Free What Happened on Fox Street by Tricia Springstubb Page A

entered, a young woman with a worried, bunched-up face looked up from her desk.
    â€œMr. Wren, right?”
    Mr. Wren grinned his movie-star grin, and Mo could see he was flattered. “How’d you guess?”
    â€œIf you ask me,” Mercedes muttered, looking around, “they don’t exactly get hordes of customers up here.”
    â€œMr. Buckman Senior is expecting you.” The secretary bit her bottom lip. “In fact, I better tell him right this minute that you’re—”
    The door behind her swung open, and a large belly barreled out. Behind it came a man with a broad red face, wearing a tie the yellow of caution tape.
    â€œMr. Wren! Bob Buckman!” He grabbed Mo’s father’s hand and pumped it up and down. “I apologize for my assistant keeping you waiting!”
    The secretary reddened. “I’m sorry, I—”
    â€œIt’s so hard to get good help these days.” Buckmansaid this to Mr. Wren as if it were a great joke.
    Mr. Wren frowned. “We just got here.”
    At the “we,” Mr. Buckman noticed the girls for the first time. He swung back around to his secretary.
    â€œTake good care of these children while we confer.” He gestured toward his inner office. “This way, please!”
    Mr. Wren threw Mo an inquiring look, but when she gave him the thumbs-up, he and Mr. Buckman disappeared through the door, which shut behind them with an emphatic click.
    The secretary pulled open a drawer and produced a bag of peppermint patties. “He’s mean,” said Dottie, helping herself. “You’re nice.”
    Mercedes paced up and down the room—approximately seven paces each way. The carpet was worn, as if lots of people had paced here.
    â€œIf you don’t mind my asking,” she said to the secretary, “are there really two of them?”
    The woman smiled for the first time, showing dimples in both cheeks.
    â€œThey’re clones, only Junior’s even stingier. Whoops, did I say that?”
    Mo looked out the window, whose sill was speckled with pigeon poop. The clouds still hung heavy and dark.
    â€œAnd what’s their business again?” Mercedes kept her voice cool, as if these were just idle questions to while away this boring time they had to wait
    â€œDevelopers. They buy and sell. Or, as Mr. B Senior likes to say, they turn things around.” She chewed her lip. “Or upside down. Or inside out.”
    Dottie helped herself to two more chocolates. “He’s mean. You’re nice.”
    The secretary unwrapped a patty for herself. “No comment,” she said.
    â€œWhy do you think he’s so interested in a little house on Fox Street?” Mercedes went on.
    â€œIt’s not so little,” Mo couldn’t help saying.
    The secretary gnawed her bottom lip. Lipstick and chocolate flecked her teeth. “That’s confidential information.”
    The phone rang.
    â€œYes, Mr. Buckman,” said the secretary. “No, Mr. Buckman…today? This afternoon? But you specifically said the deadline was…Yes, yes, I mean no, no…”
    Mercedes halted in front of the desk. Time was short. Mr. Wren might be out any minute. She raised her chin, doing her steeple imitation.
    â€œIt doesn’t make sense that they’re so eager to buythe Wrens’ house,” she said as soon as the secretary hung up. Her voice was low and calm. Here at last, the Mercedes Mo knew! Loyal. Courageous. Smarter than nine out of ten grown-ups. Mo’s ancient love for her friend came rushing back. “I get the feeling something shady’s going on. But you don’t seem like a shady person to me.”
    The secretary looked insulted, then pleased, then confused. “I just work here. Do you have any idea how hard jobs are to find?”
    Mercedes clasped her hands to her chest. She nodded toward Mo and Dottie.
    â€œThey’re motherless,” she