“Thanks,” he said finally. “Yeah, it sort of came naturally. You know, because of the improv stuff.”

  I nodded like this totally made sense.

  “So what did you discover while you were off sneaking around?” he asked.

  I brightened.

  “I found it, Ollie,” I said, excited to share the details with him.

  This feeling actually caught me by surprise. When I’d agreed to let Ollie join me on the job, I thought he’d mostly get in the way or be a liability. But I was beginning to realize that part of the fun of a con was working with someone while doing it. It was reveling in the excitement of coming up with a plan and then being able to celebrate with someone when you were victorious.

  It was a part of the whole experience that I’d never known was vital.

  Before now.

  “Found what, exactly?” Ollie asked, mirroring my excitement. Then he suddenly looked worried. “Not the tiger, right?”

  “No, not the tiger,” I said, brushing that off. “I found it. Miles’s secret treasure room.”

  “And?” Ollie asked, bouncing up and down in his seat a little. “What kind of treasure are we talking about? Art? Rare Egyptian figurines? Diamonds and rubies?”

  “No clue,” I said, just as excitedly as if I’d said yes to all the above.

  Ollie’s face dropped.

  “I don’t get it,” he said.

  “You need voice recognition and a fingerprint scan to get into the vault, and obviously I didn’t have those on me when I found the room, but that doesn’t really matter. And neither does what’s inside,” I explained quickly. “The point is, I found it! There’s a hidden room where a billionaire stores his most valuable stuff and I found it. Can’t steal something you can’t find. Get it?”

  Ollie nodded slowly like he was humoring me.

  “Okay,” he said. “So we know we’re going to steal something, we just don’t know what we’ll be stealing yet.”

  “Right,” I said.

  “But we know where it’s hidden,” Ollie continued. “So we’re…good?”

  “Yep!” I said, smiling.

  “And we’ll be breaking in there…soon?” he asked.

  “That’s the best part,” I said, reaching inside my jumpsuit and pulling out the envelope I’d stolen off Miles’s desk.

  I handed it over to Ollie and watched him take out the contents and scan them.

  “ ‘You are cordially invited to the Miles Masquerade Gala to benefit the National Constitution Center,’ ” Ollie read out loud. “ ‘Please join us at Miles Manor on the Fifteenth of September, for drinks, dinner, dancing, and a live auction to benefit the NCC. Dress in your best masquerade ensemble. RSVP. Please present your invitation at the door.’ ”

  Ollie looked up from the invite and blinked at me.

  “We’re crashing a gala?” he asked.

  “It’s not crashing,” I argued, grabbing the card from his hand and waving it in front of his face. “We have an invitation. See?”

  “In a week,” he said, sounding awestruck.

  “No time—” I started.

  “Like the present,” he finished, shaking his head at me.

  “See? You’re a natural at this, Ollie,” I said, clapping him on the back jovially. “Now all we need to do is get our covers together, do some digging into Miles’s financials, work out a plan that will get us both his voice ID and fingerprint, brush up on my pickpocketing skills, prep you for the performance of a lifetime, and pretty much plot out the largest heist this town’s ever seen. All while going to school and making sure my uncle never finds out.”

  Ollie let out a laugh that sounded on the verge of hysterics.

  “Easy peasy,” he said before slumping back into his seat dramatically.

  Entry Twenty-Eight

  “I had no idea you liked Indian food,” Uncle Scotty said, skeptically studying the bowls of food that had just been placed in front of us.

  It was my night to choose where we ate dinner and I’d been craving something spicy. So I’d fallen back on an old favorite. Sure, we’d had to travel a little farther than usual for takeout, but it was worth it.

  At least as far as I was concerned. I wasn’t so sure Uncle Scotty felt the same way. In fact, he still hadn’t tried any of the dishes I’d ordered for us. Just kept staring at them like they might turn into something he recognized, like pizza or burgers or even a salad.

