Whoa. This spy gear from the '50s is so cool.
Lots of fingerprints, yet no one has bought this book.
People treat this place like a library.
Can we please stop messing around? Frank could come in at any minute.
Two customers are arguing over what coffee table book to buy as a present.
They narrowed it down to one about modern art
and one about twentieth-century architecture. How will they decide?
Curtis, seriously, stop.
Okay. I've read this poem, like, a thousand times
and there's definitely no mention of the cabdriver being a spy.
I don't get it. Frank was released from the poem,
-so why wouldn't it be in there? -Because no spy
is going to admit they're a spy.
We gotta put this stuff back before he realizes it's missing.
We never should've taken it in the first place.
How are we gonna put it back if Frank's always there?
Leave it to me.
I have an idea.
Frank. Hey.
Morning, Ruben.
You're up early. Did you sleep okay?
I've caught better z's.
Well, if I need a wake-up, I find a brisk morning walk helps.
Go ahead. I'll watch the cab.
It won't matter.
Someone already broke in and stole my stuff.
Oh, no.
-What did they take? -A bag.
A bag. That's terrible.
-What was in the bag? -Just a change of clothes.
Still, I don't even know when they swiped it.
I kept a pretty close eye on the cab.
Yeah, that's weird. The alley's usually safe.
It's no big deal.
Well, I should probably go get ready for school.
Better keep an eye out.
Guess the alley isn't as safe as you thought.
I will.
Get this: he lied and said the bag had a change of clothes in it.
Anyway, I'm pretty confident he doesn't suspect it was us.
What?
Ruben, he's a spy.
Unless he's a really bad spy, who else would he think took it?
Good point. Now I'm not very confident.
And you didn't put the bag back into the cab?
How could I? He was right there the whole time.
No. What if he comes looking for it?
-No way. I don't want it. -Don't look at me.
I'll take it. Relax. Look, we just need to be careful around Frank
until we can get this back in the cab.
Good job, Ruben.
Okay, I'll be right back. Please start reading the next chapter.
-What grade did you get? -An A-plus.
-But he didn't say "good job" to you. -It's kind of implied. Why?
-What did you get? -He gave me an A. This is weird.
Most people would be happy.
Yeah, if I deserved it. I'm a straight B student in this class.
So?
So, I think he's giving me special treatment because he likes my mom.
Don't you think you're overthinking this a little bit?
Yeah. Maybe you're right.
Unless I'm not.
-Dude, what are you doing? -Helping out a friend.
Who wants to destroy the basketball team?
I don't agree with everything Chevon said in her speech,
but vandalizing her posters is not the answer.
-People were pretty mad. -Did you see who ripped it down?
No, man.
Gotta go. Gonna miss the bus. Later.
So? What are we doing for girls' night?
Mom, I'm sorry. I've been so busy, I totally spaced on it.
That's okay. Let's improvise. You got anything in mind?
Actually, I know exactly what we can do later.
Yeah? I'm all ears.
That poet, Kwame Alexander, he's doing a reading at this coffee house downtown.
That's great. I know where that is.
That's near Cafe Angelini's, your favorite.
Best lasagna ever.
Okay, I'm in. Let's go get ready.
I'm really glad we get to spend some quality time together.
Just the two of us.
And your friends.
Ruben, Chevon!
I have one last question for you,
and then we'll turn it over to the audience.
What is the hardest thing about being a writer?
Starting.
Actually, finishing.
I mean, all of it is hard, come to think of it.
So true. I'd like to open it up to questions from the audience.
Yes.
Kwame, hi.
I love your poem, "Ode to a Taxi Driver." Can you tell me more about it?
I actually wrote it as a tribute to my favorite author, Mason Briggs.
Mason Briggs. He's the author of the book we saw in the sparkle.
Mason Briggs. He's the detective writer from the 1950s, right?
That's right. The cab driver in the poem
is one of the side characters in the books.
He helps Owen Quinn, the detective, on his cases.
