Harper tossed, turned, and tossed some more. The bed linen was scratchy, the pillow crackled in her ear, and the room was stuffy and airless. She felt like a Thanksgiving turkey being broiled alive. She wondered if her dad had had a sleepless night too. He’d be kicking himself for making such a silly mistake, feeling guilty for letting her down.
You’ll hardly have time to miss me, he’d told her. But Harper missed him now. Each time she shut her eyes she saw him fading into the distance at the airport, shoulders slumped as he prepared to take a series of slow trains back to Bluebell Bay.
She sat up and put on her sneakers.
“Where are you going?” Kat asked from the other bed. Her mum was in the next room, soft snores drifting through the connecting door.
“To get some OJ from the drinks station in the lobby. Wanna come?”
“Definitely.”
Kat couldn’t sleep either. Too much sugar. On the flight over, the vegan meal had resembled astronaut rations. To stave off starvation, she’d munched her way through an entire bag of Candy Kittens. Her mum didn’t say a word. Following the debacle with Theo Lamb’s passport, she’d gone overboard trying to compensate for his absence and make Harper feel better.
“Of course you can watch another film,” she’d said when the credits rolled on the first. “Here, have some caramel popcorn. There are Skittles in my bag too if you’re peckish. Yes, you can have more soda.”
She’d dozed off soon afterward, leaving the girls to watch back-to-back movies and eat junk. By the time Kat emerged, dazed, from the entertainment-fest, they were coming into land at Newark airport. Flipping up the blind, she’d pressed her face to the cold window.
The Boeing 747 bumped through a gloom of cloud, tipped a wing, and burst into the light. Kat sucked in a breath. The legendary New York skyline was on fire. The setting sun had turned the skyscrapers into towers of molten gold.
She’d had a bird’s-eye view of the Statue of Liberty, torch held high above the glittering bay, before the plane thudded down. As it sped along the runway, the cranes loading the shipping containers on Newark Bay resembled golden giraffes leaning down to drink.
Getting through passport control and collecting their bags and the Chevrolet Traverse that the professor’s friend had kindly loaned them, had taken forever. The small and quirky Sleepy-Time Inn was only a short distance away, tucked just off the highway, but it was after midnight U.K. time when they were finally settled into their rooms. Kat had been shattered. She had no memory of getting into bed.
Now it was 5:50 A.M. Kat was buzzing. It was her first visit to the United States. She did not want to miss a thing.
“We’re the same, you and I,” laughed Brenda, the receptionist, watching Harper put a splash of orange juice in a glass and top it up with crushed ice from the ice machine. “I like OJ with my ice too!”
Kat filled hers up with juice alone. “I don’t understand. It’s the crack of dawn and chilly outside. Why do you need ice?”
Harper grinned. “Because ice is nice!” She crunched up a mouthful appreciatively.
“Millions agree,” said Brenda.
She gestured at the reception sofa. “Take a seat if you like. You girls hungry? It’ll be a while till the kitchen staff lays out the continental buffet. Want me to toast you a couple of cinnamon-and-raisin bagels while you wait for your mom to surface?”
“Yes, please!” Kat didn’t think her mother would mind. Brenda had been on duty when they’d arrived. She’d been so welcoming and helpful when they were exhausted. Besides, Dr. Wolfe’s room was only three doors along the corridor.
“Okay if I turn on the news?” asked the receptionist as she brought over two warm, plump bagels and a choice of spreads. “This side of the pond, we’re transfixed by the Wish List gang drama. The law caught up with them last week. One of them anyway. They say he’s the ringleader. He appeared in court last night, but this is the first chance I’ve had to watch it.”
“The Wish List gang?” Harper spread cream cheese thickly on her bagel. “Never heard of them. What’s with the weird name? Is it some bucket list thing?”
“Good guess, but not exactly. They’re master thieves. Over the last couple of years, they’ve pulled off a string of outrageous heists. Art, rare books, unique antiques—you name it, they’ve stolen it. They’re like ghosts. Different cities. Different targets. The only link between them was a list left at the scene of each crime.”
“A wish list?”
“You got it,” said Brenda. “Nine items, written real simple, like a kid’s letter to Santa—if Santa were a billionaire. Number one: a priceless painting. Number two: a Ming vase, and so on. Not that a kid would want a Ming vase, but you get the picture.”
Kat’s bagel lay untouched. “How did the police catch up with them? What happened?”
“Same thing that always happens, hon. They got greedy and got caught. Least this one did. Cops are hoping he’s going to rat on the others.”
A red banner scrolled across the television screen. ALLEGED WISH LIST GANGSTER DENIES THEFT OF $50 MILLION NECKLACE.
