“Well, it — it’s just that I noticed something strange about one of the Don Newman pieces,” I said finally. I told Mr. Snipes that I had seen — and touched — the sculpture before, and that it seemed different now. “Maybe somebody switched it during the robbery. I just think it may be a fake, I mean, a forgery,” I finished, looking at the floor. Somehow I knew he wasn’t going to believe me.
I was right. “This is the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard,” he said, rolling his eyes. He pushed a button on his intercom. “Ms. Hobbes, bring me the Newman file,” he said into it. Then he looked back at Stacey and me. “Playing detective may be an amusing way to pass an afternoon,” he said, “but taking up my time with your ridiculous theories is pushing things too far.” Ms. Hobbes brought in the file, and he showed me the registration number for the sculpture. Then he marched us down to the gallery and showed us that the number matched the one on the artwork. Afterward, we went back to his office. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your little game,” he said. “And I trust I won’t be seeing you in here again.”
“No, sir. We’re very sorry, sir,” said Stacey.
I didn’t say anything. I was too busy sneaking a piece of paper off of the desk while Stacey apologized. It was a copy of Mr. Snipes’ résumé. I saw several lying there, and I had been overcome by the need to know more about this nasty man. I know it wasn’t the right thing to do, but right or not, I had to do it. I was so happy to have this new museum to go to, and I wasn’t about to let some crooked curator spoil things for me — or for the kids of Stoneybrook. Something rotten was going on in that museum, and I wanted to get to the bottom of it.
I didn’t sleep well at all that Saturday night. I guess I was preoccupied with trying to work out a solution to the museum mystery. I kept tossing and turning, trying to figure out what was different about that sculpture and how it could be tied to the coin robbery. I just knew they were related, somehow.
First thing Sunday morning, Kristy called me. “How about if we all come over this afternoon to talk about the mystery?” she asked. “I’ve been thinking and thinking, and I haven’t come up with any answers. Maybe if we get together we can make some progress.”
Of course, Kristy already knew what had happened the day before, after she and the others had left Stacey and me at the museum. I had called the BSC members and told them about our visit with Mr. Snipes. But I had left out one detail. I hadn’t said anything about swiping that résumé. I guess I was a little ashamed of myself for doing it. In fact, I had decided to throw it away and pretend I had never seen it.
I told Kristy that a meeting sounded great. “I’ll make some raspberry brownies,” I said. “And some popcorn, too, for Stacey.”
After we hung up, I headed downstairs for breakfast. “Morning, honey,” said my mother, who was sitting at the table eating waffles. My dad was at the stove, cooking them. That’s his Sunday morning project.
“Any left for me?” I asked.
“Coming right up,” he said. He poured some batter into the waffle iron.
I picked up the local paper and began to read it. I scanned all the articles in the news section, but I didn’t see one word about the robbery. I wondered if the police were even taking the case seriously.
After I had baked the brownies for my friends, I spent the rest of the morning working on a small clay sculpture I had started before I saw the Don Newman show. I had been happy with it two days ago. But now, after I’d seen a professional artist’s work, it looked lumpy and uninspired. I smushed it into a ball and started over again.
Before I knew it, it was time for our “meeting.” Kristy arrived first, as usual. I heard her thumping up the stairs, and I barely had time to whisk Mr. Snipes’s résumé into my desk drawer.
Kristy had barely settled herself in the director’s chair when Mary Anne and Logan showed up. “I brought him along,” said Mary Anne, pulling Logan into the room, “even though he didn’t really want to come.”
“I had a basketball game planned for this afternoon,” said Logan, “but Mary Anne convinced me this was more important.” Mary Anne sat down on my bed and patted the spot next to her.
“Sit here, Logan,” she said.
Logan blushed and shook his head. Sometimes he has a hard time being in a room full of girls, and sitting on a bed next to his girl-friend would only make him more uncomfortable. He sat on the floor, instead, and I sat beside Mary Anne.
Jessi and Mal showed up next, with Stacey right behind them.
“Any news?” asked Stacey, raising her eyebrows at me.
