After classes, Drew went outside ahead of the girls while they put their stuff away in their lockers, so Drew would have time to get her car out of the parking lot. As usual, there was a long queue of cars to the exit. Drew called her dad up while she waited in line, asking him if it was all right to bring the girls over for dinner. He said sure, and hung up abruptly. He sounded distracted. Probably prepping for his interview or something.

Drew looked around. There were a lot of custom or restored cars in school, and a few high-end ones usually driven by the richer kids. She could see most of them at the front of the line. But there were a lot of older-model unmodified regular cars, too - many of them were bought cheap and were in need of some TLC, and the rest were what Jane would have called "mom-mobiles" - cast-off cars that kids inherited from their folks. Drew's eight-year-old Opel Tigra Twin-Top fell in the middle of these two broad "classifications": the high-end or street-rod cars, and the hand-me-downs or fixer-uppers. But with all of the improvements she's had done, maybe that didn't follow anymore.

Drew's car was an old-enough model, and looked close enough to stock to qualify as a hand-me-down, although the hood sported a small shaker-style hood scoop that wasn't in the original. The change was quite subtle and was usually overlooked. So, to most, it just looked like a stock Opel, and though it had been customized, pains were taken to keep her lines close to stock.

Yes, the car had lots of changes, but these mods were necessary since the car couldn't accommodate its new turbocharged monster and transmission without them. The people at Otto's garage had gotten hold of an engine from a totaled Mercedes Benz CLA. True, the donor car was a junker, but the power plant was untouched. And given that car was a Benz, and a fairly new model, Drew had to pay mucho moolah. But she got blinded by the fact that it was a small-footprint 300-horsepower, two-liter motor, so she closed her eyes and forked over the money (or, rather, her dad did, LOL). Drew had a limiter put in, however, so the car wouldn't accelerate over 120 MPH, otherwise, braking and turning would be verrry tricky. Still, she could remove that limit if she tripped a switch hidden under the dash. The Benz CLA-class could supposedly do 155 MPH, but Drew was a bit ambivalent about finding out if her Tiger could match that. Given how small and comparatively light it was, she suspected her car could do more than just 155, but at the cost of losing control.

Also, Otto's mechanics had to have the car's engine well expanded, braced and reinforced a bit to accommodate the bigger and more powerful engine (actually, the whole car was reinforced now), and this necessitated moving stuff around - not a simple thing but do-able. The original one-point-four liter, 120-horsepower engine was taken out, of course, plus a lot of other stuff in the engine well. The people from the garage reinforced much of the internal structure with artfully hidden bars and crosspieces in order to manage the new weight, weight distribution and expected increase in torque. They also had to convert the car from automatic transmission to manual after they replaced the transmission assembly. But Drew didn't mind manual.

She also had a baffled exhaust kit she ordered from the net installed, and with these new pipes, the little Opel was more efficient and as quiet as a kitten despite its new turbocharged engine.

It also had formula-style suspension and ceramic brakes now, but they weren't obvious. The new brakes and suspension allowed it to manage the new weight, to brake in less distance, and to corner like it was on rails. Its windscreen frame was specially reinforced as well to compensate for the fact that Drew couldn't have a normal roll cage installed because it was now a regular convertible. But its newly-fabricated removable hardtop was reinforced in such a way that, if Drew mounted it, together with the reinforced windscreen frame, the little Opel had something as good as a race-grade roll cage. She also had a bare roll cage made so she could mount it instead of the hardtop, but that was still being fabricated. (For the moment, she used the canvas top and kept the hardtop stored in their garage) They had to take away the mechanism to automatically retract the top, though. But the plus factor was that this freed up enough space to allow them to put in a small rear seat. Drew's car was now a three-seater.

The one good thing, though, was that, with all the changes, the car was now heavier, and was therefore that much more stable and safe to drive.

The almost-standard seats reduced the safety factor that the reinforcement gave (bucket racer seats would have been better), but the air bags that were retained more than compensated for that. Her upholstery guy also added extra detachable shoulder-to-hip straps for the two front seats so that, when attached, the straps converted the standard-looking three-point seat belts to four-point safety harnesses. She kept the two extra straps underneath the seats, just in case.

