The others looked at Jessie, puzzled.
“I couldn’t figure out where I’d seen her before,” Jessie explained. “Margaret, I mean. Just now, when Benny mentioned the name Peg, it suddenly hit me. Margaret’s the woman with the blond ponytail! She was in that snapshot with Milly.”
“Mrs. Spencer did say her name was Peg,” Henry realized. “I guess it could be the same person.”
Benny looked doubtful. “Margaret said she’d never met Milly.”
“We only got a quick look at that snapshot,” said Violet, who was sitting right next to Jessie. “You can’t be sure it was Margaret.” Violet admired the young artist’s work and didn’t like to think she was dishonest.
“True,” admitted Jessie. “There’s no way of knowing for sure until we see the photograph again.”
Henry got up from his chair. “If it was Margaret in the photo,” he said in the middle of a yawn, “what do you think it means?”
“I don’t know,” replied Jessie, yawning, too. “I wish I did. Right now I’m too tired to think about it anymore.”
It had been a long day and the Aldens decided to get a good night’s sleep.
Just before climbing into bed, Violet took one more admiring glance at Margaret’s painting. But as she looked a little closer, she couldn’t help noticing that the background was a different color around the edges of the canvas — almost as though the landscape had been painted over a finished work. It seemed odd to Violet. If Margaret was from a wealthy family, wouldn’t she have enough money to buy new canvas? Why would she paint over another one of her paintings?
Violet was still wondering about it when she climbed into bed. But soon enough, she put it out of her mind as she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.
Leaving Watch with Mrs. McGregor, the Aldens rode their bikes over to Mrs. Spencer’s the next morning. It wasn’t long before their good friend was flipping through the pages of her photograph album.
“It’s ... it’s gone!” cried Benny, as they all stared down at the empty space where the snapshot used to be. “The photograph has disappeared.”
To their surprise, Mrs. Spencer did not seem at all shocked. “I’m sure it’s around the house somewhere,” she said matter-of-factly. “I must’ve taken it out for some reason.” Brushing back wisps of her snowy white hair, she frowned a little. “I do hope I didn’t misplace it. With everything that’s been happening, I haven’t been thinking clearly these days.”
When the Aldens walked outside again, Violet said, “Poor Mrs. Spencer! I hope she finds her photograph.”
“She won’t find it, because Rachel stole it.”
“Benny!” Jessie exclaimed. “You shouldn’t say things like that!”
“But it’s true,” insisted Benny “That day we met Rachel, I caught her looking through her mother’s album. And I could tell by the look on her face that she was up to no good.”
This made Henry smile a little. “Why would Rachel steal her mother’s photo, Benny?”
“I don’t know. But I’m pretty sure she did.”
“I know Rachel wasn’t very nice to us, Benny,” said Violet, “but that doesn’t make her a thief.”
After a moment’s thought, Jessie said, “It does seem odd, though, that the photograph suddenly disappeared.”
Henry grinned over at his sister. “Remember what you said, Jessie? One mystery at a time.”
At that, they voted to take another look around the gallery for clues. Hopping on their bikes, they headed for Town Square. When they arrived, they were surprised to find the gallery doing a brisk business even early in the day.
“Hi, kids!” Edmund called out as Henry, Jessie, Violet, and Benny came into the gallery. “What brings you here again today?”
“We were hoping to take another look at Margaret’s paintings,” Henry told the gallery owner. “If that’s okay.”
“Take all the time you want.” As Edmund hurried away to greet a customer, he called back, “Hope you find what you’re looking for.”
Jessie and Henry exchanged glances. Did Edmund know they were looking for clues? Or was it just a coincidence he’d said that?
The Aldens kept their eyes peeled for anything unusual as they walked around the gallery ... once ... twice ... three times. Sharp-eyed Benny was the first to notice something, and he was soon dashing from painting to painting.
Benny looked around to make sure no one would overhear him. Then he whispered to his brother and sisters what he’d discovered. “Margaret Longford put a snapdragon in all of her paintings, just like Milly!”
Henry looked puzzled. So did Jessie and Violet.
