“My name is Claudia Kishi,” I told him. “I — I really love your work.”
“Well, thank you, Claudia Kishi. That’s always a pleasure to hear.”
I relaxed a little. I began to tell him why I had called. I crossed my fingers, hoping he wouldn’t think I was some kind of nut. And you know what? He didn’t. He treated me like an adult, not a kid. He thanked me for my concern. And he told me a wonderful secret.
“I think I may know why Daphne felt different to you,” he said. “You see, back when I created that sculpture, I had two small children. They’re almost grown now, but at the time they were very young. I liked to involve them in my art, partly because it helped keep them occupied while I was working. So I created hiding places in my sculptures. Places where I could put little toys for them to find.” He paused for a second, as if remembering. “I had almost forgotten about that. They loved looking for their surprises. It was fun for all three of us. Anyway, maybe I left one of the toys inside Daphne, and that’s what you were feeling.”
“That is so cool,” I said. I was thrilled to hear such a personal detail from a famous artist. “You must be a wonderful father.” Then I paused for a second. “But there’s still one thing I don’t understand. Unless you put in a toy or took one out in the past year or so, Daphne would have felt the same to me both times I touched it. And it didn’t. It felt different. I still think something may be wrong.” I was embarrassed to be pushing my point, but I felt strongly about it.
“I’ll tell you what,” said Mr. Newman. “I’ll be at the museum myself in a couple of days, and I’ll check Daphne then. You’ve made me curious. In fact, I wish I could go there tomorrow, but I’ll be out of town.”
I sighed. I was grateful to him for taking me seriously, and I told him so.
“Well, this is serious business,” he answered, “and I want to thank you for telling me about it. Listen, the museum is having a big formal party for the closing of my show on Friday night. Why don’t you come? That’s when I’ll be able to check on Daphne. We can do it together.”
“Oh!” I said. I was so surprised that I didn’t know what else to say. This was the party I had dreamed about going to, and now I had been personally invited by the artist himself! Finally I recovered. “I’d love to,” I told him. “But I don’t know if my parents will let me.”
“Bring them along,” he said. “I look forward to meeting them — and you.”
After I hung up, I drifted downstairs, feeling as if I were walking on clouds. I told my parents about the invitation, and my father said he would be happy to go to the party with me. (I didn’t tell them about the detective work I was doing. In fact, I told a little white lie about having called Don Newman for a school project. I didn’t know how else to explain the invitation.)
I floated back upstairs and tried to study again. But before long I had jumped up to look through my closet. I had been invited to a formal party, and I only had two days to figure out what to wear. This was going to take some thought.
On Thursday afternoon, Jessi and Mal sat for the Pike kids. It was a bright, sunny day, fortunately, which meant that the triplets, Nicky, and Margo were playing outside. Vanessa was curled up in an armchair with her nose in a book (her usual pose), and Claire was trying on different “audition outfits” and asking Mal and Jessi’s opinion on each one.
“This is the glamorous look,” she said, trailing a pink feather boa down the stairs. She wore a spangled tutu which Mal had worn in a first grade play (it’s a little ratty by now, since all the Pike girls have used it for dressing up), white high heels swiped from her mother’s closet, and a pair of red sunglasses pushed up on her head.
“Very nice,” said Jessi. “But maybe just a little too — what’s the word?” she paused. “Um, too glitzy, maybe? The agent might like it if you looked more like a regular girl.”
Claire nodded and ran back upstairs to change. She came back down in a few minutes, dressed in her best pink dress with lace trim. She was still wearing the high heels, and the sunglasses were still perched on her head. “I don’t want to look too regular,” she announced. “How’s this?”
Jessi and Mal exchanged looks and tried not to giggle. “Fine,” said Mal. “Just fine.”
Claire curtsied. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen,” she said.
This time, Mal and Jessi were unable to contain their giggles, but Claire didn’t seem to notice. “Can I call Rosie?” she asked. “I want to ask her some more questions. Plus, she said she would show me her tap shoes the next time I came over. So can I call?”
