If all else fails, beg like a puppy, making big eyes. But don’t whimper. No one likes a whiner.
— Rule Number 28 from Rules for a Successful Life as an Undercover Secret Agent
Part one of the spy mission involved me going downstairs and standing really close to Stella. Whenever she moved, I followed, asking any question that popped into my mind.
“What is life like in Alaska?” I asked as she rummaged through the refrigerator.
“Cold,” Stella said. “Leave me alone.”
“How do you calculate cube root?” I asked as she took a bite of Aunt Gertie’s leftover baked mac and cheese.
“I don’t know,” she answered with her mouth full.
“How deep is the Pacific Ocean?”
“Mabel, how would I know?” Stella searched the freezer.
“How did you meet Uncle Frank?” I asked as she ate a spoonful of Mom’s homemade strawberry ice cream. “Come to think of it, where is Uncle Frank today?”
Stella tried to walk away, but I stuck close. “Mabel, stop bothering me.”
“Your eyebrows are brown. Is your hair naturally red?”
“I’m warning you.” She flung the empty ice cream container into the sink. “Stop with the stupid questions.”
“Here’s a smart question: How many stars are in the Milky Way, Aunt Stella?”
“Your contrarian attitude is giving me a headache.”
“Where did you get that pearl necklace? It looks just like the one my mother has.” I started counting the freckles on her arm. “One, two, three, four. Oh, are there really thousands of words for ‘snow’ in Native Alaskan languages? Five freckles. Six. Sev—”
“That’s it. Go to your room.” She slapped my hand away. “You may not step foot downstairs for the rest of the evening. No dinner. No television. Go.”
Mission successful! I tried to act upset by slouching my shoulders and hanging my head as I plodded up the stairs. I planned on obeying Stella’s orders. She never mentioned that I couldn’t shimmy down the old apple tree outside my bedroom window, hang out with Stanley Brick, and visit the town jail.
Stanley gave me two thumbs up as I grabbed a sturdy-looking branch and swung my body toward the tree trunk. Once I had firm footing on a lower branch, I climbed down the branches until I could jump onto solid ground. I made it with only a few scratches.
Stanley smiled. “Smooth.” Two freshly eaten apple cores lay at his feet. His sketch pad was opened to a half-done drawing of a tree grove. He pulled out a stack of photos from his backpack and handed them to me.
I’d been so annoyed with my parents leaving on Saturday, I’d forgotten to check out Stanley’s blog posting of October’s pictures. I had always been commenter number one each month. Luckily, he also printed out the photos for his sketches.
I shared a couple of granola bars I’d managed to snag from the kitchen before I was banished. Then I plucked a low-hanging fruit for myself. Sweet and tart. Stanley and I moved out of sight range of my house, past the Spoon, and stopped behind the Star. We munched on the bars and apples as I flipped through his photos. I kept glancing about, but no one was around. Of course not, I thought. Everyone is in jail. Or out of the country. Or eating my food (lasagna and garlic bread — I could tell by the aroma) in my house while watching my television.
The photos were what I expected — trees, leaves, bushes — all crisp and clear in amazing detail. “What’s that?” I asked. One of the trees had a black box on it.
“A bat house,” Stanley said. “Did you know bats are the only mammals able to fly?”
“I do now,” I said, handing the photos back to him. We started walking; the fallen red and orange maple leaves squished under our feet. The sun set quickly, and the chilly, damp air felt like Halloween. Four more days until my birthday.
One of the nice things about hanging out with Stanley was that he didn’t ask a lot of nosy questions. Sure, he’d spend hours explaining why guano (bat poop) was valuable for farming, but not once had he ever questioned where my parents were. I think he was just glad to have a hot dinner and didn’t care if it was my mom, my dad, or my aunt making it.
“Mabel.” Stanley lightly touched my arm, stopping me. “Are we going to wander the back side of Main Street forever?”
“How do I explain this?” I asked, twisting a curl behind my left ear. “I need a huge favor.”
“Sure.” He brushed his hair out of his face.
“You don’t know what it is yet.”
“Aunt Gertie was arrested, so I thought you’d want to talk to her.”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
“I overheard your cousin telling the HEGs about it at lunchtime,” Stanley said.
“What exactly did Victoria say?”
“That your aunt stole valuables from the museum and tried to sell them. The FBI arrested her.”
“No.” I felt my face get hot with anger. “It’s not true. She didn’t steal anything. The FBI is not involved. It’s the Washington State Border Patrol.”
“OK.” Stanley pushed his glasses up his nose. “Do you want to go talk to her?”
