Finding the Forger
Read Finding the Forger Online
Authors: Libby Sternberg
THE
Forger
A BIANCA BALDUCCI MYSTERY
An Edgar Finalist for Best YA Mystery 2004
Baltimore, MD
Copyright 2004 by Libby Sternberg
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by electronic means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote passages in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, people, or institutions is purely coincidental.
Published by 978-1-61088-015-2 (“Books that enlighten”)
P.O. Box 65360, Baltimore, MD 21209
800-637-7377
410-764-1967 (fax)
ISBN 1-890862-32-0 cloth
LCCN
ISBN 1-890862-37-1 paper
LCCN 2002109266
Cover and interior design by Tammy Sneath Grimes,
www.tsgcrescent.com
, 814.941.7447
Author photo by Beltrami Studio, Rutland, VT
T
o Mary Ann...down by the seashore, sifting sand
Chapter One
D
ID YOU KNOW you can sing the words of “Amazing Grace” to the tune of the “Gilligan’s Island” theme song? Try it. I’ll wait.
The “Amazing Grace” trick is one of the things I learned recently in Mr. Baker’s music class at St. John’s High School, where I, Bianca Balducci, am a sophomore.
Mr. Baker is small and balding. Because of that, and his quick, darting movements, he reminds me of a bird. A bird with a bow tie. He has about a kajillion bow ties—in red, plaid, green (for St. Patrick’s Day), polka-dot, blue, and even one that lights up and plays “Silent Night” for Christmas. I bet he wears a bow tie to bed.
Anyway, Baker had to take over from Mrs. Williston in early November, right after we did “The Mikado,” because Williston, without her glasses on, took an on-stage bow, and tumbled into the orchestra pit, breaking her leg. Hey—don’t look at me. I was nowhere near her!
Baker usually comes in part-time only to accompany rehearsals, but with Williston out, he was brought on full-time. He taught us the “Amazing Grace” trick to illustrate what hymn “meter” is and how in the back of hymnals, the tunes are usually arranged by meter as well as by title, so you can switch words with
different tunes.
When he finished his explanation and we all giggled our way through “Amazing Grace” sung to the Gilligan theme, he pursed his lips together and said, “Now, I know that in your
Roman
tradition, you don’t sing many metered
hymns
, but it’s an important part of an understanding of
music
, particularly religious music outside of the
Latin
milieu.”
That’s when it dawned on me. Since Baker is an organist at one of Baltimore’s Episcopalian churches, he probably figured all of us St. John’s students were Catholics (
Roman
Catholics) and that we chanted away the hours in Latin at the crack of a nun’s ruler on our knuckles.
Talk about false assumptions. In reality, only about three nuns work at St. John’s, and one’s the principal. And about half (or more) of the student body probably checked “other” on the part of the entrance app that asks whether you’re a Catholic. Poor old Mr. Baker was working with outdated stereotypes of parochial schools and the “Roman” faith in general. But we don’t disabuse him of his myths. We think it’s kind of cute the way he calls all the women teachers “Sister.”
And that brings me to this story, which is really about false assumptions and how my friend Sarah’s crush almost landed in jail, how my other best friend, Kerrie, almost ended up hating me, and how I almost ended up without a boyfriend just after I’d landed one.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
It was the Monday right after Thanksgiving and I was sitting on a hard, cold bench outside the City Art Museum waiting with my friend Sarah. Sarah, a senior, who first came to our school calling herself Sadie, was doing an after-school internship at the
Museum, and she’d asked me to go with her that day so we could plan a surprise birthday party for our mutual friend Kerrie. Since we arrived fifteen minutes before her internship began and she had to go in, we were snarfing a quick snack and “planning.”
I was in a glum mood after a crappy day. In fact, my mood matched the weather—gray, overcast, and ready to spit something. Not only had Mr. Baker singled me out for ridicule during chorus (“Miss Balducci, is that the alto line you’re singing or a frog croaking?”), but Kerrie and Sarah had squabbled at lunch like parents in a bad custody case. And I had been in the middle. Oh, it hadn’t been an out-and-out fight. That’s boy stuff. It was one of those subtle girl spats where you need a United Nations translator murmuring in the background to tell you what’s really being said. Example:
Me (
as Kerrie plops her books on cafeteria table at lunch
): What’s the matter?
Kerrie (
shrugging
): Nothing. (
Translation: everything
)
Sarah: Are we getting together this afternoon, Bianca? (
Translation: you’re not doing anything with Kerrie, are you?
)
Kerrie: Hey, Bianca, I thought you and I were getting together so I could show you what to do with your hair for the dance. (
Translation: so you’ve betrayed me again, have you?
)
Sarah: She has to go over some math with me (
Translation: tongue sticking out
)
Kerrie: That’s crazy—Bianca doesn’t need help in math. Right, Bianc? (
Translation: choose wisely, girl
)
So you can see why I was in a crappy mood. Oh, and did I forget to mention that my boyfriend Doug had walked by after lunch to ask if I wanted to get together after school? And I had to say I couldn’t because I was being pulled in two directions by two girl-
friends, and getting together with them was going to be so much more fun than spending time with him?
Speaking of fun, do you see the irony here? Sarah was bickering with Kerrie about spending time with me so she could plan a surprise birthday party for the aforementioned Kerrie. No wonder guys have such a hard time understanding girls. I’m a girl and I don’t understand them!
The museum was closed to visitors on Mondays, so the place was shut up tight and quiet as a tomb.
“The problem is going to be getting Kerrie out of the house while we get ready,” Sarah said, grabbing another cookie from the cellophane wrapper. She hugged her navy blue blazer closer. Even though Baltimore usually doesn’t get super cold in December, the air was damp and chilly, and clouds kept the sun from warming our shoulders. Everything was as colorless as the museum’s stone walls.
I chewed on a Fig Newton and said nothing.
Sarah lives with Kerrie’s family. She’d been living with them for about a month, in fact, ever since Kerrie’s dad, a lawyer, helped Sarah out of a big mess. While Kerrie had thought it a grand idea at the time, she soon discovered that having a live-in sibling wasn’t just an eternal sleepover, with hours of gossip and sharing and giggling fun. It was more like a purgatory of minor annoyances. I know. I have two siblings—my sister Connie (who’s a private investigator) and my brother Tony (who’s a college student).
One of the points of tension between Kerrie and Sarah was the fact that Kerrie was no longer the center of attention in her household. In fact, Sarah was pretty high-maintenance right now. She had been spending virtually every weekend looking at colleges with Mr. and Mrs. Daniels. And because Sarah was smack up
against deadlines, they were helping her with her college apps, too, which didn’t leave a lot of time left over for Kerrie.
