“I promise you, it all happened!”

  “But I can’t ask your mother or your friend to back up your accounting of events?”

  Molly shook her head. “They’d deny it all. So would Hertha or any of the other Mothers of Invention. I haven’t been able to convince any of them that ignoring our government secrecy contracts is a good idea.” She hadn’t entirely convinced herself yet, either.

  “Well, breaking those agreements would be the only way for this story to ever get out,” said Nellie. “And this is a story the people deserve to hear.”

  “You believe me?” Molly said, hope in her voice.

  “One thing that’s making me lean toward believing you is the part about your mother at Blackwell’s Asylum. Hertha mentioned that place to me—told me I should investigate it, because it was corrupt and horrible. But she refused to tell me how she’d come to that conclusion.”

  Molly stood up. “So you believe me!”

  “Possibly. But it’s not just me who has to believe. No newspaper editor is going to print a story like this without a secondary source to corroborate your allegations. Was there anyone at the Fair who wasn’t forced into signing a secrecy agreement?”

  Molly racked her brain. Most of the fairgoers who had their minds addled by Rector’s ray were convinced by the government that they’d been victims of a gas leak. Certainly none of the cops or soldiers from that day were going to blab. Neither would any of the Guildsmen. Who else did that leave but—?

  “The Green Onion Boys!”

  “The gangsters? Who Rector hired as his henchmen army?” Nellie asked. “The ones who kidnapped you and hunted you through the city?”

  “Yep. A handful of them got away that day. They wouldn’t be able to confirm everything, but—”

  Nellie stood and tossed her bag over her shoulder. “Grab your things. We’re going to Bandit’s Roost.”

  “What things?” said Molly. “This is your room.”

  It was not easy for Molly to look as casual and nonchalant as her older companion while they strolled past the dilapidated tenements and reeking trash piles that lined the path to Bandit’s Roost. She wouldn’t have thought it was possible for this neighborhood to be creepier during daytime, but at least at night the darkness helped hide the eyes glaring from cracked windows and the greasy rats in bullet-riddled doorways, gnawing on what she hoped were chicken bones.

  “There it is,” Molly finally said, pointing down the block.

  “You didn’t tell me it was all rubble,” Nellie said, frustrated.

  “Not that one,” Molly said. “That’s the building that collapsed on me and Emmett. Bandit’s Roost is the one across the street.”

  “Ah, yes,” Nellie said, stepping over a puddle of something that had probably once been inside a person. Molly stuck close, avoiding the broken glass among the cobblestones. Just as they squeezed past the lopsided gate, the door of the gangland outpost opened up and three men stepped out.

  The tallest had a scar across his left eye, the second a hairy mole on the tip of his nose, and the shortest—but strongest-looking—had a wide gap where several teeth should have been. These were pretty distinct-looking guys, yet Molly wasn’t positive if she’d seen them before. If only she’d had her glasses back then.

  “What have we here?” Mole-Nose said threateningly.

  Molly stopped in her tracks, but Nellie walked right up to the men and pulled out her notepad. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. Wilhelmina Klingstoffer, Department of Destruction and Dilapidation. Might any of you have been present for the collapse of the building across the street?”

  “Nice try,” Scar-Eye sneered. He stepped frighteningly close to Nellie. “You ain’t with no Department of—”

  “I most certainly am,” Nellie said. “And I’m conducting an official city investigation, so—”

  “Oh yeah?” Gap-Tooth scoffed. “What’s a city pencil-pusher doin’ in the company of a troublemaker like Penelope von Venturesworth?”

  Nellie’s head whipped back to Molly.

  Molly shrugged. “You’re not the only one who can use fake names.” Then it dawned on her these gangsters recognizing her might not be a good thing.

  Scar-Eye pushed past Nellie and grabbed Molly by the collar. “You caused us a whole lotta grief, girl.” He lifted her off the ground, her feet kicking uselessly. “You know how I got this zigzag on my face? You and your little buddy Emmett brought that building down on our heads.”

  “That’s how I lost my chompers too,” sneered Gap-Tooth.

  “And how I got this mole,” said Mole-Nose.

  Mole-Nose’s partners eyed him strangely.

