Moxie and the Art of Rule Breaking (15 page)

I woke up with my face pressed against the cover of the album, the corner leaving a big dent in my cheek. Sunlight filled the room—how late was it? I propped myself up to get a better look at the clock, and winced. My hands and knees still stung, and it felt as though my whole body had been attacked in the night by an army of tiny men with very hard hammers. I ached from head to toe. Could my on-purpose fall have done this? Or was it just the intensity of our escapade? I’d heard stress could do crazy things to the human body. This might be proof.

It was nearly eleven. My mother never lets me sleep that late if she’s home. I climbed out of bed and limped downstairs, pausing to brush my teeth and pull my hair back in a ratty ponytail.

Mom had left a note on the table:
Had to go in to work.

Nini downstairs till Mass. Put new Band-Aids on. MANDATORY dinner with Richard, 6 p.m.

Ugh!
Why
wouldn’t this dinner thing go away? Along with trying to figure out next steps with the Gardner stuff, I needed to deal with Putrid Richard and the potentially life-altering news he’d spring on me tonight.

Nini typically went to eleven o’clock Mass at the nursing home with Grumps. She’d already left, but if I timed it right, I could look at the album and then maybe meet her there. I had nothing to lose by telling Grumps I’d found the sketches.

I scarfed some breakfast and booked it upstairs as fast as my injured body would allow. The achiness was fading. A hot shower would take care of the rest of it.

My new plan: Talk to Grumps first, go through album second. While I got dressed, I blared the Dropkick Murphys to lighten my mood. So what if I only had a week left to find the rest of the art? No sweat. Ollie and I had found
six pieces
already! Being a detective was a breeze!

I tossed some stuff in a backpack and banged down the stairs and out of the house. Standing on the porch, I propped the screen door open with my elbow and turned to lock the house door. The weight on my arm disappeared as the screen door opened wider. A chill ran up my back. I didn’t have to turn around to know who was there.

“Shouldn’t you be at church, little girl?” The Redhead purred…purred in a “lion about to eat a zebra” sort of way.

I purposely slowed down, taking time to lock the door, hitching my backpack on my shoulder, and then turning to face her.

“Shouldn’t you?” I retorted. “Or do you burst into flames when you get inside?”

She made a snarly face at me—a seriously snarly one—and then it was like she caught herself. A cold smile crept across her face.

“Heard that you blasted out of the state house last night,” she said. “Interesting place for you and your tubby friend to spend a summer evening. Find anything…valuable?”

“We’re into American history,” I responded. “Field trip.” The Redhead’s surprise visits were getting old. She was more annoying than scary.

She laughed. “Is that what you call it? Well, just so you know, we’ll have that place checked out by tomorrow. If Sully’s items are there, tell me now. It’ll save us some time. And then I’ll go away.” She said the last bit playfully, like she was teasing a kitten.

And with a cold, cold knowledge, I realized: No matter what happened with the art, no matter what I did or when I gave them over, The Redhead would never go away—not really. Not to sound straight out of a gangster movie, but I knew too much. Too much about what they’d done, where the art was, and who was involved.

And that was a bad, bad thing.

At least I understood the score. Enough of this. “You can go away
now,”
I retorted, and slipped around her to unlock my bike.

“If they’re not there, I’ll pay your mom or grandmother a visit.”

In my head I repeated,
Don’t let her get to you. Just don’t.

“Going to see your grandfather?” she asked. “Saying good-bye?”

My back stiffened, but I didn’t take her bait. Instead, without turning around to face her, I wheeled my bike off the porch and climbed on. She could stand there all day, for all I cared.

The whole way down our street, I could feel her eyes boring into me. But I never once glanced back.

By the time I got to Alton Rivers, I was angry and determined. Realizing that The Redhead would never leave me alone gave me a sense of clarity that I hadn’t had before. Part of me knew that all along, I guess, but it was the look in her eye while she was standing on my porch that drove it all home. So I had no choice but to win this game—even though I wasn’t sure how.

Angel waved at me as I entered the big common room. He was helping Mrs. Ricci adjust the blue blanket across her lap. Grumps and Nini typically eat brunch together on the porch after church, and that’s the direction that Angel tilted his head.

“Thanks!” I called out.

When I stepped outside, Nini and Grumps were sitting at a little table, backs to me. They held hands over the breakfast dishes; she rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb. Together, they looked like any other old couple: cute and cozy, with years of shared history between them. But now I knew better: Grumps had secrets. Lots of them. How could Nini trust him? How much did she know about him, really? The questions made my heart ache.

The door closed behind me with a heavy clump, breaking
their moment and my train of thought, and causing them to look in my direction.

“Moxie!” called Nini. “What a lovely surprise.”

A glance at Grumps’s face told me everything Nini didn’t have to: It was a bad day. His red cheeks drooped a little, and his normally sparkly blue eyes were dull and unfocused. He furrowed his brow.

I crossed the deck and kissed Nini on the top of her head, then squeezed her free hand. Bending my knees, I crouched next to Grumps’s wheelchair.

“Hey, Grumps,” I said softly. He turned to Nini, confused.

“Why she callin’ me that?” he asked.

He probably thought I was my mom. “Sorry, Dad,” I said, pushing the words past the bowling ball in my chest. These days sucked.

