Free Madhattan Mystery by John J. Bonk Page A

agreed. “And, Kim, you can do the talking since you sound more mature.”
    â€œC-W-O-T. Colossal Waste of Time. If they didn’t buy your story yesterday, they’re not going to buy it today—with or without inky fingers. We have to take things into our own hands.”
    â€œOr not,” Lexi shot back. She latched onto Kevin’s arm and led him toward the steps of the Y, avoiding the hordes of weary-eyed people trudging along Fifth Avenue. To Lexi’s surprise, Kim Ling stayed put, leaning against a mailbox, undoing her ponytail and reconstructing it at the top of her head to form a black-and-turquoise hair fountain. Eventually, she zigzagged through the crowd and stood right in Lexi’s face, flashing her fiery eyes. “Think. Of. The. Reward.”
    â€œWhat reward?” Kevin asked. His eyebrows jumped. “There’s a
reward
?”
    â€œA hundred and eighty thousand,” Lexi told him, as if it were half a cheese sandwich and a pat on the back. She must have left that part out when she filled him in on their way home from Central Park. “But only if we end up tracking the jewels—or the criminals.”
    â€œWhich we will!” Kim Ling said.
    â€œYou don’t know. This is just all too crazy.”
    â€œIt
is
kind of out there,” Kevin agreed.
    â€œLook, you guys can have most of the reward money if it comes to that. Sixty-forty. I’m in this strictly for the story. That journalism contest? The winner gets a personal tour of CBS News. I would totally
plotz
.”
    â€œWhat’s
plotz
?” Kevin asked.
    â€œIt’s Yiddish. It means to faint dead away.”
    Lexi shook her head. “That’s exactly what I’m trying to avoid.”
    â€œIn Chinese, the character for danger is the same as the one for oppor—”
    â€œStop saying that!”
    Kim Ling growled in frustration and pretended to bang her head against the YMCA door. Repeatedly. “All right, forget it, you win,” she finally said, after getting no reaction whatsoever; then she cautiously opened the door a crack and peeked inside. “Hey, no one’s even here! They probably already left for the park.” She let the door close and leaned into the doorframe, staring at the McGills and cracking her knuckles one by one. “So, here we are again with time to kill—déjà vu. Grand Central’s still right over there, you know, red.”
Crack
. “We can check for your wallet. Wanna, huh?”
Crack-crack
. “C’mon, you know you wanna.”
    Lexi really did want to—and really didn’t, both at the same time. Without intending it, she found herself cross-armed and crazy-eyed in an unofficial staring contest with Kim Ling—one that might have lasted for days if a giant pigeon hadn’t zoomed out of nowhere and skimmed Kevin’s head.
    â€œIncoming!” he yelled, shielding his face. “Man, that thing flew right at me!”
    â€œPigeons and bike messengers stop at nothing,” Kim Ling warned.
    That was when Lexi saw it. Another long feather whirling down from the sky like a tiny ballerina. Spinning, spinning, spinning, until it landed gracefully at her feet. Luminously white. Pointing directly toward Grand Central Terminal.

8
LOST AND DUMBFOUNDED
    Lexi would have probably stayed put at the Y, waiting till doomsday for the campers to return, if it hadn’t been for that white feather, which was now pressed gently against her ankle, safely hidden beneath her sock. Her brain told her this didn’t make any sense at all—this weird belief that her mom was somehow guiding her along with feathers, but her gut told her that possible signs from the great beyond should never be ignored. Her gut always won out.
    â€œSpare some change to feed my babies?”
    A raggedy black woman was slumped on the sidewalk near the entrance of Grand Central shaking a paper cup. Lexi’s heart sank.