Chaos on CatNet by Naomi Kritzer (detective books to read TXT) 📕

I’m a little nervous taking the word of a fellow passenger over the driver, but Steph gets on, so I follow her. There are many empty seats. We swipe our passes and make our way to a spot near the middle, where there’s another door. I like this seat, because it seems like it would be easy to escape out that door if we had to. The app is supposed to tell us where to get off, but I don’t trust it.

“Have you gotten an answer yet from your hacker friend?” I ask Steph, even though it’s only been a few hours.

She checks her phone. “They haven’t found anything yet.”

I check my own phone, hoping despite all logic that maybe I’ll have a message from Glenys. Instead, I have an email from my grandmother. I swallow hard and open it, wondering if it’s news about my mother.

Dear Nell. She starts out like she’s writing an actual letter. She goes on like she’s writing an actual letter, too, telling me about the weather, some problem she and my grandfather had with their back storm door, the birds she’s seen at her bird feeder … I scroll down impatiently until I get to the update on my mother:

Still no word from the search for your mother. No news is probably good news. Keep praying hard, for all things are possible in the Lord …

I close the email. “No news is good news” if they are looking for her body. Not if they’re looking for her. Does my grandmother think Mom is dead? I know she thinks she might have just left me. Taken off for who knows where because the Remnant told her to. I didn’t think Grandma thought she might be dead.

“It’s nothing,” I say to Steph, who’s watching my face curiously. I think my voice sounds a little strained, but at least I’m not crying. “Are we almost there?”

She scrutinizes her phone, then leaps to her feet. “I think we get out here? Maybe?”

I glance at the old man who told us we should get on. “If you’re going to Midtown, you’ll want to sit back down,” he calls. “This is Floyd Plaza, and you want Floyd Avenue.”

Steph stares at her phone for a second, utterly perplexed, then says, “Oh, yeah. That’s confusing.” She sits back down and calls, “Thank you!” toward the front of the bus.

“If you young ladies would like to come sit by me,” he says, “I’m actually going to that same stop, so you can just get off when I get off.”

We move up to the front of the bus. “Are you new to Minneapolis?” he asks. We nod in unison. “I’ve lived in this city for forty years. Forty-three, actually. So relax, because I won’t let you miss your stop.” He gives us running commentary on Lake Street as we head west. Floyd Plaza is only about ten years old, and he points out a series of newer buildings that were put up “after the riots,” which he says like you’d say, “after the war.” “You’ll know you’re almost there when you see the rocket ship,” he says, and I think he’s joking, but there’s a two-story building made of sandy bricks with an aluminum rocket ship sculpture on the front that reaches all the way to the roof, and a minute later, the bus stops for us to get off.

“I’ll be waiting for the hospital shuttle,” he says, “but if you’d like to walk the rest of the way, it’s just up Floyd.”

“Thank you so much for your help,” Steph says.

“You’re very welcome. Welcome to Minneapolis, and enjoy your day,” he says.

The Midtown Exchange turns out to be a tall building built of sandy brick. I hesitate outside, although people are streaming in and out like it’s a public place. “What is this?” Steph asks.

“I don’t actually know,” I say.

“Why’d you have us come here?”

“It’s a quest,” I say. “An assignment from the Catacombs.”

“Okay,” she says. “Are we going in?”

“Yes,” I say, and square my shoulders, trying to shake off an incredible sense of apprehension. Inside, I open the Catacombs app and click Here. Whatever it is I’m here to do, I want to do it and get it over with.

10•  Steph  •

The Midtown Exchange turns out to be an enormous building, once a department store, now mostly apartments but with a “market” on the ground floor. The market is a giant food court, but instead of chains and fast food, it has small, local stalls designed to feel a little like an open-air market. I check my pocket for money and decide I could probably buy lunch here. I recognize only about half the foods available, but everything smells delicious.

“I’m supposed to find this person and take her picture,” Nell says, her eyes glued to her phone. “Only she’s not supposed to see me taking her picture.”

Well, that definitely sounds like everything’s on the up-and-up. “Can I see?” I ask, and Nell lets me look over her shoulder at her phone, which is showing her a somewhat blurry picture of a woman and the instructions to get a picture of this woman and whoever she’s sitting with.

“Well, step one is finding her, I guess,” I say, looking around us at the maze of stalls. I try looking for a website with an internal map of this place and accidentally pull up the Invisible Castle app, which turns out to have what I’m looking for plus a whole overlay filled with tasks that include convincing any nearby white person to order vindaloo by reassuring them that the vindaloo is really only Minnesota hot. Mischief Elves, huh. It also puts little exclamation points by stalls with things I can try in order to get points in the app, including vindaloo but also bubble tea and basil ice cream.

“There’s a seating area in the middle,” I say, trying not to get distracted by the