  “Point is, we’d still be pretty if not for you and Little Emmett,” Scar-Eye barked. “You shoulda stayed chained up where Oogie and Edison wanted you.”

  “Does that count as corroboration?” Molly grunted to Nellie, while trying to twist out of the gangster’s grip.

  “It’s a start,” Nellie said, writing furiously in her pad. “Keep them talking!”

  “That wasn’t really Thomas Edison,” Molly said.

  “Sure it was,” said Mole-Nose. “That’s why he had us kidnap Alexander Gumball.”

  “Graham Bell,” said Gap-Tooth.

  “Grahambell’s not even a word,” scoffed Mole-Nose.

  “No, the Edison you worked for was an imposter!” Molly continued to struggle. “He was really a guy named Ambrose Rector. He’s the one who hired you all to guard the World’s Fair and then backstabbed you all by zapping you with his Mind-Melter. How in the dark were you guys? And, um, Nellie, I could use a little help any time now.”

  “You’re doing great,” Nellie said, still writing. “You’ve got this.”

  “All I know,” Scar-Eye sneered at Molly, “is that everything started going south for the Onions the day you showed up at Bandit’s Roost.” He lifted her higher.

  “Nellie?” Molly squeaked.

  “Unhand that girl!” shouted a man in a dark coat as he hurdled the fence. “Federal agents! You’re under arrest!”

  Scar-Eye dropped Molly and she scrambled to Nellie’s side as the reporter secured her notebook in her satchel. “I was just about to step in,” Nellie whispered to her.

  Two more agents appeared, grabbing Mole-Nose and Gap-Tooth before they could run. One of the officers had a familiar sad-dog frown.

  “Agent Morton?” Molly sputtered. “How did you manage to follow me?”

  “I, um—” Morton dropped the handcuffs he was fumbling to pull from his belt.

  “He didn’t. I did,” said a different agent, who now had Scar-Eye in cuffs. “After Morton’s pitiful performance at the wharf, the agency didn’t trust him to do his job alone. I’m the one who spotted you slipping out of your shop this morning.” The man lifted the brim of his bowler to reveal a pair of cold blue eyes.

  “I remember you,” Molly said with a sudden fury. This was the same man who had apprehended her mother on the Brooklyn Bridge months ago, the man who sent Cassandra to suffer for weeks in a mental asylum. “You’re Agent . . . Clark, right? You arrested my mother!”

  “And based on the crimes I just overheard here, arresting Peppers might end up becoming something of a career for me,” Clark said as he shoved Scar-Eye against the wall. “So if you two girls would kindly stay put while I finish trussing up these hooligans. I trust you’ll cooperate, since I’m sure you don’t want to make things any worse. Right, ladies? Ladies?”

  Molly and Nellie could barely hear him. They were already darting around the nearest corner and out of sight.

  8

  Trust No One

  MOLLY BURST THROUGH the door of Pepper’s Pickles and straight into the rear living area, almost knocking over the privacy screen in the process.

  “Molly! Where have you been?” Cassandra and Emmett were just finishing getting dressed. Next to them, Robot sat on Molly’s bed with the blanket pulled up to his scuffed metal chin.

  “I told them I was you, Molly,” said Robot. “But they did not believe me.”

  “Explain yourself,” Cassandra ordered. “And you’d better make it good.”

  “Oh, it’s good,” Molly said, rubbing her cramping side. “Well, not a hundred percent good . . .”

  Emmett filled her a glass of cloudy water from the sink. “What percentage good is it?” he asked.

  Molly downed the water. “Twenty? Twenty-two, maybe?”

  “Molly, what did you do?” Cassandra glared sternly.

  Molly took a deep breath. “Okay, but don’t get angry until I explain the good part,” she said. “Because you’re not gonna like the beginning part.”

  “Molly!”

  “I told Nellie Bly!”

  “Told her what?” Emmett asked with trepidation.

  “Everything.”

  Emmett threw his hands over his face and Cassandra twisted a dishrag anxiously.

  “But listen!” Molly continued. “Nellie agrees—if we become famous, we’re golden! Fame is—fame is like immunity! Famous people don’t get in trouble! This story was gonna get out eventually, and the men in power would’ve spun things their way, so that we were either left out or somehow ended up the bad guys. But if we control the story, if we tell it the way we want, we can finally beat them at their own game!”