And just for the heck of it, she had even ordered a couple of helmets from a women's racing specialty store in her size - one in shiny black and another in shiny pearl-white with fire-engine red accents. They were "full-face undrape" helmets that looked like standard auto race helmets except that the whole front could be swung up. She knew she was probably not going to need them, but what the hey - it was fun to own them. She kept them, as well as race car driver safety pads, in a steamer trunk-style PVC crate in the garage.

The only drawback to all this modification was that the car was heavier and the fuel consumption was therefore more than before. And since she had replaced the original twelve-gallon tank with a smaller racing fuel cell (it only held ten gallons), the car's range was greatly reduced.

The last of the changes were the new, bright, shiny electric-blue paint job with the feminine accents, a set of brushed-chrome Magnum 500-style 17-inch dubs with the inner part painted in the same blue color as the body (Drew made sure she had a fifth one for her spare), a canvas-like manually-folded convertible ragtop replacing the Opel's automatically-folding hardtop, and an understated, unobtrusive but kick-ass sound system. As a final subtle touch, she had the Opel logo on the front and on the back replaced with chrome copies of the Flash's logo from the comic books, and had the little chrome "TIGRA" badge replaced with "TIGER." It was her own little joke, since "tiger" could easily be mistaken for "tigra" (it meant the same, too), and the Opel logo looked awfully close to the Flash's logo. Both touches were subtle enough that few really noticed.

So, although it was really a racer-slash-street rod-slash muscle car, Tiger, as Drew started to call her car, didn't look it (except if you looked real close or opened the hood). And it didn't help that it was a Tigra. Who would make a muscle car out of a rinky-dink little Opel Tigra Twin Top, except for maybe Drew/Andy. And it was all street-legal to boot. (No one had to know about the power plant, after all heehee. That was what the limiter was for.)

If it had to be classified according to the "standard" cars in school, Tiger couldn't properly be a street-rod/muscle car, nor could it be a mom-mobile. Drew's Tigra needed it's own classification. It looked stock, but it wasn't. It was as fast as greased lightning but it wasn't obvious. It was sexy, but not in a street-rod kind of way. It was girl-sexy - sexy in a feminine way, as well as Drew-sexy - subtle and elegant. Anyone looking at it instinctively knew it was special, except they wouldn't be able to easily pin down why. One could very well call it the new classification of cars in school - the "sexy-girl car," or the "Tiger." After all, it was Drew's car that started it.

Aside from Tiger's... sultry, low-key elegance, Drew knew that her little Opel was every bit as good as her old souped-up yellow Sunfire, actually tons better since she practically had an unlimited budget this time and upgraded the hell out of her. She often wondered whatever happened to her old yellow car. Was it destroyed along with their old house?

Thinking all this, she again felt bad because she hadn't gotten the opportunity to open her up all the way yet, and she would dearly love to get an opportunity to match up her Tiger with the school's street-rods. She didn't think she'd get the chance, though.

As soon as the last modification was done, and Drew started tooling around town with her little blue tiger, even the shiny, expensive cars of the snooty, rich girls in school started looking tired and dull, dweeby and tweedy compared to Drew's. And those girls whose parents could afford it started shopping around for similar cars. In the past month, little BMW minis, Japanese Kei-class sportsters and other similar cars in decidedly feminine colors, even Twin Tops like Drew's, started to appear. But, in most people's opinions, none of them could hold a candle to Drew's Tiger.

Drew shook herself out of her reverie and noticed that she was the next one up. She waved at old Harry the security guard, drove through the gate and then out of the parking lot.

She saw Callie and Iola standing by the school entrance steps. She tooted her horn and pulled up to them. As usual, a gaggle of boys were chatting them up.

"Excuse me, boys," she said in singsong. "I'm sorry but Callie and Iola have to leave now." The girls giggled, waved goodbye, and got into Drew's Tiger. Callie took the rear passenger seat, as usual.

