Excerpt from Girl in the Blue Coat by Monica Hesse, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Inside, it's like any other pantry: a shallow room with a wall of spices and preserved goods, not as full as it would have been before the war.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Janssen, but I don't know—"

"Wait." She reaches to the edge of the spice shelf and unlatches a small hook I hadn't noticed.

"What are you doing?"

"Just a minute." She fiddles with the latch. Suddenly, the whole set of shelves swings out, revealing a dark space behind the pantry, long and narrow, big enough to walk into, too dark to see much.

"What is this?" I whisper.

"Hendrik built it for me," she says. "When the children were small. This closet was inefficient— deep and sloping— so I asked if he would close off part of it for a pantry and have the other part for storage."

My eyes adjust to the dimness. We're standing in the space under the stairs. The ceiling grows lower, until, in the back, it's no more than a few feet off the ground. Toward the front, there's a shelf at eye level containing a half-burned candle, a comb, and a film magazine whose title I recognize. Most of the tiny room is taken up by Mrs. Janssen's missing opklapbed, unfolded as if waiting for a guest. A star-patterned quilt lies on top of it, and a single pillow. There are no windows. When the secret door is closed, only a slim crack of brightness would appear underneath.

"Do you see?" She takes my hand again. "This is why I cannot call the police. The police cannot find someone who is not supposed to exist."

"The missing person."

"The missing girl is Jewish," Mrs. Janssen says. "I need you to find her before the Nazis do."

TWO

Mrs. Janssen is still waiting for me to respond, standing in the dark space, where the air is stale and smells faintly of old potatoes.

"Hanneke?"

"You were hiding someone?" I can barely get the words out as she re-latches the secret shelf, closes the pantry door, and leads me back to the table. I don't know if I'm more shocked or scared. I know this happens, that some of the Jews who disappear are packed like winter linens in other people's basements rather than relocated to work camps. But it's too dangerous of a thing to ever admit out loud.

Mrs. Janssen is nodding at my question. "I was."

"In here? You were hiding someone in here? For how long?"

"Where should I begin?" She picks up her napkin, twisting it between her hands.

I don't want her to begin at all. Ten minutes ago I was worried Mrs. Janssen might have called someone to arrest me; now I know she is the one who could be arrested. The punishment for hiding people is imprisonment, a cold, damp cell in Scheveningen, where I've heard of people disappearing for months without even getting hearings. The punishment for being a person in hiding— an onderduiker— is immediate deportation.

"Never mind," I say quickly. "Never mind. I don't need to hear anything. I'll just go."

"Why don't you sit down again?" she pleads. "I've been waiting all morning for you." She holds up the pitcher of coffee. "More? You can have as much as you like. Just sit. If you don't help me, I'll have to find someone else."

Now I'm conflicted, standing in the middle of the kitchen. I don't want her bribe of coffee. But I'm rooted to the spot. I shouldn't leave, not without knowing more of the story. If Mrs. Janssen tries to find someone else, she could be putting herself in danger, and me, too.

"Tell me what happened," I say finally.

"My husband's business partner," Mrs. Janssen begins, the words spilling out in a rush. "My husband's business partner was a good man. Mr. Roodveldt. David. He worked with Hendrik for ten years. He had a wife, Rose, and she was so shy— she had a lisp and it made her self-conscious— but she could knit the most beautiful things. They had two daughters. Lea, who had just turned twelve and was the family pet. And the older daughter. Fifteen, independent, always off with her friends. Mirjam." Her throat catches at the last name, and she swallows before continuing.

Excerpted from Girl in the Blue Coat by Monica Hesse. Copyright © 2016 by Monica Hesse. Excerpted by permission of Little, Brown Books for Young Readers. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.