“You mean, did Mr. Snipes call to say I was right and the statue was a fake?” I asked, grinning. “Nope. Sorry to disappoint you.”
“Mr. Snipes was kind of creepy,” said Stacey. “I didn’t like the way he talked to you. It was like he was the king and you were a peasant or something.”
“Condescending,” Mallory murmured.
“What?” I asked.
“Condescending,” she said again. “That’s the way he was talking to you. In a condescending manner. It means he was acting superior.” Mal kind of collects words. I guess it’s because she wants to be a writer some day.
“Speaking of acting,” said Mary Anne, with a giggle, “wait till you guys hear about the video that Claire made yesterday.” She and Mallory told us about Claire’s big show business debut.
“The amazing thing,” Mal said, after they had told us about their day at the mall, “is that the video is really pretty good. I should know, since I’ve been forced to watch it at least fifty times already.” She rolled her eyes. “I mean, I’m sick of it already, but I do have to admit that Claire has some talent.”
“Maybe she should go on Star Search or something,” said Logan.
“Please!” exclaimed Mallory, rolling her eyes again. “Don’t put any ideas in her head.”
We all cracked up.
“Okay,” said Kristy, sitting up in her chair. “Let’s get down to business. We’re here to talk about the museum mystery.”
“Right,” I said. “So what do we do next?”
“I think we have to find out more about Mr. Snipes,” said Stacey. “I have a feeling he’s involved in the robbery somehow.”
“But he’s the curator of the museum!” said Jessi.
“I know,” said Stacey. “I just think he’s up to no good.”
“What can we do, though?” asked Logan. “We need to find out more about him, but how?”
I was practically biting my tongue. His résumé was sitting right there in my desk drawer, and it would tell us a lot. But I knew I had been wrong to take it, and I felt embarrassed.
“Yeah, how?” asked Kristy. “I mean, we can’t exactly march into the museum office and ask for his résumé!”
That did it. “We don’t have to,” I said. I stood up, opened my desk drawer, and pulled out the paper I had swiped. “I have it right here.”
“Whoa!” said Stacey, taking a look at it. “Where did you get that?”
“From his desk, yesterday,” I said, blushing. “I took it when nobody was looking.”
“Claud! You could have gotten into a lot of trouble for that,” said Mary Anne.
“Only if she had gotten caught,” said Kristy, “and she didn’t.” She leaned over my shoulder to look at it. “This is perfect!” she said. “Look, it lists every museum he’s ever worked at.”
I relaxed. Nobody was calling me a thief or a criminal.
“It’s kind of weird that it was on his desk,” mused Mallory. “I mean, the museum just opened. Is he looking for another job already?”
“Maybe he is,” said Logan. “Maybe he wants to get out of there, now that there’s been a robbery.”
We talked for a while about Mr. Snipes and why he might want to leave the museum. Then we decided to head for the library to see what we could learn about the other museums he had worked for.
I may not be great at schoolwork, but I do know how to use the library, since my mom w
orks there. The library’s only open for a few hours on Sundays, so we had to work fast. We worked with the Readers’ Guide to Periodicals, hunting for articles about the museums on Mr. Snipes’s résumé. Soon we had a whole page full of notes. When the librarian brought us the magazines we had requested, we divided them up and began to read.
“This is amazing,” said Mal. “I’ve already found two articles about robberies that took place at this museum in Texas. And they happened when Mr. Snipes was the curator there.”
“Same thing with this museum in Oregon,” I said. “They had the biggest art robbery that had ever taken place in that state. And guess who was the curator?”
“Nothing on the museum in California,” said Mary Anne. “It just says that Mr. Snipes bought a lot of paintings that completed their collection.”
“But this museum in New Jersey was robbed when he was there,” said Kristy, sounding excited. “The thieves got away with thousands of dollars’ worth of antiquities. What are antiquities?”
“Old stuff,” said Mallory. “Valuable old stuff.”
“We should go to the police,” said Stacey. “It’s obvious that this guy is a criminal. I mean, robberies happened in three out of the four museums he worked at.”
