The day Cecelia Varney’s obituary ran in the New York Times, real estate brokers began stalking the mansion like hungry hyenas. Not only was the house among the most magnificent in New York, it was said to be filled with Ms. Varney’s priceless collections. Over the course of fifty-five years, she’d spent her family’s entire fortune without ever setting foot inside a store. Men who were sworn to secrecy—and paid well to keep their word—made deliveries in the dead of night. Rumor had it that Ms. Varney had hoarded countless artworks long thought to be lost or destroyed, and everyone in town wanted a peek at her treasures. Unfortunately, her will made it clear that neither the house nor its contents could be disturbed. Everything belonged to the seventy-six cats (all descendants of the original pair) that roamed the rooms at will.
So it came as some surprise when the building changed hands just weeks after Cecelia Varney’s death. The cats, it seems, had disappeared without a trace. Not even the latest batch of kittens could be located. Without the heirs around to claim it, the mansion was auctioned off. A mysterious billionaire purchased it all. Before the building had started to crumble, one of my classmates at Atalanta swore she’d seen a small, dapper man in a pale gray suit open the door to the mansion. I should have known when she mentioned the cane that it was Lester Liu.
• • •
I found Oona and Betty waiting for me in Central Park, across the street from the Varney Mansion. Even though Betty was the one in disguise (blond hair, black suit, brainy glasses), it was Oona who seemed unfamiliar. Overnight, she had transformed from a trusted friend into Lester Liu’s daughter.
“Hey.” Oona glanced my way and then back across Fifth Avenue. “What do you think?” I felt my excitement wither as I surveyed the mansion. Beneath its brace of metal scaffolding, the building looked lifeless, its stone so white, it could have been carved out of ice. Every window was dark—blocked by shutters that sealed out the city. Most of the mansions on Millionaires’ Row were ostentatious monuments to the men who had built them. The Varney Mansion was a mausoleum.
“You know we’ll be some of the first people inside,” I said. “I wonder what he’s got in there.”
“Probably a dozen Taiwanese school kids,” said Oona. “I bet he makes them polish the floors. By the way, can you believe he lives here while I spend all my free time in a nail salon?”
“How’s Yu?” I asked, hoping to remind her that life could be worse. “Is he getting any better?”
“I guess. He seems pretty healthy to me, but Mrs. Fei says he’s got to stay in bed for a few days. I think she just wants to keep him around. He’s the sweet, lovable child she never had. And he’s a boy, too, so she must think she hit the jackpot.”
“It’s the twenty-first century,” I said. “I can’t believe some people still prefer boys over girls.”
“Uh, guys,” said Betty. “Sorry to interrupt, but how long are we going to wait for Kiki? I have to get back to school.”
I checked my watch. Only twenty minutes were left until lunch was over. “Okay, let’s get started,” I said, taking charge. “Oona, if the house was just sold, I bet the real estate company still has a floor plan in their computers. Do you think you can get to it?”
“No problem,” said Oona. “I’ll hack in tonight.”
“Betty, can you ask Luz to whip up a few bugs?”
“What are you going to do with whipped bugs?” Betty asked.
“Listening devices,” I corrected her. “Small ones we can plant around Lester Liu’s house.”
“Ahh, right.” Betty smiled at her mistake. “I should sew some hidden pockets into the dresses I’m making for you. That way you won’t get caught if your bags are searched.”
“Perfect. Can you also talk to Iris and DeeDee and see if we can use some of their trustworthy perfume?”
“Hey,” said Oona. “Aren’t you going to do anything?”
“I can’t,” I snapped. “I’ve got detention until six o’clock, and after that I’ll be trying to explain to my mother where I was last night.”
“You got caught?” gasped Betty.
“Yeah. I’ll tell you the whole story when it seems a little less tragic. Now, last thing. How many people live in the mansion with Lester Liu?”
Oona shrugged.
“Okay.” I sighed. “I guess somebody’s going to need to watch the place over the next twenty-four hours and see who goes in and out. Any volunteers?”