  I held back a giggle as I watched him battle with his desire to be a good sport and his fear of anything that might bring him out of his comfort zone a little.

  “Oh, yeah,” I said, grabbing a piece of naan from the middle of the table and dipping it into a bowl of chicken vindaloo. Popping it into my mouth, I savored all the flavors. There was nothing like it. “There was one point where Dad and I ate Indian for a whole month straight. He complained about heartburn after every meal but kept going back for more.”

  “What’s that green stuff?” Uncle Scotty asked, pointing to one of the bowls.

  “That’s palak paneer,” I said, dipping another piece of the Indian bread into the dish he was pointing at. “It’s like—spinach and cheese. It’s really good. Here, try some!”

  I held out a piece of the bread smeared in the sauce and a little chunk of cheese. He just shook his head vigorously and sank back into his chair as far as he could.

  “No thanks,” he choked out, making a face. “It looks like what comes out of a babies’ diaper.”

  “Tastes like it too,” I said, shoving the whole thing into my mouth. When I saw Uncle Scotty’s horrified look, I laughed. “I’m kidding. You have no idea what you’re missing.”

  “That’s okay,” he said, scooping up some of the plain rice and putting it onto his plate instead. “I don’t mind being left in the dark there.”

  I chuckled and continued to fill my plate.

  “So how’s the case going?” I asked him once I came up for air.

  “Ruling came in last night,” he said, tasting the rice gingerly. “They found in favor of the defendant.”

  “Of course they did,” I said without hesitation.

  “I really thought maybe we had this one,” Uncle Scotty answered thoughtfully. “I mean, I know you said you had it all figured out, but I was still hoping…I don’t know.”

  “That they would do the right thing?” I finished, understanding what he was feeling. “Yeah. I wish I’d been wrong.”

  Uncle Scotty gave me a look.

  “I’m still not convinced it all happened the way you say it did,” he said. “The judge being in Christian Miles’s pocket seems like a bit of a stretch to me. But yeah, I wish you’d been wrong too.”

  “I do think you were right about something, Uncle Scotty,” I said, mouth full.

  “You do?” he asked, sounding surprised. “What’s that?”

  “I’m starting to come around to your way of thinking about Karma and all that,” I said. “I have a feeling that one way or another, Christian Miles is going to get what’s coming to him.”

  Uncle Scotty gave me a funny look and continued to study me as I stuffed my face. It looked like he was about to ask me what I meant by the comment, so I changed the subject as quickly as I could.

  “I think I made a friend at school,” I blurted out, hating how needy it sounded. I didn’t want Uncle Scotty thinking I had been longing for a friend or anything. But I also knew that making friends was a step that would make him think I was thriving and moving on with my life. And I knew it would distract him from our previous conversation.

  “Really?” he said, his eyebrows shooting up.

  “Don’t sound so shocked,” I said. “I can make friends.”

  “I’m not shocked you found someone who wants to hang out with you,” Uncle Scotty said, taking another bite of his rice. “I am surprised there’s someone who meets your standards.”

  “He doesn’t,” I said. It was a knee-jerk response, though. And not totally true. “I mean, he’s okay. He’s not as bad as everyone else.”

  “Your friend’s a he?” Uncle Scotty asked, his brow furrowing.

  “Gross,” I said, dismissing what he was implying. “It’s not like that. Ollie’s just a friend. He’s like having a girlfriend around.”

  “Okay,” Uncle Scotty said slowly. He was silent for a bit, seeming to mull this over. Finally he cleared his throat and continued, “Frankie, did your dad ever have the talk—”

  “Oh, God, no, stop,” I said, dropping my fork with a clang and throwing my hands over my ears. “Would it help if you met him? You’ll see how so not-needed this conversation is.”

  “Yeah,” Uncle Scotty said, still looking uncomfortable about the whole thing but appearing satisfied for the moment by the offer. “I think it would be good for me to meet your new friend.”

