The Impossible Clue by Sarah Rubin Page B

something in return.’
    â€˜Name it.’
    â€˜The killer sudoku puzzle in the paper is mine for the rest of the summer. And the cryptic quip. I get to do the whole thing, and I don’t want you peeking over my shoulder making suggestions.’
    Dad looked appalled, like I’d asked him to give me a kidney. ‘How about a month?’
    I leant forward and stared him down through the wind-screen. ‘The rest of the summer, take it or leave it.’
    â€˜You drive a hard bargain, Alice.’ He sucked on his teeth. I couldn’t believe he had to think about it. ‘OK, fine,’ he said. ‘It’s yours, but I want detailed notes and photographs of the scene.’
    â€˜Deal.’ I stepped back on to the pavement and Dad cranked the wheel and started to drive away. He slammed on the brakes while he was still halfway in the parking spot and leant out of the window again.
    â€˜Find out if he has a cat. People love a pet angle.’
    And then he hit the accelerator and disappeared up the road.

D ad had five hours before his story was due. And I had four before Della needed me to make dinner. There was no time to waste. I took the stairs up to my bedroom two at a time.
    â€˜Della, I’m going out. I’ll be back in time to make dinner.’ That’s what I was going to say, anyway. But I didn’t get the chance.
    When I opened the door Della had her back to me, but I could tell from the hunch of her shoulders that she was upset.
    â€˜I know, Mom,’ she said. ‘But it’s really hard. Dad and Alice don’t understand. And Dad’s working on a story . . . ’
    I took a step back and shut the door as quietly as I could. The floorboard under my left foot creaked. I froze, but Della didn’t seem to notice.
    â€˜I’m fine,’ she said ‘Alice is cooking dinner tonight. Yes, I told her, carbs.’
    It made me roll my eyes and smile at the same time. Even when she was upset, my sister was serious about being an actress.
    â€˜I don’t know. I don’t think she minds. But it’s weird. He’s supposed to be the one taking care of us, not the other way around.’
    It felt like I’d been kicked. Della went quiet. I could imagine Mom on the other end of the line, somewhere in a fancy hotel in Italy saying comforting things. They must have worked. Della gave a kind of let’s put all of this behind us sigh.
    â€˜You’re right, I should just focus on the callback. Will you listen to my routine again?’
    I used the cover of Della’s time-step to sneak down the stairs. I scribbled a note and left it on the kitchen counter before grabbing my bike and heading out of the door.
    It was just after quarter past one and the bright, sharp heat of mid-afternoon was fading into a thick mugginess that radiated off the sides of buildings and sun-baked streets and would last long after nightfall. I rode on the pavement even though you aren’t supposed to. There weren’t many people around, and it seemed a lot safer than being on the street.
    I couldn’t believe Della was being such a drama queen. Then again, it was Della. Drama was what she did best. Ipedalled hard and wished I hadn’t gone upstairs in the first place, then I wouldn’t be back stuck in the middle of Mom and Dad, the absolute worst place in the world. It was like I was eight all over again, telling Mom I wanted to go back to Philly to live with Dad. My palms were sweating just remembering it.
    I took a breath and tried to pretend the whole thing away. Della didn’t know I’d heard her, so as far as I was concerned, it never happened. I was never choosing sides again.
    â€˜Numbers! Hey, what’s up?’
    Kevin Jordan came flying out of an alley on the other side of the street. I slammed hard on the brakes. My stomach flipped so impressively it could have run away to join the circus.
    â€˜What do you want?’ I