“What do you mean, Benny?” asked Henry.
It wasn’t long before they were staring wide-eyed as their little brother led them from painting to painting. Sure enough, there was a bright pink snapdragon in every one!
Benny swallowed a bite of his toasted tomato sandwich. “So Margaret knew Milly after all.”
The Aldens were sitting on cushions on the floor of the boxcar. They were talking about the mystery while they ate their lunch, with Watch curled up on his rug nearby.
“No doubt about it,” said Henry. He wiped some mayonnaise from the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “It’s not just a coincidence Margaret put snapdragons in her paintings.”
“That means she copied Milly,” Benny said indignantly.
Henry nodded. “That’s exactly what it means.”
But Jessie wasn’t so sure that’s what it meant. Her mind was racing. “Unless ...” A sudden thought came to her.
“Unless what, Jessie?” Violet questioned.
“Unless Milly’s paintings weren’t really destroyed in a fire.”
The others looked at Jessie in surprise. “What do you mean?” Benny asked.
Jessie answered, “What if Jem just wanted everyone to think they were destroyed?”
This got Henry thinking. “Now that you mention it, Milly never signed her paintings. Margaret could’ve added her own signature to them easily.”
“And then Milly’s paintings could be sold,” finished Jessie.
“Do you really think the paintings are Milly’s?” Violet’s eyes were huge.
Jessie nodded. “That would explain why Margaret lied about knowing her.”
“I suppose so,” Violet admitted reluctantly. She didn’t want to believe Margaret would take credit for someone else’s work.
But deep inside, she knew Jessie could be right.
Henry said, “It would also explain Jem’s sudden interest in art.” He crunched into an apple.
“And it proves someone stole the photograph,” Benny added. “I bet Rachel is working with Jem and Margaret. They’ll probably split the money they make from the paintings.”
Henry couldn’t argue. “You might be right, Benny. That photograph was the only evidence linking Margaret with Milly Manchester.” He paused for a moment. “And Mrs. Spencer did say things are slow for Rachel at work. Maybe she saw Milly’s paintings as a way to make some quick money.”
“Mrs. Spencer will be so upset if her daughter really is involved in this,” Jessie said, sighing.
“They would’ve gotten away with it, too, if it wasn’t for a tattletale.” Benny reached for one of Mrs. McGregor’s homemade potato chips. A tattletale by the name of Janice Allen, that is.”
Henry had to admit it ruled out any possibility that Mrs. Spencer had planted the clues. It still seemed likely that Janice was the Tattletale. But if she knew Margaret had done something underhanded to win the contest, why wouldn’t she just tell Edmund about it? After all, Janice had entered the contest, too, hadn’t she? Something didn’t add up.
“The problem is,” Jessie put in, “how can we prove Milly’s the real artist of the snapdragon paintings?”
Violet, who had been thinking quietly, spoke up. “I have an idea how we can prove it, but ... it will depend on Grandfather.”
The others stared at her, puzzled.
&n
bsp; “What’s your idea, Violet?” Benny asked, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice.
“I’d rather not say anything yet,” Violet answered. “Just in case I’m on the wrong track.”
The children quickly finished lunch, then raced into the house to find Grandfather. As James Alden listened to his grandchildren, he looked more and more shocked.
“Even this painting might be one of Milly’s,” Violet was saying. She held up the landscape her grandfather had given her and pointed to a bright pink flower in the corner. “A snapdragon was Milly’s only signature.”
Grandfather got up from his desk and began to pace all around the den. “I can’t believe this,” he said. “If it’s true, Margaret Longford has done a terrible thing.”
Henry agreed. “She put her name on someone else’s work.”
Benny had something to add. “What about Jem Manchester? He’s up to no good, too. His aunt didn’t want him to sell her paintings.”
Grandfather stopped pacing. “Are you sure you want to remove the top layer of paint, Violet?” He gave the landscape another admiring glance.
Violet nodded firmly. “I’m certain there’s another painting underneath, Grandfather.
