Partners in Crime (9780545463119) Read online

  Darcy pumped her arm. “Zane really came through?”

  “Yeah, but I haven’t looked at it yet. I wanted to wait so we could do it together.”

  I kicked off my shoes, sat next to her on the bed, and pulled my legs up. Darcy pressed a button on the remote, shutting the TV off. I unfolded the papers. There were four, so I passed two to Darcy and kept two for myself.

  “Let’s see who our mystery e-mailer is!” Darcy said.

  I couldn’t read fast enough. I willed my eyes to take in each line quicker. Of course it didn’t help that some of the kids in our class had worse handwriting than Hubble. By the time I reached the bottom of my first page, my hands were shaking with anticipation.

  I was halfway down the second page when Darcy groaned. I looked up to see what was wrong.

  “Finished,” she said sadly. “No one with that birthday in my stack.”

  I tried to swallow, but my throat felt like it was full of sand. What if no one had the birthday? Did that really mean it was all just a joke?

  I blinked and returned my eyes to the last few lines. I wanted it over with now. I just wanted to know, one way or the other. My finger trailed down the right side of the paper as I read each line. Then I stopped.

  April fourth. There was the right date, written in purple ink. I froze for a moment, unable to breathe, move, even blink. Then, my heart beating wildly, my finger trailed to the left column to search for the name. I gasped.

  “What?” Darcy said, inching closer to me. “Did you find something?”

  “Yeah.” I gulped. “I know who sent us the e-mail.”

  I squinted and reread the line just to be sure. But there it was.

  Fiona Fanning.

  Was Fiona Fanning really our mystery client? The question ran through my mind as I tried to sleep that night. And the next morning as I got ready for school. And in the hallway as I hurried to Darcy’s locker. Darcy was even more impatient than I was to talk to Fiona. She’d wanted to call her right then and there last night! But I knew this was a conversation we had to have with Fiona face-to-face.

  Darcy closed her locker as she saw me coming. She wore her usual attire: black jeans, a black T-shirt, and a dozen black jelly bracelets on her left wrist. If I had to name her fashion style, I’d call it “hip funeral.”

  “Can we go over there now?” Darcy nodded toward the other end of the hall. I turned to look.

  Fiona was putting on lip gloss in the mirror that hung on the back of her locker door. A small circle of friends surrounded her, chattering away. Fitting, I thought, like the sun at the center of the solar system, with all the other planets orbiting it.

  My eyes took in Fiona’s outfit. Today she wore a lavender blouse with a short gray skirt, and pink-and-white striped tights. I never would have thought to put those colors and patterns together, but it looked perfect on Fiona.

  I glanced down at my jeans and tan sweater and felt so plain. I wish fashion were like math. You’d pick two things and just know they added up and fit into the formula correctly. But clothes aren’t like that. If I tried to put together a creative outfit like Fiona’s, I’d end up looking like a circus clown.

  Yeah, Fiona wasn’t smart in the way Darcy and I were. But other stuff, like clothes and boys and being popular, came easy to her. And those things were mysteries to me. I found myself feeling a little jealous.

  “Come on,” Darcy said, pulling on the sleeve of my sweater. “Let’s go talk to her.”

  “Wait,” I said, thinking quickly.

  Darcy rolled her eyes. “What? Are you scared?”

  Adrenaline was rushing through my body. I felt almost hyper, like that time I drank four Cokes at my birthday party. But I wasn’t scared. I was excited. We were close to getting some answers. But we also had to have patience. This had to be done the right way.

  “No,” I said in a hushed voice. “I just think we need to meet with Fiona alone.”

  “Why?” Darcy’s tone was impatient. “Let’s just go over there. Her friends will probably leave so they don’t catch our nerd cooties.”

  “They might not leave, though,” I said. “Fiona obviously doesn’t want the whole world knowing about her sister. She e-mailed us anonymously. So if we confront her right in front of her friends, she’ll probably pretend she doesn’t know what we’re talking about.”