“I’ll do it,” said a voice behind us. Betty squealed as a squirrel jumped up on her shoulder and nuzzled at her neck.
A tall, thin boy dressed in camouflage stepped out from behind a tree. His face and neck were smeared with dirt and his hands were covered in paint. He may have been fifteen or sixteen, his hair may have been red, and he may have been good-looking. It was almost impossible to tell.
“Get that squirrel off of her,” I insisted.
The boy whistled and the squirrel bounced back to him.
“He wasn’t attacking her,” said the boy. “He likes her.”
“I hope they don’t like her as much as they liked our friend Luz. Your little monsters really scratched her up.” Few people could withstand Oona’s snarl, but the boy stood his ground.
“Yes, I’m sorry about that. They get a little excited sometimes. I’m trying to teach them better manners. We don’t want to hurt people; we just want their money.” His voice was cool and crisp. Every word was perfectly enunciated. It was as if he were an extraterrestrial who’d learned English too well.
“Have you been following me?” asked Betty.
“Yes,” the boy freely admitted, taking us all by surprise.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“You can call me Kaspar.”
“Like the friendly ghost?” Oona snickered.
“Be nice,” said Betty.
“I think it’s more like Kaspar Hauser,” I said, recalling a book I’d once found in the tiny section of my parents’ library devoted to child-rearing manuals. “He was the original wild child. He was discovered in Germany a long time ago.”
“Smart,” said Kaspar. His smile revealed teeth as white as freshly scrubbed subway tiles. He hadn’t been living in the park for long. “Who are you?”
I checked with Oona and Betty.
“Go ahead,” said Oona. “It may give us an excuse to kill him in the future.”
“I’m Ananka Fishbein. That’s Oona Wong. And the girl you’ve been stalking? Her name is Betty Bent.” I wondered if the boy was blushing under all that dirt.
“Where are your three other friends?” he asked. “The little white-haired girl, the mean-looking one, and the girl who was meant to be squirrel bait?”
I peered down at my watch. Where was Kiki?
“Aren’t you clever?” I said. “Maybe you should tell us a little bit more about yourself before we invite you to join our club.”
“What would you like to know?” Kaspar leaned causally against a tree trunk like an old-fashioned swashbuckler.
“What’s up with the squirrels?” I asked. “Why did you teach animals to steal?”
“I didn’t teach them. They taught me,” Kaspar said without a hint of humor. “I’m afraid it isn’t a very pleasant story.”
“Unpleasant stories are my favorite kind,” Oona goaded him. “I’d love to hear yours.”
“If you insist,” Kaspar said. “A few years ago, I woke up and discovered that my parents had abandoned me. I still don’t know where they went, but they took everything of value in our apartment. When I couldn’t pay the rent, the landlord kicked me out. So I came to live here in the park. One morning I was digging through a Dumpster for food when I noticed some men delivering cages filled with unusual squirrels to the back door of a pet store. I remember thinking that the animals looked even more miserable than I felt. They deserved to be free, not sitting in a cage where idiots could gawk at them.
“While the back door was open, I crammed a rotten potato in the lock. When the men left,
I snuck into the store and set the squirrels free. Some of them ran off, but these three stuck with me. After a while, they started bringing me presents. Chocolate bars, ten-dollar bills, diamond tennis bracelets. At first I didn’t realize they were stealing them. I was just happy I had money to buy food. But when I found out, I knew I had to put their skills to good use. With the money we made, we could set more animals free. No living creature should be kept in a cage.”
Betty was blinking back tears and even Oona seemed uncharacteristically touched. But as far as I was concerned, his story didn’t ring true.
“Now that you know my secret, how about sharing one of yours?” Kaspar asked. “Where did you get that map? The moment I saw it, I knew it was important. I suspected the girl we mugged would come back for it. I didn’t expect her to bring such charming friends.”
I refused to be flattered. “We can’t tell you about the map.”
