long after she’d arrived home in the afternoon. When they were around, they spent all of their time telling Amelia what to do.
The only place she could be herself was at school.
Where everyone let her know that being herself was the worst possible thing she could be. No one—not one single person—wanted to be her friend. That night, as Amelia slipped into a bed so perfect that it seemed to sneer at her, challenging her to get a single crease in the sheets, she couldn’t help but think wistfully of how amazing it would be to have a friend. Just one person in all the world who liked her as she was, rather than wanting to change her or call her names.
One person who wouldn’t think of her as the Yeti.
In a movie, that person would be Sloane Osburn. They’d start working together on Mr. Roth’s project, only to discover how much they had in common. It would turn out that Sloane liked old black-and-white movies too! She’d reveal that she really hated volleyball but loved to dress up in costumes just like Amelia did! Sloane would listen to Amelia’s ideas for the project, and rather than bossing her around, Sloane would think they were brilliant.
For one tiny moment, a bit of hope flared up inside of Amelia. It seemed to warm up even the cold, sparkling bedroom.
Then she remembered how Sloane had snapped at her after she fell off the bus. “Don’t act weird today,” the other girl had spit. The memory of it made her go all hot, but not in a cozy sort of way. In a lonely, ashamed sort of way.
It was just her luck to get stuck with Miss Perfect, Slayer Sloane Osburn. Who couldn’t possibly ever be her friend. She sneered at Amelia like she was a slug ever since Amelia had bumped into her in the library last month and then blathered on about Sloane’s dead mom. The memory of it was still enough to make Amelia cringe and pull the bedcovers up over her head in an attempt to hide from it.
True, Sloane never called her a yeti, and sometimes she’d even be sorta helpful. Like when she’d pulled Amelia up off the ground. But she always did it in a super annoyed sort of way. Worse, there was no chance she was going to listen to Amelia’s ideas about this project, let alone think they were brilliant.
And Amelia had a lot of ideas for the project.
She’d been trying to start up a YouTube channel featuring 1920s-style black-and-white movies she’d made. However, so far, the only person who’d liked a single video Amelia had made was her grandma Suzy. Who was the one who’d gotten Amelia interested in old, silent movies in the first place.
If she made a movie for her project, she’d be able to upload it to both her YouTube channel and get an A on Mr. Roth’s project, maybe getting her family off her back, too. The famous story of the missing Hoäl treasure had to generate view and likes. There were rich people! Stolen jewels! Tragic deaths in need of avenging!
Except that Sloane would no doubt want to make the same boring slideshow that everyone else was going to make.
Fortunately, Amelia didn’t actually have to work with Sloane until Monday. That was when Belinda Gomez, the children’s and young adult librarian from the Wauseon Public Library, was going to come into their English class with materials for them to use in their research. That gave Amelia an entire weekend to start her much-better project before she had to deal with whatever disaster Sloane wanted to put together.
Feeling just a bit better, Amelia dared to press her head against her bed pillow. It only dented a little—like it disapproved of her wrinkling things every bit as much as the cleaners did—but it was enough to allow Amelia to sleep, where she dreamed about a family who didn’t boss her around and friends who actually accepted her at school. Which was lovely until she woke up Saturday morning to her big, sparkling room and reality.
Then she sort of wished she hadn’t dreamed it at all. Thinking you had people who cared about you, only to discover that you didn’t, was worse than never having anyone at all.
Shaking this off with determination, Amelia slid out of bed. Who cared about anyone else? Amelia knew she was brilliant even if no one else had figured it out yet. She rooted through the back of her walk-in closet for her secret stash of interesting clothing from the Goodwill store. She resurfaced with a long, swingy tweed coat and a hat that kinda-sorta looked like something Sherlock Holmes might wear.
If he was desperate.
Still, Amelia was perfectly happy to be any sort of a Sherlock Holmes, even a desperate one. She swung the coat around her shoulders and settled the cap on her head. Then she tucked an enormous, slightly cracked magnifying glass into her belt before checking herself out in the mirror.
She looked exactly like Sherlock Holmes.
Well, more or less.
If Sherlock Holmes had outfitted himself from what he could find at the Goodwill store.
And if he had freckles and too much springy red hair.
And he was short.
And a girl.
But other than that, the resemblance was spot-on.