“I’m going to clear the table, Joe,” Nini said. When he was like this, it was better to tell him what you were going to do before you did it, so he wouldn’t get nervous or more confused. He nodded. Nini stood and stacked their plates. Grumps hadn’t finished his eggs—another sign it was a bad day. He loved eggs. I passed her the silverware and crumpled napkins, then held the door open so she could bring their stuff to the kitchen. Even though the staff would totally swoop in and clean, Nini liked to keep busy. Especially on bad days.

This was my chance. Nini would talk to the staff and say hello to other residents on her way back. Although I didn’t want to upset him, each minute that passed was like a weight on my back. And Sully and The Redhead probably had worse
in mind for him than just a few questions. Not that forcing him to talk would get them answers, I thought. Grumps’s body was a shell for whatever his mind believed was real.

I kneeled next to his wheelchair. “I found the Gardner Museum sketches in the state house.” Saying it out loud—hearing myself say it—gave me goose bumps. I mean, seriously,
I found millions in stolen art!
How crazy was that?!

Grumps’s eyes, which had been in drift mode, sharpened with anger. “You found what—you little…” And he rattled off a string of words that white-haired, twinkly-eyed grandfathers are not supposed to know, let alone use on grandchildren.

It’s the disease
, I told myself.
Just the disease.
Normally, I’d try to calm him down, but I had to get more information. I took a deep breath.

“Are the paintings up there, or did you put them somewhere else?”

Grumps gripped the arm of his chair. His fingers turned white. He raised a shaky hand and pointed it right in my face, leaning so far forward, I thought he was going to topple out of the wheelchair.

“Stay outta there,” he growled. “It’s not your business. You leave ’em be. Once the limitations run out, we’ll talk.”

Limitations? That was a word I hadn’t heard before. I snuck a glance at the door, hoping Nini would continue chatting and give me some more time.

“Are the paintings in another place where you worked?” I tried. Maybe he’d answer a direct question. “Where’d you work in 1990?” Normally, two questions in a row are too
much for him—he short-circuits and doesn’t know which to answer. I ignored my building guilt.

“Church,” he responded.

A church? Was this where the rest of the work was hidden?

“Which one?” There are only, like, seven hundred fifty old churches in Boston.

“You know.” He waved his hand and looked away. “The one in Copley.”

There were at least two churches in Copley Square. A big one, at one end of the park, and a smaller one on the corner of Dartmouth? Clarendon? Whatever. There were churches there. A prickly thrill skittered up my spine. Now, to find out where they were in the church.

The porch door opened. Nini smiled at me. My knees popped as I stood.

“They’re having a barbershop quartet in the common room, Joe. Let’s go check out the music.”

Grumps mumbled something about going to church. My hands got cold. Would he give me away?

“We’ve already been to church, love,” Nini said, releasing the brake on his wheelchair. I relaxed. “Coming, Moxie?”

I quickly evaluated: If I went with them, maybe I could get more info from Grumps, but there’d be no chance of me getting into town until tomorrow.

“I’m gonna pass, thanks.” I kissed Nini on the cheek, then leaned over and pecked Grumps too.

The Redhead’s right, I thought: I have to go to church after all.

I texted Ollie on my way out of Alton Rivers, hoping he’d meet me downtown, but his family was doing some “family fun time” activity on the Boston Harbor Islands. I was on my own…which technically meant I wasn’t supposed to take the T into Boston. But
tick…tick…tick
, with Mom at work and Nini busy (not that I would have asked either of them to come with me), I had no other options. It’s not as though there was anyone else from school I could ask either—“Hey, let’s go hang out in this really dark historical church this afternoon so I can look for stolen art!” Yeah, right. No way.

Taking the risk, I hopped on the Orange Line into Back Bay and walked the two blocks to Copley. The sun beat down, making me glad I hadn’t taken my bike. Dehydration on top of rule breaking and yesterday’s skinned hands and knees? No, thank you.

Copley Square swarmed with people hanging out, shopping, and sightseeing. Kids splashed in the fountain next to the Tortoise and the Hare statues. The big church sits at the far side of the square, past the statues.

I crossed the park, stopping to buy a lemonade from a cart,
and stood in front of the church.
TRINITY
CHURCH
PARISH
FOUNDED
1733,
THIS
BUILDING
CONSTRUCTED
1877 was printed in neat letters on the blue sign. Made from stone and red tile, the church’s large arched entrance and big columns don’t look like any other church that I’ve seen—more like a fairy-tale castle. It’s also one of the few historic buildings in town I’d never been in. I had no idea that Grumps worked on this.

I chugged the rest of the lemonade, wincing at the brain freeze it left behind, and stepped under an arch into cool shade. I heaved one of the big wooden doors open—

And was staring at a building filled with people, many of whom were turned in my direction, and a couple getting married on the altar.

“Crap!” I whispered, and tried to close the door quietly. But it was on one of those “safety is silence” arms that don’t allow slamming. Face burning, I stepped out of people’s line of sight and watched the door slowly inch closed. I sat on the steps. Of
course
the church would be in use on Sunday! The other one, across from the square, would probably also be holding some sort of service.

Epic Moxie fail
, I chided myself. I came in alone, without researching the churches or even double-checking the photo album. This was the complete…antithesis of the logical way I’d figured out where the sketches were. It wasn’t even worth pulling out the proof. I was wasting valuable time that The Redhead was probably using to her advantage.