Sloane didn’t email Mr. Roth. Instead, as soon as she stomped around the corner of Fulton Street, she smacked right into both of her grannies. They were power-walking another lap around the downtown. As if the sidewalks in front of all the nineteenth-century storefronts was some sort of racetrack. Usually Nanna Tia—Sloane’s great-granny—walked with them, but after Sloane’s mom died, she’d started up an illegal bingo business in her living room. Now it was so successful that it took up most of her time.
“Sloane-y!” Granny Pearl and Granny Kitty both cried in delight. Cheek-pinching followed, as though they hadn’t seen her in months.
“Erf.” Sloane managed to pull her face free with as much dignity as she could muster. When Grampy Osburn passed away four years ago, Granny Pearl had moved from Columbus to Wauseon to live with Sloane’s mom’s mom and grandma. At the time, her dad had predicted it would be trouble.
“You don’t think they’ll get along?” Sloane’s mom had asked.
Dad had shaken his head. “No, I think they’ll get along too well.”
Four years and that illegal bingo operation later, Sloane understood what he meant. She and her dad worried there might be an FBI raid at any moment.
Of course, right now, Sloane had bigger problems than the FBI. Because Mac Attack Snyder stood across the street by Sullivan’s Restaurant. Smirking, she lowered her phone.
“Oh no.” Sloane briefly closed her eyes. “She’s taken a picture of you pinching my cheeks.”
Of all the luck! She could just imagine the snaps. Baby Sloane-y getting her cheeks pinched! Goo-goo, ga-ga, Baby Sloane!
Well, that was one way to get everyone to forget about Amelia the Yeti. Which Sloane supposed she deserved. She’d promised the memory of her mom that she’d be nice to the girl the next time Sloane met her. A promise Sloane had promptly broken as soon as she saw Amelia in that cringey Sherlock Holmes getup. Even though she could hear her mom say in her head, Cool costume! That’s totally something right out of Doctor Who!
This was clearly divine punishment for it. And for starting the whole yeti business in the first place. (Accidentally or not.)
Opening her eyes, Sloane found Mackenzie bearing down on her, still grinning.
Granny Kitty and Granny Pearl swung their heads from one girl to the other, eyes going beady.
“Why, is that little Tootie Snyder?” Granny Pearl cried sweetly, clasping her hands together in delight.
Mackenzie froze just as she reached the curb, and went white as a sheet.
“It is, Pearl!” Granny Kitty cried. “We play bingo with your grandma Snyder, you know! She just loves to tell us all about her granddaughter, Tootie.”
“Got her nickname from the great big farts she used to do when she was a toddler,” Granny Pearl continued, as though farts were the most delightful thing in the world to talk about. “Apparently she’d cry, ‘Uh-oh! I tooted!’ and then laugh herself silly. So, her family started calling her ‘Tootie.’ ”
“I, um, don’t go by Tootie anymore.” Mackenzie could not possibly look any more mortified.
Seizing the moment, Granny Kitty grabbed Mac’s phone and went, “Oh, Pearl! Look at that adorable picture she took of us with our Sloane-y! She’s added the cutest little baby bonnet and diaper to our granddaughter!”
Before Mackenzie could grab her phone back, Granny Pearl reached forward and tapped the garbage can icon. “Let me see! Oopsie! Deleted it instead. Oh dear.”
“Technology these days.” Granny Kitty handed the phone back to Mackenzie. “You know how us old folks are with it.”
“No problem!” Mackenzie gulped and scampered off toward the library before anyone could call her Tootie again.
“Don’t worry, Sloane-y.” Granny Pearl winked. “We’ve got your back.”
With that, they power-walked off again in their matching tracksuits. Probably to lure other old people to Nanna Tia’s bingo shack.
In spite of everything, Sloane rubbed at her cheek and felt ridiculously happy. It was nice to know someone’s got your back.
Which was more than Amelia had at school.