I thought he deserved his own poem.
Yes, you in the third row.
Hi. Sorry. Back to that poem.
What did you mean when you wrote, "The crimson skirts in that window"?
In poetry, sometimes you go beneath the words to find the meaning.
Sometimes a skirt isn't a skirt.
In this case, it's a red tablecloth at a restaurant.
I pulled the locations for the poem directly from Mason's books.
-You should read them. -We will.
One more about the last poem. Is Frank-- I mean, the cab driver,
is he a good guy or bad guy?
There aren't really good guys and bad guys in Mason Briggs' world.
Just people doing things for different reasons.
I think, like in all art,
the answer is in the eye of the reader. It's all about perspective.
How you see things. Does that answer your question?
Not really, but thanks.
Okay, let's continue on with-- Yes, you in the third row.
Okay, so Frank is from a poem,
but he's also from a bunch of Mason Briggs' books.
And we have no idea if he's good or bad.
But we do know one thing.
He's gone.
So Ruben and Chevon seem nice.
I'm glad you're hanging out with Curtis and his friends.
They're my friends too, Mom.
I know, I know. I just thought since they're older.
They're not that much older. Plus, I'm mature for my age.
That you are. You all had a lot of questions about that poem.
What was that all about?
Nothing. We just all really liked it.
Well, I had no idea it was inspired by Mason Briggs' books.
You and me both.
I think I'm gonna read them. Starting tonight.
They're really good. But I am a little surprised.
-I didn't know you even liked mysteries. -I love them.
-I'm actually pretty good at solving them. -Yeah?
So, what looks good?
Why are you even looking at the menu? You knew you want lasagna.
It is amazing.
Have you had a chance to look at the menu?
Tell me about the pasta special.
We have rigatoni rustica tonight. It's sautéed with sausage,
chicken, sun-dried tomato and asparagus in a garlic cream sauce.
-That sounds great. I'll take that. -Okay.
Donna? The usual, right?
Donna?
Sorry, I dropped something.
I'll have a cup of the minestrone.
What? You just said how good the lasagna is.
Yeah, but it takes forever.
Donna, we have plenty of time. Have the lasagna. It's your favorite.
I know. I just don't really feel like it anymore.
I really want the soup.
Soup.
C equals two. Two equals S.
Ghost Writer's giving us math equations now?
I have no idea what it means.
We'll get it. Meanwhile, I've been looking into Mason Briggs.
It's the third time his name has come up. He has to be involved somehow.
According to this article, "Mason Briggs lived in Arizona
and wrote detective fiction from the 1950s until the 1960s."
At which point, he drops off the map and stops writing completely.
Nothing mysterious about that.
This is all really interesting, but we still need to find Frank.
The question is how?
Ruben? What's this?
It's-- it's nothing.
Are you trying to hide a bad grade from me?
You got an A. Why would you crumple it up?
I saw Mr. Saunders come in the bookstore the other day.
I think he gave me special treatment because he likes you.
Though, saying it out loud now seems kinda silly.
I don't think you're getting special treatment.
But Mr. Saunders did come by to ask if I wanted to go to a concert.
He asked you on a date?
No, no. It's not a date. We're old friends,
and the band that's playing is one we both liked growing up.
Weird. But okay.
So, you don't think he's giving me special treatment?
No. I think you're a hard worker, and you're smart.
Thanks, Mom.
An A.
Wow.
Hey, man. You wanna shoot hoops after school?
Can't. Sorry. Hey, can you hold this for a sec? Thanks.
-Thanks, man. -Okay.
-I'll catch you later. -See ya.
There you are. Look, good news. I think I figured out Ghost Writer's clue.
I thought you hated math.
It's not a math equation. I think it's some sort of code.
And since Frank's a spy, maybe he can help us decipher it.
Good job. We can ask him when we find him.
About that. I have an idea.
I think we need to follow Frank's route in order to find him.
What route?
The poem describes everything Frank sees during his day.