“Yes. I need your help, but I can’t tell you anything and you can’t repeat anything you overhear.”
“OK.”
“I mean it, Stanley. Swear.”
“Mabel, who am I going to tell?”
“I don’t know. I just need to believe that I can trust you.”
His eyes darted from corner to corner, like they did when he was making a difficult decision or trying to remember an obscure vocabulary word. “OK. I swear.”
“Thanks. Now, help me break into jail.”
Stanley had his thinking face on: mouth open, eyes shut, and eyebrows wiggling. “The cell windows have bars.”
“What’s your point, Stanley?” Did he think we could yank them out?
“No glass, just shutters. You can talk to your aunt from outside.”
“Good point! Let’s go.” I grabbed Stanley’s sleeve and pulled him after me.
We darted across the street and sneaked into the alleyway that ran behind Main Street. The all-brick Silverton Town Jail was a National Historic Landmark, which doubled as a tourist information center and sold backcountry hiking and camping permits. Luckily, there were no tourists around at this time of day to give us away.
Light spilled out of one tiny window, about the size of a loaf of bread. Unfortunately, it was about eight feet off the ground.
I stood on my tiptoes below it and whispered, “Aunt Gertie. Hello?” She didn’t answer, so I tried again a bit louder. “Aunt Gertie.” She still didn’t reply. “How can I get her attention?” I asked Stanley. “I don’t want to scream.”
“Wait a second,” he said as he fished around in his pockets. He pulled out two pens, a pad of sticky notes, a small rubber ball, three sticks of gum, a couple of paper clips, and a pinecone. “Use this,” he said, handing the pinecone to me.
I flung it through the bars on my first attempt.
“What on Earth?” came my aunt’s familiar voice. I heard her shuffle toward the window.
“Aunt Gertie,” I whispered again. “I’m outside.”
“Mabel, is that you?”
“I need information.” I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to think. Speak in code, Sunflower. “How do you make farfalle?”
Stanley looked at me like I had lost my mind and said, “Eight to ten minutes in boiling water.”
I couldn’t hear Aunt Gertie’s response.
“Shush, Stanley,” I whispered. “You swore you wouldn’t say a word.”
I heard another voice from inside the jail. Sheriff Baker must’ve been checking in on Gertie, but she spoke too quietly for me to understand the words.
Aunt Gertie spoke again, but this time not to me. “Oh, just talking to myself, Prue. I’m fine.” She paused. “Have a nice dinner at Mai’s.” I could hear something being dragged along the floor. “Mabel.”
“Yes, I’m here.”
“Come closer and I’ll give you the secret family recipe.”
“How can I get up there?” I whispered to Stanley.
He pointed at a metal garbage can at the end of the alley. Together we carried and placed it under the window. With Stanley’s hand for support, I climbed on top of it. Standing on my tiptoes, I grabbed hold of the wide metal bars, pulled myself up, and peered inside my aunt’s jail cell. “Ready.”
“Mabel,” Stanley whispered.
“Shush, Stanley. Aunt Gertie hasn’t said one word yet.”
“Mabel.” Stanley tugged on the leg of my jeans. “We gotta go.”
“What are you kids doing sneaking around back here?”
I turned toward the voice. A blinding light flashed in my eyes.
“Step away from the window and come here,” the voice demanded.
I froze, clutching the bars. Stanley didn’t. He walked toward the voice.
“Mabel Pear, is that you?” Footsteps approached and the flashlight beam still blinded me. When the person came close enough, she lowered the flashlight, revealing her face. Sheriff Baker looked at me and sighed. “Get down.” She flashed her light on Stanley. “And who is this?”
“Sheriff, this is my friend Stanley Brick,” I said. “Stanley, this is Sheriff Baker.”
“Nice to meet you, Sheriff,” Stanley said as he held out his hand.
“So you’re the Brick kid Mabel is always hiking with.” The sheriff shook his hand and said, “You’re not going to make a habit of hanging out behind the jail, are you?”
“No, ma’am.” Stanley raised one eyebrow and looked at me.
“Please don’t be mad at us,” I pleaded, begging like a puppy. “I just want to talk to my aunt for a few minutes.”
“You could’ve just come in the front door, you know,” Sheriff Baker said as she ushered us down the dark alleyway and into the Silverton Town Sheriff’s Office and Jail. Only one row of hall lights was on, casting spooky shadows among the Halloween decorations. The sheriff grabbed her wide-brimmed hat off the desk. “Stanley, you look like you could use a piece of Mai’s pie.”