“I don’t know,” said Kristy thoughtfully. “I mean, we don’t actually have evidence that he was involved in all these robberies. Maybe he just has bad luck.”
“Maybe, but I doubt it,” I said. Personally, I was feeling kind of happy about finding all this evidence. I was glad I had swiped the résumé. I knew that guy was sinister. And now we practically had proof he was an art thief.
Practically. Not really, though. Kristy was right. It wasn’t time to go to the police. Not yet. Not until we were positive.
“Hey, Kristy!” Adam jumped out of a tree in the Pikes’ yard as Kristy dashed up the front walk. Jordan and Byron were right behind him.
“We’re going to build a tree fort,” said Jordan importantly. “It’s going to be like a castle, with towers and places to pour boiling oil out of, and we’re going to dig a moat around the bottom of the tree, too!”
“Plus we’re going to hang a big flag from it,” added Adam. “It’s going to tell the name of our club and say that no girls are allowed.”
“But we’ll let you up in it,” said Byron generously. “There’s going to be a rope ladder, and we’ll let you climb it.”
“It sounds great,” said Kristy. “Do you already have all your wood and nails and everything?”
“Wood?” asked Byron.
“Nails?” asked Adam.
“Well, no,” said Jordan, “but as soon as the plans are ready, then we’ll get the stuff we need to build it. It’s going to be awesome!”
The triplets climbed back up into the tree. Kristy smiled. She wondered if they would actually build the tree house. It almost didn’t matter, since planning it was obviously as much fun as playing in it.
Kristy rang the doorbell. She was looking forward to her sitting job that day, watching four of the Pike kids. The triplets would be going to soccer practice, which left Vanessa, Margo, Nicky, and Claire in Kristy’s care. Mal wasn’t sitting for them that day — she was taking it easy, since she hadn’t been feeling well.
“Kristy’s here!” yelled Claire, flinging the door open. “Hi, Kristy-silly-billy-goo-goo!”
“Hi, Claire, you little bear,” said Kristy playfully.
“Hi, Kristy,” said Margo, following Claire into the hallway. “Did Claire tell you yet?”
“Tell me what?” asked Kristy.
“You tell her,” said Claire, suddenly shy.
“No, you,” said Margo.
“I’ll tell her,” said Nicky, who had just joined them. He was holding a sandwich — peanut butter on a pumpernickel bagel. He took a big bite. “Wfmph vronna ghaf uh schoe,” he said.
“What?” Kristy asked.
“He said we’re going to have a show,” explained Margo.
“A show!” echoed Claire, looking very excited. “And we’re going to invite all the neighbors.”
“A show?” repeated Kristy. “I didn’t know you guys had been rehearsing a show. Mal didn’t mention it. You’re inviting the neighborhood over?”
Margo nodded.
“When are you planning to put on this show?” asked Kristy, hoping it wouldn’t be for a week or so.
“Today,” said Margo.
“Today? This afternoon?” Kristy groaned.
Just then, Mrs. Pike came bustling into the room. “I’ve got to run,” she said to Kristy. “Thanks for being on time. I’ll be back by six.”
“Fine,” said Kristy. “Oh, uh, Mrs. Pike?” She wanted to ask Mrs. Pike whether the kids could put on their show, but Mrs. Pike was on her way out the door, calling to the triplets. She didn’t hear Kristy at all.
“Let’s go, boys!” called Mrs. Pike. “If you want a ride to soccer practice you have to come right now. Otherwise you can walk.” The triplets made a break for the car. Mrs. Pike waved to Kristy and the other kids as she climbed in and started the engine.
“Bye,” said Kristy, almost to herself. Now the issue of the show was up to her. Mal was napping, and she didn’t want to wake her up just to ask her opinion. She turned to Margo. “Where’s Vanessa? Is she in your show?”
Margo nodded. “I think so. She was upstairs in her room writing something for it. A ‘poetic interlude,’ she called it. Something like that.”
“Oh, dear,” said Kristy, imagining Vanessa reading an epic poem as all the neighbors watched politely. “Tell me more about what you’re planning,” she said. “Is there going to be singing? Dancing? Are you going to put on skits?”
