Chapter 9

Chapter 9 Stakeout "We need a map," said Jessie. She and Maxwell were at his house planning their stakeout. "Tonight's New Year's Eve, for crying out loud!" Luckily, it was early afternoon. There was still time, if they worked fast. Maxwell had lots of drawing materials in his room: paper, markers, colored pencils, rulers, protractors. He even had one of those big slanting desks that architects use to draw up their plans. It was perfect. Jessie climbed up on the tall stool and began to draw. There were only four houses within a mile of Grandma's house: the Uptons', Mrs. Lewis's, Maxwell's house, and the old Jansen house, which no one had lived in for years. Last summer Jessie and Evan had looked in the windows, and

the house was as empty as a seashell.

But people moved around. So Jessie asked, "Is anyone living in that old empty house?" Maxwell made a face. "That's where the Sinclairs live," he said. "They moved in right after me. But I was here first!" Jessie wrote "The Sinclairs' House" on her map. Then she called Maxwell over, and together they stared at the piece of paper. Jessie was pretty sure that Mrs. Lewis, who lived alone, hadn't taken the bell. Mrs. Lewis was close to ninety years old. There was no way an old lady like that could lift a hundred-pound bell. The Uptons were good friends of Grandma's. They're the ones who had driven her to the hospital when she fell. The Uptons checked in on Grandma at least once a week, and Jessie's mom talked to them on the phone from time to time. "I don't think the Uptons took Grandma's bell," Jessie said. She pointed to the Sinclair

house on the other side of the bridge. "What are they like? Do they have any kids?" "Mean boys," said Maxwell. He started rocking back and forth, taking that odd half-step with his right foot before shifting his weight back to his left. "Two of 'em. Mean, mean boys." "What makes them mean?" asked Jessie, thinking back to the girls in her last-year class who had played a rotten joke on her. Jessie felt her face go hot, just remembering what they'd done. Maxwell shook his head. "Won't say it. Mean boys. Both of 'em. Mean." Jessie frowned. She needed Maxwell's help. If she was going to be Agent 99, she needed an Agent 86. "Well, how old are they?" "Jeff's in fifth grade and Mike's in fourth." Maxwell's rocking was getting faster, and then he stopped rocking and started walking in circles, snapping the fingers on his right hand like he was

cracking a whip and making that strange puffing noise. "Huh. They're not so big," said Jessie. But in her mind she imagined boys that towered over her, boys even taller than Evan, and he was one of the tallest boys in his fourth-grade class. "They don't have to be big. They're mean," Maxwell said. "You keep saying that," Jessie pointed out. "Stop repeating yourself. And sit down, for Pete's sake. You're making a lot of noise." Sometimes Maxwell could be very distracting. Maxwell sat down on the edge of the bed, but he kept snapping his fingers and moving his feet back and forth, quietly blowing air through his lips. "Did you ever hear them talk about Grandma's bell?" Jessie asked. "Uh-huh. On the bus. They said they were going to take it." "Really?" said Jessie. "They really said that?

Why didn't you tell me?" "You never asked." "A person doesn't need to ask a question like that. A person should just know that that's the kind of information you'd tell a secret agent." Honestly, sometimes she just didn't get Maxwell. He was a smart kid, but there were times when he acted like he had rocks in his head. "When did you hear them talking about Grandma's bell?" "Wednesday. December eighth. At 2:23 p.m." Jessie stared at him. "How do you remember that?" Maxwell shrugged. Jessie wasn't sure if Maxwell was going to turn out to be a terrible spy or the best spy who ever lived. Either way, they had their suspects, and that meant it was spying time. Jessie pointed to the map. "That's where we need to go for the stakeout," she said. "We need to watch those boys. See what they do and