  “But—” Emmett began.

  “I know—the contracts,” Molly said. “That’s why I made Nellie promise she won’t attribute the story to me. I would be an ‘anonymous source.’”

  “Oh, Molly,” Cassandra sighed, shaking her head.

  Emmett scratched behind his ear. “Well, if it’s impossible to tie Molly to the leak, there’s a chance this could actually work.”

  “Exactly!” said Molly. “That’s why that was the plan!”

  “Was?”

  “Well, plans don’t always work out like you expect. Which is why I still haven’t bought into your ‘thinking things over,’ Emmett.”

  “Just get to it, Molly! What happened?” Cassandra asked.

  “The Feds kind of overheard, and now they’re after me, so we should probably leave.” She grabbed her carpetbag and began shoving random piles of clothing into it.

  “Okay, wait—what?” Emmett sputtered. “Wait, wait—what? I mean, wait—what?”

  “Your ears didn’t malfunction, Emmett.” Molly tossed him his own bag. “Federal agents are coming for us; we shouldn’t be here when they arrive.”

  “I can’t believe you did this, Molly,” Cassandra said as she began packing as well. “Is this how I raised you to behave? Actually, yes. It probably is. But . . . I have become a responsible parent over the last three days—haven’t you learned anything from that?”

  “We’re going to prison, Molly!” Emmett burst. “Because you ran off half-cocked again!”

  “It wasn’t a half-cocked plan! It was whole-cocked! You just said it would have worked!”

  “Maybe if you hadn’t let Agent Morton follow you!” Emmett snapped. “Agent Morton! The man who we watched trying to get a lollipop unstuck from his sleeve for twenty minutes!”

  “Okay, in my defense, Morton wasn’t alone,” Molly said. “He was with Agent Clark.”

  “That fellow who arrested me on the bridge?” Cassandra asked as she tossed an open tin of coffee beans into her bag. “Oh, I don’t care for him at all.”

  “But listen,” said Molly, “before everybody panics—”

  “I think you’re a little late for that,” said Emmett.

  “This can still work out,” Molly continued as she shoveled spoons, books, screwdrivers, and cotton balls into her bag. “Because Nellie is still gonna publish her article. We only have to hide out until then—a few days maybe. Once the story hits newsstands—we’re good! Emmett, you’re not packing.”

  “I’m folding!” he snapped. “I’m not going to pack like a caveman just because our freedom is at stake.”

  “You’re sure about this, Molls?” Cassandra snapped her bag closed. “The Bly woman’s article can save us?”

  “Yes,” said Molly. “Except she can’t get the story published without corroboration. So I need you two to talk to her and back me up.”

  “So we can all break the law?” said Emmett.

  “I’d never ask if the law hadn’t already been broken,” said Molly.

  “By you!” Emmett sputtered.

  “Okay, we’ll do it,” Cassandra said. “We don’t have much choice at this point, do we?”

  Emmett sighed. “So, is that where we’re going? To Nellie Bly’s place?”

  “No, the Feds saw her with me,” Molly said. “It’s not safe for her to go home. You can come in now, Nellie!”

  Nellie Bly popped around the screen. “Hello! I want to thank you both for agreeing to go on the record about the World’s Fair incident. But I don’t think we should start until— What the heck is that?”

  Robot put the blanket over his head.

  “And I guess Nellie knows about Robot now too,” Molly said sheepishly.

  Emmett’s face was in his hands again.

  “Okay, Nellie, remember Bell’s automatons that my mother rewired to help us defeat Rector?” Molly said. “This one came to life when we put a piece of Rector’s meteorite in his chest. More on that later—right now, help us pack.”

  “I knew it!” Nellie crowed. “I knew you had something exciting back here. News bear!”

  “Robot, get out of bed,” Emmett said.

  Robot complied. “I do not sleep anyway.”

  “Wherever we’re going, we have to bring Robot with us,” Emmett said.

  “Where are we going to go?” Cassandra asked.

  “We can’t go back to the bookmobile,” Emmett said, laying his neatly stacked shirts into his bag. “It was cramped enough with two people.”

  “Who can we trust?” Cassandra asked as she laced her boots.