He nodded so fast his black-rimmed glasses slid down his nose. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Tell your aunt I’ll be back with her supper in about fifteen minutes.” Sheriff Baker winked at me. Turning to Stanley, she said, “I’m partial to Mai’s cherry pie. What’s your favorite?”
The creaking hinges drowned out Stanley’s reply as they exited.
My sneakers squeaked on the marble floor as I walked down the hall toward the holding cells. Shivers ran down my spine. I’d never been back here.
The first two cells were dark, but the third one had a lamp in it, spilling light. My aunt was standing on the cot, curly gray hair frizzed out by the evening’s humidity. She wore her favorite long purple skirt, lime green socks, electric blue sandals, and an orange and pink tasseled shawl.
I caught my breath for what seemed the first time all day. “When I woke this morning, Victoria was in my room taking video of me sleeping.”
“That sounds almost worse than waking up in jail,” Aunt Gertie said as she stepped down and walked toward the bars.
“Frankenstella ate all of my cinnamon buns.” I knew it was a petty complaint, but I couldn’t help myself. “Why are they even here?”
“I know your mother wants things to be different with him, but I wish she hadn’t called them when I wasn’t available.” Aunt Gertie clenched her fists. “Frank is an opportunist pig. I’ll strangle him myself when I’m out of here.”
“When will that be?”
“Soon, I hope. Montgomery thinks your parents’ travel schedule is suspicious. And he’s right.”
“Mom and Dad are smugglers?”
“No, Mabel,” Aunt Gertie said. “Their globe-trotting is odd. Strange destinations on a moment’s notice. Montgomery is wrong about why Jane and Fred travel. He’s made an honest mistake.”
“If it’s their traveling that’s the problem, why are you in jail?”
“It’s that necklace from the Memorial Day sale. Even though it wasn’t real gold, it’s rather valuable.”
“How’s that?” I asked, not sure how much Aunt Gertie knew about the necklace’s origin.
“Well for one thing, it’s pinchbeck.”
My look of utter confusion encouraged her to keep talking.
“It’s counterfeit. The necklace was made to look like gold, but it’s really copper and zinc.”
“Valuable how, again?”
“The necklace was made in the 1700s.”
“Old. OK. That gives it worth, I guess.”
My aunt bit her lip in thought. “It’s not unreasonable that the inspector wants to make sure I’m not hiding anything else.” She shrugged. “It’s what I would do if the situation were reversed.”
My aunt and I looked at each other. “So this situation is all my fault,” I said. My aunt — my favorite aunt — who provided me endless love and cinnamon buns, was locked up. “If I hadn’t sold your necklace… if I had taken two minutes to ask, instead of picking that tag up from the floor. If —”
“Don’t blame yourself, Moppet,” Aunt Gertie interrupted. “The necklace was never mine, apparently.”
I did blame myself, but I didn’t have much time to talk and I had other important questions to ask before the sheriff returned. “Do we have any of Thomas Jefferson’s spoons?”
“No. That would be nice, though. People would want to see them. We could probably even charge more than a dollar for admission.”
I wasn’t so sure about that. It seemed to me that the general public wasn’t too interested in spoons. “Could the suitcase that Frank talked about be in the house?”
“There is no suitcase. We never traveled anywhere. We were too poor. The first time I went to Seattle was the summer after I graduated from high school.”
“Maybe it belonged to your parents?” I asked. “Or a friend who came to visit?”
“Moppet, honey, I was sixteen when my parents died. Frank took off weeks later. I remember so much. Too much.” Aunt Gertie shook her head. Her frown lines made her look even older than she was. “Child, I swear, if anyone ever mentions that thing to me again, I might just… I don’t know what. Scream, maybe.” She sighed. “I guess my having that bag of costume jewelry didn’t help matters. If Momma had known it was stolen, I’m sure she would have left it and kept on walking. But she was poor and the necklaces were pretty.” She sighed, long and deep. “Who would have guessed that old stuff would cause so much trouble?”
I could. No police anywhere looked kindly upon the possession of stolen properly — especially when there was intent to sell. However, I’d promised my parents that I wouldn’t tell Aunt Gertie about her parents’ crimes. And even her being locked up wasn’t reason enough to break that promise.
“Cheer up, Mabel. Once the Agency steps in, I’ll be freed. Until then, we deny everything.” Gertie tapped the bars. “I’m supposed to be in solitary confinement. Prue and Ted must think I’ve gone insane, telling you to eat farfalle, which is —”
“Bow tie pasta,” I interrupted my aunt. “I need your handler’s phone number and your password.”