“How about if I call for you?” asked Jessi. She didn’t want Rosie to feel pestered by Claire. She dialed the Wilders’ number, and Mrs. Wilder answered. It turned out that Rosie was busy with a violin lesson. “And tomorrow her voice teacher will be here,” said Mrs. Wilder. “Perhaps Rosie should call you back when she has some free time.”
“Boo!” said Claire, when Jessi told her how busy Rosie was. “I want to talk to her some more. Why does she have to take so many dumb lessons, anyway?”
“That’s just how it is, when you’re in show business,” explained Jessi. “I know, since I’m a dancer. I take classes all the time. I have to, if I want to be a professional ballerina someday.”
“But you already know how to dance ballet,” said Claire. “I’ve seen you do it.”
“That’s true, but I still have a lot to learn,” said Jessi. “Being in show business can keep a person very busy. It’s not an easy life.”
“What do you mean?” asked Claire. She snuggled up next to Jessi on the couch. “Tell me.”
So, Mal went outside to watch her sister and brothers while Jessi told Claire about the life of a professional entertainer. She told her about the lessons that actors and dancers and singers have to take. “Even when they’re stars, they still take lessons,” said Jessi. She told her about auditions, and how nerve-wracking they can be. “Sometimes they reject people just because they’re too tall or too short or too blonde or not blonde enough,” she said. “You have to learn not to take it personally, and it isn’t easy.”
Then Jessi told Claire about callbacks and agents and meetings and endless rehearsals. She told her about the time she visited Derek Masters on the set of his TV show, and about how boring it can be on a TV or movie set — how it can take all day to film one little scene. And she told her about how entertainers have to perform all the time, even if they’re sick, or tired, or injured. “That’s what they mean when they say, ‘the show must go on,’ ” Jessi explained.
“But — but isn’t it fun when people clap after you do something good?” Claire asked. “Or when they laugh at a joke you tell? Or cry when you sing a sad song?”
“Sure,” said Jessi. “That’s why so many people stay in show business even though it’s such hard work. For some people, those good things make all the bad things worthwhile.”
“I never thought about the bad things,” said Claire. “I just thought about having a dressing room with a big star on the door, and lots of fancy dresses, and a big long car to pick me up and drive me everywhere I want to go.”
“Not too many people get all that,” said Jessi with a grin.
Claire didn’t grin back. Instead she said solemnly, “Jessi? I’m not so sure I want to be in show business anymore. I mean, I’d like to be a star, but not if it takes so much hard work.”
Jessi nodded. “I can understand that,” she said, reaching over to give Claire a little hug.
Suddenly, Claire broke away from Jessi and sat up straight. “Oh, no!” she cried. She put her hand over her mouth.
“What?” asked Jessi.
“My video!” said Claire. “I don’t want that agent to see it. We have to get it back before she watches it!”
“I don’t think we can,” said Jessi. “It’s already in the mail.”
“Oh no!” Claire wailed. “What am I going to do?”
“Well,” said Jessi. “I guess you just have to hop
e the agent doesn’t like your tape.” She knew from experience that in show business rejection happens a lot more than acceptance.
Claire nodded. “But what if she does like it?” she asked miserably.
Jessi smiled. A few minutes ago Claire was dying to be discovered. “If she likes it, and she wants to make you a star, I guess you’ll just have to tell her you changed your mind,” said Jessi.
“That would be so, so embarrassing,” replied Claire. Just the thought of it seemed to make her blush. “But I guess that’s what I’ll have to do.” She stood up. “I don’t think I want to talk about this anymore,” she said. “Can I go out and play with Margo?”
“Of course,” said Jessi. She gave Claire another hug, hoping to see her smile. But Claire hugged her back listlessly and walked slowly outside. Jessi felt awful. But she realized this was probably for the best. After all, it was better for Claire to find out ahead of time how hard show business could be.
Jessi followed Claire outside and watched with Mal as Claire and Margo played hopscotch.
