Claudia and the Mystery at the Museum

by Ann M. Martin

  Kristy told me later that it was as if a light bulb went on over her head as soon as Claire reached for the VCR. “I should have known,” Kristy said. “The entire afternoon was just an excuse for Claire to show off her video.”

  Luckily, the audience didn’t seem to feel tricked. After all, they hadn’t paid anything. And Claire’s video wasn’t bad. In fact, it was fun to watch, said Kristy. But after the audience left, Kristy felt that she should give Claire a little Talk.

  “Claire,” she said, “if you want to show people your video, that’s fine. But let them know what they’re in for, next time.”

  Claire hung her head. “I will,” she said. “It’s just that I want lots of people to see it. That way I might get discovered.”

  Kristy wondered who Claire had thought she would get discovered by. Carolyn Arnold? She shook her head and gave Claire a hug. “I think you’re a star,” she said. Then she stood up. “Come on. Let’s fix a snack for all the performers.”

  “Somewhere, over the rainbow,” I hummed to myself as I walked up to the Pikes’ front door. The song was on my mind because I was on my way to a baby-sitting job, and one of the kids I would be sitting for was Claire. It was Wednesday afternoon, and Mal and I were going to sit for her brothers and sisters. I was looking forward to the job; I had been spending so much time thinking about the museum mystery that I was ready to take a break and just baby-sit.

  Kristy had called me the night before to tell me about the “show” the kids had put on. “Watch out,” she warned me. “Claire has a one-track mind these days. I don’t think she’ll be happy until she wins an Oscar for that video.” Kristy laughed. “Actually, it’s kind of cute,” she said. “And who knows? Maybe we will see her on the Academy Awards someday.”

  “That’ll be the day,” I said, giggling. I was picturing five-year-old Claire in a formal gown. She was trailing across the stage, accepting the Oscar statue graciously (it would be nearly as big as she was!), then standing and acknowledging the applause of the audience. I told Kristy about the image, and she laughed, too.

  “I guess it’s just a phase,” said Kristy. “But Claire is taking herself pretty seriously, so don’t let her catch you giggling at her.”

  “No way,” I said. “I’ve had dreams of fame myself, so I know how it is.” I remembered my fantasy about being asked to show my art at the Stoneybrook Museum.

  Anyway, as I was saying, I was humming to myself as I approached the Pikes’ front porch. And when I knocked on the door, guess who answered it? Right. Claire did. And what do you think she said. Hello? No.

  “Come see my video!” Claire pulled me inside and led me toward the rec room.

  “Video?” I asked, pretending I didn’t know anything about it. I wanted to give Claire the fun of telling me. “What video?”

  “My superstar video,” said Claire, jumping up and down with excitement. “Wait till you see it!” She had hit the rewind button on the VCR and she was jumping around some more while she waited. “I’m going to be famous soon,” she said. “As famous as Michael Jackson! As famous as Roseanne! As famous as Ms. Stotler!”

  “Who’s Ms. Stotler?” I asked. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

  “She’s the principal,” said Nicky disgustedly. He had come into the room and flopped down on the couch. “Claire thinks she’s famous just because she’s the principal of our school.”

  “She is famous,” said Claire. “Right, Claudia?”

  “Sure,” I said. “In a way. Not in the same way as Michael Jackson, though.”

  “I know that,” said Claire, pouting a little. We heard a click from the VCR. “It’s ready!” Claire cried. She ran to the door of the rec room. “Everybody! Come and see the show! Claudia’s here, and she asked me to play it for her.”

  I raised my eyebrows. I didn’t remember asking her, but that didn’t really matter. I watched as, one by one, Claire’s brothers and sisters straggled into the room.

  Vanessa sat on the couch, next to Nicky. She had brought a book along, and she immediately opened it and began to read. Adam, Jordan, and Byron plopped down on the floor. Margo and Mal came in last. Mal sat down next to me. “Are you ready for this?” she whispered.

  “Sure,” I said. “But why are you all watching it again? You must have seen it a million times.”

  “We have,” she replied with a sigh. “And we’re sick of it. But Claire throws a huge tantrum if we refuse to watch, so it’s easier just to sit through it again.”

  I nodded. “Well, Claire,” I said, “it looks like everybody’s here. Why don’t you play it?”

  “First I have to give a little speech about it,” said Claire. Her brothers and sisters groaned, but Claire ignored them. She stood up straighter and smiled professionally. “This tape that you’re about to see showcases a new and wonderful talent,” she said. “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Miss Claire Pike!” She waited for us to applaud.

