London Art Chase (8 page)

“Well, no,” the cellist admitted, placing her cello back in its case. “But I won't know if my instrument is ruined until I truly play it. Anything could have happened to the balance, tiny things, things the naked eye could never see.”

“Well, then, you can exchange information. Come with me, and we'll get this handled,” the security guard said.

The thief! Maddie suddenly remembered why they'd been running in the first place. “But we can't leave. We have to find the thief!”

“The what?” the security guard asked, reaching for her radio again.

“A man took a painting off a wall upstairs. We were running to catch up with him. What if we made it easier for him to get away because we made this giant mess?”

“If there had been a robbery, I'm sure I'd know about it,” the security guard said, checking her radio's knobs and dials.

“But—” Maddie said.

“Girls, let's go.” Miss Julia looked more serious than Maddie had ever seen her look.

They followed the guard through another employees-only door, and up a cement staircase to the second floor. Behind them, the cellist followed, carrying her cello even though the case was huge and looked nearly impossible to lug up the stairs. A security door opened into a reception area. Behind the wide desk, a number of offices lined a long hallway.

“Wait here,” the guard said, indicating a couch and chairs.

“Would you like something to drink?” the woman behind the desk asked. “Tea or water?”

“Oh, no . . .” Miss Julia said, looking embarrassed as the guard shot them a withering glance. “But thank you.”

“I'll take tea,” the cellist piped up.

The receptionist looked from the girls to the musician and back again, but didn't comment as she rose to pour tea into a mug. “Milk or sugar?”

The cellist sniffed. “Both.”

The receptionist gave the girls an apologetic look as she handed off the tea. Lulu begged to take a picture for the travelogue, while Miss Julia tried to explain the seriousness of the situation. Mia tossed in a comment now and again, but Maddie couldn't focus on the conversation. If she were a painting now, she'd be a messy black storm. A woman came out of one of the offices talking on her phone.

“It should be ready in a day or two,” the woman said, and then nodded to the receptionist.

Maddie noticed that the woman had paint under her fingernails, the way her art teacher always did. It made sense that artists would work at museums, but she thought it might be difficult too. Wouldn't it be hard to be around art all the time and not be able to paint yourself?

“Yes, the Renoir,” the woman said as she passed through the door.

Maddie frowned. The stolen painting had been a Renoir, and now this woman had mentioned one. Did that mean the museum had discovered the robbery? She stood up, meaning to stop the woman and tell her they'd seen the thief, but just then the security guard showed up.

“The director can see you now.” She motioned them toward one of the offices.

Maddie didn't think she should argue, not with the cellist, Miss Julia, Mia, and the security guard all giving her their most serious you're-in-trouble-now faces. She'd have to wait and tell the director about the thief. If one of the staff knew about the robbery, surely the director did too.

THIRTEEN

T
he director's office was very much like a principal's office, with floor to ceiling bookshelves, and a no-nonsense desk behind which the director sat. He motioned to the seats across from him, and steepled his fingers on his desk as he eyed the girls one by one. Maddie had never been to the principal's office because she was in trouble, but she had been there once with Mia and Mom to talk about class placement—whether the twins should be in the same classroom or each in their own. Even though that conversation had been important, she hadn't felt scared or guilty, the way she felt now. In fact, she couldn't remember ever having felt this badly before. She'd never, ever want to knock over an instrument on purpose. Even more importantly, she'd failed at stopping the thief, and all the commotion they'd made may have even made it easier for him to escape. Instead of helping, she'd made a giant mess.

“Now what's this I hear about running in the museum?” the director asked, after they'd all taken a seat.

“We saw a man steal a painting and . . .” Maddie started, thinking the director would be grateful for more information on the robbery.

“We don't know if he was stealing,” Mia corrected.

The director smiled the smile that adults wore when they were trying to be patient, but weren't feeling very patient at all. “Girls, I don't have time for stories. The point is that you were running—”

“And you knocked over my cello!” the cellist roared. “That's what this is all about.”

“Now, I'm sure the girls are sorry they knocked over your cello,” the director jumped in, looking slightly alarmed at the volume of the woman's outburst. “And I'm sure they've learned their lesson, haven't you, girls?”

Maddie couldn't quite catch up with the conversation. Didn't the director know about the robbery? Had she totally misunderstood the conversation the woman was having on her phone?

“But we—” Maddie started.

“Maddie,” Mia said, giving her a
stop-talking-now
look.

“Girls, don't you think you owe everyone an apology?” Miss Julia said.

“We're sorry,” Lulu said. “But we were—”

“No buts,” Miss Julia said.

“What will you do about my cello?” the cellist demanded.

“I understand you're upset,” the director said. “But if your instrument is unharmed—”

“As I've been trying to tell you, we won't know whether it is harmed until the instrument is played, and
not just a note or two, but when the instrument is truly warmed up and being used as it's meant to be used. Then I'll know if there are any damages.”

“Someone stole a Renoir!” Maddie blurted. “We saw him take it right off the wall.”