“What happened?” whispered Mal. “Claire looks so sad.”
Jessi told her about their conversation.
“That’s too bad,” said Mal. “But she’ll cheer up soon. And I have to say that my whole family will thank you. Maybe we won’t have to watch that video anymore!”
The girls giggled. Just then, they heard a horn honk, and saw Mrs. Arnold leaning out of her car window. She had pulled up in front of the Pikes’ house. “Hello, girls,” she said. “The twins and I are off to the museum. They’ve been after me to take them back there ever since the first time they went. They just loved the Discovery Room. Anyway, we were wondering if anybody would like to come along.”
“Me!” cried Claire, looking more cheerful already.
“Me, too,” said Margo. “Can we, Mallory?”
“Sure,” said Mal. “I bet Vanessa would like to go, too.”
“I’ll go get her,” said Claire. She ran into the house.
Mal and Jessi decided that Mal would stay home with the boys, who were busy with their treehouse, while Jessi went along with the girls.
“Can we all squeeze into your car?” Jessi asked Mrs. Arnold.
“Sure,” said Mrs. Arnold, with a grin. “The more, the merrier.”
Soon they were on their way. Jessi told me later that she had to smile when she heard Claire leading the other girls in a few rounds of “Row, row, row your boat.” She was glad Claire still liked to sing, even if she didn’t want to do it professionally anymore.
The museum was full that afternoon. Every room was packed with loud, happy kids. “It made the museum seem so alive,” said Jessi later.
Jessi and Mrs. Arnold let the girls decide where to go and what activities to do. They followed them from room to room and watched as the girls discovered exhibits they hadn’t seen yet.
After awhile, Jessi asked Mrs. Arnold if she could sneak off to check out the Don Newman exhibit, since she had heard so much about it from me. Mrs. Arnold said she’d be glad to watch all the girls for a few minutes, so Jessi found her way to the sculpture gallery.
She loved the show, she told me later. But the most important thing about her visit to the Newman exhibit was what she found out when she started talking to one of the guards there. She told him how much she liked the PLEASE TOUCH signs, and that Don Newman must be a very cool guy. The guard agreed. He was excited because the entire museum staff had been invited to Friday’s party. “Not many artists would have thought of inviting the staff, but Newman did,” he said.
“What about security, if you’ll all be at the party?” Jessi asked.
“Oh, they’re not so worried about that anymore,” said the guard. “Security has been really tight for a week, and nothing has happened, so they’re loosening up a little. Say, you’re not planning a robbery, are you?” He grinned at Jessi.
“No way,” she said, grinning in return. Then she headed back to the kids’ are to find Mrs. Arnold and the girls. By the end of their afternoon at the museum, Claire seemed to be feeling a lot better. In fact, she seemed to have decided on a new career. At least, that was what Jessi thought when Claire asked her seriously, “Do scientists have to audition?”
“So anyway, it sounds like security isn’t going to be so tight anymore,” said Jessi. It was Friday afternoon, and my friends and I were gathered in my room for our BSC meeting. Jessi was telling us what she’d learned at the museum the day before. “The guard I talked to was really nice,” she added.
“Most of the people who work at the museum seem nice,” mused Kristy.
“Except for Mr. Snipes,” I muttered. “He’s a big creep. And maybe a thief, too.”
“Maybe,” said Mal. “But not definitely.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m planning to keep an eye on him when I’m at the party tonight, but I plan to watch everybody closely. The thief could be any one of the museum’s employees. The guards, the maintenance crew, the salespeople in the shop. As far as I’m concerned, everybody’s a suspect. I still think the thief is Mr. Snipes, but until I’m positive I’m not counting anyone out.”
“Good thinking,” said Kristy approvingly. “While we’re waiting for calls, why don’t we go over the facts of the case one more time? Maybe we’ll think of something new, the way you did the other day.”
“All right,” I said. “Well, let’s see. First of all, the coins were stolen last Thursday.”
“Can you believe it’s only been a little over a week since that happened?” interrupted Stacey. “It feels like years. Sorry, Claud. Go on.”
