couldn’t relate to Nancy or to her whole River Heights world. But I put all that aside because I wasn’t looking for a great read. I was looking to solve a mystery. And Nancy seemed like a great place to start.
I didn’t even head back upstairs. I just flopped down on one of Isabel’s old velvet couches—ignoring the puff of dust that floated up—and cracked open book one, The Secret of the Old Clock .
The pages were yellow and brittle with age. They had to be turned carefully, and turn them I did. Pretty soon I couldn’t stop. The story was much more exciting than I’d remembered—filled with snobby socialites, struggling heirs, an orphan, car chases, flat tires, widows, and false wills.
Nancy was as old-fashioned as I’d remembered, but she was way gutsy, too.
I got so into the story, I made it halfway through the book before I realized I was shivering. Not because I was scared or anything—just because it was drafty down in the basement, something that made no sense since it was warm outside. There wasn’t a window in sight, so the underground room should’ve felt stuffy.
Yet I felt a breeze on the back of my neck. The door at the top of the stairs was still open, but if wind had blown in from there, I’d have felt it on my face.
I looked over my shoulder and noticed a quilt nailed to the wall behind me. Faded paisley patches of blue and burgundy rippled in the wind.
I walked closer and pulled it back, expecting to find a crack in the wall. Instead I found what looked like a handle. Then the whole blanket crumpled to the floor, revealing an entire door. Except it was tiny—no more than three feet high, like the entrance to a giant doll’s house or maybe a troll’s lair.
It reminded me of the crawl space in my bedroom. Each apartment had one, but they were no longer usable, just as Isabel had said—most emphatically—to Chloe the other day. Finn and I had tried to pry ours open a few times and the door never budged—at least not from the outside.
Of course, this door didn’t look sealed shut at all. I slowly reached for the handle, but before I opened it I heard a scuffle.
And that’s when I remembered Chloe’s complaint: mice, which did freak me out. In a really big way.
I took a step back, right into a tall umbrella stand that crashed to the ground and made me scream.
“Hello?” The voice came from the top of the stairs.
“Isabel?” I called, hoping I’d heard my landlady’s voice and not that of some giant talking rodent.
“Who’s down there?” she asked.
“Just me.” I picked up the quilt and reattached it to the wall.
“Maggie? What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“Is everything okay?” she asked.
I grabbed a bunch of Nancy Drews, locked our storage locker, and made my way upstairs.
“I just had to get something from the basement,” I said, showing Isabel the books.
She raised her reading glasses to her eyes and squinted at the title. “ The Secret of the Old Clock . How wonderful!”
“You know it?” I asked.
“Know it?” replied Isabel. “They begged me to play Nancy Drew in one of the original movies.”
“But you turned it down?”
“Of course!” said Isabel, looking surprised and pleased. “How did you know?”
I smiled. “Lucky guess.”
Chapter 15
♦ ♦ ♦
It’s not like I ever expected Ivy to be my best friend again just because I was helping her find Kermit. I didn’t want that. But I didn’t think she’d ignore me, either. Yet that’s exactly what happened at school on Monday. She didn’t even say hi to me in English (the only class we share), and whenever we passed each other in the hall, she averted her gaze. Like I wasn’t even there.
So I was completely surprised to find her sitting on my front stoop later that afternoon.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“We need to talk about Kermit.” She said it like it was obvious.
“You couldn’t have asked me at school?”
“That would’ve
I didn’t even head back upstairs. I just flopped down on one of Isabel’s old velvet couches—ignoring the puff of dust that floated up—and cracked open book one, The Secret of the Old Clock .
The pages were yellow and brittle with age. They had to be turned carefully, and turn them I did. Pretty soon I couldn’t stop. The story was much more exciting than I’d remembered—filled with snobby socialites, struggling heirs, an orphan, car chases, flat tires, widows, and false wills.
Nancy was as old-fashioned as I’d remembered, but she was way gutsy, too.
I got so into the story, I made it halfway through the book before I realized I was shivering. Not because I was scared or anything—just because it was drafty down in the basement, something that made no sense since it was warm outside. There wasn’t a window in sight, so the underground room should’ve felt stuffy.
Yet I felt a breeze on the back of my neck. The door at the top of the stairs was still open, but if wind had blown in from there, I’d have felt it on my face.
I looked over my shoulder and noticed a quilt nailed to the wall behind me. Faded paisley patches of blue and burgundy rippled in the wind.
I walked closer and pulled it back, expecting to find a crack in the wall. Instead I found what looked like a handle. Then the whole blanket crumpled to the floor, revealing an entire door. Except it was tiny—no more than three feet high, like the entrance to a giant doll’s house or maybe a troll’s lair.
It reminded me of the crawl space in my bedroom. Each apartment had one, but they were no longer usable, just as Isabel had said—most emphatically—to Chloe the other day. Finn and I had tried to pry ours open a few times and the door never budged—at least not from the outside.
Of course, this door didn’t look sealed shut at all. I slowly reached for the handle, but before I opened it I heard a scuffle.
And that’s when I remembered Chloe’s complaint: mice, which did freak me out. In a really big way.
I took a step back, right into a tall umbrella stand that crashed to the ground and made me scream.
“Hello?” The voice came from the top of the stairs.
“Isabel?” I called, hoping I’d heard my landlady’s voice and not that of some giant talking rodent.
“Who’s down there?” she asked.
“Just me.” I picked up the quilt and reattached it to the wall.
“Maggie? What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“Is everything okay?” she asked.
I grabbed a bunch of Nancy Drews, locked our storage locker, and made my way upstairs.
“I just had to get something from the basement,” I said, showing Isabel the books.
She raised her reading glasses to her eyes and squinted at the title. “ The Secret of the Old Clock . How wonderful!”
“You know it?” I asked.
“Know it?” replied Isabel. “They begged me to play Nancy Drew in one of the original movies.”
“But you turned it down?”
“Of course!” said Isabel, looking surprised and pleased. “How did you know?”
I smiled. “Lucky guess.”
Chapter 15
♦ ♦ ♦
It’s not like I ever expected Ivy to be my best friend again just because I was helping her find Kermit. I didn’t want that. But I didn’t think she’d ignore me, either. Yet that’s exactly what happened at school on Monday. She didn’t even say hi to me in English (the only class we share), and whenever we passed each other in the hall, she averted her gaze. Like I wasn’t even there.
So I was completely surprised to find her sitting on my front stoop later that afternoon.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“We need to talk about Kermit.” She said it like it was obvious.
“You couldn’t have asked me at school?”
“That would’ve
Similar Books
