Finding the Forger (23 page)

No, it wasn’t that. It was something else that didn’t fit. What was it? What did she say? He said he’d wished he’d been an engineer.

An engineer. Someone who was good with electronic things. Someone who could fix a VCR/DVD so it wouldn’t blink. Someone who could tape shows in a flash. Not someone like Neville, who didn’t know all the functions on his cell phone!

“You look nice, Bianca,” said a smiling Mrs. Daniels. Kerrie
came into the room and frowned.

“Where’s Dad?” Kerrie said. “We have to get going. Sarah and Hector are already at the restaurant.”

“He’s on a business call. He’ll be right down.” Mrs. Daniels walked upstairs to get her husband. In a few minutes, he was downstairs snapping pictures, and we were all going through the “ooh aah” routine all over again.

On to the restaurant, and still I couldn’t shake it—something not fitting. Why should it matter if old Witherspoon had wanted to be an engineer? And there was something else now—Mr. Daniels on the phone, his business phone.

But I couldn’t think about those things because we were starting our festive dinner with a gift exchange. I was thrilled to get a book I’d been wanting from Kerrie, and a bunch of body sprays and nail polish from Sarah. They were both pretty pleased with my gifts of scarves and earrings. And Doug was genuinely happy with his riding gloves, which he tried on right away.

But man, oh man, did he take the cake! He gave me a little velvet-covered box, and in it was—a locket! An oval locket in shiny gold. And inside were two goofy pictures of us we’d had taken at one of those machines at the mall one Saturday.

“Doug!” I looked him in the eye and squeezed his arm. “This is beautiful!”

“Let me help you put it on.” He took it from me, stood behind me, and attached the clasp.

“Kerrie,” I said, suddenly teary-eyed. “You knew. You helped him pick it out.”

“Hey, at least he thought to ask for help!”

“Yeah, I do get some credit,” Doug laughed.

“We almost didn’t think he’d be able to get it,” Kerrie said. She
picked up her menu and looked at it again. “I’d seen it at that antique jewelry store, and they were getting ready to close . . .”

“So I called them,” Doug said. “And then I called Kerrie to make sure it was the right one.”

“Yeah, and then we had to convince the guy to hold it for him. I think he wanted to jack up the price!” Kerrie laughed.

So that was probably when my mother had seen Doug and Kerrie together—when they were shopping downtown for my gift. What a crazy couple of weeks this had been!

Sarah rubbed her head like she had a headache.

“I should have driven,” Hector said, looking at her with concerned eyes.

When we all looked at them with question marks on our faces, Sarah explained.

“My trunk is still broken,” she said. “Because of that, Hector thinks the exhaust leaks into the car and gives me a headache.”

“He could be right about that—get it fixed,” Doug said seriously.

“I’m taking it to a mechanic tomorrow.”

I remembered the night we’d opened up Sarah’s trunk and found the painting—a painting that had yet to turn up, by the way. Maybe that was what was bothering me—that incident. The painting there one minute, and gone the next. Someone who had known where she was had to have taken it. And the only one who’d known where she’d gone that night was Hector because he was the only one to call her at the Daniels’s house.

Wait a minute. Hector had called Sarah on the Daniels’ home phone. There was another phone in the house. The business phone.

“Kerrie,” I said with sudden urgency. “Do you remember the night Hector called looking for Sarah—the Sunday we went to the
museum opening? The Sunday when I spilled sushi all over you?

Kerrie looked at me like I had two heads. “Yeah.”

“Did anybody else call—on the business phone—that night?”

She pulled back as if I had crazy cooties she might catch if she got too close. “Yeah. I remember because my mother wanted Dad to watch a PBS show with her that night and he waved me into his office and told me to tell Mom he’d be right down, he was on the phone with Bertrand Witherspoon.”

My heart was thumping fast. Bertrand Witherspoon. He knew electronic gadgets. He knew how to switch the video tape on the security cameras. He had access to the museum. He knew art! And Connie was talking to him right now, finalizing her account with him.

“Call your dad!” I practically shouted at Kerrie.

“What?”

The waitress came over and set our appetizers before us.

“Call your dad and ask him. Did Mr. Witherspoon ask him about Sarah that night?”

At the mention of her name, Sarah peered at me suspiciously. “What are you thinking, Bianca?”