“Okay,” I said. “On Friday, the newspaper had an article about the robbery. On Saturday, five of us went to the museum to do some investigating, but we didn’t find out much until later in the day when I noticed that the Newman sculpture felt funny. Then Stacey and I met Mr. Snipes and decided something was strange about him. I snagged his résumé. On Sunday, we went to the library and found out about robberies that took place at other museums he’s worked at. On Wednesday, I figured out that the coins must have been stolen by an insider — somebody who works at the museum.”
“Brilliant deductive reasoning, Miss Nancy Drew of Stoneybrook,” Kristy spoke up, with a grin.
I smiled. “Wednesday was also the day I called Don Newman and he invited me to the party. And on Thursday, Jessi found out that the museum is planning to cut down on security.” I took a deep breath. “Is that everything?”
Everyone nodded.
“I have to say,” said Mal, “that Mr. Snipes looks awfully suspicious. There have been robberies at other museums where he’s worked, he definitely qualifies as an insider, and he seems like a creepy guy.”
“I know,” I replied. “But what about the man with one blue eye and one green eye? Let’s not forget about him. He was at the museum the day of the robbery, and at the museum again when we went back the next day.”
“But does he work for the museum?” asked Jessi. “Would he have had a key to that case?”
“Who knows?” I said, shrugging.
“That Brownie troop you told us about was there, too,” said Mary Anne with a giggle. “Are they still suspects?”
We all cracked up. “I haven’t heard any reports of ancient coins being used to buy Gummi worms at the candy store,” said Stacey.
At that point, the phone began ringing with parents calling to arrange jobs. We were pretty busy for a while, and we were surprised when Kristy pointed to the clock. “Meeting’s over,” she said. It was six o’clock.
“Oh, my lord!” I said. “I’m supposed to be at that party in three hours. Forget about the mystery! This will be my first formal party, I’m going to meet a famous artist — and I have no idea what to wear!”
“You look nice in what you have on now,” said Kristy. “Why don’t you just wear that?”
I looked down at myself. I was wearing a pair of bright red leggings topped by a white man-tailored shirt and a vest that used t
o belong to my father. Only Kristy would think my outfit qualified as “formal.” I shook my head and smiled at her. “I don’t think so,” I said. I jumped up to look into my closet for the millionth time in two days. “You guys have to help me,” I said. “This is an emergency!”
Unfortunately, Kristy, Jessi, Mal, and Shannon had to leave, emergency or not. But Mary Anne and Stacey agreed to stay and help me.
“Have fun,” said Kristy as she left with the others. “Don’t be nervous. I know you’ll have a blast.”
So far, I hadn’t been too nervous. But suddenly, I began to feel flustered. What if I couldn’t find anything decent to wear? What if I made a fool of myself in front of Don Newman? How would I know how to act at such a fancy party? Mary Anne must have seen the look on my face.
“It’ll be fine,” she said soothingly. “We’ll get you all set.”
The three of us agreed that we should eat something first, so we trooped downstairs and raided the kitchen. (My parents were at a meeting, and Janine was working away on her computer.)
Stacey made herself a cheese sandwich. Mary Anne heated up a can of soup and found some crackers. But I didn’t feel hungry at all. “I wouldn’t even be tempted by a bag of Cheez Doodles,” I said. “Not that I would ever find a thing like that in this kitchen.”
Mary Anne made me eat a small bowl of chicken noodle soup and two crackers. “If you don’t eat, you might pass out from hunger in the middle of the party,” she said. That image was enough to make me drain my bowl to the last noodle.
After we ate, we headed back upstairs. “All right,” said Stacey. “Now, what kind of look were you thinking of?” She threw open my closet door and stood staring at my clothes. “Sophisticated? Arty? Trendy?”
“I don’t know,” I said miserably. “A combination of all those things would be good, I guess. I mean, I want to look like myself, only more dressed up, you know?”
Stacey pulled out a black velvet dress. “How about this?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Boring,” I said.