Michael Buckley - Once upon a crime

"Care for a little help?" Bess asked as she smiled at Hamstead.

"Of course," Hamstead stammered. "But won't this cause some waves with your boyfriend?"

Bess winked. "Ernest, I don't have a boyfriend anymore."

"We're happy to have the help," Granny said, shaking Bess's hand. "Why don't you team up with Ernest?"

"An excellent plan," the blonde woman said.

As the group stepped out of the hotel, they found that two feet of snow had fallen in the night, turning the city into a winter wonderland. Hamstead and Bess went in one direction while Granny, the girls, and Moth searched for a cab. After ten minutes without success, they caught a bus that took them uptown to the girls' old neighborhood on the Upper East Side. Unfortunately, where Moth went, Puck's smelly cocoon went, too. No one wanted to sit next to the slimy thing, which had begun to leak a funky gas not unlike rotten eggs, so the family spent the trip avoiding the angry looks of other passengers.

"Well, it seems as if your mother had a secret life," Granny Relda said as the bus headed up Madison Avenue. "Several of us have gotten into the family business through marriage. I'm a very good example, myself. So, if Veronica was working with Everafters like every other Grimm since Jacob and Wilhelm, she probably also wrote down what she was experiencing."

"You mean a journal? Do you think she kept one?" Daphne said. It was the family tradition to write one's adventures down so that future descendants might learn from them. Sabrina had a journal, too, though she rarely kept track of what she had encountered. Writing it down made it real. Daphne on the other hand was working on her second volume.

"I bet she did," Granny said. "And I suspect Veronica kept her activities secret from your father. When he left Ferryport Landing, he was dead set on building an Everafter-free life. If she had a journal she probably hid it. So it might still be in your old apartment."

"Is this place nearby?" Moth groaned. "The constant jostling of this vehicle is upsetting my delicate constitution."

"What did she say?" Daphne asked her sister.

"She's complaining," Sabrina explained. "Again."

After several stops, they finally reached the corner of Eighty-eighth Street and Madison Avenue and started walking east, toward York. This was a quiet little nook of the city filled with families, dogs, and older people. As Sabrina looked around, a wave of memories flooded over her. There was the little deli that sold the roast beef and gravy sandwiches her father snuck out to buy late at night. Down the street was Carl Schurz Park, where her family had spent many afternoons looking out on the East River or playing with the puppies in the little dog run. Across the street was the luxury apartment high-rise their mother often dreamed they'd live in one day. Sabrina spotted Ottomanelli's

Italian Eatery with its amazing meatball pizza, the dry cleaner where the Cuban lady always gave her lollipops, and the magazine store owned by the guy who let his three cats sleep on stacks of the

New York Times.

Sabrina could even smell the world's best brownies from Glaser's Bakery a block away. Little had changed, except that the old skateboard store was now a manicure shop.

They walked up Eighty-eighth Street, past a group of five-story brownstones, and quickly reached their old apartment building at number 448. It had recently been painted a gray-blue in place of the dirty yellow she remembered.

"We can't get in," Sabrina said, as they climbed the freshly salted steps. "The police took our keys when they sent us to the orphanage."

"Sabrina, those old keys wouldn't work anyway," her grandmother said. "There's a new family living here and I'm sure they've changed the locks."

Sabrina stifled a cry. She had never imagined that strangers might actually be living in their home.

"So someone else lives here?" Daphne whispered. Sabrina could hear her own dismay echoed in her sister's voice.

Granny nodded as she pushed on the buzzer that rang their old apartment.

"Hello, who is it?" a voice crackled from a speaker.

"Um, yes, so sorry to bother you, ma'am, but my name is Relda Grimm. I'm here with my granddaughters, who used to live in your apartment."

Suddenly, a buzzer sounded and the door unlocked. The group stepped inside the building and walked down the hall to the girls' old apartment. Halfway there, they were greeted by an excited woman with huge red glasses.

"I'm so thrilled to meet you," she said.

"I hope we aren't imposing," Granny Relda said. "We were in the neighborhood."

"Nonsense, I've always wanted to meet the previous owners," the woman said, holding out her hand. "My name is Gloria Frank."

"I'm Relda Grimm. These are my granddaughters, Sabrina and Daphne… and Moth."

"Hello, peasant," Moth said, awkwardly hoisting Puck's cocoon onto her shoulder.

Gloria Frank looked confused but smiled. "Please, come in," she said, ushering them down the hall and into the apartment.

For Sabrina, stepping into the living room was a shock. Their once colorful home was now painted in drab shades of wheat. The hardwood floors had been redone, stealing all their old charm and personality, and many of the antique light fixtures had been replaced with austere, modern lamps. All of the furniture Sabrina remembered was gone. Their big puffy couch had been replaced with a sleek chocolate-brown sofa that looked more like a work of art than something to sit on. Every photograph of her family was gone. Even Daphne's finger paintings were no longer hanging on the refrigerator.

Just then, a teenage boy walked out of one of the bedrooms. He was a lanky kid wearing a rugby shirt and carrying a handheld video game. He had curly blond hair and a pair of headphones in his ears. When he saw the visitors, he took off the headphones and regarded the group curiously. "Mom? What is that awful smell?"

"His Majesty's healing vessel gives off an unusual scent but it is not by any means awful," Moth said. "You should be honored to have found its aroma in your nose, you undeserving wretch."

"I'm so sorry," Granny said, stepping between Moth and everyone else. "My granddaughter is in a play and she's been practicing her lines nonstop. Unfortunately, they're using some unusual props and she feels its best to carry one with her."

"She's a method actress. How delightful! My son is an actor, too," Mrs. Frank said as she turned to her son. "What was the last play your school did? You were incredible in it. What was it called?"

"A Midsummer Nights Dream."

"He played Puck. Do you girls know that play?"

"We're living it," Sabrina murmured as the cocoon gave off a particularly noxious blast of gas.

"Phil, these girls used to live here," Mrs. Frank said, waving her hand in front of her nose, and then seeming to realize that this might be rude, pretended to smooth her hair instead.

"Wassup?" the boy said,

"You have my old bedroom," Daphne said, quietly.

Phil raised his eyes and nodded, then put his headphones back on and wandered out of the room.

"I'm sorry. Since we bought him that game we can't get it away from him," his mother said. "Can I take your coats?

"We can't stay," Granny said. "We just wanted to come by and see who lived here now."

"Oh, we really love the apartment. I hope you think we're taking good care of it," Mrs. Frank said.

Sabrina didn't answer. She kept glancing around the room, trying to find something she recognized. The whole experience was making her dizzy.

"Mrs. Frank, there is one other thing. We were wondering if you happened to find anything in the apartment when you moved in, say, for instance, a journal or a book of stories about fairy-tale characters?" Granny said. "The girls' mother may have kept one and we'd love to get our hands on it."