Everyone else had already gotten up early to either go jogging or work out or whatever other terrible things they did for fun. Fortunately, Aiden had just gotten back from his run and was drinking a protein shake when Amelia went downstairs to make herself a couple of peanut-butter-and-pickle sandwiches for breakfast. He blinked at her strange appearance but was chugging his shake and unable to talk.
“Can you give me a ride to the library, please?” she asked as she slapped her sandwiches together. “I want to get right to work on my project. Like you guys said.”
She wasn’t at all sure that they’d said that, but Miller-Poes always took credit for good ideas.
“Sure. Are you doing some sort of skit?” he asked, giving her clothes the side-eye as he grabbed his keys. They went out into the family’s massive five-car garage. Not surprisingly, it sparkled with cleanliness and lack of personality.
“Something like that.”
Aiden spent the entire five-minute drive telling her exactly how she should do her skit. Amelia leaned her face as far as she could out the open car window and tried to ignore him as much as possible.
Her brother dropped her off in front of the old redbrick library building before hurrying to his summer job overseeing the other lifeguards at the public pool. Elm Street was pretty much empty since most people weren’t out of bed yet. Unless they were at the baseball diamonds a mile down the street, or the soccer fields outside of town.
As soon as her brother peeled away, Amelia pulled a selfie stick out from beneath her heavy tweed coat. She snapped her phone into it and announced in a dramatic whisper, “And so begins the investigation into the Mysterious Case of the Missing Jewels.”
She wasn’t planning on using sound, but just in case she changed her mind later, Amelia felt it was best to say everything as theatrically as possible.
“What. Are. You. Wearing?” a familiar voice behind her asked in disbelief.
Amelia couldn’t quite believe what was happening either. In a state of shock, she flipped off her camera and slowly turned around.
Slayer Sloane stood a few feet down the sidewalk, a notebook clutched to her chest and her lip curled distastefully. She stood between two elderly women wearing brightly colored floral tracksuits, gold fanny packs, and immaculate white running shoes.
“Sloane-y! That’s no way to greet a friend!” one chided gently and then pinched Sloane’s cheek. Amelia assumed she was probably Sloane’s grandma, since grandmas everywhere had pretty much cornered the market on cheek-pinching.
“Are you here to do research too?” the other woman asked Amelia cheerfully.
“Er.” Amelia tucked her selfie stick back under her coat and tried to think of something to say. She wasn’t Sloane’s friend. She wasn’t anyone’s friend. And what was Sloane doing here? Didn’t she have softball practice or cool people to be hanging out with or something—anything—else to do? “Um. Yes?”
“So is our Sloane-y!” The first grandma couldn’t have looked more delighted by this.
Sloane couldn’t have looked more appalled by this.
“Well, you two have fun!” The second grandma pinched Sloane’s cheek as well and then followed it up with a kiss. The first grandma settled for a pat on the head and a kiss.
Sloane looked pained, but managed to say, “Bye, Granny Kitty. Bye, Granny Pearl.”
“Love you, baby!” both women called over their shoulders as they power-walked off down the street together.
Sloane stared at Amelia as though she had snot smeared all over her face.
Which Amelia prayed wasn’t the case.
“I am dressed as the great British detective Sherlock Holmes.” Amelia tried to look as haughty as Sloane. It probably didn’t work. Sweat rolled down her back, thanks to all of the wool tweed, and she could feel her hair bushing out with humidity. Meanwhile Sloane stood there with her hair swept up into a silky high ponytail, her clothing so neat and clean she might have just stepped out of Instagram.
“Yeah, I got the Sherlock Holmes thing.” Still, Sloane stared at her. “I just don’t get why.”
“I’m working on our project,” Amelia snapped.
“And you have to wear a costume to do that?”
Before Amelia could say something witty and cutting (which was just as well since she was having trouble thinking of anything either witty or cutting), someone roared up on a motorcycle. They screeched to a halt in the empty parking space in front of the library.
The person was dressed from chin to toe in leather with a shiny black helmet to top it all off. A German shepherd sat in the sidecar. He was also decked out in leather, along with a pair of goggles. The rider cut the engine, hopped down from the bike, and swept off the helmet.
To reveal Belinda Gomez, the children’s and young adult librarian.