"Hey, Drew," Phil Cohen said, sauntered up to her driver-side door while his detention-class buds surrounded Tiger. He looked like the poster child for the Staten Island JD. "Nice little car you have here."

Drew scrunched her face, but in a cute way. "Darn sight better than your bucket," she said.

"You can't mean my Escalade?" He answered sweetly. Phil drove a pimped-out street rod that was his pride and joy, and the envy of all the motor heads in school. "Watch it, sweetie. My rod can run your rinky-dink little ragtop down in a sec."

"So you say," she said.

"Hmmm. Is that a challenge, sweet-cheeks?"

"Call it what you like, Phil. But I can beat you in a straight-up race with my little rinky-dink car anytime."

"Just name the time and the place, honeybun."

"I just might, stud," Drew said. She revved her engine and goosed her accelerator. The guys surrounding Tiger jumped back, giving her room to move.

"Ta-ta!" Drew smiled and slowly drove away.

Callie and Iola giggled. "You're a bad, bad girl, Drew!" Iola said.

"Who, me?" The three of them laughed and they went on to Drew's house.

-----

When they arrived at Drew's, they found the house empty. Drew explained that her dad had an interview at Tate & Company, one of the larger business consulting companies around. Tate & Company was affiliated with Tate Holdings, one of the largest land and real estate developers in the country, as well as American Amalgamated, a global top-twenty manufacturing and retail giant. Drew said they were supposed to know if he got the job today. Going by their expressions, the girls weren't as impressed as Drew hoped. Actually, all that was missing was for Iola to shrug and say, "so?"

They went to the living room to talk about Callie's and Iola's ideas on the cheerleader thing, and to do some homework at the same time.

Though she wouldn't have told anyone, Iola (and Callie for that matter) never used to do homework as regularly as she did nowadays, and it really helped her GPA and school standing. Mr. and Mrs. Morton, and Callie's aunt, were pleased with the large improvement in the girls' grades. The parental units rightly attributed it all to Drew's influence, and wholeheartedly encouraged their kids' association with Drew.

They had also met Carson Nance at a PTA meeting once, and had gone to one of the Nances' now-famous monthly parties at their St. George home, and they had nothing but good things to say about Drew's dad. (It was also because of Carson's monthly parties that the Nances acquired their reputation for being more well-to-do than the average St. George resident, and perhaps that was another reason for their popularity.)

Carson had originally thought up the gimmick of an informal monthly party for them to get to know everyone in the neighborhood. And after three of these parties, the Nances had been able to entrench themselves in the local community and within Drew's school PTA as planned. That wasn't such a difficult thing to do, actually - it was just St. George after all - not Manhattan, and most of the people were nice enough.

Mr. Nance's parties were just for the grownups so, for that particular party where the Mortons and Ms. Arlene Shaw met Carson Nance, their kids - Callie, Iola and Drew, had been given carte blanche by the parentals to have a night on the town. Carson was realist enough to know that these kids would do what they wanted regardless of that they said, so he put Drew in charge - even if they didn't strictly follow their rules, he trusted Drew to keep them mostly out of trouble.

Since Drew was the designated driver and the official chaperone-substitute, she had to forgo drinking and be the saner, sober head that would keep the girls in line. Which wasn't exactly true since they ended up barhopping. That was also when Drew got her first-ever fake ID, courtesy of Iola. Since then, of course, Drew had made significant changes to that fake card. The card gave her ideas, actually, and she had started thinking up a nice fake card for her "Rose" alter ego.

But Drew did really keep a (mostly) sober and saner head that night, and looked out for the girls - a good thing, too, as Iola would have gotten in trouble: that girl just couldn't hold her liquor, and drunk men were liable to make trouble, especially around drunk young girls. Not to mention New York pickpockets and what-have-you.

The last couple of hours of that barhopping night were spent in Iola's house, trying to get Iola to sober up before her folks got back from the party. And several gallons of water and several pots of coffee later, Iola's folks were none the wiser.

