Vanishing Acts by Leslie Margolis

Author:Leslie Margolis
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloomsbury USA Childrens
Published: 2012-08-28T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

I took Preston on an extra-long walk after school that day because walking helps me think, and I had a lot of thinking to do.

Maybe Milo was mad because Lucy and I had laughed at his beautifying products comment. So should I apologize? What if that wasn’t it? And even if it was—what if bringing it up now, a day later, made everything even worse? And how could I waste so much time worrying about it when I had a dog-egger to catch?

Unless Finn was right and Milo did like me and now I’d blown our entire relationship before we even had a chance to have one.

Wandering around the park did not bring any clarity to the situation.

I decided to swing by the set of Vanished. Yes, Jones had banned me, but Seth and I were friends. Okay, maybe not friends, but we were certainly friendly, and he’d told me to stop by.

Rounding the corner from Prospect Park West onto Second Street, I expected to see the crazy winter wonderland I’d encountered on Wednesday. But Zander and the rest of the crew must’ve been working overtime, because today the street looked like a genuine crime scene.

Each of the six trailers was cordoned off with yellow police tape that read CRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS in bold black letters. A bunch of men and women in New York Police Department uniforms wandered around.

They looked so serious, and had authentic-looking caps and everything. But according to Beatrix and Sonya, Vanished took place in a universe overrun by teenagers and zombies and giant rats. So why the fake cops? Were they supposed to be teenage cops? These ones seemed too old. Maybe they were zombie cops? They weren’t particularly pale, and everyone knows that if the walking dead are one thing, it’s pale. The cameras weren’t rolling, but some of them talked into walkie-talkies. Others marched around like they meant business. In other words, they looked like real, live cops. And I had this funny feeling, like something major had gone down.

I looked for my friends, thinking maybe they could tell me why the police were there. But before I found them, I noticed a familiar face.

It was one of the police officers who’d helped me when I busted the dog-napper last month. He stood off to the side, half hidden by one of the larger brownstones on the street, talking into his cell phone. I walked Preston closer so I could listen. Okay, eavesdrop. I couldn’t help but be curious. “He didn’t show up for work this morning, and his hotel room was empty. Dressing room, too,” the officer said. “His manager and legal guardian. Negative. No sign of a break-in or struggle. We’ve got to talk to the director, too. I know. Yeah, we have no choice. The note on the bed, that’s all it said. ‘Don’t bother looking, you’ll never—’”

Just then he stopped talking and glanced at me.

I quickly crouched down to pet Preston. “How ya doing, big guy?

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