  Darcy hesitated, chewing her lip. “Yeah. You’re right. We should wait.” She let out a heavy sigh. “How are we going to get her alone, though?”

  I’d just been thinking about that. “We could put a note in her locker, telling her to meet us somewhere during lunch.”

  “The auditorium’s always empty at that time,” Darcy suggested. “We could have her meet us behind the stage.”

  I nodded quickly. “Good idea.” I thought for a moment. “The only problem is, what if she doesn’t find the note until after lunch?”

  A slow smile spread across Darcy’s face. “I have a way to make sure she’ll get the message right now.” She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and started a text message.

  “How do you have Fiona’s number?” I asked.

  “I have everyone’s number,” she said matter-of-factly.

  I could’ve asked how, but I had a feeling this was one of those “I don’t want to know” things.

  A minute later, Darcy looked back up. “Done!”

  I risked a glance over my shoulder, but Fiona and her friends were gone. “I wonder if she’ll come.”

  “Oh, she’ll come. I made sure of that.” Darcy slipped her phone to me so I could read the sent message.

  Fiona —

  Meet me backstage during lunch. Come alone.

  — Bailey

  It was dark behind the thick red stage curtain. The lights were off in the auditorium, and since it was cloudy out, only a bit of daylight was coming through the windows. Enough for us to see our way around but too little to make out what most of the stuff in the crowded backstage area was.

  Darcy sifted through a box of props and pulled out a sword made of rubber. She sliced it through the air and posed dramatically. “En garde!”

  I took it from her and tossed it back in the box. “We don’t have time to play. Let’s figure out what we’re going to say to Fiona.”

  Darcy said, “How about … ‘Hey, we know you sent us that e-mail’?”

  It seemed obvious, but I still wanted to prepare. I’m a planner; what can I say? “So we’re going to just come right out with it?”

  “That’s how the TV detectives do it,” Darcy said. “Direct confrontation. The element of surprise.”

  Suddenly, we heard one of the auditorium’s metal double doors open and close. The sound was as loud as a truck crashing into a train.

  “She’s here,” Darcy whispered.

  I’d been so excited about this secret meeting all morning. But now my nerves were all jittery. I was glad I hadn’t eaten my lunch beforehand, because my stomach was doing somersaults.

  Darcy and I padded to the edge of the stage and peeked out from the corner, where the curtain meets the side wall. Fiona was walking slowly down the center aisle, her eyes darting around the room, her hands clasped in front of her. She reached the stage stairs and stopped. She tucked a strand of her highlighted brown hair behind her ear.

  She walked up the steps and paused again, taking a deep breath. Then she whipped open the curtain. She didn’t immediately see us, because of the dim light and the fact that we were huddled in the corner, watching her.

  After she let the curtain close behind her, she took a larger step into the backstage area and whispered, “I’m here.”

  Darcy and I stepped out of the shadows. Darcy said, “So are we.”

  Fiona stared at us. We stared at her. No one said anything for a moment.

  “Did you send me the text message?” she asked, more to Darcy than me.

  “Did you send us the e-mail?” I said in response.

  Fiona shifted back and forth, studying her
shoes. After a moment of deep thought, she let out a long breath and looked back up at us. “How did you find out it was me?”

  Darcy opened her mouth to speak, but I quickly said, “Don’t worry about that.” I didn’t know what Darcy was going to say and I wanted to keep Zane’s involvement out of it. “So, is what you said in your e-mail true?” I asked.

  Fiona nodded slowly. “Yes. Bailey is my twin sister. And I need you to find her for me.”

  Getting the e-mail was one thing, but hearing the words come out of Fiona’s mouth sent ripples of goose bumps up my arms.

  “Was she kidnapped or something?” Darcy said.

  Fiona shook her head and shrugged at the same time. “That’s the thing. I don’t know.”

  “Why don’t you start at the beginning,” I said.

  Fiona fiddled with her jangly gold bracelets. “One day a couple weeks ago, I went searching through my parents’ files. I was just looking for my Social Security number. I wanted to try to get a credit card because my allowance isn’t enough and my parents don’t understand the price of looking good.”