“I understand. You would need to ask the white-haired girl first. She’s your leader, I assume.”
“We don’t need anyone’s permission,” snapped Oona. “We just don’t trust squirrel-loving thieves.”
“You are a criminal,” said Betty softly. “And we don’t really know you.”
“Perhaps there’s a way I can earn your trust.” Kaspar looked past Oona and me to Betty. “Did I hear you say that you need someone to watch this building?”
“Perhaps,” Oona said, mocking his peculiar way of speaking.
“I’ll keep an eye on it. I’ll stay here all night, and I won’t even ask why. Maybe I’ll even solve the mystery of the Varney cats. But I have one condition. Betty must agree to have dinner with me.”
“No way,” I said. “That’s too much to ask. We don’t use our friends as bargaining chips.”
“It’s okay, Ananka,” Betty said. “When all this is over, if that’s still what he wants, I’ll do it.” I could see that Betty didn’t believe she’d have to honor the deal. Somehow, she thought that one whiff of Eau Irresistible could still have Kaspar hooked.
“Betty …” I tried to warn her.
“My mind’s made up,” she announced. “But I have one condition, too. No more pet store raids and no more muggings, okay? I don’t date delinquents.”
“Excellent. Then we have a deal.” Kaspar flashed his movie-star smile and began to climb an oak opposite Lester Liu’s mansion. “Meet me here tomorrow evening, and I’ll give you my report.”
We left Kaspar perched on a limb of the tree and hurried back to class. The nearest subway station wasn’t far from my school, and the three of us walked briskly in the same direction.
“Where was Kiki?” fumed Oona. “I stuck with her last time, and that sadistic cousin of hers nearly killed me. Now my own father wants to murder me, and she doesn’t even show up.”
“Something must have happened. Kiki would never blow off a reconnaissance mission.” Although I was worried about Kiki, I couldn’t help but feel pleased that she and Oona were on the brink of falling out. “Do you think one of us should drop by her house after school?”
“I’ll do it,” said Betty. “But then I’m going straight up-town to see DeeDee. I’ve got to find a way to get this perfume off.”
“Yeah, about the perfume, Betty. I think you just made a mistake with squirrel boy back there. No perfume on earth lasts this long,” I told her.
“Why else would Kaspar want to help us? I feel bad, even if he is a criminal. It’s like I’m taking advantage of him.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” said Oona. “Why don’t you save yourself the trip to DeeDee’s and take a good look in the mirror?”
“What do you mean?” asked Betty.
Oona looked over at me and rolled her eyes. “And you all say I’m hopeless?”
• • •
The four o’clock bell set off a stampede of schoolgirls. As I sullenly pushed my way through the herd toward my first afternoon of detention, it occurred to me that I might soon find myself in the presence of greatness. Every school has its celebrities, and at the Atalanta School for Girls, Molly Donovan topped the A-list. Molly’s fame had little to do with the fact that her actress mother had been awarded two Oscars or that her father, a plastic surgeon, was responsible for half the noses at Atalanta. Most Atalanta girls were rich and many were famous, but few could claim to have earned their success. Molly was celebrated for having been sentenced to detention more times than any other girl in the history of the school. I’d heard that on her two hundredth visit she intended to commission a commemorative tattoo.
Molly and Mrs. Fontaine were alone in the library when I arrived to serve my sentence. Though renowned as the strictest of disciplinarians, Mrs. Fontaine bore the curse of a pea-sized bladder. Each morning, students of all ages placed bets on the number of times she would bolt for the bathroom during the course of the day. The money that changed hands every week could have bought Mrs. Fontaine her own gold-plated Porta Potti.
I tried to gather the books I’d need to write the essay Principal Wickham had assigned, but the Atalanta library couldn’t hold a candle to the one I had at home. (Though it did boast an impressive number of books devoted to Your Changing Body.) I was snickering at one of the titles when I saw Mrs. Fontaine shifting her considerable weight from side to side and grimacing as if she were about to burst. As soon as I chose a study desk two rows behind Molly, our jailer warned us to keep our mouths shut and sprinted for the door.