“ ’Sup?” she asked them casually as she unharnessed her dog, Bunny. He woofed a greeting at them too.
“Um,” said Amelia.
“Er,” said Sloane.
The librarian tucked her helmet under her arm so she could unlock the door for them. “Looking to check out some books?”
“Not exactly,” Amelia and Sloane both said at the exact same moment in the exact same grim tone.
Sloane made a face and confessed, “We’re… here to get an early start on Mr. Roth’s project. I guess. I mean, I am, at least. And Amelia says she is.”
No.
No.
No, no, no, no, NO!
Deep down, Amelia had known it from the moment she’d laid eyes on the other girl and her grandmas. But she’d been hoping that maybe Sloane was here to just check out books on how fabulous it was to be supercool and popular.
Belinda led them into the darkened library and flipped on the lights. Shimmying out of her leather riding gear, she revealed that she wore a T-shirt that read: READ OR DIE.
Amelia was pretty sure she meant it. Her mom said book circulation was way up since Belinda took over.
They followed the librarian and her dog up the stairs to a bright and sunny room. Not that either the brightness or sunniness did anything to improve Amelia’s mood.
“All of the old newspapers are on microfilm.” Belinda held up a round cartridge that looked a bit like a small film reel. “Here’s how you thread it into the machine. You use these gears to flip through the different issues, this dial to adjust the zoom, and… Hey, you guys did say you’re working together, right?”
Amelia realized that she and Sloane were standing as far apart from each other as they could possibly get. They might also—possibly—have been scowling at each other. Under Belinda’s stern glare, they immediately stopped and scooted closer together.
“We were standing apart so we could see what you were doing,” Amelia lied.
“Hmmm…” Belinda narrowed her eyes at them. “You looked like two people getting ready to yell at each other. You know there’s no yelling or fighting allowed in the library, right?”
“But you’re a biker. Don’t bikers break the rules?”
“Not in my library, they don’t,” Belinda said pointedly, then left with Bunny to get coffee. Or whatever it was that biker librarians did.
Like stringing up by their thumbs people who returned overdue books and taking a tire iron to the kneecaps of anyone who caused a ruckus by fighting with her partner over a microfilm machine.
“Let’s see what we can find out.” Sloane sat directly in front of that microfilm machine, her hands on the controls.
Pushed off to the side, Amelia had to drag up a second chair. Consulting the packet of notes Mr. Roth had given them, she said, “We’re looking for August twentieth, 1887.”
Sloane whizzed through old issues of the Fulton County Expositor at a rate that made Amelia dizzy. Just when Amelia thought she’d have to stop looking or else throw up, Sloane screeched to a halt. “Found it.”
Leaning forward, both girls peered at the headlines:
Shocking Discovery at the Hoäl House!
Safe Blown Apart!
Millions of Dollars Missing
Addison Oldfield and his carpentry crew arrived at the Hoäl mansion this morning to make a shocking discovery. Inside the millionaire’s first-floor study, Jacob Hoäl’s safe had been blown apart. The wreckage was strewn about the room for all to see.
At first, no one knew what to make of this alarming turn of events. Soon, however, suspicion fell on no other than Thomas Zimmerman, one of Mr. Oldfield’s finest craftsmen and Mr. Hoäl’s partner in his first, ill-fated business: Hoäl and Zimmerman’s Traveling Circus. The fine Mr. Hoäl had soon seen that lowly circus for the shady business that it was and went on to make a fortune for himself by investing in stocks and bonds.
When the circus went bankrupt under Zimmerman’s careless guidance, his generous friend was kind enough to secure him a place in Mr. Oldfield’s employ. The talented but dishonest Zimmerman had not shown up for work that day. Though Zimmerman was of worthless character and well known around town to be lazy, it was unusual that he would not want to at least collect his week’s pay.
“Hang on,” Sloane said. “This Thomas guy wasn’t just a clown? He was a carpenter and built stuff, too?”
“When did Mr. Roth say he was a clown?” Amelia didn’t remember anything about that.
Sloane shrugged sheepishly. “I just assumed. I mean, he ended up being a bad guy. So, I figured if he was going to be anything in a circus, it would be a clown.”
“I like clowns,” Amelia said. Sloane gave her that you’ve-got-snot-on-your-face look again but didn’t say anything.
They both went back to reading.
