My fingers twitch into fists at my sides. I fight to keep a smile on my face, to expel the scowl hardening in its place. It's a bad look when I'm about to ask a store to borrow their phone. I try to focus on the racks of clothing—a mashup of sequins, fringe, rips, and either too big or too small items.

"This day is mine! Nothing can stop me nowww."

Gosh darn it, that song is too annoying. It even followed us an hour from Dewhurst to Cabbage Edge.

"If only Bach had this much notoriety," Emi says, shaking her head.

"Then everyone would be sick of him. It'd ruin his music," I say. Not that I particularly like his music. It's too boring, conforms too closely to traditional classical music composition. I prefer something more experimental, hence why Silverenn's music caught my eye.

We pass by a central display of mannequins. One of the tall plastic women wears a cropped fur jacket over a distressed denim crop-top and shorts. Separately, both fabrics could be stylish, but even I acknowledge that throwing them together goes too far.

"I know that mannequin isn't real," Emi whispers. "But still, I think it should be blushing with embarrassment at its appearance. I mean seriously, do those scraps of fabric count as clothing?"

"Sure." I step into line behind two other customers. My peripheral strays to the plastic bins full of beauty products, taunting me on all sides. If Emi weren't here, I'd browse through them, just like I did yesterday. But I need to stay focused. I'm here on a hunt, not for leisure.

Once more, Emi whispers in my ear. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Of course. They'll recognize me as the shopper from yesterday." I nod toward a mannequin on the far side of the room. "Besides, you match."

Both the display and Emi wear the yellow jumpsuit I bought yesterday at this very store. Of course, Emi wears it better.

"Day is mine! Day is mine!"

What a stupid bridge. It doesn't get much less creative than that. I smile as I approach the desk, though it might appear maniacal. All I can think about is how that song should be banned from the United States. But the cashier's bubblegum-pink lips upturn as I approach. Either my expression is completely normal or is well-trained with odd people.

"Hello, how may I help you?" she asks.

"I know this is such a weird request, but would you mind if I use your store phone to call my boyfriend? He's supposed to pick us up, but my phone died, and my friend forgot hers at home."

"Oh, sure. Here." She pulls the store phone out from behind the desk so I can dial the number. I take a scrap of paper from my pocket. Ten numbers scrawl across it, the ten numbers I'm about to punch into the telephone. The ten numbers that will connect me with Harriet Witfield, the person from Silverenn's clue.

The clerk turns to the next customer. No one is paying attention to us.

Emi's hand rests on my arm. "Cerise, are you sure?"

I nod and punch each number into the phone. Tingles run along my fingers and through my palms, as if I'm about to drop the phone and break it. Anyone may answer the line. I grip the plastic tighter to silence the sensation, the nerves. I hold the phone to my ear, and Emi presses her ear on the other side to listen in.

My nervous energy increases with every ring.

I'm calling a stranger. I'm calling a friend of Silverenn. I'm calling a mobster. I'm calling someone that might not exist.

The line drops to a soft hum. I gasp before I suffocate from holding my breath. Emi grips my arm tighter, and I realize my whole body is tense, every muscle on edge.

"Hello, this is Mill and Stone bakery, Harriet speaking. How may I help you?" The voice is gruff and alto, though the timbre reminds me of a female.

"H-hello?" I say. "Harriet Witfield?"

There's a beat on the other end of the line. "Yes, this is Harriet Witfield. What would you like to order?"

I swallow, lowering my voice. "Hi, I know this is kind of weird, but I was told to call this number. Well, not this exact number, but a slightly different one? We saw the number used to belong to you."

"What number?"

"141-135-4531."

"Okay... um, who am I speaking with?"

I glance at Emi. She shakes her head as if to say 'don't tell her.'

"My name is..." My eyes land on a nearby bath and body display stand. "Aloe."

"Aloe?"

"Aloe Vera."

Emi pulls back so I can get a look at her alarmed face. I wave a tense hand in dismissal.

"Aloe Vera?" Harriet repeats, deadpan over the phone.

"My parents were hippies," I say, lowering my voice. "Look, I know this is kind of weird, but I was told to call this number by D.C. Silverenn."

The air conditioning rattles on the other end of the line, loud and clear now that its competition stopped talking.

"You found it?" Harriet rasps. "You found the clues?"

"Yes..."

The last customer takes his bags, and the cashier looks at us. I have to be more careful about what I say now.

The woman's voice lowers, as if she doesn't want to be overheard anymore than we do. "Look, uh, can I call you back in an hour? I have a lunch break in thirty minutes, and I need to get home."

Emi and I exchange glances.

"Uh, sure..." I say. "I guess that's fine. No wait, we'll call you. You say in about an hour?"

"Uh-huh." She gives us her cell phone number, then hangs up.

I hang up the phone. The store clerk turns back to us and smiles.

"Everything okay?" she asks.

"Yup. Thanks so much!" I wave as Emi and I head for the exit.

"I don't like this," Emi says. "What if she's contacting the mafia right now? What if she's telling them our location?"

"I doubt she can trace our phone call on her bakery's phone line."

"Unless she doesn't actually work in a bakery. The store could be a front for another mafia group in New York City."

Unease creeps down my spine. I glance around the mall, at the dozens of people clustered here and there outside the various stores. Anyone could be an organized crime member. Heck, we could be shot at any moment.