  “The MOI!” Emmett dug through a box of contraptions and found the handheld Morse code transmitter that the Peppers had used to keep in touch with the Mothers of Invention in the past. He powered up its battery and speedily tapped out a message.

  A reply quickly came blipping back. “It says, ‘Meet by Washington Square fountain.’”

  “And we’re off,” said Cassandra. “Molls, throw a few more spoons and a cowbell into that bag, then let’s leave before—”

  The shop door opened. Everyone held their breath. Except Robot, who had no breath to hold.

  “Howdy-do, Peppers! I do not like to think of myself as the kind of person who would tell someone how to run their business, but there is a man in your store who would desperately like to purchase a pickle and yet there are no pickle sellers present. I am that man, by the way. I would like a pickle.”

  “Jasper!” Molly and her mother ran out to greet him. “We are so glad to see you!”

  “Many people are,” Jasper replied. “Except Balthazar Birdhouse. Unless it’s a Tuesday, in which case—”

  “Jasper Bloom, today is your lucky day,” Cassandra interrupted. “You’re hired!” Cassandra tried to shake his hand, but couldn’t because he was clasping his heart.

  “Really and truly?” Jasper gasped. “When do I start?”

  “Immediately,” Cassandra said. “We have to disappear for a few days, so you’re in charge of the shop until we get back. The keys are over there, the pickles are over there, and the recipe for making more pickles is . . . somewhere. Make us proud!”

  “You know I will,” said Jasper.

  “Oh,” added Molly. “And if any federal agents come by asking questions, tell them we went to . . . Altoona . . . to visit our . . . grand-uncle . . . at the zoo.”

  “Come out, everybody,” Cassandra called to the back.

  “Everybody?” Emmett asked.

  “Everybody.”

  Emmett came around the screen, followed by Nellie, and then, with timid, clanky steps, Robot.

  “Hello, Mr. Bloom,” Robot said. “Congratulations on your new position.”

  Jasper gaped at the metal man. “Is that one of Bell’s singy-dancey machines? Why is he talking to me?”

  “He’s alive,” said Molly. She pointed a stern finger at Jasper. “And you will lose your new job if you utter one word about him to anyone.”

  “One word about what?” Jasper said. “Certainly not about a walking, talking sardine-can man, because I have never seen one of those.”

  “You catch on well, Mr. Bloom,” said Cassandra. “But speaking of Robot’s anonymity—he needs a disguise.” She slipped her husband’s old overcoat onto the automaton. Molly added a scarf and large-brimmed hat, while Emmett tied a blanket around his waist. Not much could be said for Robot’s fashion sense, but at least his metal was mostly hidden.

  “I am wearing clothes,” Robot said. “Normally, I am naked.”

  “You can go, Peppers,” Jasper said from behind the counter, where he was already wearing an apron and looking quite pleased with himself. “Your shop will be in good hands. Have fun doing whatever sneaky mystery stuff you’re doing.”

  Emmett, Molly, Cassandra, Nellie, and the disguised Robot stepped outside.

  Nellie looked up to the elephant-gray sky. “Your metal friend’s not going to last if it rains.”

  “Robot will be fine,” Cassandra said. “Aluminum doesn’t rust.”

  “I do not rust,” Robot agreed.

  “What about the electric circuits and such inside him?” Nellie asked.

  “He doesn’t have any electric circuits inside him,” Cassandra replied. “He’s got . . . space rock circuits.”

  “Does water short out space rock circuits like it does electric circuits?”

  Cassandra thought for a moment, then went back inside to fetch an umbrella.

  Twenty achingly tense minutes later, the quintet huddled by the large fountain at the center of Washington Square Park. They scanned the area for friendly—or not-so-friendly—faces, and finally heard a “Psst!”

  Sarah Goode, the youngest (and most enthusiastic) member of the Mothers of Invention, stood in the shadows behind a small brick storehouse. Molly had hoped it would be Sarah. The woman had a contagious positivity that never failed to buoy Molly’s spirits. Whenever Sarah insisted she would eventually win a patent for her inventions, despite the fact that the US Patent Office had never yet awarded one to a black woman, Molly believed her. The Peppers and company ran to Sarah, and Molly wrapped her in a big hug.