Hannah West: Sleuth on the Trail (Nancy Pearl's Book Crush Rediscoveries) Read online

  PRAISE for the HANNAH WEST SERIES, by LINDA JOHNS:

  Book 1, Hannah West in the Belltown Towers:

  “Johns has concocted a wonderful character in twelve-year-old Hannah West, who wanders the street, closely observing her surroundings. Adopted from China as an infant, Hannah and her adoptive mother, an artist, earn their way by house-sitting, with Hannah making extra money as a dog walker and errand runner. [A] great backstory and an engaging heroine …”

  —Booklist

  “[A] delightful mystery.”

  —Children’s Literature

  Book 2, Hannah West in Deep Water:

  “Hannah is inquisitive, lively, and outspoken, and her often-droll first-person narrative incorporates plenty of local flavor, as well as a growing awareness of marine conservation issues.”

  —Booklist

  “Linda Johns creates a convincing setting with plenty of detail about her hometown. Hannah is an appealing protagonist, who unravels the mystery efficiently, but with enough bumps along the way to be satisfying. This is fiction that is both fun and educational.”

  —Children’s Literature

  Book 3, Hannah West in the Center of the Universe:

  Selected as a Global Reading Challenge Book.

  Book 4, Hannah West on Millionaire’s Row:

  “There is something irresistible about a young, precocious sleuth. Hannah West is no exception, adding a modern Northwestern twist to the age-old formula. [F]ans will like Hannah’s breezy tone and upbeat personality, and they’ll appreciate her love of dogs and books, and the copious details she offers about life in Seattle … [G]irls looking for a brainy, modern-day Trixie Belden will find Hannah West a contender.”

  —Booklist

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2007 Linda Johns

  Introduction copyright © 2016 Nancy Pearl

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Two Lions, New York

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Two Lions are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  This book was originally published as two volumes,

  Hannah West in the Center of the Universe and Hannah West on Millionaire’s Row.

  ISBN-13: 9781503947177 (hardcover)

  ISBN-10: 1503947173 (hardcover)

  ISBN-13: 9781503946828 (paperback)

  ISBN-10: 1503946827 (paperback)

  Cover art © 2016 Michael S. Heath

  Book design by Virginia Pope

  With gratitude to Nancy Pearl and Nancy Johns Heard

  CONTENTS

  INTRODUCTION by Nancy Pearl

  BOOK ONE: HANNAH WEST in the CENTER of the UNIVERSE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  BOOK TWO: HANNAH WEST on MILLIONAIRE’S ROW

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  Q and A with NANCY PEARL and LINDA JOHNS

  ABOUT the AUTHOR

  INTRODUCTION

  When I was a kid I read the first thirty-four Nancy Drew mysteries, in order, from The Secret of the Old Clock to The Hidden Window Mystery. Truth be told, I am not sure now, looking back, why I kept reading them. I had no desire at all to be a detective, and didn’t much identify with Nancy and her chums. At the same time I also read the first thirteen novels in the Dana Girls series, also by Carolyn Keene, the author of the Nancy Drew mysteries, as well as every other mystery that I could find, including the long-running series starring Frank and Joe Hardy.

  My love for mysteries has continued unabated throughout my life, and I am always on the lookout for new ones to read, whether they’re aimed at adults, teens, or children. When I moved to Seattle, children’s librarians and booksellers kept telling me how much kids enjoyed the four mysteries featuring a twelve-year-old Chinese-American detective named Hannah West. And once I read them I could see why. Hannah is smart, brave, and resourceful; the mysteries she solves are both complex and interesting. Starting with Hannah West in the Belltown Towers, these are perfect for eight-to twelve-year-olds who love realistic fiction.

  I was thrilled to have the opportunity to interview Linda Johns about writing the Hannah West novels on page 271.

  —Nancy Pearl

  BOOK ONE

  HANNAH WEST in the CENTER of the UNIVERSE

  CHAPTER 1

  “I HAVE A surprise for you in the car,” Mom said.

  One could only hope it was a maple bar and a frosty blue Gatorade.

  Practice was supposed to last just ninety minutes this morning, but we played more than two hours, and I was thirsty. I hadn’t even noticed the time. That’s just the way it is when I’m playing ultimate Frisbee. I’m still on the B team (you can probably guess that the A team is the best) for Cesar Chavez Middle School, but I’m getting a lot of play time this year.

  Mom clicked the remote on her key chain to unlock the doors of our old Honda. The car chirped as it unlocked, simultaneously triggering something to pop up in the front passenger seat.