"Come on." I lightly grasp Emi's arm, pulling her toward another store. We enter a pottery shop, where only a few old people are browsing. Emi and I head for the back, pretending to look at expensive, glazed plates.

"You know, Cerise," Emi says, lifting a plate. "I don't think she gave us a real phone number. I think she's faking the whole thing. Seriously, who gives their personal phone number to random people who say they're looking for Silverenn's treasure? Not a smart move."

I draw my phone from the back pocket of my light green pants. "We'll find out in about fifty minutes."

Emi and I wander through two stores before it's time to call again. Most of the time is spent figuring out how to call Harriet back. We can't go back to the clothing store, nor can we use our own cell phones. Finally, I drag Emi to the counter of a home goods store.

"Hi, can we use your phone? My phone's out of battery, and I need to call my boyfriend to pick us up."

The teenage boy behind the counter pulls the store's phone out, placing it on the checkout counter before us, then goes back to scrolling on his own phone.

I glance between the boy and Emi. This phone call won't go well with him around. As if reading my mind, Emi says, "hey, do you know if you have decorative pillows in the store?"

The boy shrugs. "Not sure."

"Is there someone who can show her where to look for them?" I ask.

"Uh..." The boy wanders out from behind the counter, then motions for Emi to follow him. "Let me see if I can find Mindy."

While they head into the store, I quickly dial the new number Harriet gave me. My fingers shake as I punch in the numbers. Will Harriet pick up? Is this even a real number?

A high pitched ringing pierces my ears, one, two, three, four times. My lungs freeze, though my pulse quickens. The sound repeats over and over and over. I fear I might go insane, and even worse, that the person won't pick up.

Is it bad if they don't pick up? Maybe it's a good thing. Maybe I shouldn't want Harriet to answer. She's affiliated with Silverenn, a mob boss.

"Hi," Harriet says, breathless. My concentration snaps to her. "I'm still looking for the paper." In the background, drawers open and close. "I can't seem to find my keepsake box. Hold on."

There's more shuffling on the other side of the phone, followed by pattering feet. My panic ebbs the slightest bit. It sounds like she's looking for something, but maybe it's just a front.

Maybe that's why she told us to call her back, so she could get set up to trace our phone call, then reveal our location to the mafia members.

My heart rate picks up, sending a surge of adrenaline through my limbs. I glance around the store, but there's no one in sight, not inside, not outside the store's entrance. Somehow, that makes me even more uncomfortable, no witnesses to see the mafia's attack.

"Darn it! Where is it?" Harriet groans. I hear a doorknob turn, more footsteps pattering on the floor.

"How... how do you know Silverenn?" I venture.

"I didn't know Silverenn well. Actually, she was a frequent customer in my store for a time. Ordered a hazelnut tart every single Friday afternoon for about three months. Then, she came up to me and asked if I wanted to be in on a treasure hunt she was creating. She offered to pay me, plus give me a brand new musical instrument. I was a young, twenty-three-year-old violinist at the time, so the promise of getting a really nice instrument wasn't something I could pass up." There's a scraping sound, then, "found it!"

Papers shuffle on the other line. A moment later, Harriet continues.

"To this day, I still haven't forgotten about the treasure hunt. It haunts my mind almost every day. She haunts my mind almost every day. I mean, how often does a strange woman pop up in your life, offering you a violin and five-thousand dollars if you give someone a clue to a treasure hunt."

There's a tearing sound. "Silverenn gave me an envelope to open when someone called, mentioning the treasure hunt. Inside, there seems to be a short poem, or maybe a riddle."

"Go on."

"There are two words that matter,

Solar and lacquer,

And five that are the latter,

On route to the bay."

"That's it?"

"It appears so. Good luck with your treasure hunt, and let me know how it goes."

"Thanks." I probably won't, as I still don't fully trust her, but she seems nice enough.

A long beep drones over the line. I hang up the phone, then find Emi looking at some gorgeous pillows. We leave the store to the chatter-filled mall.

"What did you find out?" Emi asks.

"A new clue.

'There are two words that matter,

Solar and lacquer,

And five that are the latter,

On route to the bay.'"

"Ugh, more stuff to decipher?" Emi slumps onto a bench. "My brain is fried at this point."

"Same." The scent of freshly baked pretzels permeates the air, making my mouth water.

"I don't know about you, but I need something to eat," I say.

I'm not sure if Emi was about to protest, but I hear her stomach growl over the cacophony around us. She nods weakly.

"Alright."

We stop at a pretzel stand, and I buy one for each of us. The salt-speckled top crackles as I break off a piece. So much flavor is baked into the chewy dough, flavor I haven't enjoyed for at least three weeks.

"Haven't had one of these in years," Emi says with her mouth full. "They're as good as I remember."

We sit on a bench, and I pull out my phone, quickly jotting down the poem before I forget it. I lean back when I'm done, angling the notes toward Emi.

"What do you think it means?" I ask.

"It probably goes along with the next clue. We need to analyze the next score."

"You're right. Let's head back to the hotel." Emi and I rise from our seats. Somehow, I already clutch empty paper where my pretzel used to be. I glance at Emi and feel better since she's done, too.

I try not to look at all the stores on either side of us as we head for the exit. Earrings sparkle in one window, shawls cloak a mannequin's shoulders in the next—everything is so tempting. I want to try on more clothes, buy more things. But I restrain myself. Or more likely, Emi's presence restrains me. No need to dig a deeper deficit in my bank account, not until Silverenn's treasure restores our funds.