Brenda turned up the volume. “There he is now: King Rat. This is only the arraignment, mind you—a pretrial hearing. The real trial won’t happen for a couple of years.”
A figure with a coat draped over his head was being helped from a prison van. The watching crowd surged forward, and he stumbled on the courthouse steps. Guards helped him up, virtually carrying him the rest of the way.
Inside the courthouse, he was assisted into the dock. As the guards stepped back, Brenda gave an incredulous laugh: “That’s the ringleader? Let me guess—his other accomplices are a dozen red-nosed reindeer.”
Kat giggled. “He does look a bit like an arthritic Father Christmas.”
“Maybe he is,” joked Harper, “except he kept the best gifts for himself.”
But all three stopped smiling when the defendant spoke in a low, querulous voice to confirm his name and age: Gerry Thomas Meeks, ninety-one. He gave his address as Shady Oaks Nursing Home, New Jersey. His face was creased with laughter lines, as if he’d once been jolly. Now it was haggard, and he tugged nervously at his white beard.
“How do you plead, Mr. Meeks?” asked the magistrate judge.
“Not guilty, Your Honor.”
The prosecutor snorted in disbelief.
The judge banged her gavel. “Any more of that and I’ll hold you in contempt, Mr. Talan. And while we’re on the subject, I hope you have a watertight case. Life is short, and so is my temper.”
“Your Honor, we have a star witness who will prove beyond doubt that Gerry Meeks is a criminal mastermind who snatched the diamond necklace at the Royal Manhattan Hotel while security guards helped tackle a blaze across the street.”
The prisoner looked more dejected than ever. As he was led away by guards, a tall woman with a sweep of dark hair whispered something to him.
“That’s Rachel Scott,” Brenda told Kat and Harper. “She’s a big-shot defense attorney. Heaven knows why she’s representing Gerry Meeks and why she’s doing it pro bono. That means no win, no fee.”
Reporters clamored around the lawyers as they emerged from the courthouse.
“Who are Mr. Meeks’s accomplices?”
“Will he name them?”
“Will he reveal where he’s hidden the diamond necklace?”
“Who’s the star witness?”
Rachel Scott paused, crimson coat swinging. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is a clear case of mistaken identity. Mr. Meeks is a blameless senior who struggles to climb five steps. You saw that with your own eyes. The idea that he could mastermind a string of heists the length and breadth of the United States beggars belief.”
“Save the speech, Rachel,” snapped Kasper Talan. “If he was so innocent, the judge wouldn’t have denied him bail. No, far from being a decrepit ninety-one-year-old with amnesia and bad knees, Gerry Meeks is as cunning as a fox. A resident at Shady Oaks recalls him winning at chess and doing yoga in his room. That’s how smart and limber he is.
“Our star witness will reveal how Gerry Meeks slipped the jewels into his coat pocket, the very same pocket where detectives later found a copy of the wish list. He was so sure he’d get away with his crime that he’d had the audacity to check off number nine on the list: a diamond necklace.”
“And where is that necklace now?” asked Rachel, cool as snow. “Do you have it? Do the cops have it? Oh, it’s still missing, is it? As I suspected, bungling detectives plan on scapegoating an innocent old man to cover up their own incompetence.”
She turned with a cheery wave. “See you in court, Kasper T.”
The news clip cut to a grinning TV anchor. “There you have it, folks. A wily fox or a blameless senior? Ringleader of the Wish List gang or a heartbreaking case of mistaken identity? We’ll keep you posted. In other news, New England residents batten down the hatches for ninety-mile-per-hour winds and possible snow as back-to-back weather systems, including a strong nor’easter, are set to arrive on—”
Brenda muted him. “Whaddya think, girls? Guilty or innocent?”
Kat glanced at Harper. “We believe that people are innocent until proven guilty.”
“But if you had to guess?”
“Innocent,” said Kat.
“Guilty,” said Harper.
Brenda nodded. “I’m with you, Harper. I’m not buying the sweet-old-grandpa act for a second. Nobody steals a fifty-million-dollar necklace unless they’re as sharp as a steak knife. Wonder where he’s stashed it.”
Kat didn’t answer. She was staring at the screen. A weather forecast graphic showed a shape-shifting fireball spitting icy arrows as it barreled toward the northeast coast of the United States. “What is that?”
“What’s what, hon? Oh, they’re predicting Snowmaggedon for New England. A polar vortex is sweeping south from Canada. Something to do with a low-pressure system tugging freezing air from the Arctic. But don’t worry. Up north in the Adirondacks, it’s going to be a perfect day.”