  “Elvis!” I cried. I hurried to the car and opened the door, steadying myself as fifty-two pounds of hound came hurling toward me, covering me with slobbery kisses hello. “I’m so happy to see you!” I said, and I meant it. I find it’s absolutely, positively impossible to be in a bad mood when there’s a funny-looking basset hound around.

  “Watch this,” Mom said. “Elvis, backseat,” she commanded. His long, wiggly body did a 180-degree turn and obediently went into the backseat, turning another 180 degrees until he was facing the front of the car. “Good boy. Now, sit,” Mom instructed him. Elvis put his bottom on the backseat and leaned his front paws on the cup holder between the front seats.

  “At least half of him is in the backseat,” I said, buckling my seatbelt. “How come you already have the dog with you?”

  “I dropped Piper off at the airport, and it seemed like it might be less stressful to Elvis if he didn’t
think he was being abandoned in the apartment. Piper says he gets a little woeful when she starts packing,” Mom said.

  I turned to look at the basset’s droopy brown eyes and wrinkly face. “Doesn’t he always look woeful?” I asked. As if responding to my rhetorical question, Elvis rested his chin on my shoulder and let out a sigh.

  Elvis’s owner, Piper Christensen, had hired Mom and me to stay in her apartment and take care of everything—including her dog—while she was in Hong Kong for an eight-week business trip.

  You can look at Mom’s and my life one of two ways: either we’re homeless or we’re professional house sitters. I prefer to see our situation in professional house-sitting terms. The past year has been one house-sitting job after another, so we always had a roof over our heads. Lots of times, including this assignment, we’ve had some pretty nice roofs over our heads.

  We headed down the hill from Bobby Morris Playfield, where I had just finished my marathon ultimate Frisbee session. Mom turned right on Sixth Avenue in downtown Seattle and headed north until we got to Lake Union and the Wooden Boat Center. I checked the street sign: Westlake. Out of habit I checked bus stops and bus numbers along the way: 16, 26, 28. It looked like those all headed toward our new home. We went past the group of houseboats where an old 1990s movie, Sleepless in Seattle, was filmed. I could see the Fremont Bridge ahead of us.

  “There should be a law that more bridges are painted happy colors,” I said, taking in the vivid orange and blue of the drawbridge that headed over the canal, connecting Queen Anne Hill and Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood. As it turned out we had lots of time to enjoy the colors up close. Lights on the bridge started blinking, bells started ringing, and a metal barrier came down to stop cars from crossing the bridge. Mom turned off the engine, and we hopped out. Most people stay in their cars and wait, usually impatiently, for the bridge to lower so that traffic can start moving again. But unless it’s pouring buckets of rain, Mom and I always get out to watch the action. This time a supertall sailboat motored through.

  “We’ll probably be seeing this a lot,” Mom said. “I heard that the bridge opens frequently.”

  “Approximately thirty-five times a day, making it one of the busiest drawbridges in the United States,” I rattled off. In addition to checking out Metro bus schedules, I always research the history of whatever new neighborhood we are staying in—however temporary it might be.

  The bridge deck lowered, car engines started, and traffic began moving both ways across the bridge.

  When our car reached the other side, Mom turned to me with a grand gesture and said, “Welcome to the Center of the Universe.”

  “Huh?”

  CHAPTER 2

  “I THOUGHT YOU researched all of this,” Mom said.

  “D’oh!” I said. How could I forget? The Fremont neighborhood had dubbed itself the Center of the Universe. According to my research on Wikipedia, residents of this area of Seattle, about three miles north of downtown, referred to their neighborhood either as the People’s Republic of Fremont or as the Center of the Universe. I wasn’t exactly sure why, except that Fremont had gone from a hippie haven to a high-priced neighborhood with trendy restaurants.

  “Darn it, I’m in the wrong lane to turn. I’m going to have to go around the block,” Mom said. The extra drive was okay with me. I liked looking at the restaurants and shops, and this way we’d get to go right by one of Seattle’s most famous statues.

  “Go slow here! I want to see what the people are wearing today,” I said to Mom. We were right next to this cast-aluminum sculpture of six life-sized figures—including a little dog—huddled together as if they were waiting for a bus or a train or something. It’s officially called Waiting for the Interurban, so I guess they’re supposed to be waiting for the train. They don’t exactly look happy, but I guess I wouldn’t be either if I’d been waiting a few decades for a train that never comes. The thing I like best is that people put costumes on the bus people statues. According to Wikipedia, this is usually done in the middle of the night so that in the morning they have fresh outfits, hats, balloons, signs, and even umbrellas if there’s a chance of rain and scarves around their necks when it’s cold. Kind of like dressing a permanent snowman.

