Free Madhattan Mystery by John J. Bonk

the Plexiglas partition—probably talking the guy’s ear off.
    â€œSweet,” Kim Ling said and slammed the cab door. “I can fill you guys in on my latest stroke of genius.”
    â€œOh,
plgggh
!”
    Lexi’s raspberry showered over poor Kevin, who was wincing as if he had just been doused by a fire hose. She reached over him to fasten his seat belt, which he insisted on doing himself, so she focused on fastening her own.
    â€œListen, we’re all in this together now,” Kim Ling said in a hushed voice, “like it or not. And I was thinking—there’s this major paper I’m doing for a citywide journalism contest in the fall and I need a killer topic. It’s, like, all I’m living for these days. Anyway, can you imagine the piece I could deliver if we actually
found
Cleopatra’sstolen jewels buried in Grand Central Station by ourselves? We’re talking Pulitzer.”
    â€œDon’t pay attention to her, Kev. She’s obviously lost her mind.”
    He was already absorbed in the LCD screen of his digital camera anyway, reviewing the zillions of New York photos he had taken so far.
    â€œWe can at least give it a shot,” Kim Ling went on. “A secret mission. I mean, how insane would that be?”
    â€œTotally insane. But not in a good way.”
    Kevin elbowed Lexi. “Hey, look.” He held up his camera, showing her a picture of Aunt Roz in a silly pose on the LCD screen. “I took this in the Whispering Gallery the day we arrived,” he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. “There’s a man’s hand in the background holding a cardboard cup. See? Is that one of the perps you saw?”
    Lexi bit her bottom lip, leaning in closer. “Mmm. Possibly. Yeah, they were definitely drinking coffee or something.”
    â€œSo, watch what happens when I zoom in.” He worked a round button on the top of the camera until the photo grew three times its original size. “
Inky fingers
! That might be a clue. Let’s think. What kind of person would have inky fingers?”
    â€œAn octopus wrangler,” Kim Ling said, zeroing in on the picture.
    â€œI guess anyone can have inky fingers, huh?” Kevin thought about it for a second. “Teacher … writer …”
    â€œLeaky pen salesman,” Kim Ling finished, finally buckling her seat belt. “We’ll keep it in mind moving forward—but for now, put that thing away and let’s get back to my genius plan—”
    â€œNo,” Lexi said simply, and turned her head to stare out the window.
    A screaming ambulance paused the conversation and Kim Ling waited for the sirens to die down to regain Lexi’s attention. “Excuse me?”
    â€œIf
you
have a death wish, Kim, that’s your problem, but, shucks, just leave us poor little ol’ Amish folk from Little House on the Prairie out of it, okay?” She had attempted a Southern accent—it sounded more Swedish.
    Kim Ling’s head fell against the seatback with a noisy sigh. “In Chinese, the character for danger is the same as the one for opportunity,” she said matter-of-factly. “That’s all I have to say.”
    If only. The girl still wouldn’t let up, and by the time they were de-cabbing in front of the YMCA, Lexi had had enough. She mentally agreed that they couldn’t just pretend the whole thing never happened, but that didn’t mean they had to risk their lives. After all, this was the real world—not some crime novel.
    â€œHave fun today, kids, but be careful!” Aunt Roz said, rolling down the window. “Okay, Leonard, next stop, Greenwich Village.”
    Kevin waved good-bye as the cab took off, and his cheery smile withered into a thin line of concern. “Maybe weshould try calling the cops again. We can tell them about the inky fingers.”
    â€œUm, but from a pay phone this time,” Lexi reluctantly