Theo said, “Theo and Tess Biedermann.”
The guard scooped up the phone and pressed a few digits. She asked for Mrs. Moran and told her who was downstairs. She put the phone back into the cradle and said, “You can go on up. You know where?”
“Yes, thanks,” said Tess.
“Bye, puma!” the guard said.
“She’s a cat,” Theo said.
“Mrrow,” said Nine.
The guard held up her hands in surrender.
The twins got on the elevator and watched the guard disappear as the doors closed.
“Do you think Cricket really got another pet?” said Tess.
“Possible.”
“But how could she? What if Karl is still . . . out there?”
“She’s just a little kid,” said Theo. “Besides, Mom hasn’t given up searching for him. And animal control is on the case.”
Tess went silent the way Tess went silent; that is, she didn’t say anything, but the very air around her was filled with questions, all flapping around like bats with wonky sonar.
They got off the elevator at the eleventh floor—Cricket’s floor, and Jaime’s. They headed first to the Morans’ door and knocked.
The door flew open. “HALT! WHO GOES THERE?”
“Hi, Otto,” said Theo. “Remember us?”
“Maybe,” Cricket’s brother said. He was wearing not one, not two, but three of his father’s neckties. One was knotted around his head like a headband, another was belted around his waist, and the third was tied around his wrist.
He pointed at the tie on his wrist. “This is where I keep my throwing knife.”
“Great,” said Theo.
“Otto!” called a voice from inside the apartment. “Why don’t you let Theo and Tess inside?”
“But they haven’t told me who goes there yet!” said Otto.
“You know who they are,” said the voice.
“Yes, but do they GO THERE?”
“Otto!”
“Okay,” said Otto. He backed up and let the twins inside.
Theo didn’t know much about decorating, but he thought the interior of the apartment was beautiful. Comfortable low couches in a light fabric, throw pillows in bright purples and oranges, the kind of art that was hard to identify but nice to look at anyway—lots of dabs and swirls.
Mrs. Moran was also beautiful, with her brown skin and her big, relaxed smile. Theo didn’t believe that anyone with Cricket and Otto for children could be relaxed, but maybe Mrs. Moran had given up coffee. There was an easel set up in the big window that faced the river, and a new canvas was sitting on it, just waiting for ink or chalk or paint.
Mrs. Moran hugged Tess, then Theo. She petted Nine, told the cat what a pretty kitty she was, how good she looked in black, that she should wear it more often.
“Cricket,” said Mrs. Moran, “don’t you want to say hi to our guests?”
Cricket’s pigtails peeked up over the back of a chair. “Hi,” she said, glum.
“Why don’t you come over here and give them a hug?”
“I’m not a hugger,” Cricket said.
“It’s okay,” said Theo. “I’m not a hugger, either.”
Cricket’s eyes peered over the top of the chair. “I’ll hug Nine, though.”
“Sure,” said Tess.
Cricket climbed down from the armchair and walked over to Nine. Normally, Cricket was dressed in something outrageous or strange: scuba gear and a tutu, an army helmet with tap shoes, her father’s pajama pants pulled all the way up to her neck. Today she was wearing exactly what she’d been wearing the last time they saw her: a brown shirt and pants with a little black mask on her face, like Karl, her pet raccoon who had been taken from her. Theo didn’t know that such an outfit could feel so tragic, but here they were.
Cricket dropped to her knees and gave the cat a hug. Nine purred and licked Cricket’s forehead.
Otto said, “We have a new pet!”
“No, you don’t,” said Tess.
“We do!” Otto insisted. “Right there!” He pointed at a low table that sat below the window. On the table was a bowl with one lone goldfish swimming around inside. “His name is Roger.”
“Oh,” said Theo. “Well. He seems . . . nice.”
Cricket, muttering into Nine’s fur, said, “He’s not even a piranha.”
There was a knock on the door. Otto yelled, “WHO GOES THERE?”
“Otto,” said Mrs. Moran. But before she should say anything else, Otto threw open the door.
Jaime stood there, one hand raised as if to knock again. The smile on his face died when he saw who was in the Morans’ apartment.
Mrs. Moran didn’t seem to notice. “Otto, what did I say about opening the door before you know who it is?” she said.
“It’s Jaime!” said Otto.
Mrs. Moran sighed and waved Jaime in. “Don’t stand there in the hallway.”
Jaime hesitated, then took a step into the apartment. He didn’t meet Theo’s eyes. “Hi, Mrs. Moran. Mima wanted you to have some tamales. She just made them.” He held out a small container.
Mrs. Moran took the container. “Thank you! You know how much I love these!”
“Jaime’s grandmother’s food is the best!” said Tess, but if she was hoping that would soften Jaime’s wooden expression, his stiff body, it didn’t. He simply nodded in her general direction.
“Where are your glasses?” Tess asked.
Jaime pushed at his nose as if the glasses were still there. “I got contacts.”
“Contacts?” Tess said. “We’ve been calling.”
“I’ve been busy,” Jaime said. His face seemed shuttered somehow, like a store that had closed up for the night. Or the year.
“School will start soon enough, right?” said Mrs. Moran. “I’m sure you all have been doing your summer reading.”
“We’ve been doing a lot of reading,” said Theo, which wasn’t a lie, at least. He was so uncomfortable he didn’t know what to do with himself. Fling himself out the window? Run screaming from the apartment?
Tess, still gazing at Jaime, said, “We’re going out today. To . . . to . . .” She couldn’t say “look for clues,” so she settled on, “to a movie, maybe. Or a museum. Something like that. You want to come?” She swept her braid to her back, then pulled it forward again, saying, “We don’t have much time.”
Jaime didn’t scowl, not quite. But there was none of his usual good humor, his normal chill. And whether he’d understood what Tess meant by “we don’t have much time,” Theo couldn’t tell. “Sorry,” Jaime said, sounding the furthest thing from sorry. “I have some friends coming over.”
“Oh,” said Tess, taking a step back as if Jaime had shoved her. “Oh.”
From Jaime’s front pocket, the head of a tiny robot appeared. “Oh no,” it said.
Jaime used his index finger to tuck the robot back into his pocket. “Well. I should be going.”
“OH NO,” insisted the robot.
Another one of Jaime’s pockets buzzed. He plucked out a phone, read the screen. His eyes widened. “I really have to go.”