  “Ollie,” I reminded him.

  “Ollie,” he repeated.

  “Done,” I said, hoping we were all finished with that.

  After a few more moments of uncomfortable silence, Uncle Scotty continued.

  “So the other kids are awful, huh?” he asked.

  I held back the sigh I was feeling. I’d forgotten for a second that Uncle Scotty was a detective and he didn’t miss much. Meaning, he hadn’t glossed over the comment about the rest of the student body like I’d hoped. He’d simply filed it away for a later discussion.

  Which appeared to be happening now.

  “Not all of them, I guess,” I said, trying not to grumble. “There’s just this one girl and her minions who don’t seem to like me much.”

  “Any reason why?” he asked.

  I raised my eyebrow at him.

  “Are you asking if I did something to piss them off?” I said.

  “Language,” Uncle Scotty reminded me. “And…well, yeah. Did you?”

  I gave him one of my biggest eye rolls ever, just to be sure he knew how silly I thought the question was.

  “No,” I said finally. “The teacher made this girl, Annabelle, share her book with me in class. After that, she sent me the wrong way to class and then tried to trip me at lunch.”

  “Maybe they were just accidents,” he suggested.

  I shook my head. “She knew exactly what she was doing,” I said. “She’s just, you know, annoying.”

  “How is she to the other kids in your class?” he asked.

  “Equally awful,” I said. “I mean, I seem to be her focus right now, but Ollie said she’s just like that.”

  “Does she target Ollie, too?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I said, thinking about Annabelle’s jab at him in class. “Not that he’d admit it, though.”

  “Do you want me to talk to the school about it?” Uncle Scotty asked.

  “Nah,” I said, waving him off. “I can handle it.”

  “Not with your fists, I hope,” he said, looking worried again.

  I shot him a look. “Not my style,” I said. “I’ll just ignore her and she’ll get tired of it all. No need for me to stand up or stand out.”

  I didn’t add that the last thing I wanted was for Annabelle and her clones to know I was a threat. I wanted to remain a nonissue. At least for as long as it could be beneficial to me.

  “There might come a time when you need to stand up, though,” Uncle Scotty said, cutting into my thoughts. “I know you’re strong. I know you’re fully capable of taking care of yourself. But not everyone can. So while I’m not saying you should go out there and kick bully butt, if you have a chance to stand up for someone who can’t stand up for themselves, I hope you’ll take it. Because there’s nothing more noble than standing up for what’s right.”

  “Okay, Captain America,” I said sarcastically, even though I knew he was being serious.

  It was sort of sweet, though, in a way. You could tell he was trying to remind me that I could join Team Hero instead of Team Career Criminal. That I was capable of doing some real good.

  Too bad he was going to have to settle for something in between the two.

  Entry Twenty-Nine

  “Your uncle wants to meet me?” Ollie asked the next day at school. “Am I in trouble or something? I mean, in the movies it’s never a good sign when a detective wants to talk to you.”

  We’d been walking around the school grounds after lunch, when I’d remembered Uncle Scotty’s invite. Or request, rather.

  “You’re not in trouble,” I said, rolling my eyes. Then I paused. “What do you think you’d be in trouble for anyway?”

  Ollie took a beat to think about this.

  “My killer fashion sense?” he said finally.

  As if to prove his point, he ran a few feet ahead of me and then turned around and walked back toward me like he was on the runway at a fashion show. Today he was wearing a long black-and-white-striped jacket that appeared to be a cross between something from Sherlock Holmes and The Devil Wears Prada, and all white underneath. With each step, the jacket billowed behind him dramatically like a cape.

  Other kids started to turn and watch Ollie prance toward me. Some let out whistles, cheering him on, while others stared and whispered. I wanted desperately to disappear, because after staring at Ollie, all eyes inevitably turned to the girl he was strutting around.

  “Yeah, that’s definitely not it,” I said once he was finished with his little performance.