Injured Zimmerman
Seeks the Assistance
of Dr. Barber
Jacob and Lucretia Hoäl left for a week in Chicago last night on the 8:00 p.m. train. Neighbors reported hearing a loud noise from the mansion around 9:15 p.m. but assumed it was Oldfield and his men finishing their work.
At 9:45 p.m., an injured Zimmerman arrived at the house of local physician Dr. Theodore Barber. He had injuries to his face and hands from an explosion. Upon seeing him, the good doctor cried out in horror, demanding to know what had happened. Ever a liar, Zimmerman claimed to have been blowing up a large boulder on the Hoäl estate.
The doctor tended generously to his patient, expecting no payment as Zimmerman was well known around town to be dishonest and lazy.
Now Amelia had a problem with what they’d read.
“That’s twice the paper has said that this Zimmerman guy was well known around town for being lazy.” Amelia crossed her arms.
“So?” Sloane asked.
“So, sometimes people get called things that they aren’t.” Like “Yeti,” Amelia thought, though she clamped her mouth shut, refusing to say it.
Sloane shifted about uneasily in her seat but didn’t say anything. She seemed like she wanted to, but she didn’t. When Sloane still hadn’t adjusted the microfilm reader so they could see more, Amelia reached over and did it herself.
Where Is Zimmerman?
Due to the nature of Zimmerman’s wounds, the good doctor provided him with sleeping syrup. It was far more than the monster deserved and brought about a deep and long sleep. Dr. Barber has sworn that Zimmerman was still unconscious upon the living room sofa as late as one o’clock this afternoon. However, while the doctor was seeing another patient, Zimmerman ran off. Soon after, he was spotted boarding the 1:20 p.m. train for Chicago, no doubt along with the missing jewelry. Suspicion fell on him too late to stop his escape. Deputies have been alerted throughout Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois to check the trains coming into their stations. This devil will not long escape the grasp of the law.
Meanwhile, the honorable Hoäl family is on their way back from Chicago and expected to arrive in town shortly.
“Oh,” Sloane said.
“ ‘Oh’ what?” Amelia asked.
“The train collision must not have happened yet. At least, no one seemed to know about it, if it did.”
Amelia double-checked the date at the top of the newspaper. August 20, 1887. That was the day Mr. Roth had said the trains collided, killing Jacob, Lucretia, and Thomas. And leaving the fate of the missing jewels a mystery.
“ ‘Five o’clock edition,’ ” Amelia read at the top of the paper. Then she scrolled forward to the next newspaper and read it. “ ‘August 20, 1887. Nine o’clock edition.’ How many newspapers did they put out each day?”
“Three or four.” Belinda had come into the room to check on them, a cup of coffee in one hand and Bunny trotting next to her.
“That’s a lot of newspaper,” Amelia observed.
“Well, newspapers were sort of like the social media of the day. Something would happen, and the newspapers would print a new edition and hand it out. Lot harder for messages to go viral. But some of the articles could be every bit as mean as some people are in their postings today. They’d stick to the facts, but that didn’t mean they were always nice about it.”
“Yeah, I noticed that,” Amelia said grimly.
The librarian left, though Bunny stayed behind to flop his head onto Amelia’s lap and whine for some attention. Or maybe he smelled the peanut-butter-and-pickle sandwiches in her pocket.
Either way, Amelia reached down and scratched him behind the ears as both girls turned their attention back to the microfilm reader. Sloane printed off copies of what they’d already read, and then they started in on the nine o’clock edition’s headline. It screamed:
Horrific Train Accident Claims Life of
Prominent Wauseon Businessman!
“I guess everyone knows now,” Amelia said, as though it had all just happened. In a strange way, it almost felt like it had just happened. She found herself caring about the unlucky Hoäl family. Who had woken up one morning thinking they were living the best life ever in their big mansion, only for two of them to be dead and the third one to be an orphan by sunset that same day. She also felt bad for the way everyone kept insulting Thomas Zimmerman. It was clear that the newspaper reporters didn’t like him and that struck a chord in Amelia’s very sore heart.
Farther down the page, there was another headline:
By Bizarre Coincidence, Wanted Thief
Dies in Same Crash as His Victims
“Forget coincidence, that’s just plain unlucky,” Sloane said.
