Even though Zoe was pretty tired by then, she didn’t complain that we weren’t heading back yet because I’d promised that I’d get her Grom, the best gelato in NYC, on the way back to the Airstream if she was good and didn’t ask questions. In case you don’t know, “gelato” is fancy for extra-creamy ice cream. Kevin didn’t ask questions because Jeanine had already filled him in.

El Mariachi was located on the thirtieth floor of a fancy skyscraper that towered over Central Park. The lobby was lined with matching marble storefronts, and the air was deliciously cool. “Is this a mall?” Josh asked. “I didn’t think they had malls in New York City.”

“There are a few,” I said. “Come on. I see the elevators.”

“Woah,” Josh said as we got off the elevator opposite a floor-to-ceiling glass wall overlooking the park.

“I think I can see Grandma Esme’s building from here,” Jeanine said.

“This would be a great place to watch the fireworks tonight,” Kevin said.

“Let’s get this over with.” I pointed to the EL MARIACHI carved into a pair of dark wood doors.

A clear plastic garbage bag filled with folded white napkins sat just inside the restaurant’s entrance. Chairs were stacked on tables. It was quiet, but somewhere a radio was playing. Glass lanterns hanging from pipes that crisscrossed the ceiling flashed bits of color everywhere.

“Ooo.” Zoe put out a hand and tried to close it over a piece of ruby-colored light.

“We’re not open yet,” a woman said. She was unloading wine bottles from a box onto the bar.

“Um, we’re actually—”

“I’m looking for somebody who worked here with Kira Levin,” I said over Jeanine. This might have been Jeanine’s idea, but it was my mission.

The woman turned around, and seeing us for the first time, gave a little shudder. It was a pretty swanky place, and after a day in the park in one-hundred-degree heat, we were definitely too grimy for El Mariachi.

“Who are you looking for?”

“Someone who knew someone who used to work here, Kira Levin. She worked in the kitchen,” I said.

“You’re looking for someone who knew someone? That sounds kind of shady.” She went back to unloading bottles.

Maybe it did sound a bit shady. In the movies, somebody looking for somebody who knew somebody was always bad news for one of the somebodies.

“It’s for a project,” Jeanine said.

“What kind of project?”

“We’re doing this, um, special birthday project. For our mom,” Jeanine said.

Jeanine really was a genius sometimes. Who wouldn’t want to help kids complete their special project for their mom’s birthday?

“I still don’t get it,” the woman said.

“We’re collecting stories from people our mom worked with,” I said, “or, you know, just knew at different times in her life, and we’re gonna, um…”

“Make them into a book,” Jeanine added.

“Right!” I said. “A book, album thing.”

The woman stopped and wiped her hands on her apron. “What did you say her name was again?”