CHAPTER 7
In Need of a Suspect
Thirty minutes later, Amal led them to the side entrance of the Air and Space Museum. Luckily for them, the planetarium had special after-hours shows right up till midnight on Saturday nights. They had to buy four tickets — to the five-thirty showing of “Are Black Holes Doorways … or Death Traps?” — but they got in.
“Okay,” Amal said over her shoulder to her friends. “Let’s find Mr. Mordecai. I think I know where his office is. Hopefully he’s working a little late.”
She shoved the tickets into her back pocket and, rather than following the line of planetarium visitors, moved toward the archway into the rest of the museum. But she didn’t make it to the archway. She hadn’t been watching where she was going, and she walked right into the powerful midsection of Margaret Heckles, night security guard.
“Ms. Farah,” the big woman said. “Did you forget how to get inside the planetarium?”
“Oh!” Amal said. “Hi, Maggie. Didn’t see you there.”
The security guard leaned down and snarled at her. “My name is Margaret,” she said through her teeth. “I don’t even let my mother call me Maggie. Got it?”
“Sorry,” Amal said. She actually knew that. Margaret had given her the same instructions at least five times. “Won’t happen again.”
“See that it doesn’t,” said the security guard. “Now get back in the planetarium line before I escort you and your three troublemaker friends right out of the museum.”
The four kids jumped and hurried to the back of the line.
“Now what do we do?” Clementine whispered.
Amal shrugged. “I guess we learn all about black holes.”
* * *
“That was marvelous,” Clementine said as she, Amal, Wilson, and Raining stepped out of the planetarium theater. Though the others were bleary-eyed and woozy, Clementine was more animated than she’d been all day. “Breathtaking! Inspiring!”
“Nauseating,” Raining said, holding his belly.
“Nonsense,” Clementine said. “I feel so close to a true breakthrough in my space-scape painting. That was just what I needed.”
The exiting crowd headed for the doors, but Amal stopped and looked around. “Okay,” she said quietly. “I don’t see Maggie anywhere. Let’s move fast.”
“Mr. Mordecai probably isn’t even here anymore,” Clementine said. “It’s after six-thirty.”
“Yeah, Amal,” Wilson said. “Forget it. He probably went home to have dinner.”
“Which is what I’d like to do now,” Raining said. “It’s taco night.”
“Not yet,” Amal said, pleading with her friends. “Even if Mr. Mordecai is already gone, this would be a great time to check for the mysterious noises.”
“What noises?” Wilson asked.
Amal told Wilson and Raining all about the weird noises she and her father had heard the night before — the noises she’d thought were the big mystery until the space suit went missing.
“So why now?” Wilson said.
“Because it was after hours last time,” Amal explained. “Come on. Hurry, before Maggie shows up again.”
The group followed Amal through the darkened exhibits and high-ceilinged corridors of the museum until they reached the MUSEUM EMPLOYEES ONLY door. Ignoring the sign, Amal swung it open, ushered the others inside, and let it close behind them.
The back halls were as dark as the front of the museum, lit only by the eerie red light of the exit signs at every intersection. Light also leaked out from beneath one office door, which bore a black placard that read Mortimer Mordecai, Head of Special Collections.
Amal put out her arms to stop the others. “Look,” she whispered. “The lights are on. Do you think he’s still here?”
“Let’s find out,” Raining said. He slipped past Amal and knocked twice on the door.
An instant later the door opened just a crack, and Mr. Mordecai’s face appeared. He wasn’t much taller than Clementine, but his face and attitude weren’t nearly as pleasant.
“Who is it?” Mr. Mordecai said. His voice was shrill and breathy, like an angry snake might sound if angry snakes could talk. “That annoying detective has been hounding me all day, and now this. What do you want?”
“Mr. Mordecai,” Amal said, stepping toward the door. “You know my father, right?”
“Yes, yes,” he said, clearly exasperated. “Dr. Farah. He’s a thorn in my side. Are you trying out to be another thorn too?”
Amal stared at the man. “What?” she said.
“Oh, just tell me what you want, child!” he snapped.
“Um … ,” Amal started to say, but she was too upset by Mr. Mordecai’s nasty words about her father to continue.
Clementine took over. “Have you heard about the missing space suit?” she asked.
“Yes, of course,” said Mr. Mordecai, and for a moment a look of pure glee flashed across his face. “Leave it to that museum to lose something so precious so quickly.” His expression quickly soured again. “For some reason that detective thinks I had something to do with it. But I haven’t been to that museum in years.”
Mr. Mordecia fired a withering glance at Amal. “Tell your father it’s his fault, will you?” he snapped. “If I’d had my way, the space suit would be safe and sound right here, which is where it should have been the whole time!”
With that, he slammed the door in their faces.
“Wow,” Clementine said. “That completely killed the inspiration buzz I got from the planetarium show.”
“We are just meeting the meanest people today,” Wilson said.
Amal nodded. “Let’s go,” she said. Mr. Mordecai’s words stung, and after the run-in with Maggie and the mean bus driver, she’d had enough for one day. “Let’s forget the whole thing. Raining, maybe you can still make it home for taco night.”
“But what about the mystery?” Raining said. “Mr. Mordecai has already spoken to the detective, and it sounds like he didn’t do it.”
“Yeah,” agreed Wilson. “We need a new suspect.”
“Who cares?” Amal snapped. “Let the police worry about it. I’m going home.” And she headed for the exit.