The Impossible Clue (20 page)

And there it was. I knew Sammy had been hiding something from me, and now it all made sense. Sammy thought Dr Learner's disappearance was all his fault. He thought he had lost the suit and made Dr Learner run away. I shook my head. Poor Sammy. It must have been awful, especially with a dad like Mr Delgado. No wonder Sammy was so desperate for me to find Dr Learner. He thought if I found him, I'd find his research and no one would ever know Sammy lost the suit. The problem was, Sammy was assuming the suit was real. And I knew it wasn't.

‘Look Sammy. Dr Learner—' I stopped. Dr Learner didn't want anyone to know he had Alzheimer's disease. But it didn't seem fair to let Sammy keep thinking Dr Learner really finished the suit. Especially if Sammy was blaming himself for losing it. ‘Dr Learner is sick. He never made a suit. He was just confused because you moved things around. You'd have known if you saw something as important as that. Besides, I was in his apartment, there wasn't any suit there. And if someone else found it, we'd know by now.'

‘But it's invisible! How are you supposed to find something you can't see?'

He stared at me so intently, I knew there was no arguing with him. And he did have a point. But an invisibility suit that was invisible all the time – that would be an awful design. It would be impossible not to lose it. No one in their right mind would invent a suit like that, would they? Sammy kept on talking.

‘You were supposed to find him
and
the suit. You were supposed to make everything better, not get my dad in trouble.'

The door to the Delgado Mansion opened and the crew from Channel 5 spilt out into the driveway, pointing in my direction. Dad honked the horn hard. I was out of time.

‘I'm really sorry, Sammy. I really am. But I couldn't lie. I just couldn't.'

I left Sammy standing in the middle of the driveway and sprinted back to the Plymouth. As I jumped into the car, I got one last glimpse of him, running past the reporters and back into his house. I knew I'd done the right thing, but that didn't stop me from feeling like the worst person on the face of the planet. Whoever said the truth will set you free should get hit by a bus. Dad slammed his foot on the accelerator before I closed the door. It swung open dangerously as he sped round the Delgados' circular drive, and then slammed shut on its own as we swerved the other way into traffic.

W
e drove home in silence. Dad didn't ask any questions but I could hear him tapping his fingers against the steering wheel as he drove. I tipped my head back and just stared at the ceiling. The fabric above me was starting to pucker and loosen as the old glue gave up its fight with gravity. I knew how it felt – worn out and saggy.

When we got to the house, I followed Dad up to his new bedroom-office and I told him everything.

I told him about finding the medicine in Dr Learner's apartment and what it meant, and how Mr Delgado had planned the whole thing and why. I told him how Mr Delgado had threatened me, and how Sammy thought it was all his fault. I told him how Dr Learner wanted to keep his disease a secret. And I told him how telling the truth
would hurt just about everyone involved: not just Mr Delgado who deserved it, but the people who worked for him, and Dr Learner too. Something sharp twisted in my middle as I remembered the look on Sammy's face when we drove away. He'd never forgive me. But if I'd kept Mr Delgado's secret, if I'd lied . . . I fumbled for the right words like they held the solution.

Dad didn't say a thing. He didn't even move except to hand me a box of tissues. He just listened and looked sad.

‘There must have been a way, right? A way to make everyone happy?'

Dad put his arm around my shoulders. ‘There's never a way to make everyone happy,' he said. ‘But forget about everyone else. What will make
you
happy? Will you feel better if I kill the story?'

Dad's question was such a shock I stopped crying and just stared at him. There was no way Dad would pass up the scoop of the century just like that. He must have seen my disbelief.

‘Look sweetie,' he sighed, ‘I've been a reporter all of my life. Believe me, I know how hard telling the truth can be. Sometimes people get hurt, people who didn't do anything wrong. If you don't want to be a part of hurting Sammy, I understand. Everything you told me is off the record and I won't print a word of it.'

I sniffed hard. It was tempting, but it was no use. I already knew what I had to do. I finished crying and wiped
the snot off my face.

‘Write it,' I said.

‘Are you sure?'

‘The truth will come out.' I took a deep, shuddery breath. ‘I'd rather it came from you.'

‘That's my girl.' Dad put his hand on the back of my head, pulled me tight against his chest and kissed the top of my hair. I sniffed a few more times, but I didn't cry. It hurt, but at least it was a clean kind of hurt. Not the gnawing pain of keeping a secret that's too big to hold on to.

Dad waited until I'd calmed down again before he started writing. At first I watched him type, then I just lay back on the bed and listened. The keys clattered so quickly and close together they sounded like rain, like my dad was typing a storm that would wash the whole world clean.

The story ran on the front page the next day. And a week after that, I saw Mr Delgado on the news being arrested. Dad had tried to be sympathetic in his story, but facts were facts. Mr Delgado had tricked the government into signing a contract. The government was not amused.

As they led Mr Delgado away, he did his best to look dignified. His suit perfectly pressed, shoes gleaming and all of his hair in the right place. But it wasn't much use. Someone had posted the footage online of him falling over his desk and coming up bald. It took less than an hour to go viral. The only thing people like to watch more
than a man in a suit falling over is a man in a suit falling over and then having a massive temper tantrum about it. Even if Mr Delgado didn't get convicted, no one would ever take him seriously again.

I tried to spot Sammy in the crowd, but he wasn't there. Later, Dad found out that he'd been sent to stay with an aunt in Arizona. Dad said she sounded nice and that Sammy seemed happy there. I hoped he was right. I wrote him a letter to say sorry, but I never heard back from him. Not that I blame the kid, I wouldn't want to talk to me either.