  Darcy opened her mouth, probably ready with a snarky remark. And, of course, I wanted to tell Fiona that you had to be eighteen to get a credit card. And that it’s not magic money. She’d still have to pay for everything she charged. But the lesson in personal finance could wait. As could Darcy’s comment. So I gave Darcy a stern look. She kept quiet and Fiona continued.

  “But instead of finding my Social Security card, I found something that made no sense.”

  “What?” I asked. If I’d been sitting down, I would have been literally on the edge of my seat.

  “A birth certificate with my birthday, but a different girl’s name.”

  I shivered as a chill trailed down my spine.

  “What makes you think she’s your twin?” Darcy asked.

  “Because my birth certificate was right next to it. Bailey Banks and Fiona Fanning. Born in the same city, at the same hospital, on the same day.”

  “But why would Bailey have a different last name from yours?” I said.

  Fiona shook her head. “I don’t know. But her being my twin is the only thing that makes sense. Why else would my parents have her birth certificate, right with mine? Plus, there’s something else.”

  “What?” Darcy and I said at the same time.

  “I found baby pictures. Two of them. They’re those typical newborn pictures that are taken in the hospital, you know? They’re definitely different babies, because one has a little pink onesie and the other has a purple one. But they look exactly alike.”

  “Twins,” I said. Fiona was right. It was the only thing that made sense. “Have you asked your parents?”

  “No.” Fiona’s voice turned sad. “I feel betrayed by them. Whatever this secret is, they’ve kept it from me all my life. I don’t trust them to tell me the truth.” She looked up at us with glassy eyes. “I need to know what happened to her. Was she given up for adoption? Did something happen, but I was too young to remember it? Was she kidnapped? I need to know.”

  “I understand,” I said softly. I couldn’t imagine what she was going through. Wondering if your twin was out there somewhere or if something horrible had happened to her. She deserved to know the truth.

  “I wouldn’t even know how to start looking into it myself,” Fiona said. “That’s why I e-mailed you guys. You’re, like, the smartest girls in school. If anyone could figure this out, it’d be you.” She paused. “Will you help me?”

  She looked so desperate, appealing to us for help. There was no way I could turn her down. And, without even looking at her face, I knew Darcy was in. If you wanted to get on her good side, call her the smartest girl in school. It worked like calling most girls pretty.

  I was about to say that we’d help her when Darcy quickly said, “Have you thought that things could be the other way around?”

  Fiona raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

  “That you were the one who was adopted or kidnapped.”

  I expected some sort of reaction from Fiona, but not an invitation.

  “Come over to my house after school,” she said calmly. “You’ll see.”

  Of course “after school” for Fiona meant four o’clock because she had cheering practice first. But I didn’t mind waiting. I walked Hubble and finished all my homework in my room. When it was nearly four o’clock, I came back downstairs. Hubble was asleep on his back in his doggie bed, lightly snoring. Mom was chopping vegetables in the kitchen.

  “I’m heading over to Fiona’s with Darcy now,” I said, pointing at the door. “We’re riding our bikes there. Okay?”

  I expected a quick nod and a reminder to be home for dinner, but Mom stopped chopping, wiped her hands on a dish towel, and turned around.

  “Why are you hanging out with Fiona Fanning?” Mom asked. “She doesn’t seem like a girl you’d be friends with.” In addition to curiosity, I sensed happiness in Mom’s voice. Like maybe she was hoping some of Fiona would rub off on me.

  “Darcy and I are helping her out with something. She’s trying to find … herself,” I invented at the last minute.

  “Well,” Mom said, smiling. “I’m glad you’re all broadening your group of friends.”

  I nodded and was almost to the door when Mom added, “Be home for dinner. If you’re going to be late, call so I don’t worry.”

  “It would be easier for me to call if I had my own cell phone, you know,” I said. I liked to remind my parents of this any time I could.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Mom said. “You can use the Fannings’ phone. Or Darcy’s.”

