Mr. Biedermann shrugged. “I don’t know. Someone filming a movie, maybe? I saw a crowd and some cameras and went around back to the service entrance.”
Theo kept snapping furiously, liking the idea of a commotion. Maybe the principal would be forced to postpone till the afternoon. Or next week. Next month. Actually, September would be great, because then maybe he could build the whole city of London just like his mom had suggested. Or something else entirely. The Great Wall of China. The Shah Mosque in Iran. The Tower of David in Jerusalem. The Great Library of— “I still don’t get why you didn’t build the Morningstarr Tower,” Mr. Biedermann said through a mouthful of blintz.
Snap, snap, ow! His dad sounded just like Tess. Or Tess sounded like his dad.
Theo said, “I just wanted to do something different.”
Mr. Biedermann nodded as if he understood.
Then he said, “Why?”
Before Theo ever started the Tower of London, he had tried to build the Morningstarr Tower. The Morningstarr Tower had twelve elevators that could move in any direction, escalators that zigzagged up the middle of the building, entire rooms that could be rotated and recombined to form new rooms of any shape or size. And that was only the beginning. It had taken the Morningstarrs fifteen years to complete. Theo could have worked for months and months and still not gotten the model right. Not even close to right. Sure, he could have built a serviceable representation of the building’s facade, but that would be like making a mannequin and saying you’d created an actual human being. He would never have finished the whole thing soon enough to enter the Lego contest, which offered scholarship money in addition to more Legos. And hadn’t Grandpa Ben used to say, “Is your work finished or is it just due?” So, Theo had tried to build something easier, something faster. And he’d won! Yet here he was, still building, almost out of time.
A sudden pounding on the door made him fumble with his blocks.
“The school people?” said Mr. Biedermann. “How did they get in?”
“It’s probably just Cricket careening around the halls with her trike again,” said Mrs. Biedermann.
Mr. Biedermann said, “Or her little brother practicing his karate kicks.”
“I’m not sure that putting Otto into martial arts was the best idea.”
“Remember the damage he did with the Wiffle ball bat? At least he can’t knock the bulbs out of the fixtures anymore.”
More pounding.
“No,” said Mrs. Biedermann, “but he might just kick down the door.”
Mr. Biedermann scooped another bite of blintz, threw open the apartment door. But instead of a six-year-old on a trike or a hyped-up four-year-old wearing his father’s necktie for a headband, there were two men in suits, fists raised. One of the men was so tall, his head reached the top of the doorway, bright red hair buzzed close enough that he looked as if his scalp had been scalded in hot oil. The other man was a foot and a half shorter, light brown hair slicked back from a pallid, pockmarked brow. As the taller man ducked his head in order to see into the apartment and the little one bared gray teeth, the bit of blintz fell from Mr. Biedermann’s mouth to the floor.
“You dropped your lasagna,” the short man said in a flat voice.
The tall man said, “That’s not lasagna. That’s a blintz.”
The short man said, “What’s a blintz?”
“A crepe, usually filled with cheese and fruit,” said the tall man. “I have to admit I prefer a savory blintz. No sweet tooth, I’m afraid.” He smiled brightly, blandly. “The ones with caviar are my favorite.”
“Caviar is fish,” said the short man. “I don’t like fish.”
“Technically—” Theo began, but his father cut him off.
“Who are you people?” Mr. Biedermann said to the men. “Who buzzed you into this building?”
“We buzzed ourselves in,” said the short man.
“And how did you do that?” said Mrs. Biedermann, and swept her own jacket aside so the men could see the badge on her belt.
The tall man held up a large and bony hand. “Let me back up a bit. I’m Mr. Stoop and this is Mr. Pinscher. You must be Mr. and Mrs.”—he consulted his clipboard—“Biedermann.”
“Mr. and Detective Biedermann.”
“Detective. I’m sure you know why we’re here, so I’m just going to give you these documents and we’ll move on to the next apartment.” He held out a packet of papers. When the Biedermanns didn’t take the papers, his smile drooped at the corners. “You didn’t watch the press conference this morning?”
“What press conference?” said Mrs. Biedermann.
“It was all over the news. There are crews out in front of this building right now interviewing people.”
“Interviewing who? What was all over the news?”
“That explains it,” said Mr. Stoop, smile back on his face. He pressed the clipboard to his heart. “I myself believe it’s important to keep up on current events, but not everyone agrees.”
Mrs. Biedermann snatched the packet of papers away from the man. Theo stood and walked over to his parents. Up close, the tall man’s skin was so white his freckles looked a bit like cereal floating in milk.
“You’ll find all the relevant dates and numbers on the documents,” said Mr. Stoop. “Don’t hesitate to call should you have a question. Have a great—”
Mrs. Biedermann didn’t look up from the papers. “Don’t move. Either of you.”
Mr. Pinscher rolled creepy, colorless eyes. Theo wondered if there was a scientific name for them, then decided creepy covered it.
Mr. Stoop heaved a great sigh. “Detective, we do have other documents to deliver.”
“You can wait,” said Mrs. Biedermann.
Mr. Stoop’s attention moved from Mrs. Biedermann to Theo, to the blocks he still had clutched in his hands. “Those were my favorite toys when I was a child,” said Mr. Stoop.
Child? Theo swallowed his annoyance. “They’re not toys.”
Mr. Pinscher snorted. Mr. Stoop’s lips twisted in amusement. “Of course they’re not.” He gestured to the Tower of London with his chin. “Did you build that by yourself?”
“Yes,” said Theo.
“No help from anyone else?”
“No.”
“Not even your dad?”
“Why would my dad build my model for me?”
“And what’s it supposed to be?”
“What?” said Theo.
“Is it a fantasy world? A school for wizards, perhaps?”
Theo stared up at the milk-skinned man and his cereal face, moles and freckles that spelled out nothing good. “I should have built the bridge.”
Mrs. Biedermann touched Mr. Biedermann’s arm. “Larry, these papers say that they sold the building.”
“Which building?” said Theo.
“This building,” said Mr. Stoop.
Theo must not have heard the man right. He thought he said this building, but— “That’s impossible,” said Mr. Biedermann.
“I’m afraid not,” said Mr. Stoop. “I have to say that this wouldn’t be such a surprise if you kept up on the news.”
Theo looked at his mom and his dad. He looked at the Tower of London, at the unfinished bridge in pieces in the corner, at the blocks in his hands. Tess was just talking about this before she left, but Tess always worried for nothing, didn’t she?
“This is a Morningstarr building,” Theo said.