Since he doesn't know he's from a poem, he's probably driving around
trying to get to all the locations.
But the poem isn't set in our city.
He's still gotta try. It's the only thing he can do.
Like this line, "That used to be a corner dive called Etta Mae's
where the hacks ate a meal."
Maybe "corner dive" could mean a diner.
That would explain why he wanted to go to that diner yesterday.
So what would be the next stop on his route?
"It was a parking lot up here."
There's hundreds of parking lots in this city.
-So, a parking garage? -No. Keep reading.
"...'cause a great big ole barge down below was taking its own sweet time."
-A "barge" as in a boat? -It was like a parking lot
because traffic would stop while a boat was passing underneath.
He's talking about a bridge.
Gotta be. And there's that drawbridge over Spruce River. Maybe he went there.
Only one way to find out.
There he is.
Frank! Wait!
We're too late.
He did leave that card at the diner, so maybe he left something else here.
Look!
He dropped another playing card?
-I doubt it was an accident. -Makes no sense.
It's a four of spades. I wonder what it means?
It's getting late. Let's call it a day. Come on.
-Hey, Mom. -Hey.
Hey, Mom, have you seen my math textbook?
I don't know. Check where you left it last.
Okay. A little help would be nice.
What's up with Mom? She seems annoyed.
I don't know. She always gets like this before we leave for Dad's.
No. I totally forgot we were going back to Dad's tonight.
But we go every Thursday night.
I just forgot, okay? I guess I should get my stuff together.
-What are you doing? -Nothing.
I knew it. They're exactly the same.
Chevon just texted. She thinks she knows where Frank's going next. Come on.
What makes you so sure this is where he'd go next?
The poem mentions a double feature.
Considering Frank thought five milkshakes cost 50 cents,
imagine how he's gonna react to movie prices.
I think Frank was here.
This coin is oddly light.
-Cool. Let me see. -What does it say?
It's a message in code.
"T:TQ."
That part's written like a time. Maybe the letters mean numbers.
Ghost Writer's clue. C equals two. Two equals S. That has to be the key.
But there's no S's, C's, or twos in it.
I know what we're doing tonight.
Donna, what are you doing? Leave it where we found it.
He left it here for someone. If we take it, he's gonna know we did.
-Then he won't leave any more messages. -Okay. You're right.
Mom? What are you doing home?
I thought you were supposed to be out with Mr. Saunders.
I thought about it, but it didn't feel right, so I canceled.
Think I made the right decision. Can't wear these to a concert.
I don't get it. I thought you were just going as friends.
It's better this way. Trust me.
I mean, he may have been my friend in high school, but he's your teacher now.
-I think I should leave it alone. -Do you like Mr. Saunders?
What? No.
I mean, okay.
-I did in high school like-- -Okay, Mom.
But that was forever ago. Gosh, even admitting that to you is so weird.
Seriously, this was the right choice.
-Okay. -Okay.
Donna, what are you doing here? It's Dad tonight.
Actually, I asked him if I could stay here instead.
-Is everything okay? -Well, sort of.
I just feel bad that we didn't get to spend much time together last night.
Look, I get it. You're not a kid anymore. You'd rather hang out with your friends.
That's not true.
Donna, believe it or not, I was once your age.
You're growing up.
Well, I'm not grown-up just yet.
So, move over.
I ordered us dinner. And not just any dinner.
-Lasagna. From Cafe Angelini. -Our favorite.
I figure we can maybe watch a movie or something.
And since I'm growing up, you know I love horror movies.
Nice try.
You should probably go get that.
-You're gonna need your credit card too. -Well, I hope you ordered dessert too.
There may or may not be tiramisu in our future.
You've ripped down Chevon's posters.
What? No, I didn't. I already told you that.
Don't lie, Jake. I know it was you.
How'd you know?
Doug told you, didn't he?
It doesn't matter. Just tell me.
Okay, fine. Some of the guys got real upset when she tried to cut funding
for the team.