See how the background’s a different color around the edges?” She ran her finger along the sides of the canvas. “If my hunch is right, there’s something underneath that’ll prove the paintings are Milly’s.”
Jessie added, “If we don’t get proof soon, Milly’s paintings will be gone.”
“I’ve learned that my grandchildren’s hunches are usually right. But it’ll take an expert to remove that top layer of paint without damaging whatever’s underneath.” Grandfather gave the matter some thought. “I think Edmund Rondale is the man for the job.”
Henry wasn’t too sure about this. “But he’s so busy with the art show this week. Do you think he’ll have time to work on it?”
“Unless I miss my guess, Edmund will make time for it. After all, his gallery sponsored the art contest. And Edmund’s an honest man. He’d want to put a stop to an artist passing off someone else’s work as her own.” With a sudden thought, Grandfather added, “I have an appointment downtown. Why don’t I drop the painting off at the gallery on my way.”
“What do you think is under that landscape, Violet?” Benny asked after Grandfather had hurried away the painting tucked under his arm.
“The real artist, Benny,” Violet said, smiling mysteriously. “The real artist of the snapdragon paintings.”
CHAPTER 9
Uncovering the Truth
It was almost dinnertime when Grandfather phoned, asking the children to meet him at the gallery right away. He sounded very mysterious.
The four Aldens got on their bicycles and pedaled as fast as they could to Town Square. When they arrived, they spotted Mrs. Spencer coming out of the bookstore.
Benny ran forward. “You’ll never guess what, Mrs. Spencer,” he cried, bursting with news. “We’re on our way to the Mona Lisa Gallery — to solve the mystery!”
Mrs. Spencer gasped. “Really?”
“We can’t be certain we’ll solve it,” Henry added honestly. “But we’re keeping our fingers crossed.”
“I can hardly believe this!” Mrs. Spencer’s face broke into a big smile.
Jessie had a thought. “Why don’t you come with us, Mrs. Spencer.”
“Oh, yes!” urged Violet. “It would be so nice if you were there. Just in case we really do solve the mystery, I mean.”
Mrs. Spencer was quick to agree. “I’m meeting Rachel for dinner. Just let me run and tell her what’s happening,” she said, pointing to the Greenfield Real Estate office. “Then I’ll be right there.” With a cheerful wave, she hurried off.
As soon as they were out of earshot, Violet said, “I hope Mrs. Spencer won’t be disappointed.”
Outside the gallery, Benny’s shoulders suddenly slumped. “Uh-oh,” he said. He took a step back and pointed to a sign in the window: CLOSED FOR DINNER. WILL OPEN AGAIN AT 7:00. “Looks like we’re too late.”
“Don’t worry, Benny,” Jessie assured him. “Grandfather said he’d be here.”
No sooner had Jessie spoken than the door of the gallery swung open. “Hi, kids!” Janice Allen greeted them with a smile. “Your grandfather asked me to keep an eye out for you. He’s in the back with Edmund,” she said, ushering them inside.
Sure enough, the children found their grandfather in the back room, having a cup of coffee with the gallery owner.
“I knew you wouldn’t waste any time,” Grandfather said, smiling as they came into the room. “We were hoping you’d get here before the others.” He looked relieved. So did Edmund.
“Others?” Henry looked surprised.
“Your grandfather suggested getting Margaret Longford and Jem Manchester over here on the double,” explained Edmund. He was sipping his coffee, his shirtsleeves rolled up above his elbows. “I don’t know what this is all about,” he added, “but if something dishonest is going on around here, I want to get to the bottom of it.”
The gallery owner gestured toward a large worktable covered with rags and bottles of solution. “I removed the top layer of paint from the landscape. Would you like to take a look at what I uncovered?”
When the Aldens nodded eagerly, Edmund went over to the worktable. He held up a portrait of an elderly woman with soft gray eyes and silver hair.
“Oh, wow!” Benny cried excitedly. “Milly Manchester!”
“Isn’t that the self-portrait Milly was painting in Mrs. Spencer’s snapshot?” Henry wondered, finding it hard to believe.
Jessie nodded. “I’m sure of it!” she said, astonished.