Ugh. There went that ridiculously happy feeling.
Sloane slouched off home. She lived with her dad in a rambling Victorian house that looked out over Wauseon’s South Park at the end of Fulton Street. The sharp edges of the old brick storefronts stopped at the county courthouse, giving way to a neighborhood of rounded cupolas and wide front porches. The park had a gazebo and big trees that had been little back around the time Thomas had been blowing up Jacob’s safe and stealing his jewels.
Her parents had bought the falling-apart house when Sloane was a baby. Even though they were both orthodontists, her parents also liked to work with their hands. Except, first they were so busy with their business and taking care of Sloane that they hadn’t gotten much done on it. Then her mom had gotten cancer, and they’d gotten even less work done on the house she’d loved so much.
These days it was just her dad working on it.
That’s what David Osburn was doing when Sloane stomped in the front door and almost tripped over him as he sanded the foyer floor. At least, he must have been sanding it a moment before. Right now, he was holding up the still-whirring sander but seemed to have forgotten that it was there. Instead, he stared off into space.
He did that a lot these last two years. Looking back into the past. Like he was still trying to find Sloane’s mom.
Realizing that Sloane was home, her dad jumped and turned the sander off.
“You’re back early.” He got up off of his knees and yanked off his face mask. “Everything okay?”
He asked it hesitantly, anxiety digging down into his brows. She knew he worried that one parent wouldn’t be enough for her. That he wouldn’t be enough for her.
“No! Everything’s great, Dad!” Sloane gave him her widest smile. The one she sometimes felt like she borrowed off someone with a concussion. Even though it always reassured him. “I’m just… back for some lunch!”
Her dad’s face relaxed into his own relieved smile. “Great! How about if I warm up some of the lasagna Granny Pearl left us?”
“That sounds great!” Sloane beamed and followed him into the kitchen to help him dish out the lasagna and microwave it. The microwave sat on top of the plywood they had instead of counters. It had been two years, but her dad still couldn’t bring himself to put in the butcher block counters her mom had picked out before she died.
Their whole house was like that—an old home filled with half-finished dreams.
“How’s your project going?” her dad asked as they ate.
“Great!” Sloane lied. “I think I found some really useful information!”
“That’s great!” her dad said back, smiling too.
Then they both realized that they had said the word “great” about half a dozen times in less than five minutes. That was… less great.
“Um, Sloane?”
“Yes, Dad?”
“Would you mind if we didn’t do our usual pizza-and–Doctor Who thing next Saturday?” her dad asked nervously. Seeing the astonished look on Sloane’s face, he quickly added, “It’s just that I have this work… thing. The Northwest Ohio Orthodontist Association is having a banquet at the Barn Restaurant over in Archbold and…”
“No, no—that’s fine!” Sloane reassured him before he felt like he needed to tell her all about his super boring orthodontist dinner. “In fact, it’s great!”
Ugh. That word again.
“Great.” He nodded.
“Yeah, great.”
It was not, in fact, great. Suddenly. Sloane already felt like she was sitting on the couch all by herself. Empty air where her mom should be on one side, and now empty air on the other side where her dad normally sat. Who was she going to watch Doctor Who with? Who was going to reassure her that bacon and banana peppers were neither weird nor gross pizza toppings?
But her dad tried so hard. And he was so sad so much of the time.
How could she ever tell him anything wasn’t great?
After lunch, Sloane grabbed her bicycle and rode across town to the Fulton County Historical Society. Someone from the museum was also supposed to be at their class on Monday, but Sloane figured she could find out some stuff now. Then she’d text it to Amelia to try to make peace between them.
However, arriving at the historical society, she felt like she’d ridden backward in time about six months to last Halloween. The historical society was housed in a very old building that had once been a creepy school, then a creepy hospital, and finally a creepy apartment building before being turned into a creepy museum. There were supposed to be ghosts all over it. Probably a few evil clowns as well, because it was that sort of building.