“Pssst.”
I peered over the top of my desk. Molly was kneeling on her chair, staring back at me. Though she wasn’t exactly the picture of a troublemaker, with her chipmunk cheeks and Pippi Longstocking freckles, Molly was notorious for contributing to the delinquency of others. I looked down at my books and tried to ignore her.
“Pssssssssssst.”
Molly refused to give up. I lifted my head above the divider. Molly smiled sweetly and twisted a red ringlet around her finger.
“You’ve never been here before,” she said. “What’d you do?”
“I was late for school this morning.”
“Oh,” said Molly, clearly disappointed. “Is that it? I was hoping you were the stink-bomb girl.”
Hearing footsteps in the hallway, I dropped back into my seat and buried my head in a book. Molly’s reflexes were not quite as fast.
“Molly, sit down and get to work!” screeched Mrs. Fontaine. “If I see you bothering Ananka, I’ll make sure you’re here all month.”
“I’ve already got detention till the end of October,” Molly pointed out.
“Then let’s talk November,” said Mrs. Fontaine.
I pulled three sheets of paper out of my notebook and began my essay. I had planned to write about the grave-robbing incident that had sparked the Doctors’ Riot of 1788, but instead, another subject took hold of me.
Beneath Bialystoker Synagogue on the Lower East Side lies a hidden room…
Fifteen minutes later, I heard Mrs. Fontaine leave the room. I felt warm breath on the back of my neck, and I jolted upright, nearly head butting Molly Donovan.
“Interesting essay,” said Molly. “Your spelling’s terrible.”
“Go away,” I whispered, keeping one eye on the door. “You’re going to get us both expelled.”
“I can’t get expelled,” said Molly. “I’ve been trying for years. It doesn’t matter what I do. My parents just donate more money to the school.”
Suddenly I was interested. “Why do you want to be expelled?”
“I hate it here. I’d rather be anywhere but New York.”
“Really?” I asked in astonishment. “Why?”
“It’s my parents. They won’t leave me alone. They think I’m special.”
“But I always heard you were quite smart.”
“Not that kind of special. Gifted special.”
“Oh yeah? What’s your gift?” I asked.
“My mom calls me the human calculator. I can do complex math equations in my head. My parents used to bring m
e out at cocktail parties to entertain their guests. When I was eleven, I decided I wasn’t going to be their monkey anymore. I even got a D in geometry last year,” she said, sounding terribly proud.
“Congratulations,” I said. “What’s the square root of 7368?”
“You, too?” Molly sighed. “85.837. Are three decimal places enough?”
“Sure, but I can’t check it. I don’t have a calculator.”
“Then I guess you’ll just have to trust me. Oops, here comes the fountain. Don’t tell anybody what I just told you. It would ruin my reputation.”
“Okay,” I whispered, as Molly slid back into her seat.
• • •
Another fifteen minutes passed before Molly returned.
“Isn’t this fun?” she asked.
“It’s better than I thought it would be.” I was actually starting to like her.
Molly sat on the edge of my desk. “I love detention. It’s my favorite time of day. You get to meet such interesting people. It’s too bad I have to see my shrinks after this; otherwise, I’d invite you to dinner. My cook makes a fabulous bouillabaisse.”
“Shrinks?” I asked. “You have more than one psychologist?”
“Sure, I’m gifted, remember? It’s a husband-and-wife team. I see them three times a week. They specialize in dealing with exceptional children.”
“What’s it like?” I asked.
“Terrible. They give me lots of tests and make me talk about how it feels to be so smart. Sometimes I get to perform for an audience of experts. It’s like being one of those chickens at the carnival that play tic-tac-toe.”
“That does sound pretty bad,” I agreed.
“Of course it does. I don’t know why my parents send me to see them. Their own son ran away. I heard he lives in the park now. They tried to catch him for a while, but he’s gifted, too. Kept getting away. Uh-oh, here she comes again.”