“There’s no time to lose. I’ll explain later.” I asked Doug for his cell and dialed Connie’s number while Kerrie dialed her dad. You know all those people who get really annoyed when they see folks talking on cell phones in restaurants? They would have had an out-rage-fest if they’d seen us.

“Connie?” I asked when she came on the line. “Don’t talk. Just listen.”

After she quietly gave me a fake cheery hello, I rushed in with my explanations. “Witherspoon’s the one. He’s the thief, not Neville. And my guess is he’s not going to London. He’s probably
going to vamoose to some country where he can’t be extradited.”

“Uh . . .” she mumbled.

“Look, I’m putting all the pieces together now—” At that moment, Kerrie looked at me with wide eyes and nodded her head, whispering that Bertrand had called her dad on the night in question and had asked about Sarah. “—but here’s what I need you to do. You have to stall him. Keep him from leaving while I call the police and—”

Just then Bertrand Witherspoon’s booming voice came over the phone. “That won’t be necessary, Miss Balducci. Calling the police, that is.”

Connie’s voice came next, dripping with disgust. “He was showing me how to hook up my cell phone to the speaker phone system when you called, you numbskull!” That’s what I love about Connie—the way she effortlessly lays on the guilt trip, even under duress. Now I’d placed her in jeopardy, a fact that was confirmed by Bertrand Witherspoon’s next icy words.

“You call the police and you’ll never see your sister again, Miss Balducci. You’ve now turned me into a desperate man willing to do desperate things.”

I gulped and could hardly speak. I must have looked like a ghost because Doug and Kerrie started asking me what was the matter. I shushed them with a waving hand, and pressed the phone hard into my ear as if that would bring me closer to a solution.

“Look, Mr. Witherspoon,” I said, loud enough so the others could hear me, “I didn’t mean to mess things up for you. I just wanted to solve the mystery, you know. Ask Connie—she and I have some competitive thing going on here. Right, Connie?”

“Uh-huh,” I heard her say. Her voice was a little high-pitched, which hit me in the gut because it meant she was a little afraid. For
all I knew, Bertrand Witherspoon had some kind of weapon trained on her.

“I don’t really care about any wacky new art at the museum,” I continued. “For all I care, they could burn all that stuff and no one would be the worse for it.”

Hector cringed when I said this, but I plowed forward anyway. While I talked, I blinked my eyes at Kerrie, which in Balducci-In-Jeopardy language meant “Call your father! Help!”

“It was all a game to me, sir. Just like it was to you. Just an innocent game.” While I talked, I saw Kerrie picking up her cell phone again and dialing. With Sarah and Hector behind her, she stepped away from the table to make the call in private.

“Get up!” Witherspoon said, and I knew he wasn’t talking to me.

“What are you doing?!” I practically shouted.

At that point, our waitress came over and asked if something was wrong with the food that none of us was touching.

“Who is that?” Witherspoon asked. “Where are you?”

“Home! I’m home.” That was . . . our maid. Lucinda!” Holding the phone away from me, I said, “Thanks, Lucinda. That will be all,” and I couldn’t help saying it in some phony baloney accent. What was the matter with me, anyway?

Witherspoon snorted. “I’m leaving,” he said into the phone. “This particular game is over.”

No, he couldn’t leave! He had Connie! Who knew what he’d do to her now that he knew the jig was up? My hands were slippery from sweat, my face was hot from blush, and my heart was pounding so fast and loud I was sure Bertrand Witherspoon’s high-tech gizmos were recording it
and
my blood pressure over the line.

“Don’t leave! Neville’s here!”

At first there was silence. “Neville’s—” he started to say, then stopped. I had him. “Neville left. I know. I took him to the airport.”

“He came back!” I said. “He’s here right now! He’s downstairs. Let me go get him for you.” Relieved to have the break, I put my hand over the mouthpiece in a death grip and looked at Doug. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

Immediately, Doug pulled out his wallet and threw some cash on the table. Sarah and crew followed suit. The waitress, meanwhile, rushed over.

“Is anything—”

“Family emergency,” Doug said, putting his arm around me.

Once outside in the brisk evening air, I ran to the car with Doug right beside me. “Get in and turn on the radio loud,” I said in a hush. A few seconds later, he was in the car with the music blaring. Then and only then did I take my hand off the mouthpiece.