  Today must have been Western theme day. The metal people wore cowboy hats and bandannas. A large sign said, “Happy Birthday, Trixie!” The little dog had a blue bandanna tied around his neck and a party hat on his head. Someone had taped a yellow sign to the dog’s tail. The traffic light turned green and we started moving, so I couldn’t read what the yellow sign said.

  We soon came to a very tall building, and I realized I was looking at the Epi. That’s the name of the apartment building where we were going to live. It’s actually called the Epicenter, as in the Center of the Center of the Universe, but Piper told us people just call it “the Epi.” Purple and blue served as a backdrop for metal swirls on the outside of the six-story building. It was whimsical and fun, proving that not all adults take themselves too seriously. I loved it. Seriously loved it.

  “How totally cool is this?” I asked as Mom turned into the alley and into the parking garage below a big supermarket. “I’m so excited to live above a grocery store. Snickers bars just an elevator ride away.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that,” Mom said, laughing. Elvis added a bark. “I’ll take him, so you can take these two.” She handed me my goldfish, Vincent and Pollock. They were inside a Ziploc bag that I’d placed inside their glass bowl so the water wouldn’t slosh out.

  Mom and I have this ritual about moving into a new place: we always save our most precious belongings for the final load. Luckily for me, Mom and her friend Nina had moved most of our stuff to Piper’s apartment earlier in the day while I was at ultimate Frisbee. I really had only one trip to make upstairs to carry my current sketchbook, backup sketchbooks (one can never have too many), and some photos in my messenger bag. I picked up a painting I did at art camp and the bowl with my fish.

  We’d be able to go straight from underground parking garage to fourth-floor apartment via elevator. But the elevator stopped on the lobby floor.

  “Hold the elevator, please,” a man called. He was pinning a bright yellow flyer to the bulletin board in the lobby. I could see the word “Missing” in big letters. It looked like the same sign I’d seen taped to the dog statue.

  “Thanks,” he said as he got on the elevator. Elvis tried to sniff his pockets. “Sorry, but I don’t have anything for you, Elvis,” he said.

  “So you know Elvis?” Mom said. “We’ll be taking care of him and Piper’s apartment for the next two months. My name is Maggie West, and this is my daughter, Hannah West.”

  He looked at both of us. He didn’t look happy. Not mad. Just sort of sad. Maybe preoccupied.

  I moved my fingers in an attempt to wave without dropping my goldfish.

  The man nodded. I noticed he wasn’t offering up his name or any details. He took a roll of tape from his coat pocket and started taping the corner of a yellow flyer to the elevator wall. The stack of papers he’d been carrying scattered on the floor just as we got to the fourth floor and the elevator doors opened.

  “Let me help you,” I said. Mom pushed the button to keep the elevator door open while I put down my belongings and knelt to pick up papers.

  “Oh, no! Is it your dog that’s lost?” I said, finally getting a good look at the yellow flyer that said “Missing.”

  “He’s not lost. He’s missing. Boris disappeared earlier today,” he said dejectedly, handing a flyer to me as we headed into the hallway.

  A blurry photo of a dog was centered at the top of the page. Below its picture it said:

  Missing!

  Please help find Boris, a two-year-old bichon frise.

  Disappeared Saturday morning. Last seen on the sidewalk outside Joe’s Special.

  Reward!!!

  “Do you think he was stolen? Snatched? Maybe even dognapped?” I asked. Mom gave me that stern parent l
ook that usually means, in my case, “Stop jumping to conclusions.”

  “That’s exactly what I think,” the man said. “One second he was there. The next he was gone. Vanished. Vamoosed. I’m Ted, by the way. I live three doors down from Piper. She made sure everyone on this floor knew that you two were coming to house-sit and take care of Elvis.”

  “We appreciate that,” Mom said. “Let us know what we can do to help find your dog.” I knew Mom was sincere, but it sounded like one of those things people automatically say when they don’t think they can possibly help.

  “I can definitely help track him down,” I said.

  I fished a business card out of my pocket and handed it to Ted.

  Hannah J. West

  Pet Sitter, Dog Walker, Plant Waterer, and all around Errand Girl

  235-6628

  Ted gave me a slight smile, but I don’t think he took my offer seriously. He had other things on his mind.

  But I already had an idea about what I could do to help.

  CHAPTER 3

  “I HAVE TO call Lily,” I said, practically mowing Mom over in the entryway to apartment 409 and running down the hall to the kitchen. I’d been to Piper’s apartment twice before to meet Elvis, so I knew exactly where to go. I needed to get to a water source and my cell phone. When you move around as much as we do, you cling to whatever rituals and traditions you have. One of mine was to call Lily within seconds of moving to our new pad. The other one was to get Vincent and Pollock into their bowl as soon as possible. Mom disappeared farther down the hallway to the living room to call her friend Nina.