Drew sighed, thinking about that night. In the beginning, she thought their choosing a Staten Island address was a mistake. They could have chosen other more posh places, but they were in too much of a hurry to decide on a place at the time. And now it was too late to change. And besides, after living here for a while, Drew started feeling at home (or as at-home as she thought she could). In the end they decided that they had made the right decision after all.

If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

-----

"So," Drew said as she came back from the kitchen with sodas and chips, "you guys got any ideas about the cheerleading thing?"

"Well," Callie began, "Iola and I tried talking with Coach Stoeger at her office this afternoon, explaining that we were worried for next year's squad..."

-----

"So, Shaw," Coach Stoeger said to Iola and Callie in her usual direct manner. "What can I do for you?" The coach, despite her looks, very feminine style and very feminine deportment, had a reputation of being just this side of butch, and it showed in how she dealt with her students. But she had a reputation of being fair and was on the side of her kids most of the time, so the girls trusted her and the student body respected her.

"Coach Stoeger," Callie said, "we're worried about next year's lineup."

"Isn't it a bit too early to be thinking that far ahead? Besides, what makes you think you'll be part of the squad next year?" She raised a half-mocking eyebrow.

Callie giggled nervously at that.

"Well..." Iola hemmed.

Coach Stoeger looked at them suspiciously. "You've heard something." She said.

But the girls didn't continue.

Stoeger stood up from her desk, went to her office door and closed it, and gestured for the two girls to sit down.

"Okay, girls," she said, sitting down. "You know the drill. When my door's closed, whatever you say is confidential, even from Principal Weatherby. You can tell me anything you want, and it'll just be between us." She leaned forward.

Callie and Iola told her about how Janine was planning to shut out the Jayvees from the squad, and what they and Drew intended - which was to try and find a way to give them an even chance of trying out without Janine and her gang knowing about it.

The coach looked at them with a little skepticism. "I don't think Janine would really do that. Why would she? And why this Drew?"

Iola bit her lip and looked at Callie. Callie shrugged, essentially saying that it was up to Iola if she wanted to tell her.

The coach sighed. "Girls. After all this time, I think you know that you can trust me. I can keep secrets."

"Well, Coach..." And they told her about Sabrina making a pass at Janine, and Janine not liking it.

"Nothing major, Coach!" Callie said. "She just tried to kiss Janine, but when Janine didn't like it, she backed off. No big. But Janine..."

"Hmm..." the coach said, thinking. "Her coach sort of suspected that of Sabrina. But isn't Janine over-reacting a bit?"

"You know Janine, Coach."

Coach Stoeger sighed. "Yes, I do..." Her father was a very strict fundamentalist Christian who had a powerful hold on his kids, and on the community.

"So, can you help us?"

"Well, first of all, girls, I can't tell you how proud I am of you. I'm glad you're trying to give the Jayvees a fair shake. I will help. And tell this girl... what's her name again?"

"Her name's Drew - Drew Nance. She transferred over about three months ago. I'm sure you know her? The cute blonde that drives that little blue convertible?"

Stoeger nodded. Yes, indeed she'd seen the girl around. Who hadn't? So that's her name... "I think I do," Stoeger said. "Please give Ms Nance my thanks as well, and tell her that I would like to see her whenever she has the time."

They talked for a bit more and Coach Stoeger said she'll take care of things. "Tell Sabrina and her squad that I want to see them before the end of class tomorrow, and that tryouts will start as soon as I have enough applicants. Umm, does she know what Janine is planning?"

"No, Coach."

"Good. Then there's no need to tell the Jayvees anything more than that."

"Coach?" Callie said, "Janine and the others - they'll be talking to you soon, and they might ask us what -"

The coach nodded her head. "Don't worry, I won't say we talked, and assure the Jayvees that they'll have a fair shot if they want it. And don't forget to tell that girl, Drew, to talk to me."

"No prob, Coach Stoeger."

-----

"You say Mizz Stoeger wants to talk with me?" Drew asked, puzzled. "Why?"

Iola shrugged. "I don't know."

"I wonder..."

"So?"