“That’s beyond unlucky,” Amelia agreed, feeling sad but her eyes shining with the drama of it all. Bunny looked up at her curiously and licked his nose. “That’s like unlucky times a thousand. No doubt Zimmerman was feeling remorse over his dreadful crime. He caught that train so he could throw himself at Jacob’s feet in Chicago and beg for his forgiveness, weeping and tearing at his hair. He was traveling toward his redemption, only to have it snatched from him—just as the Hoäl’s lives were snatched from them.”
Amelia trailed off, her voice catching in her throat. She thought what she’d said was terribly moving. In fact, it would make the perfect voice-over, if she decided to go with sound.
However, Sloane stared at her in unflattering disbelief.
“Why do you talk like that?” Sloane demanded in exasperation. “You sound so weird!”
“I don’t sound weird, I sound dramatic!” Amelia could feel the heat rising to her face as Bunny slid off her lap. She wrenched her phone out of the selfie stick and jammed it back into her pocket. She didn’t think she wanted this filmed.
“No, just weird!” Sloane snapped loudly as Bunny grumbled next to them. “You know, we were getting along just fine. You were acting normal and I was thinking that maybe we could actually work together. And then you have to go and talk like that!”
“What? Just because I can see an interesting story in things?” Amelia jumped to her feet. “Just because I have an imagination?”
“No, because you talk like a weirdo!” Sloane got to her feet too, eyes flashing. “This is why other kids keep calling you ‘Yeti’! If you’d just stop acting strange for a while, they’d forget all about you and stop doing it!”
Sloane’s words sliced right through to Amelia’s heart. As Bunny let out a single, scolding bark, the world waivered through tears in Amelia’s eyes.
“People call me names because I’m myself!” Amelia shouted. The tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks. “What they really want is for me not to exist at all!”
“Don’t be so dramatic!”
“I’m not! You want me to stop being me!”
“Would it really be such a bad thing not to be yourself?” Now Sloane was shouting too. “Don’t you get that it’s better for everyone not to be themselves? That way, no one can make fun of the real you, you dramatic weirdo idiot!”
Bunny threw back his head and howled.
“You’re the weirdo!”
“You’re the weirdo!”
“That’s it.” Belinda walked in, yanked the microfilm out of the machine, and tucked the box of cartridges under her arm. Bunny scuttled behind her legs for protection. “You two are done.”
“What?” Sloane gasped in outrage. Amelia was so mortified that she couldn’t form any words. “You can’t do that to us!”
“I can, and I will.” Belinda pointed toward the door. “Out!”
“What did we do?” Sloane protested as the librarian and her dog ushered them down the stairs. Several library patrons clutched books to their chests and gaped at Sloane and Amelia as they passed by. Amelia had the horrible feeling that the two of them had been yelling so loudly that everyone in the building had heard them.
“Created a scene. Disturbed the other library patrons. Behaved recklessly around a very expensive piece of equipment.” Belinda ticked off their crimes on her fingers. “And frightened my dog.”
Bunny whined as though to confirm this point.
“We’ll be good,” Amelia sobbed. “Please don’t throw us out!”
But Belinda swung open the front glass doors and crossed her arms.
Amelia didn’t want to tangle with a librarian who was also in a biker gang. She slinked out onto the sidewalk.
After a moment, Sloane stomped after her.
“I’ll be in your classroom on Monday with all of the information you need,” Belinda told them coldly. “Maybe then you’ll manage to not scream at each other.”
Yanking the door shut after her, she went back inside.
“This is all your fault!” Sloane told Amelia. “You and your annoying costumes!”
“My fault?” Amelia slurred through her tears. “All you had to do was not be a jerk!”
“I wasn’t the jerk!” Sloane said furiously. “There’s no way I can work with you! I’m emailing Mr. Roth and telling him that.”
“You go right ahead, because I’m doing the same thing right now.” Amelia pulled out her phone.
“Good!”
“Good!”
Both girls marched away from each other, Sloane toward downtown and Amelia toward the baseball diamonds at the far end of Elm Street.
Had that really been the end of things, it would have been zemblanitatious for the person who had set this whole project in motion. No one else working on the assignment would have discovered the clues that had been left behind over a hundred years before.
To get things back on track, it would take more than serendipity.
It would take two people apologizing to each other.
Two seventh graders.
Who both thought they were right.