Jeremy Fink and the Meaning of Life Read online

  “This is a really slow elevator,” I observe.

  “Yeah,” Lizzy says. “It’s almost like we’re not moving.”

  I look at the panel of numbers. “That’s because neither of us pushed the button for our floor!” I lean over and push 14. The elevator jumps a little and begins to ascend.

  We start to laugh. Lizzy says, “You’d think we’d never been out of the house before.”

  I watch the floor numbers light up one at a time as we approach each one. “Did you know,” I tell Lizzy, “that most buildings don’t have a thirteenth floor because the number 13 is supposed to be bad luck? Of course there still is a thirteenth floor; they just call it the fourteenth floor.”

  Lizzy narrows her eyes. “So what you’re saying is that since we’re going to the fourteenth floor, we’re gonna have bad luck?”

  Maybe it’s better when Lizzy doesn’t listen when I share my knowledge of the world. “Um, forget I said anything.”

  When the doors open we get out and follow the signs toward Suite 42. Along the way we pass assorted businessmen and women, all who either ignore us or give us the forced smile that adults usually give to kids, where just the corners of their mouths turn up. We finally find the right door. It still has the FOLGARD AND LEVINE, ESQUIRES brass nameplate on it. Lizzy steps back and motions for me to try the door. I take a deep breath and turn the handle. Of course it doesn’t budge.

  “Turn it the other way,” Lizzy advises.

  “That’s not gonna work,” I say. “You always turn a knob to the right to open it.” Nevertheless, I try it. I’m so surprised to feel it twist under my hand that I don’t even push the door open for a second.

  “Wow, that actually worked!” Lizzy exclaims, pushing through the door. I quickly follow and close it behind us. There is no electricity in the office, but enough light comes through the windows that we can easily see around us. It’s like a ghost town of an office. Shells of desks and filing cabinets, stained carpet, empty cardboard boxes, a broken lamp.

  “Let’s get moving,” Lizzy whispers. “You look in Harold’s office, and I’ll check out here in the waiting area.”

  I nod, and head into the office that has Harold’s nameplate stuck on it. First I check the old wooden desk that sits in the center of the room. It’s a nice desk. I wonder why he abandoned it. The drawers are all hanging out, which makes it easy. I feel around the insides of them, and also check the bottoms of each drawer in case the keys are taped there. All I come away with are a few splinters, three paper clips, and a business card for a moving company. I can hear Lizzy in the next room opening and closing drawers, too.

  According to the plan, I crawl around on the carpet, feeling for lumps as I go along. About halfway around the room I actually feel something! It’s about a foot away from one of the walls and is just the right size for a set of four keys and a key chain.

  “Hey, Lizzy,” I call out as loud as I dare. “I might have found something!”

  She comes running in, and I point to the lump. She runs back out. When she returns, she is carrying her briefcase and my bag, which we had left by the front door. She unsnaps her briefcase and pulls out the screwdriver. She hands it to me, which I think is a nice gesture since I’m sure she’d be as capable as I in cutting the carpet. I would feel guilty doing what we’re about to do, but the carpet is so old and stained and torn that there’s no question the new tenants are going to replace it. In a way, we’re helping them out.

  Using the sharp edge, I hook the screwdriver under the edge of the carpet where it meets the wall. Then I move it back and forth like a saw. Even though the carpet is old, the fiber is strong. Lizzy holds the two edges of the rug apart as I go along, revealing the concrete floor beneath. I’m sweating by the time I slice my way to the lump. One last slice and the carpet reveals its hidden treasure.

  Lizzy screams and jumps back so fast that she crashes to the floor, limbs flying. She covers her mouth to keep herself from screaming again and finally manages to scramble to her feet.

  “You’re such a girl,” I tell her, letting the carpet fall back into place. “It’s long dead.” Instead of the keys to my box, we have uncovered the final resting place of a little brown mouse.

  Lizzy shivers. “Lets just finish looking around. This place is giving me the creeps.”

  The only place I haven’t searched yet is the ceiling. It’s one of those drop-down types where you can push on the panels and they lift up. “Flashlight,” I say, holding out my hand. Like a nurse handing a doctor a scalpel, Lizzy repeats, “Flashlight,” and lays it in my hand. I stand up on the desk and can easily reach the ceiling. Pushing up on one of the panels, I move it aside so I can stick my flashlight up there. I have to clear away a cobweb before sticking my head in. Good thing I’m doing this instead of Lizzy. For a tough girl, she is brought to her knees by things with multiple legs.

  “See anything?” she asks. Her voice sounds muffled from up here.

  “Pipes, dust, and wires,” I call down. I shine the light slowly around, but just see more of the same. “Do you want to take a look?”

  She doesn’t answer. I repeat my question. She still doesn’t answer. I duck my head back out of the ceiling to see Lizzy standing stiffly in the center of the room. A very round and red-faced policeman, in a full-on NYPD outfit, stands at her side. The security guard from downstairs almost completely fills the doorway.

  All I can think to say as I climb off the desk is, “I told you we should have given him the king-sized Snickers!”

  Chapter 7: The Job

  “You didn’t say anything about the Snickers!” Lizzy hisses as we are led into a mini police station right in the basement of the building.

  “Well, I thought it!” I reply lamely.

  The security guard, who must have ratted us out, exchanges a few words with the policeman and leaves without a backward glance. The policeman, whose nametag says POLANSKY, motions for us to sit on the wooden bench across from his small desk. Lack of beard aside, he would make a good department store Santa Claus. He isn’t very jolly, though, so he probably wouldn’t last long.

  “Would you like to tell me what you were doing vandalizing that office upstairs?” he asks, leaning forward in his chair.

  Lizzy and I exchange glances. I can see she’s frightened, even though she’s trying to pretend she’s not. Before I can think it through, I say, “Um, we know him, I mean Folgard. Harold. I know we told the guard he’s our uncle, but really he’s a friend of my parents. I mean of my mom’s. My dad, he’s… he’s not around, so—”

  “What my brother here is trying to say,” Lizzy interrupts, “is that vandalizing is totally not the right word. You see, we had passes to go up there.” She gestures to the sticker on our chests. “So this has all been a big mistake.”

  “Not so fast,” Officer Polansky says as Lizzy reaches for her briefcase. “That office no longer belongs to Folgard and Levine. It was rented out last week to J&J Accountants. It was their office you were vandalizing.”

  Lizzy whispers out of the corner of her mouth, “There he goes with that word again.”

  “The guard in the lobby has a direct video feed to all the empty offices. Gotta make sure no squatters get in here. He saw you destroying private property.”

  I have no idea what a squatter is other than someone who squats, but I don’t bother to ask. Instead I say, “Honestly, we were just looking for a set of keys that Mr. Folgard hid there a long time ago. We didn’t mean to destroy anything.”

  “Breaking and entering is a very serious offense, you know,” he says.

  I glare at Lizzy. She shrinks down in her seat a little. Then she says, “But the door was unlocked, so it wasn’t really breaking. Just entering. And really, what’s so bad about entering?”

  “The way I see it,” Officer Polansky says, clearly not swayed by Lizzy’s logic, “is that not only do you owe J&J Accountants the money for a new carpet, but you have to pay your debt to society for not respecting