Drew shrugged. "Guess I could go and visit her at her office tomorrow? My last period tomorrow afternoon is free. Can you go with?"

"I think mine is free, too. Sure, if I can."

Callie pulled on Drew's sleeve. "Drew? Can you help me with this?" Callie had her algebra textbook open.

Drew sighed and got back to helping the two with their homework.

-----

At about six thirty, Drew's dad arrived. By that time, they had finished most of their homework. "I'm home!" he called as he opened the door, a big grocery bag in his left arm, and his briefcase in his right hand.

"Pop's home!" Drew exclaimed and got up to greet her dad.

She took the bag of groceries from him and gave him a one-armed hug.

"Hi, Pop," she said. "How was today?"

"Got some great news, but I guess we can talk about it at dinner. Hi, kids!" Carson waved to the girls.

"Hey, Mr. Nance," Callie said from the living room table.

He stood by the table, his arm around Drew. "Working hard, I see," Carson said, noting the textbooks strewn all over.

Iola sighed. "What can you do when you're with Miz Slave Driver over there." She gestured to Drew, and Drew stuck her tongue out at her.

Carson always marveled at this kind of byplay between his kid and her new best friends, but it was all so natural.

"You girls will be staying for dinner, I suppose?" he said.

"Depends," Iola said cheekily. "What're you cookin'?"

Carson laughed. "Okay, it's a surprise, then."

Carson took off his jacket, loosened his tie, gestured Drew to go back to her friends, proceeded into the kitchen and started making his special stovetop barbecue spare ribs and special creamy mashed potatoes, with a side of crisp salad greens, freezer-cold tomato slices and Thousand Island dressing. He also put the tub of Ben & Jerry's Chunky Monkey he'd brought home in the chiller section of the fridge so it would be ready for dessert. He was far from a gourmet cook, and was never even close to Marie's skills, but he was pretty good with conventional meals.

After a little while, he called to the girls, saying food was about ready and asking if they could help Drew set the table.

Having had dinner at the Nances' several times before, Callie and Iola were familiar with the routine and knew where everything was kept. In a few minutes, they had cleared their stuff from the table and set four place settings.

Mr. Nance was soon there, carrying a big platter of his jiffy-cooked spare ribs, warning their guests that the meal wasn't diet-friendly, but after the first bite, they unanimously agreed that they could skip their diets for tonight at least.

Table talk was about what happened at school today, and Carson, as always, gave polite attention even though he didn't particularly want to know about school gossip or the latest trends with the teenagers of St. George. But mostly table talk was just a lot of appreciative noises from Callie and Iola as they scarfed up Mr. Nance's cooking.

Over dessert of Ben & Jerry's ice cream and coffee with maple syrup in place of sugar, and steamed evaporated milk instead of cream, Iola asked Carson what was new with him, and he told her that he was trying for a job at Tate & Company.

"Yeah," Iola said, "Drew said that you had an interview with them today?"

"Well, you are now looking at the next chief legal counsel for the business development unit of Tate & Company," Carson grinned.

"Wow, congratulations, Pop!" Drew gave him a hug.

"It was nothing," Carson said mock-superciliously, and pretended to look down at his fingernails and to brush imaginary lint from his shirt, which got him razzberries all around.

-----

The girls both helped with the washing up. "Mr. Nance, maybe you and Drew should get a housekeeper or something, to help with the cleaning and washing up and stuff?" Callie said.

Carson paused for a bit and thought about it.

"That's an idea, Callie," he said. "What do you think Drew? When I start working again, we'll have a harder time keeping up the place, and the once-a-week cleaning won't be possible anymore."

Drew thought about it. She was worried that some busybody housekeeper might poke through their private stuff. But there wasn't really anything that anyone could find that could break their cover anymore, unless they found the hidden safe, the camouflaged scanner in the living room and the cameras, and she was pretty sure that the safe was secure and undiscoverable, the fake amp hid the RF scanner more than adequately while the cameras were totally unobtrusive.

