Uncovering Sadie's Secrets by Libby Sternberg Page B

pulled me back suddenly into a store door, but it had one of those old-fashioned gates pulled over it to keep thieves out. We were in the middle of the block and like sitting ducks. If we did-n’t do something soon, they could look back and see us. Connie tugged at the gate.
    To our amazement, it gave way and we were able to slip behind it, into a small entrance way. We cowered in the shadows as Connie pulled out a small pair of binoculars from her purse, crouched, and looked through the store’s glass showcase down the street.
    “What are they doing?” I asked, pulling at her arm.
    “They’re at a bank. It looks like Sadie is using an ATM machine.”
    “She’s giving them money?”
    “Wait a minute! Don’t jiggle my arm. This is hard enough.” A few seconds later, she put the glasses down. “Sadie just gave them an envelope. My guess is it’s filled with money. She’s paying them off for some reason.”
    “Why would she pay off her mom?” I said.
    “Maybe that woman isn’t her mother,” Connie whispered.
    “Sadie told me she is.” But then I remembered my conversation with Sadie and how noncommittal and distracted she had been. “At least I think she is.”
    “Shhh! They’re turning back!”
    “Let’s get out of here,” I yelped.
    “Too late. We have to hide.” Connie looked around our dark corner and grabbed a grungy welcome mat. It was black rubber with rough grippers on one side that held all sorts of unmentionable dirt and bugs. To my horror, Connie pulled this mat in front of herself and grabbed me underneath it.
    “My blouse!” I hissed to no avail as Connie mashed her purse way back in the corner where it couldn’t be seen. She kicked off her shoes and tore mine off too, shoving everything back into the corner.
    “Shut up,” she hissed right back.
    To any passer-by who happened to glance our way, we just looked like two homeless wretches sleeping off the night in a warm doorway. A few minutes later, we heard the three walk by. When their footsteps faded out of earshot, Connie pulled the gross mat off of us and laid it on the ground, kicking up a storm of dust that made me sneeze.
    “Be quiet,” she warned. “They might still hear you.” She stood and reached for the gate to open it.
    “I’m a mess,” I whined, feeling awfully sorry for myself. Here I had planned a look that was so perfect, so casual, yet so alluring. So neat, yet so carefree. So attractive, yet so. . .
    “That’s the least of your worries,” Connie said as she yanked at the gate.
    And yanked. And yanked again.
    It was locked. My eyes widened and my pulse raced as I realized our predicament.
    “You got us in here!” I nearly shouted at her. “What’s the problem?”
    “The gate was accidentally left open,” she said, fiddling with its lock. “I must have locked it when I pulled it shut on us.”
    “Connie! I have a date! My first date with Doug! I can’t be trapped here. It’s getting late! What time is it anyway?” I paced our small cage like an animal, unable to really believe that I was trapped with my sister in a dingy doorway while Doug waited for me at the mall. Connie, meanwhile, let out a curse as she unsuccessfully tugged on the gate after another attempt to maneuver the lock.
    “Forget about your date! What do we tell the police when they find us here? Oh, gee, Officer, I thought it would be funny to see what it feels like to be in a zoo? That’ll sit real well with the PI licensing folks.” She worked at the gate lock with fervor, trying various keys and other pointy objects from her key ring that I didn’t know she had.
    “Guess you were absent on Lock Picking Day,” I said sarcastically, folding my arms over each other. I didn’t dare look at my blouse. I knew it was probably smudged with dirt from the rubber mat. And my hair—my hair felt like a matted rug that had a certain odor now, what I’d call L’Air du Wet Dog. I was sure to make a big impression on Doug. That is,