  He pouted in response.

  “So what then?” he asked, slightly out of breath as he followed me over to one of the only shaded spots left in the school yard. It was lunchtime and we’d scarfed down our food so that we could find a quiet place to work out the next phase of our plan. Doing this at school wasn’t exactly ideal. But we were sort of in a time crunch, and Ollie seemed incapable of talking about anything else when I was around, so certain concessions needed to be made. This was one of them.

  “It’s really not a big deal,” I explained. “He just sort of freaked when I told him my only friend here was a guy. He’s pulling the protective parent card and thinks something’s going on.”

  “Ew,” Ollie said, making a face.

  “That’s what I said.” I mirrored his reaction. “So I thought if he just met you, then he’d realize he has nothing to worry about and things can go back to normal. Well, as normal as can be expected in my life.”

  Ollie seemed lost in thought, and for a few seconds he just stared off into space.

  “What does one wear to meet a detective?” he asked finally, musing out loud. Then, he added, “Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out.”

  “Oh, thank gosh,” I said. “Because that’s what I was worried about. Not the whole getting-ready-to-steal-from-one-of-the-wealthiest-people-in-Greenwich stuff. Or you possibly letting all that slip in an attempt to make friendly conversation. Yes, I was afraid I’d be kept up at night stressed over whether you’ll choose purple or yellow pants when you meet my uncle for the first time.”

  “Your sarcasm is noted and not appreciated,” Ollie said pointedly. “And I’d never wear yellow. It completely washes me out.”

  “Of course it does,” I said with a sigh. “Can we please talk about the gala now?”

  “I thought we already were,” Ollie said. “I told you, I refuse to wear yellow.”

  “Not that part,” I said, wanting desperately to change topics. “There are a lot of things we still need to work out before we show up at Miles’s house.”

  Ollie began to reach into his bag and pull out a piece of paper and a pen, but I waved him off.

  “A thief never leaves evidence of her plan,” I reminded him. “No paper trails in public. This is where you have to start developing a good memory. Because there’s a lot you’re going to have to remember once we get going.”

  “What about that Mission: Impossible stuff? Like, can I write it down and just make it self-destruct later?” Ollie asked, still holding the pad of paper in his hand.

  “Do you know how to make a piece of paper self-destruct?” I asked him.

  “No,” he said blankly.

  “Then I guess we can’t do the Mission: Impossible stuff, can we?” I answered. “You’ll just have to start using that noggin for something other than storing useless pop trivia.”

  “Hey, that useless trivia led me to you,” he said defensively.

  “My point exactly,” I said. “Let’s start filling that head with more practical info. Like how to pickpocket.”

  Ollie’s eyes grew wide with excitement.

  “Yeeeesss.” He let the word out slowly. “That’s what I’m talking about. When do I learn that?”

  “Oh, you won’t actually be the one stealing anything,” I corrected him. “I’ll be doing that. But you can be my distraction.”

  “I still get to do something, right?” he asked hopefully.

  “Yes, your part is especially important to the whole plan,” I said seriously. And this was technically true. Having a distraction would make stealing from Miles that much easier.

  “Okay,” Ollie said, seeming satisfied. “What else?”

  “I’m reaching out to my hacker guy to have him dig into Miles’s financials a bit before we go in, to narrow down our targets,” I said.

  “You have a hacker guy?” Ollie asked.

  “I have a guy for everything,” I said. Then I added, “Don’t you?”

  Ollie thought about this. “I have a stylist.”

  “Great. I’ll let you know when I need a new look,” I said. “In the meantime, I’ll also get my guy to start working on a replica of Miles’s current phone and case, so we can take his to see if there’s anything incriminating on it. Oh, and we need something to help out with the voice and fingerprint recognition for the treasure room.”

  I hesitated before bringing up the next part of our plan. Not because it was profoundly difficult or anything, but because I knew after I did, I wouldn’t get another word in edgewise.

 

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