It was probably something else that made Drew hesitate. She thought about it and came to the realization that she still missed their old housekeeper, Marie. And to get a new housekeeper now would feel like she was being disloyal to her. "Dad probably feels the same way, too," she thought.

"But that is silly, mio amore," an imaginary Marie said. In Drew's mind's eye, she could imagine Marie washing the dishes with her, and Drew would be telling her about the stuff that she's been doing at school. But, in her mind's eye, she saw Marie turn to her, put a wet hand on her shoulder and look her in the eye. The imaginary Marie became serious, which in real life she only was when there was something important to discuss. "It has been a while now. It is time to let me go, bambina." She hugged her. "You must go on without me. But I will always be with you in your heart. I love you, mi querida hija. You know that, right?"

She sighed to herself. Yes, perhaps they'd have to find a way to continue on without her, as they were trying to now with Jane and her Uncle Dave. It was time.

And she belatedly noticed that her imaginary Marie called her bambina... querida hija...

She noticed that the silence was getting a little too long. So she made a decision.

"That sounds like a good idea, Pop," she answered her dad. "I like it. But it's up to you. Whatever you think is right."

Carson nodded. "Let's think about that some more. We don't need to make a decision right away."

"'Kay."

After a bit, they finished washing and drying the plates and utensils. Carson made his excuses and went upstairs. The girls retreated to the living room.

"I don't understand why you guys don't have a dishwasher, Drew," Iola said.

"We used to have a housekeeper in our old place who took care of the dishes and things like that. Guess it never occurred to us to get one." Drew sighed again.

"Where's she now? Your old housekeeper."

Drew shrugged and changed the topic. "Let's finish up our homework," she said, and made a point of opening one of her textbooks.

"I think I'm done, actually," Callie said.

"What do you mean you're done?" Iola asked. "You liar! Lemme see!"

Callie handed Iola the essay she made the night before, and smiled innocently at her.

Iola growled as she read it. She hadn't started her own yet. She asked to borrow Drew's computer and Drew pointed her to her dad's little study-slash-office underneath the stairs. She went in and started writing her own essay. Drew and Callie giggled as they heard Iola muttering imprecations all the way to the study. Iola hated writing essays.

"She's so funny," Drew giggled.

"That's my best friend," Callie warned.

"I thought I was your best friend," Drew teased.

"You're my other best friend," Callie responded, and hugged Drew.

"So do you wanna 'help' Iola finish her essay?" Drew giggled again, remembering the last time Iola asked for help on a writing assignment, and Drew and Callie mercilessly made

"Nahhh," Callie said. "I don't think Iola will forgive us if we do that again."

Drew gently broke the hug. "Listen, are you okay with Iola? Seems you had a bit of an... issue with her."

Callie gave her a questioning look.

"At the pool? When we talked?"

Callie stopped, thought of how to respond. After a moment, she decided to make light of it. She pshawed Drew. "Nahhh. Guess I was over-reacting. I thought about it some more after we talked. You were right. We're cool."

Drew looked at her, not believing, but decided to let it go for now. "That's good. Hey, wanna see the stuff from the clock?"

"Sure!"

Drew brought her to their bogus antique grandfather clock. Callie looked over the clock in question, and though she'd seen the clock dozens of times before when she came over, she'd never really paid attention to it. It was the first time for her to see it this close up. It was beautiful the way old clocks can be, and this one was pretty, despite the fact that she knew it wasn't really an antique.

It could do with a good polishing using some glass or window cleaner or something, too - streaks in the glass and all that. Although Drew and her dad worked to keep their place as neat as they could, they clearly needed help. It was good they were thinking of hiring a maid now.

Drew swung the entire clock around so they could see the back. The clock's chime jangled loudly.

"Drew?" her dad called, apparently hearing the noise. "What're you doing?"

"Nothing, Pop!" she called back. "I'm just showing Callie the stuff I found in the clock."

"You be careful - don't damage the clock!"

Drew gave Callie a scrunched-up face and they giggled together.

In a bit, Callie was examining the brownish handprint on the unvarnished back.

"Creepy," she murmured. She compared it to the size of her palm. "Too big to be a girl's hand," she said to Drew.