Margo and Nicky exchanged looks. “It’s just a show,” said Margo. “It’ll be fun, we promise. And it’s all ready.”
“Please can we do it?” begged Claire. “Please?”
“Well, I guess it’ll be all right if everyone stays outdoors,” said Kristy, figuring that if the actors — or the audience — got wild they would be better off outside where things wouldn’t get broken.
“No!” howled Claire. “It can’t be outside. It has to be in the rec room!”
“Claire’s right,” said Margo. “It has to be inside.”
“We can fit a lot of people in there,” said Nicky thoughtfully. “I figured it out once. That room can probably hold fifty people. As long as some of them are kids, that is.”
“Fifty people?” said Kristy, shocked. “No way, José. We are not going to crowd fifty people into your rec room to see something you just planned today.” She envisioned a huge audience making a commotion when they were forced to watch an unrehearsed mess of a show.
“How many can we have?” asked Nicky. “Twenty?”
“No, not twenty,” said Kristy. She thought fast. “How about five?”
“Five!” said Margo. “That’s hardly any people at all. Let us have ten.”
“Eight,” said Kristy firmly. “That’s final. You can have your show in the rec room, and you can invite eight people.”
The kids saw that Kristy was serious, and that there would be no more bargaining. They huddled together, planning who to invite. “I’ll go over to the Barretts’,” said Nicky. “I bet Mrs. Barrett will bring Buddy and Suzy and Marnie.”
“That’s four people,” said Margo, counting on her fingers. “I’ll go to the Braddocks’. Matt’s probably at soccer practice, but maybe Haley and her mom can come. That makes six. Who else should we ask?”
“Marilyn and Carolyn!” said Claire. “I bet they’ll come.”
“Fine,” said Kristy. “I’ll go with you to ask them, since you’ll have to cross the street to get to their house. But first I’m going to let Vanessa know where we’ll be.” She ran upstairs and found Vanessa hard at work.
“Want to hear my poem?” asked Vanessa. “I think it’s an especially good one. It begins, “Welcome to our show, people in the know.”
“Um, I’d love to,” said Kristy
. “But I don’t really have time now.” She told Vanessa where she was going. “I guess I’ll just have to hear it when everybody else does.” She edged out the door, relieved to have an excuse. Vanessa’s poems can be very long.
Kristy and Claire headed for the Arnolds’ while Margo went to the Braddocks’ and Nicky went to the Barretts’. A half hour later, everyone was assembled in the rec room. Mrs. Braddock hadn’t been able to come, but Mrs. Arnold had taken her place. Nicky seated everyone carefully, with the smaller kids in front so everyone would be able to see. Margo pretended to collect tickets. Claire disappeared to put on her costume and fetch Vanessa.
Finally, the kids were ready to start. “Ladles and gentlebeans,” said Nicky, grinning. He bowed and swept off the baseball cap he was wearing as Master of Ceremonies. “I welcome you to the show of the century. You’ve never seen anything like it, and you probably never will.” There was polite applause. “May I introduce our first performer, Vanessa Pike. The poet of Slate Street!”
Vanessa stood in front of the audience, holding a flower in one hand and a thick wad of papers in the other. “I have composed a poem for the occasion,” she said. “The first section is about today’s performance.” She took a deep breath and began to read.
After Vanessa had read four pages, Kristy realized the audience was growing restless. She motioned to Nicky, who cut off Vanessa in the middle of a rhyme. “And now for our next guest,” he said, hustling Vanessa off the “stage,” “I introduce Margo the marionette.”
Margo was now dressed in a clown outfit that was, Kristy remembered, left over from Halloween. She performed a jerky dance that lasted about ten seconds, bowed, and ran off the stage. The audience applauded, but Kristy noticed that some of its older members were looking a little bewildered.
“And now,” said Nicky, “for the centerpiece of today’s show.” Claire skipped to the front of the room. “A super-special movie featuring our own Claire Pike!” Claire bent down and turned on the TV. Then she pressed PLAY on the VCR, and a picture came on. It was Claire, dressed as Dorothy, standing on the Yellow Brick Road.