The sort of building Sloane was about to go into.
Alone.
Well, except for the ghosts and possible clowns.
Next door to the museum, a kid of about six or seven was bouncing a basketball slowly against the driveway. It made an ominous dun-dun-dun sound. The boy watched open-mouthed as Sloane pulled her bike into the museum’s driveway and tucked it behind a lilac bush. A WELCOME! sign hung above the wooden steps, its chain creaking eerily in the breeze. Which also stirred a few dead leaves across the planks in a not-at-all menacing way.
“It’s haunted, you know,” the little boy with the basketball piped up helpfully.
“Thanks.” Sloane grimaced and squeezed the straps of her backpack more tightly.
“I seen ’em through the window. A creepy woman with a tall black hat and a long black dress like a witch.”
“Any clowns?”
The boy shook his head. “Just witches.”
Well, that was something, at least. Sloane wasn’t particularly afraid of witches.
The slats groaned beneath her sneakers as she climbed the steps. Taking a deep breath, she marched across the front porch and thrust open the door. Inside the foyer, thick walls blocked most of the noise from outside.
However, someone inside the museum was chanting in Latin. At least, Sloane thought it was Latin. Some sort of creepy-sounding language, anyhow.
Sloane gulped.
“He-he-hello?” she called.
The chanting continued. It was coming from two rooms away on her right, Sloane thought. It was probably a ghost teacher giving lessons in a dead language.
“Hello?” Sloane squeaked.
People called “Slayer” did not run from ghosts. Knees knocking, Sloane forced herself forward. Into a room filled from floor to ceiling with books behind beveled glass doors. The research room, she thought. Which was good because she was here to do research.
What was less good was that a wide doorway led into another room. This one filled with rather horrifying taxidermy animals.
And a witch in a long black dress and pointed hat.
A ghost witch. Just like the little boy next door had said.
Slayer Sloane scuttled backward, her feet sliding on the Turkish carpet. Instead of escaping, she fell against the massive oak desk in the middle of the room.
The witch turned around, spotting her…
… and revealing herself to actually be a himself.
“I’m, uh, Milton Unserios. The museum’s curator?” The witch said it so nervously that it turned into a question. Like he wasn’t entirely sure if he was the curator or not and was hoping that Sloane could confirm it for him. “The museum, uh, doesn’t usually get many visitors on Saturdays. And sometimes I, um, get bored.”
Her terror draining away, Sloane realized that Milton wore a very expensive-looking Harry Potter robe and hat. In his hand was an equally pricey wand, while a pair of round spectacles perched upon his nose. His maroon-and-gold bow tie proclaimed Milton to be Gryffindor. Which Sloane personally doubted.
The museum curator was definitely a Hufflepuff all the way.
“You won’t tell anyone I was playing around with the stuffed owl, will you?” Milton asked anxiously, sweeping the peaked hat off his head. He gestured at an enormous taxidermic barn owl he had taken out from beneath its protective glass dome.
“I definitely promise,” Sloane assured him as she got back up onto her feet. No way she was telling anyone about this. Ever. “I’m Sloane Osburn, and I’m here from Mr. Roth’s class about the missing Hoäl jewels.”
Milton tugged at his bow tie and looked confused. “I didn’t think anyone was actually going to come here. No one ever comes here on the weekend. I thought I was supposed to go out to the middle school on Monday. I’m quite looking forward to it, you know. I don’t get to go on many field trips!”
“My partner and I are just trying to get a leg up on the competition,” Sloane said as she slid her backpack off her shoulders. “I’m here to collect some information so she and I can get right to work on Monday.”