Everyone stopped and stared. Even Miss Julia looked a little shocked.

“You may have thought you saw . . .” the director began.

“I don't have time to sit here while these children make excuses for themselves,” the cellist said. “My concert is in five minutes and I need to warm up my cello.”

“Perhaps I can take your contact information?” the director asked Miss Julia. “Just in case?”

“Of course,” Miss Julia said. She jotted a few lines on the director's notepad and passed it back to him.

“Thank you.” The director stood and ushered the cellist toward the door. “Feel free to reach out if you need anything, and I'll be happy to connect you with Miss Julia and the girls. And now, I believe it's almost time for that concert of yours. I think I'll come down to hear you play.”

“But what about the robbery?” Maddie asked.

The director waited until the cellist was out of the office and then gave Maddie his not-so-patient smile. “If there was a robbery in this museum, you can rest assured I'd be the first to hear about it.”

“But—”

The director talked right over Maddie. “And if you think you see a crime, the best thing to do is to tell a security guard or a bobby about it. What if he'd been a real thief? What would you have done if you'd caught him?” the director asked.

“Pinned him to the ground and called for help!” Lulu announced.

Miss Julia shot her a warning look. “We'll be more careful in the future, won't we, girls?”

“Yes,” they each said in turn.

The word felt bitter in Maddie's mouth. It wasn't fair that no one was listening to her when she'd only been trying to help. She shouldn't have been running—she knew that—but if she'd caught the thief, no one would be worried about the running, would they? They'd just be grateful she'd stopped the robbery. And of all the paintings, it had to be “Sun-Splattered Afternoon.” It was such a beautiful painting, one that stood out from all the rest. Now it might be lost forever. The thought made her stomach twist up in knots all over again.

“It's time to go, girls. We should let the director get to the concert,” Miss Julia said. “Thank you again for your help, sir.”

“Anytime,” he said. “It looks to me like the girls have learned their lesson.”

“We have,” Mia said, and elbowed Maddie.

Maddie nodded but didn't say anything. She knew the moment she opened her mouth, she'd start
explaining herself all over again. No matter how much she said, it was clear no one would listen to her about the thief. If she wanted to stop him, it appeared she was on her own.

FOURTEEN

J
ust as they reentered the main hall, the conductor clicked his baton against the music stand, and the musicians all played a few notes to ensure they were in tune. Maddie listened for the cello—would it be off-key?

“Cello sounds fine to me,” Mia said.

“I hope it is,” Maddie said. “I feel awful about knocking it over. I never would have done that on purpose.”

“In my opinion, she kind of overreacted,” Mia said. “She could have been a little more understanding.”

“I don't understand why no one knows about the painting yet. I mean, there's a gap on the wall where it used to hang. Anyone walking by would see that it's missing, wouldn't they?” Maddie asked.

Miss Julia guided them through the crowd and toward the front doors, away from the concert.

Mia's face lit up. “I know! We should go look for ourselves. Maybe the man wasn't a thief at all. If the painting is back on the wall, we wouldn't have to worry.”

“Do you think we could?” Maddie asked.

“Miss Julia, can we go upstairs and look at Maddie's painting before we go?”

Miss Julia checked her watch. “With all of this running around, it's already six o'clock. Your mom's concert is in an hour. We need to get you back to the hotel and
change clothes. And we need to eat dinner. I'm sure we'll be late as it is.”

“Please, can't we just go look? Quickly?” Mia asked. “Maddie is really worried.”

Miss Julia looked as though she was considering allowing them, but then she shook her head. “Girls, like the director said, this isn't your problem to solve. If a painting is truly missing, we need to let the museum deal with the situation. Anyway, I'm pretty sure there are alarms and other ways for the staff to know if a painting goes missing. You must have misunderstood what you saw.”

Mia put an arm around Maddie and gave her a quick squeeze. “I'm sorry, Maddie. I tried.”

“Can I have a bologna sandwich for dinner?” Lulu asked, bouncing up and down on her toes.

“We'll see what's on the room service menu,” Miss Julia said.

Maddie dragged her feet the whole way out of the museum. Down the steps they went, and out into the wind-blown square. Flags snapped overhead.

A swift blast of wind caught Miss Julia's hat and blew it halfway into the square. They chased after it as it skittered along just out of reach.

“Wow, this wind!” Miss Julia said, after she'd jammed the hat back onto her head.

“Come on, Maddie, don't be upset.” Mia gave Maddie another concerned look. “The cello will be fine.”

Maddie opened her mouth to argue that the cello wasn't the point, the painting was, when something caught her eye. Rather, someone.

She squinted, her heartbeat speeding up. “I think . . .”

“What?” Mia asked.

“The thief! He was wearing a brown jacket with elbow patches, and he had gray streaks in his hair near his ears. And he wore glasses, the kind with the thin rims, right?”

“Yes . . .” Mia said.

“Well, I think that's him!” Maddie said, pointing. “And he has a package under his arm. A package the size of a painting. Look, Mia!”