"My thought exactly. Wanna see the note and the pictures?"

Callie nodded, finally feeling a kind of curiosity that she didn't feel before. Originally, she was just showing interest to make Drew happy. Now, she really was becoming intrigued.

Drew led her to her dad's study. Iola saw them and gave them razzberries.

"Cool it, girl," Drew said. "We won't bother you. Just keep working." Drew left them to go to her room to get the other stuff.

"Yes," Callie giggled. "Studying are an important things," she said, quoting from Iola's previous essay.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up..." Iola murmured.

"I'm sorry, honey," Callie said, and gave her a hug from behind. "Just foolin' with you."

Iola reached back with her left arm, not stopping in her typing, and hugged her back one-handed. "I knew that. S'all right."

Callie left her to her work and went to the desk in the corner. Drew came back with a manila envelope and handed her a piece of paper inside a Ziploc bag.

"Don't open the bag," Drew said, forcing her to read the letter through the plastic. The writing covered most of the paper in a decidedly feminine handwriting. She finished it quickly, but read it again several times.

Like Drew, her imagination was struck, and she couldn't help imagining what it meant and what was behind it all. Who was Ziggy? A fifties gangster? And why would he be after Louie? And who was Marlee? Was Louie her sweetheart? Louie must have been a good man for Marlee to be so dedicated to him. And the bigger question - what happened in the end?

Drew handed her another Ziploc bag, this time with a picture inside. Callie looked at the slightly yellowed picture of a cute blonde wearing a cardigan. "Is this Marlee?" Callie asked. Drew turned it over and she could see a phone number and name written on the back.

Callie studied the writing for a while, and turned it over again to look the picture over. "She's so pretty!" Callie said with a smile.

"Drew!" she said, turning to her. "We must help her!"

"What's up?" Iola called from the computer.

"I thought you were working on your essay."

"I am, but what're you girls going on about?"

"Come see," Callie said.

Iola got up and came over. "So?"

Callie gave her the note. "This was the note Drew found in their clock."

Iola read it and, after a bit, Callie showed her the picture. Iola took more time than Callie before she responded.

"Drew! We gotta help Marlee!"

Drew giggled. "You realize that the note must be fifty years old. Marlee is probably dead by now."

"But we gotta find out!"

"So, you're in?"

"Yeah!"

Drew nodded and brought them up to speed on what she'd found out so far, and showed them the picture of the house she'd found, and talked about what she thought they should do next. She talked about telephone exchanges, public domain records, statutes of limitations and so many other things.

Callie shook her head. "Sorry, Drew, I can't follow what you're..."

Drew smiled understandingly. George and Bess used to say the same thing to him all the time. She knew she could get caught up in technical jargon.

"I'm sorry, Callie," she said, reached over and gave her a hug. "I know I can be confusing sometimes."

"Sometimes?" Iola said.

Drew gave her a razzberry.

"So what're we gonna do again?" Callie asked.

Drew tried to simplify it this time. "First, we're gonna hit the Internet and look for info on someone named Luigi Falcone. We then go to the telephone company and see if we can find out whose phone number Edgewood 49-688 is. After that, we try and find out who lives at 43 Merrimack Street by going to the Hall of Records in City Hall. And, lastly, we can try and find out where and when Kismet last ran in New York."

"And after that?"

"Well, that's about all that we have to go on. I guess we play it by ear after that. Oh!" Drew snapped her fingers. "We do have one last clue: the handprint on the back of the clock!"

"What use is that?" Iola asked.

Drew was about to launch into a very technical discussion on handprint identification, DNA sampling, Luminol, Flourescine and other CSI-ish stuff, but she caught herself in time. Instead, Drew just shrugged. "You never know," she said.

So they made plans to go visit the phone company after school the day after tomorrow (Callie had reminded Drew that she had an appointment with Coach Stoeger tomorrow).

Having settled that, they triple-teamed Iola's homework, and in a short time they were able to help Iola write a credible-sounding essay, with no grammar errors this time.