The museum curator sorted through all the other Harry Potter stuff strewn about the place; from a Slytherin mug to Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw pens to a Marauder’s Map background on his desktop. Finally, he came up with a dreadfully boring-looking book called Notorious and Illustrious Citizens of Fulton County, Along with a List of Their Crimes and Accomplishments. Milton flipped it open to a yellowed page. At the top, there was a picture of a group of people in circus costumes. They stood before an elaborately carved wooden wagon painted with the words HOÄL and ZIMMERMAN’S CIRCUS. Sloane read the caption, and just as she had suspected, Thomas was dressed like a clown. Jacob wore a plain suit and looked like he wanted to be somewhere, anywhere, else.
“Thomas built the wagon,” Milton enthused. “He was actually quite a talented carpenter. If he’d stuck to that, he probably would have done very well for himself. Maybe he wouldn’t have ended up as rich as Jacob, but he’d have made money.”
“What about the circus?” Sloane asked. “Why’d he leave that?”
“Because he didn’t have any choice.” Milton tugged on his bow tie again. “Thomas wasn’t a businessman. Without Jacob’s guidance, the circus soon went bankrupt, while Jacob became wealthy. In the end, Thomas had to come back to town and beg Jacob for work on his house.”
That was kind of sad. Sloane opened her mouth to say so, when a roar caught her attention from the street outside. Going over to the window, Sloane and Milton both saw a motorcycle screech to a halt along the curb outside the building. Its rider wore black leather, while a large German shepherd panted happily in the sidecar.
No.
No.
Maybe all of the librarians at the Wauseon Public Library rode motorcycles and had large dogs as their best friends, Sloane thought hopefully. Maybe they were a librarian gang.
Then the rider hopped onto the sidewalk and took off her helmet.
Yup. It was Belinda Gomez.
If Sloane had known the word “zemblanity,” she doubtless would have used it. For, in her mind, this wasn’t just bad luck. This was beyond bad luck. This was—this was… this was someone not minding her own business, that’s what this was.
However, Sloane didn’t know the word “zemblanity.” So, rather than gasping it out loud, she started looking for an escape route.
“Hey, you don’t have a back door, do you?” Sloane asked, but it was already too late. Belinda bounded up the stairs and burst through the foyer door with Bunny hot on her heels.
“Yo, Milton!” she shouted. “I’m here for the…”
The librarian stopped midsentence, Bunny skidding to a halt next to her. She took in Sloane and Milton looking like he’d just wandered in from the teachers’ lounge at Hogwarts.
“What’s going on here?” Belinda demanded. “What have you done to Milton?”
“Er,” said Milton.
“Gotta go!” said Sloane, booking it out of there before Belinda could get cross with her again. She didn’t really know that Belinda would, but the librarian was a little scary and seemed like she might turn Sloane’s hide into a book.
For those uncertain about where one’s hide is located, it’s typically located on the part of the body used for sitting. For it to get turned into a book, it would most definitely require zemblanity, not just bad luck.
Once again, Sloane didn’t know the word “zemblanity.” But she did know she liked her hide right where it was.
She didn’t stop running until she reached the Civil War monument on top of North Park’s hill. Then she leaned against it to rest, kind of embarrassed with herself. People nicknamed “Slayer” didn’t run from librarians just because they were afraid they’d get a scolding. Granted, Belinda was a biker librarian and might take bookbinding tape to Sloane’s face, but still.
Regardless, it was lucky she did so, as it allowed Sloane to spot a bit of movement in the bushes along the side of the museum.
Someone was hiding in the lilac bush that sagged against the museum’s front porch.
Someone in a black sweater, black leggings, black hat, and black Halloween eye mask.
Amelia disentangled herself from the pale purple blossoms and slid along the north side of the building with her arms splayed. She had tied her phone to her forehead. With a sinking feeling, Sloane realized Amelia was probably filming everything she did.
Which, for some reason, appeared to involve breaking into the museum. Probably because it was more dramatic than just going up and knocking on the door.
The little boy who had been shooting baskets in his driveway stopped to watch Amelia with his mouth hanging open.
Amelia was short enough to skim right under the side windows without being seen. From her vantage point looking into the east windows, Sloane could tell that Milton and Belinda were still talking in the front room. Amelia continued until she was beneath the open window into the back room. The one that contained the taxidermic animals with which Milton had been playing Harry Potter.