I'm sorry. I know it was wrong.
You need to make it right.
If C equals two, and two equals S, mathematically, C equals S.
-Does that help? -Not really.
I'm getting a headache.
Can we take a break and talk about something else?
I finally sold all my chocolates for Model UN.
Wow. Congrats.
Weirdly enough, it was the basketball team that bought all of them.
I kinda thought they were the ones who ripped down your election posters.
Me too. But Curtis said they were good guys. I guess he was right.
I got it. I figured it out. Look.
I thought that if C equaled two, then B equals one and A equals zero.
-Okay, that makes sense. -So it would make two columns, right?
-Okay. -So then I just started filling them out.
On the left side A to Z, then zero to nine.
On the right side, zero to nine, then A to Z. And look.
Two equals S. Just like in Ghost Writer's clue.
-Curtis, you're a genius. -I know.
What are you waiting for? Start translating the note.
F-R-I, three, three, zero,
O-A-K, P-A-R-K.
Friday, 3:30, Oak Park.
Today's Friday.
And it's 3:15 now. Which means...
How'd you kids find me?
We intercepted the coin you left at the movie theater.
I didn't leave it. It was left for me.
If he didn't leave it, that means another character came out of the poem
-and is now roaming the city. -Yeah, but who?
The last line in the poem. The guy in the fedora.
It's Owen Quinn, the detective.
How do you kids know Owen?
We don't. But that's who you've been trying to get in touch with
this whole time, isn't it?
I was trying to tell him I'm in danger.
I don't know what's going on or who to trust,
but this whole world is upside down.
How would leaving playing cards tell him all that?
Invisible ink.
Of course. That's why we couldn't see it. We didn't have the special lighting.
Hey, how'd you figure the code out so fast? It was hard.
It's not a wedding ring after all. It's a decoder ring, right?
This is better than Frank. G.W. wanted us to talk to the detective.
Owen must have a clue for us.
Yeah. Like who Ghost Writer is.
They're gone.
-They're back in the book. -Of course.
Remember the end of the poem? "Can't take any more fares today.
Gotta meet a man in a fedora. Case closed."
Frank met Owen, the man in the fedora,
they got to the end of the poem, and now they're back in the book.
Case closed.
How can it be case closed? We didn't get anywhere.
Why would Ghost Writer release this poem in the first place?
All we've done was run all over town to every place in the poem.
What a waste of time, man.
Hold on.
"We call it The Plaza on account of the fountain
and the oak tree at the center of its world.
The white and blue flags."
That's a description of where we're standing right now.
What are you saying? Mason Briggs was writing about this place specifically?
I thought he never left Arizona.
There's an oak tree, but I don't see any blue and white flags.
The street signs! They're blue and white. Remember what Kwame said?
Sometimes a skirt is a tablecloth. It's all about the interpretation.
He called the street signs flags because of the way they looked on their poles.
Wait a minute. Read the part about the bridge.
"It told me to head towards the clock tower
and keep on driving, fast."
I remember the clock tower.
It could still be a coincidence.
Lots of towns have bridges with clock towers.
It's an awfully big coincidence.
What about the diner?
"Founded in 1946 by Harland and Etta Mae Williams."
I don't believe it. The "corner dive called Etta Mae's" is this actual diner.
Mason Briggs was writing about our city.
He wasn't just writing about our city.
Mason Briggs was writing about our neighborhood.
I fully immersed myself in the world of Mason Briggs to prep for this role.
I read every single book out there.
-You might wanna see this. -Every single one?
-That's impressive. -Well, okay, not every single book.
I mean, rumor has it,
there's an unpublished manuscript out there somewhere.
Unfortunately, I'm not as good as a detective as Owen Quinn,
so it's still missing.
Then if The Cobalt Mask never came out,
that's why we couldn't find the book anywhere. It was never published.
Sounds like unfinished business to me.
So if Mason Briggs lives here, and he has an unpublished manuscript...
Mason Briggs is... Ghost Writer.