“That’s the real artist of the snapdragon paintings.” Violet didn’t seem a bit surprised by what Edmund had uncovered.
“Self-portrait?” Edmund looked puzzled. “Milly Manchester painted this?” When the children nodded, he added, “But ... why would Margaret paint over someone else’s work?”
Henry spoke up. “We don’t think it was Margaret who painted over it.”
“Mrs. Spencer told us that Milly sometimes painted over her own finished work,” explained Jessie. “If she was short of cash to buy new canvas, I mean.”
Edmund put the portrait down. As he turned around, he raised a hand. “Wait a minute,” he said. “Margaret Longford’s signature was on the landscape.” He looked at each of the Aldens in turn. “Surely you’re not hinting that ... that Margaret signed her name to someone else’s work.”
“We don’t want to believe it,” said Violet. “But it looks that way.”
“And not just the landscape,” put in Benny. “All the paintings in the gallery are Milly Manchester’s.”
“At least, that’s what we think,” added Jessie.
Edmund looked stunned. “I ... I can’t believe Margaret would do such a thing.” He shook his head. “You must be mistaken.”
“My grandchildren are seldom wrong when it comes to solving mysteries,” Grandfather said firmly.
As muffled sounds of conversation came from the gallery, Edmund rolled down his shirtsleeves. “I guess it’s time to ask a few questions,” he said, sighing deeply. Then, with a worried look on his face, he led the way out to the gallery, the portrait under his arm.
“What’s this all about, Edmund?” Jem Manchester, who was standing with Margaret and Janice, was quick to confront the gallery owner. “You expect me to drop everything and come running down here on a moment’s notice? I’ve got a business to run, too, you know!” He seemed a little rushed and out of breath.
“The next showing isn’t until seven o’clock.” Margaret sounded every bit as annoyed as Jem Manchester. “What’s going on, Edmund?”
Benny put his hands on his hips. “Those paintings aren’t supposed to be sold!” he blurted out.
Jem Manchester laughed, throwing back his head. “Now, that’s a good one!”
“It’s true,” Benny said stubbornly. “Those
are Milly Manchester’s paintings.”
A startled look crossed Margaret’s face. But only for an instant. With an angry toss of her head, she turned to Edmund. “I certainly hope you didn’t ask me down here to listen to this nonsense.”
Jessie said, “Those are Milly’s paintings. And we can prove it.”
“Did you say ... those are Milly’s paintings?”
A voice behind them made everyone turn in surprise. It was Mrs. Spencer. She had just come into the gallery with her daughter. Jessie noticed Jem’s eyes shift nervously when he caught sight of the elderly woman.
“It’s true,” said Henry, answering Mrs. Spencer’s question. “Milly’s the real artist.”
Jem smiled over at the Alden children. “It’s nice to see young people taking an interest in art,” he said, although he didn’t sound as if he meant it. “But you kids ought to get your facts straight before you go spouting off.”
Henry squared his shoulders. “The fact is, Grandfather bought a landscape last night,” he said, looking Jem straight in the eye. “Violet was sure there was another painting hidden under it, and —”
“There was!” finished Benny.
Nodding, Violet said in a quiet voice, “Edmund removed the top layer of paint, and he uncovered something that belongs to you, Mrs. Spencer.”
As the gallery owner held up the portrait, Mrs. Spencer cried out in surprise.
Stepping forward, Rachel said, “Milly Manchester left that self-portrait to my mother in her will.”
“If that’s true, why was a landscape painted over it, Margaret?” Edmund demanded. “A landscape with your signature on it.”
Margaret didn’t answer right away. She took a deep breath and tried to collect her thoughts. Finally she blurted out, “It’s not a self-portrait at all. I was the one who painted that picture of Milly. But I never did care much for it.” She shrugged a little. “That’s why I painted over it. What’s wrong with that?” she added rather sharply.
“Why would you paint a picture of somebody you didn’t know?” Benny asked, accusingly.
It was a good question. Margaret had made it clear she’d never met Milly Manchester. Why would she paint her portrait? Everyone waited expectantly for an answer.