The girl reached up, her fingers just hooking the windowsill. Amelia tugged with all of her might, feet scrabbling against the whitewashed brick siding, trying to find a toehold.
Belinda glanced over her shoulder toward the room full of stuffed animals, but kept on talking to Milton.
Sloane’s heart skipped a beat.
If Amelia got caught, she might get into trouble. Maybe not—but maybe.
But Sloane had already caused Amelia to get into trouble once today already. That tugged at her conscience even before her imaginary mom started worrying about Amelia hurting herself. Remember how I broke my wrist falling off a porch when I was kid? Sloane’s mom said in her mind. If Amelia falls, she could break something too.
Ugh. Now Sloane had two images in her mind to worry about. A sobbing Amelia getting lectured by Biker Belinda and a crying Amelia getting loaded into an ambulance.
Amelia’s feet skidded against the side of the museum. She almost got a leg up over the windowsill, only to have her feet slip. Down she went with a “Whoa!” loud enough for Sloane to hear it across the street in the park.
Sloane flinched and sucked in her breath, convinced Amelia had broken something. Fortunately, the other girl hopped to her feet and brushed herself off, clearly uninjured.
Less fortunately, Belinda and Milton both went into the back room to look out the window.
Sloane’s heart skipped another beat, but Amelia pressed herself flat against the wall beneath the windowsill.
The historian, the librarian, and the librarian’s dog all looked out, but they just saw the boy holding his basketball. He was kind enough to shove his finger up his nose and announce, “There’s ghost witches in there, you know.”
Clearly, he was talking to Amelia, but Milton and Belinda must have thought he was talking to them. They waved at him and then went back into the front room again.
Luck had absolutely nothing at all to do with what happened next. Sloane didn’t want to get into trouble, but she didn’t want Amelia to get hurt or in trouble either.
And she did want to make things up to the other girl. For a moment, Sloane tugged at her ponytail, torn between two choices: Walk away like she’d never seen Amelia, or go along with the girl’s weird plan? Stay out of trouble, or risk getting into it? Keep on ignoring Amelia and hope things would get better, or actually help her?
Harder and harder, Sloane pulled on her hair as the seconds ticked away. She knew what her mom would tell her to do. She knew what Mackenzie would tell her to do.
And then she knew what Sloane would do.
She sped down the hill to help Amelia.
She caught the other girl as she tried to climb up onto the window sill again. Sloane looped her fingers together, grabbed Amelia’s foot, and gave her a lift upward.
“There’s a book in there called Notorious and Illustrious Citizens of Fulton County. There are a bunch of pages about the case,” Sloane babbled. “I’ll buy you enough time to take pictures of them. Oh, and there’s a photo of Jacob and Thomas together with their circus. Maybe get a picture of that, too.”
Before Amelia could say anything back, Sloane pushed her up and over the windowsill. As she had expected, the other girl lost her balance and crashed to the floor. Sloane winced, praying that Amelia hadn’t broken anything. Mainly herself.
From somewhere inside the museum, Belinda’s suspicious voice said, “Hey, what was that?”
Turning around, Sloane snatched the basketball from the kid who still had his finger jammed up his nose. Trying not to think about the fact that he’d just been touching the ball, she dashed around the side of the building and up onto the porch.
Where she began to dribble loudly against the porch boards.
“Sloane Osburn, what are you doing?” Belinda asked in exasperation as she and Milton ran outside. The librarian had his wand raised like he planned to cast some sort of spell.
Bunny barked and wagged his tail, clearly wanting to play.
“I, um, do sports when I need to think.” Sloane pounded the ball loudly against the porch floor. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Amelia through the window. The other girl had gotten unsteadily to her feet but didn’t seem to be hurt. Now she struggled to remove her phone from where she had tied it to her head so she could take pictures of the book.
