Jeremy Fink and the Meaning of Life Read online

  “I’ll get it,” I say, bending over to pick it up. The envelope is yellowed and thin, and there’s a name written on the front in black ink. Mabel Parsons. Mr. Oswald takes it from my hand and sticks it back in the book. The cover is so faded that I can’t see the title.

  “Even a reader like you probably won’t be very interested in the topic of this book,” he says, placing it gently into a cardboard box lying open on his desk. “It’s about woodland animals.”

  “Woodland animals?” I repeat.

  He nods as he tapes up the box with a thick packing tape. “Owls, bears, rabbits. That sort of thing.”

  It does sound pretty boring. “Are you donating it to a library?” I ask.

  “Oh, no,” he says, but doesn’t explain further. He pulls a yellow Post-it note off a pad and sticks it on top of the box. He writes an address neatly on it, and I can see his hand shake a bit with the effort. I wonder how old he is. He’s definitely older than any of my grandparents. He presses an intercom on his desk, and I hear a low buzz a few rooms away. James appears a minute later, and Mr. Oswald hands him the package. “The address is on here,” he says. “I’d like you to accompany the children to the door, but then they’re on their own.”

  “Yessir,” James says.

  I’m about to follow the men out of the room when I turn to find Lizzy holding the blue-eyed doll in her arms. When she sees me looking, she quickly sticks it back on the shelf. I raise my brows, and she glares in return. We wind our way back to the front door, stopping once so I can pick up a sheet of the bubble wrap.

  “Good luck,” Mr. Oswald says warmly, swinging the door shut behind us.

  “Wait,” Lizzy says from the top stair. “Why do we need luck? What are we actually doing?”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll talk tomorrow.” With that, the thick door shuts. We turn to James.

  “Don’t look at me,” he says. “I just work here.”

  Chapter 9: The Book

  James opens the back door for us again, even though I tell him I can open it. He has the package in the front with him, so once again we have no idea where we are going, or what we’re supposed to do when we get there. I search my backpack for any stray candy to bring me comfort, but I’m all out.

  I hold out my hand to Lizzy, palm up. “Starburst, please.”

  “Flavor?” Lizzy asks, digging the pack out of her pocket.

  “Red,” I reply. I want to ask why she didn’t offer earlier, but I don’t. Pick your battles, Dad always said.

  As the limo heads into parts unknown, we amuse ourselves by pressing the button to open and close the window partition. Then we look outside to count how many people turn their heads as the limo passes them. Once that gets old, I wrap the box in the bubble wrap, and I can’t help popping the bubbles. Lizzy jumps every time. I then polish off one and a half peanut butter sandwiches while Lizzy eats a soy cheese-and-spinach wrap that her dad made for her. I can’t even watch. We’re about to turn on the TV when the car comes to a halt, and the window divider lowers.

  “We’re here,” James says over his shoulder. “Are you ready?”

  “What should we be ready for?” Lizzy asks. “I’m not getting out of the car until you tell us.”

  I take my hand away from the door handle and sit back in my seat.

  James twists around till he is facing us. “You will be delivering a package, that’s all.”

  I lean forward. “Why does Mr. Oswald need us to do this? Not to be rude, but why couldn’t you, or someone else who already works for him do it?”

  James smiles. His teeth are very white. “Because I don’t have a debt to society to pay.”

  “Oh, please,” Lizzy says with a wave of her hand. “That was a big misunderstanding.”

  James raises the window divider, and we hear him get out of the car. I’m about to open my door when Lizzy puts her hand on my arm. Her mouth opens to say something, but then she closes it again.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “Nothing,” she says as James opens her door. She turns away and steps out. I slide over the seat and follow. I know she’s nervous about what we’re going to find here, but she’d never admit it. I have no problem admitting it.

  “You can leave your bag in the car,” James instructs me. “You won’t be needing it.”

  I hesitate. If Dad’s box got stolen I would never forgive myself.

  “It will be safe, I promise,” James says.

  Not wanting to make a big deal out of it, I shrug the bag off my shoulder and leave it on the seat. Then I quickly move it from the seat to the floor, thinking it’s less likely to be seen there. I close the door tightly behind me and find Lizzy leaning against the car, tapping her finger on the tinted windows. Okay, so I guess my bag will be safe. James makes a big show of clicking on the alarm.

  We follow James a few doors down and find ourselves in front of a tall apartment building, the kind with a doorman. James hands me the package. I hand it to Lizzy, who promptly hands it back to me. The doorman tips his hat at us, and we follow James into the building and up to the desk, where a security guard is reading the newspaper. James clears his throat and says, “We are here to see Mrs. Mabel Billingsly. She is expecting us.”

  The guard lazily lays his paper down on the counter and picks up a phone. He presses three numbers. “And you all are?”

  James says, “You may tell Mrs. Billingsly that we are representatives of Mr. Oswald.”

  The guard mumbles, “Oh, may I?” and presses one more number. James pretends not to hear the guard’s comment, but I’m sure he did. The guard relays the message and then hangs up. “Okay, you can go up.”

  We step into the elevator and James presses 14.

  Lizzy says, “It would have to be the fourteenth floor again!”

  “What’s wrong with the fourteenth floor?” James asks.

  “You don’t want to know,” Lizzy says with a shiver.

  I ask, “Why would anyone want an old book on woodland animals anyway?”

  Lizzy shrugs. “Maybe it’s an antique. James here, although a man of few words, did say Mr. Oswald sold antiques.” Suddenly her eyes widen, and she adds, “Unless it’s not really a book at all!”

  “Interesting,” I say, considering this theory. Mr. Oswald did shut the book pretty quickly, so I couldn’t get a good look at it. “You’re right! It could be a hollowed-out book with money or jewels or a treasure map hidden inside!”

  “Yes!” Lizzy says, grabbing my arm. “That’s why Mr. Oswald wants us to deliver it! As minors, we wouldn’t get into as much trouble as an adult would. Maybe he’s connected with the mob!”

  We stare accusingly at James. Lizzy does her best hands-on-hips glare. James shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “It’s a book,” he says firmly. The elevator opens, and James steps out. Lizzy and I don’t move. “It’s a book,” he says, even more firmly. The doors start to close, and he has to stick his foot in to get them to bounce back open.

  “We might as well go with him,” I say to Lizzy. “Mr. Oswald doesn’t really seem like the kinda guy who would set us up.”

  “I guess not,” she admits.

  We step out of the elevator, and James walks down the hushed hallway a few steps ahead of us. This sure is different from our apartment building. Air conditioning in the halls, for one. And carpet that doesn’t have any stains on it. I run my hand along the patterned wallpaper. No dust. There are chairs and a little table every few feet. So neighbors can chat, I guess?

  “Here we are,” James says, stopping in front of 14G. “You’re on your own. I’ll be waiting out here.”

  “Sure, so we can deliver the contraband,” Lizzy mumbles, “while you keep a safe distance.”

  “It’s a BOOK,” James insists, heading toward a chair a few doors down.

  Neither of us makes a move to knock. Finally, I shift the package under my arm and ring the buzzer. A few seconds later, the door creaks open, and an elderly woman in a light pink dress stand