  Sigh. It had been worth a try.

  By the time I got outside, Darcy was standing there leaning against her bike. She had a boys’ bike, mainly because she hated all the colors the girl ones came in.

  “I thought you’d never get out here,” she said, tapping her foot.

  “My mom was wondering why we’re suddenly friends with Fiona,” I explained. “But it’s cool. Let’s go.”

  We hopped on our bikes.

  It was a beautiful fall afternoon. The air was crisp but not chilly enough that you’d need a coat. I’m not one of those kids who enjoys riding my bike. I mainly use it to get from point A to point B. But I had to admit that today, with the wind in my hair and the sun on my face, it was a nice feeling.

  Before I knew it, we were at Fiona’s address. The house was typical from the outside, white with beige trim. It kind of reminded me of a box. Though I imagined that the inside would be decorated like one of those fancy house magazines you look at when you’re stuck waiting for your dad at Home Depot.

  We left our bikes in the driveway and walked up to the door. Darcy pressed the doorbell. After, like, three seconds she pressed it again.

  “Sheesh,” I said. “Give her a minute.”

  Muffled footsteps rapidly approached, and then the door swung open.

  I immediately knew why Fiona had invited us over.

  Fiona answered the door, but not Fiona. It was an older Fiona. Still pretty, with that same long, highlighted brown hair and big green eyes.

  It was Fiona’s mother. And Fiona was definitely not adopted.

  Mrs. Fanning didn’t exactly give us a welcoming smile. She looked confused.

  “Um,” Darcy said. “We’re here to see Fiona?” It sounded like a question.

  Fiona came dashing around the corner and skidded to a stop. “Hey, guys,” she said to us with a little wave. To her mother, she said, “This is Norah and Darcy.”

  Mrs. Fanning frowned. “You didn’t tell me you’d invited friends over.”

  “They’re not staying for dinner, so I figured you didn’t need to know.”

  “Fiona,” Mrs. Fanning said in a low voice. “We’ve been through this. You know our house rule.”

  Wow. And I thought my parents were strict.

  “Yeah, yeah, Mom.” Fiona rolled her eyes. “Lecture me later.”

  I didn’t know
if they were going to argue in front of us or what. Mrs. Fanning was definitely considering it. But she apparently decided to be polite, because she smiled and opened the door wide. “Please come in, girls.”

  The inside of the house was nothing like I’d imagined. As Fiona led us through the entry, past the living room, and into the kitchen, I noticed that all the walls were the same off-white color. The framed art on the walls was generic, like the pictures that come with the frame. Every room was just so … ordinary.

  Her mother followed us into the kitchen and started flipping through a book. I assumed it was a cookbook, but she was scribbling in it with a pencil.

  “We’re going to grab some snacks to bring up to my room,” Fiona said.

  Mrs. Fanning looked us over. I felt like she was judging us in some way, and I didn’t like it. Yeah, I didn’t have cool clothes like Fiona and we definitely weren’t part of the popular crowd, but that didn’t mean we were unworthy to be in her house.

  “Do you go to Danville Middle School?” Mrs. Fanning asked us.

  “Yep,” Darcy said.

  I nodded.

  Finoa passed us each a can of soda, grabbed a large bag of chips, and pushed us forward with her arms. “Let’s head to my room.”

  Upstairs, Fiona closed the door behind us and tossed the snacks on her bed.

  Walking into Fiona’s room was like entering fairy princess land. Everything was pink and glittery. I half expected a unicorn to walk out of her closet.

  I must have been staring, because Fiona said, “Isn’t it great? This is the only room in the house with any taste.”

  “Yeah,” Darcy said sarcastically. “It’s … great.”

  The bright colors and girly furniture were Darcy’s worst nightmare.

  There was a light knock on the door. It sounded like a code. Rap … rap rap … rap rap rap.

  Fiona smiled and opened the door.

  A little girl waddled in, clutching a stuffed penguin in her arms. As much as Mrs. Fanning looked like an older version of Fiona, this girl was the mini version.