“And my cell phone,” Aunt Gertie said. “It’s in my house.”
“I’m busting you out of jail.” Imagine my surprise when I touched her cell door and it flew open. “Let’s go.” I felt elated. Finally something had gone my way.
“I can’t.” Aunt Gertie slid the door back into place.
I reopened the cell door. “You can. It’s not locked.” Sometimes I seriously wonder how any grown-up can get through the day. “We can go home.”
“Sorry.” She slid the door into place. “I meant to say that I will not.”
A huff escaped before I could control myself. “Are you telling me you could’ve walked out of here at any time, but you chose to stay in jail?”
“Mabel, this is a complicated situation.”
“Speak slowly, and maybe my little brain can understand if you use small words.”
Aunt Gertie shot me the don’t-be-rude glare. “Prue left the door unlocked so that I can use the restroom whenever I need to. I gave her my word that I would be here until this situation is resolved and I’m no longer under suspicion.”
“Did you make a pinkie promise with the sheriff too?”
“I won’t betray her trust.”
“Who cares about Sheriff Baker? I need you.”
“And I am right here.”
“How am I going to get rid of Frankenstella without your help?”
“Calm down and think about this for a minute, Mabel. If I leave this jail cell, where is the first place Sheriff Baker would search for me?”
My best-laid plans crumbled like a sand castle at high tide. Obviously the sheriff would search my house, the Star’s Tale, and the Spoon for my aunt. “What am I gonna do?” I sounded just like Victoria whining to her mother.
“Well, if you can’t call Ms. Bow Tie, you should call your special person and ask for assistance.”
“He hung up on me. My parents are missing and no one cares.”
“No.” She shook her head. “It must have been a glitch. Your parents are too valuable to the Agency.” Aunt Gertie reached through the bars to pat my shoulder. “If it makes you feel any better, this is not the first time they’ve gone off the radar.”
I could feel the heat from the red splotches as they grew on my cheeks and neck. “Why would I feel better knowing my parents have been lost before?”
“Not lost, exactly. It’s just that some missions are so secret, the Agency doesn’t share the information even internally.”
“Doesn’t matter.” I crossed my arms in frustration. “They aren’t doing a thing about it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Mabel. I’ve no doubt they are working double time to make sure your parents are safe.” Aunt Gertie paced about in her cell for a few minutes, a sign she was thinking hard. She opened her cell door.
I leaped into her arms. “Thank you for escaping from jail for me.”
“Mabel, don’t be so dramatic. I’m just getting paper and a pencil.” Aunt Gertie walked over to the sheriff’s desk, grabbed a notebook and pencil, and jotted down a series of numbers. “Memorize this.” She handed the slip of paper to me and returned to her cell. “Then destroy it.”
I repeated the phone number to myself until I felt sure I had it. I tore the paper into tiny shreds, dropping half into the garbage can and half into the recycling bin, as per the emergency disposal protocol. “Key, please.”
Aunt Gertie patted her pockets but came up empty. She shook her head in annoyance. “I must have left them in the Star when Montgomery insisted that I go with him,” she said. “Use the spare key under the back doormat.”
“Where’s your phone hidden?”
“It’s in the spine of Breads of Europe by Anne Eleanor Johnson, on my bedroom bookshelf. Let it ring twice. Hang up. Call again. When Ms. Bow Tie answers, the password is ‘meatballs.’”
“Victoria believes her parents are behind this.” I motioned to the jail cell. “I think she’s right. And…” I paused for dramatic effect. “I bet Montgomery is in cahoots with Frankenstella.”
“Cahoots? You’ve been reading too many old-fashioned spy novels.” Aunt Gertie pulled her long gray hair into a ponytail.
“But Montgomery said —”
“Mabel.” Aunt Gertie lifted her hand to cut me off. “No more silly spy stuff. But whatever you do, don’t let my rat fink brother into the museum. Ever.”
“Are you really afraid he’s going to sell all the silver spoons?”
“I know your mother has let you play spy around the house writing those silly rules,” Aunt Gertie said, ignoring my question. “I don’t mean to be harsh, child, but this situation isn’t make-believe.” The squeaking of the front door stopped her from saying anything else. Footsteps echoed in the empty hallway. “Promise me you’ll just go to school and stay out of trouble.”
“Dinnertime for Silverton’s favorite inmate!” The mouth-watering smell nearly knocked me off my feet. Sheriff Baker walked in and handed the food container to my aunt. “Mabel, I’m driving Stanley home. Can I give you a lift?”
“I’ll walk,” I said. Her message was clear: visiting time was over.