“Neville! Neville! Someone’s on the phone for you. Your father.” I raised my eyebrows at Doug, who was behind the wheel, and I held the phone out near the door. And Doug—my Doug, my sweet, bright, funny Doug—knew exactly what I wanted and stepped up to the plate.

“Not on your life!” It was his best-ever Neville imitation, and the times he’d done it just to irritate me melted into the night. And then he threw in a curse, just as he’d heard Neville curse, and through the music and the distance, I knew he would sound just like Neville, even to Neville’s dad.

In fact, if there is an aural equivalent of a drained face, Mr. Witherspoon’s voice as it came over the phone next would have qualified for the blue ribbon.

“What?! Let me talk to him! How’d he— Put him on the phone right now!”

“He won’t talk to you, Mr. Witherspoon,” I said. At the same time, I gestured to Doug to start the engine. As it roared to life and we stepped into the car, slamming doors, I covered the mouthpiece again.

“What was that? Where’d you go? What are you trying to pull? Remember, I have your sister.” And then I heard him moving as if they were leaving the room together. Connie!

“Don’t you dare hurt her, Mr. Witherspoon.” Why was I calling this creep Mr. Witherspoon as if he deserved respect? He had my sister, for crying out loud. “I’ll . . . I’ll . . .”

Doug turned a corner sharply and the phone fell out of my hands onto the car’s floor. Since when did Doug drive over the speed of a snail’s pace? As I glanced at him, I saw a new look on his face, or maybe I just hadn’t noticed it before—determination and courage. He was heading toward the Witherspoon home. I hadn’t even had to tell him.

When I picked up the phone, I was heart sick. I’d lost the connection. Would he let Connie answer if I called again? What was I going to do? Tears pooled in my eyes. What could I do to stop Witherspoon? And stop him from doing what? Was he so desperate that, to get away, he’d actually harm Connie? Of course he was. He’d let his only son take the fall for his misdeeds. The man was capable of anything. My stomach turned. I thought I would be sick.

“Has somebody called the police?” I asked, miserably.

“My dad did,” Kerrie said. “What happened? Did Mr. Witherspoon hang up?”

“I don’t know . . . I don’t know what to do. I don’t know . . .” I mumbled, afraid of crying in front of my friends.

“Call him back!” Doug said forcefully. “C’mon. Don’t let him win. Call him back!”

“What will I say? I don’t know what’ll stop him.”

“He thinks you’re with Neville,” Sarah said quietly. “You could use that.”

“He doesn’t care about Neville!” I practically shouted. “He let him get pinned with the art theft. What kind of father would do that?”

“He didn’t exactly let him get pinned,” Sarah said again.

“That’s right,” Kerrie said. “Neville pinned himself. He probably figured it out and didn’t want his dad to go to prison, so he took the fall for him. Then his dad bailed him out by giving him the money to get out of the country.”

Hector snorted. “Right. Some family!”

“Tell him you’re going to turn Neville in. Tell him Neville came back because he’s in love with you,” Doug said.

“All right. I’m going to try again. I want you all to talk like there’s a party going on, okay?” They solemnly nodded their heads and I turned up the radio. Then I punched in Connie’s cell number.

They had to be the longest ten seconds of my life, waiting for her—or someone—to answer. While the phone rang, I imagined all sorts of awful scenarios, ranging from . . . well, I don’t even want to think about them. But finally, finally, just before it would have kicked over to voice mail, he answered the phone.

“What do you want?” This time he didn’t sound so self-assured. And his voice echoed. He’d moved to another spot.

“I dropped the phone, Bertrand. No need to worry.” I was in control. I could feel it. He was afraid, and I knew exactly what he was afraid of. Kerrie, Hector, and Sarah were doing the party routine in the back seat, chatting it up and laughing, while Doug had the radio turned up so high I could hardly hear. It didn’t matter. That’s exactly the effect I was after. “You’re going to have to speak
up, Bertie,” I yelled. “We’ve got a real party going here. Lots of ‘birds,’ as Neville would say.” Then I half-covered the mouthpiece, knowing Witherspoon would still be able to hear. “Hey, Nev, leave her alone—she’s my best friend!”

As if on cue, Doug piped up in his Neville voice. “Oh, bugger that,” he said. I could have kissed him.

“He came back because he’s in love with me, Bertie. And you know what? I’m not in love with him. So I was just about to call the cops . . .”

“What do you want?” Witherspoon’s voice sounded almost frantic now.