“What do you need to think about?” Milton asked in bewilderment.
“Oh. Um. All sorts of things.” Like the fact that Sloane was helping her partner commit what might quite possibly be an actual crime. Breaking into a museum couldn’t be legal, even if you didn’t steal anything. The FBI might bust her, along with Nanna Tia and her bingo operation.
“What’s going on here?” An all-too-familiar voice called from down the street.
Sloane caught the basketball in her arms. If her heart had been skipping beats before, now it decided to give up and play dead. That voice belonged to Mr. Roth.
Because he was walking up the street toward them.
With Principal Stuckey next to him.
Sloane closed her eyes. Maybe if she kept them closed long enough, the adults around her would grow bored and wander off to find some other children to torment.
“Sloane, why are you playing basketball on the museum’s front porch?” Mr. Roth asked, still down on the sidewalk. Bunny had run out to greet him and Principal Stuckey, keeping them down on the sidewalk.
Sloane opened up her eyes.
“It helps me think.” Which was not a lie. Right now, it was definitely helping her to think that this was all a very bad idea.
At least none of the adults were positioned so they could see Amelia as she ransacked the museum for the book. Milton and Belinda still had their backs to the window, and Mr. Roth and Principal Stuckey were too far down the sidewalk.
Of course, if they walked closer, they’d definitely see Amelia.
So, like Bunny, Sloane ran down to greet these two new bothersome adults. The other two already-bothersome adults followed hot on her heels.
“Mr. Roth, I think it’s really not fair that you’re requiring me and Amelia to work together,” Sloane said. “We just don’t get along. Forcing us to work together means that neither one of us is going to do as good of a job as we would have if you’d just let us work alone. We can’t work together.”
Except, of course, they were working together right now.
She probably shouldn’t mention that fact.
“Yes, Principal Stuckey already told me about the scene you and Amelia caused at the library,” Mr. Roth said pointedly.
“What?” Sloane gasped. Why did her principal know about that?
“I was checking out a new book on Mennonite cooking!” Principal Stuckey held it up. “I was looking for a good snickerdoodle recipe. You know, Pence, Sloane here might have a point. We want the students to learn as much as possible from this, not fight with each other.”
“And part of what they will learn is how to work together,” Mr. Roth said firmly, giving Bunny a final pat on the head and walking past Sloane, toward the museum. “Now, let’s finish up the last details on this project before anyone else shows up early to work on it! I must say, I love the enthusiasm you seem to have for this project, Sloane.”
Sloane winced as they headed over to the porch stairs. She opened her mouth to say something—anything—before they spotted Amelia in the window. But she couldn’t think of a single thing.
Fortunately, she didn’t need to.
Amelia saw the group of adults before they saw her and dove out the open window. As they went inside, she landed with a crash in the bush.
Tossing the basketball back to the nose-picker, Sloane ran over and tugged Amelia free. The black cap had fallen off her head. Leaves and twigs poked out of her curls, and she’d torn the elbow on her sweater.
“Are you all right?” Sloane gasped, worried that she wasn’t.
But Amelia triumphantly held up her phone to show a picture of Notorious and Illustrious Citizens of Fulton County.
“Got it,” she said smugly.
Working together, they’d actually pulled this off. Neither Mackenzie nor Mylie nor Kylee would have been able to do it. Mackenzie wouldn’t have had the interest, Kylee the imagination, and Mylie the ability to stay quiet long enough.
An awkward silence hung in the air between them, offering Sloane two choices: ask for the pictures and go her own way…
Or work with Amelia.
This wasn’t about serendipity or zemblanity.
This was all on Sloane—and Amelia—to decide.
“Look, I’m sorry about what I said earlier,” Sloane said. “Do… you want to work together on this?”
For a moment, Amelia stood perfectly still.
Then, she nodded her head.
With that, they both moved one step closer to the jewels.
And one step closer to having those jewels taken away from them.