‘It's not your fault, you know,' Kevin said. He'd showed up the morning after Mr Delgado's arrest demanding that I help him finish the rest of his workbooks. Summer detention had started days ago, but I guessed he'd sweet-talked Principal Chase into giving him an extension. Maybe she saw the story Dad wrote about us and felt bad she hadn't believed him before.

‘What are you talking about?'

‘You. You're moping around like it's your fault Mr Delgado got in trouble. It isn't. You didn't do anything wrong. They did. It wasn't your job to protect everyone.' Kevin was on a roll now, his blond curls bouncing. I could just picture him holding a sword – an avenging angel indeed.

‘Hey, don't laugh. I'm serious,' he said. ‘You gave him a chance. He should have come clean on his own.'

‘That would have been nice.'

It would have been even nicer if Mr Delgado had come clean about Dr Learner's condition from the start. If he hadn't planned the magic trick of the disappearing scientist and led us all on such a wild goose chase, none of this mess would have happened.

‘I'm sorry you didn't get the reward money,' I added.

Kevin shrugged. ‘It's no big deal. It's not like I can ride a bike right now anyway.' He wiggled his cast at me. ‘I just wish we'd found the suit.'

‘There was no suit.' I rolled my eyes.

Kevin leant back in his chair and crossed his hands behind his head. ‘I don't know. I mean, Sammy's a little strange, but what he said
could
be true. Maybe it was in Dr Learner's apartment the whole time and we just couldn't see it.'

I shuddered at the memory of Dr Learner's filthy apartment. It was hard enough to find things that
weren't
invisible in all that mess, let alone something that was. The image of that one clean square of space next to Dr Learner's bed flashed into my brain. I'd assumed that it was empty because someone had taken something away, but what if I was wrong? What if it hadn't been empty at all? Could the suit have been right there in front of me the whole time? For a moment I considered the possibility, and then logic kicked back in.

‘No,' I said. ‘It can't be true.'

‘Ah.' Kevin grinned like the devil. He'd been waiting for that. ‘But you can't
prove
it isn't true, can you?'

I stared at him, mouth open. He was right. No matter what I believed, I couldn't prove he was wrong. Kevin tapped his pencil on the counter like he was playing the drums. I think he was enjoying himself.

‘Don't you have a workbook to finish?' I asked. I was also pretty sure he was trying to annoy me so I'd stop moping about Sammy.

‘Three more questions, ma'am.' He gave me a quick salute and got back to work.

Despite what Kevin said, sometimes I still wondered if I'd done the right thing. Maybe if I'd kept my mouth shut, or asked Dad to write the story in a different way, I could have made everyone happy. I spent hours lying on the couch trying to figure out where I'd gone wrong. Trying to find the perfect solution.

Maybe that was why I liked maths so much. An equation might be tough, but that nice, clean correct answer on the page when you finally worked it out? That was beautiful.

I guess life just wasn't so easy. Telling the truth was as close to perfect as I could get.

Kevin finished the last problem and stretched back in satisfaction.

I reached across and took the worksheet so I could check his answers. I could feel him watching me while I worked.

‘So your sister's opening night is coming up?'

‘She told you too?' I didn't look up.

‘Are you going with anyone?'

‘I'm going with my dad.'

Kevin went quiet. I put down the workbook and stared at him.

‘Wait,
you
want to come see
Annie
at the Walnut Street Theatre? You're joking.'

Kevin's cherub-cheeks turned bright pink. ‘I helped your sister rehearse. I think I should go see her perform.'

I laughed. ‘OK, fine. I'll take you to see
Annie
if you promise to come to the Franklin Institute to see the M. C. Escher exhibit with me.'

Kevin looked appalled. ‘Wait, I have to go see
Annie
and go to a museum?'

‘Hey, you're the one who wants to go to the play.' I folded my arms.
Take it or leave it, pal
.

‘Fine, but you have to push my wheelchair.'

We stared at each other so hard, I could almost feel sparks.

‘All right, it's a deal.'

I went back to checking the workbook. He'd actually done a pretty good job. I wondered what Kevin would think if I asked him to help me prove Goldbach's Conjecture? The thought of him juggling all of those prime numbers was so funny it was almost worth a try.

What can I say? I like a challenge.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Special thanks to the Kids from the Dark Side (Dave, Vila/Celeste, Geoff and Deven) for pointing out the good, the bad and the ugly and helping me fill in those pesky plot-holes. Thanks also to Lawrence and David for their feedback as early beta readers.

Thank you to my wonderful agent, Lindsey Fraser, for her encouragement and support as well as her editorial advice. A critique from Lindsey always makes me excited to write another draft!

I'd also like to thank the team at Chicken House. I was thrilled to work with them again, and though some of the faces may have changed, the spirit of joy and imagination and their love of great stories certainly hasn't! Thank you to Barry Cunningham, Rachel Leyshon and Kesia Lupo for helping me keep sight of the fantastical.

Finally, I'd like to thank my whole family for their love and support: to my dad for taking me to the Franklin Institute and teaching me that learning is fun; to my mom for always having a bookshelf full of mysteries; and to my husband Chris for being a
real
maths expert and keeping me (and Alice) on the straight and narrow.

TRY ANOTHER GREAT BOOK FROM CHICKEN HOUSE

DREAMER BALLERINA by SARAH RUBIN

A
ll you need is a dream and two feet!

Casey Quinn has got to dance. It's in her bones.

She's got more grace in her pinkie toe than all those prissy ballet-school girls put together, though you'd never guess it from her skinny white chicken-legs and her hand-me-down ballet shoes.

When Casey shuts her eyes, she sees the bright lights of the New York City stage.

She's going to get there. Somehow.

‘Deftly balancing themes of good fortune and passion, hope and heartache, Rubin's fine debut will appeal widely to artists and dreamers alike.'

PUBLISHERS WEEKLY

Paperback, ISBN 978-1-906427-61-0, £6.99