  “Vanessa wrote the speech for her,” Mal whispered to me. “She says it every time now, before she plays the tape.”

  Claire bent over and pressed the play button, and the tape came on. I glanced around the room and noticed that nobody was paying much attention. Vanessa was reading her book. The triplets were wrestling quietly on the floor. Nicky was picking at a scab on his knee. Margo was trying to braid one of her pigtails. And Mal had closed her eyes and seemed to be taking a nap. But Claire didn’t notice. She was focused on the TV screen, watching closely. I watched, too.

  Claire didn’t look exactly like Dorothy, but she looked close enough. And she didn’t sing quite as well as Judy Garland (who plays Dorothy in the movie), but I have to say that her voice was better than I had expected. And she did a really good job acting out the song, looking particularly wistful when she sang the part about bluebirds flying over the rainbow.

  When the tape ended, I clapped as hard as I could. The kids clapped, too, but only once or twice each. They weren’t exactly enthusiastic, and I couldn’t blame them.

  But Claire didn’t notice. “Thank you, thank you,” she said, curtsying graciously.

  “Can we go now?” asked Jordan. He and the triplets stood up and left, and Nicky followed them.

  “So did you like it?” Claire asked me. “Did you notice the part where I looked up, like I was looking at a rainbow?”

  “I liked it very much,” I said.

  “Can you discover me?” Claire asked hopefully.

  “You mean, can I help you get famous?” I asked. “I don’t think so. I don’t know any important people or anything.”

  “How am I ever going to be discovered?” asked Claire. “Nobody important is ever going to come to my rec room.”

  She was right. I didn’t know what to say. “I guess you can’t become famous unless you have an agent,” I said, thinking of articles I had read about stars.

  “An agent?” asked Claire. “What’s that?”

  “Somebody who helps you get acting jobs,” explained Mal. “I don’t know how you find one, though.”

  I was thinking fast. “I do!” I said. “I mean, I know somebody who would know, anyway. She has an agent, herself.”

  “Who?” asked Claire. “Can I meet her?”

  “Her name is Rosie Wilder,” I said. “I used to baby-sit for her a lot. She was always trying out for acting jobs, and I know that her agent found her some jobs in TV commercials.”

  “Rosie Wilder,” said Mal thoughtfully. “Wasn’t she always taking a million lessons?”

  “Yup,” I replied, “but I think she eased up a little. It was kind of overwhelming.” Stardom can be hard on kids. We actually know one other kid who is on TV, and it hasn’t always been easy for him, either. His name is Derek Masters, and he’s a really nice boy. I would have asked him to help with Claire’s career, but he was out in California making a TV show called P.S. 162. He’s practically the star of that show, which is about an inner-city school. “Why don’t I call Rosie,” I said, “
and see if she can help us?”

  “Yeah!” cried Claire. “Do it right now! Please!”

  I dialed Rosie’s number. I didn’t think she would answer the phone herself, since she is usually so busy with her lessons, but she picked up the phone on the second ring. Then I told her about Claire, and asked if she could help.

  “I’d be glad to,” Rosie answered, sounding more mature than her seven years. “I have tap class in an hour, but I’ll be home until then. Come on over, and tell Claire to bring her video.”

  Margo and Vanessa decided that they wanted to come along and meet Rosie the star, so Mal said she would stay home with the boys while I took the girls to Rosie’s. Claire removed her video from the VCR and put it carefully into its case. She clutched it to her chest all the way to Rosie’s.

  Rosie answered the door, and I introduced the kids to each other. “I know your brother Nicky,” Rosie said to the girls. “He’s in my class at school.” (Rosie skipped a grade.) She led us upstairs to her bedroom. “My mom said we could watch the video in here,” she explained. “She’s doing some work downstairs.”

  “You have your own TV in your room?” asked Margo, awed.

  “Sure,” said Rosie. “My own VCR, too.”

  “Lucky duck,” said Margo enviously.

  Claire was looking around the room, wide-eyed. “Are these pictures all of you?” she asked. Framed photographs lined the walls. There was Rosie on the set of a carpet-cleaner commercial, and Rosie playing violin in an orchestra. Claire pointed to one of Rosie singing in a recital. “Weren’t you nervous?” she asked.

  Rosie shrugged. “Not really,” she said. “I’m used to it. Why don’t you give me your video?”

  Claire handed it over a little reluctantly. She seemed suddenly shy. Rosie stuck the video into the VCR, pressed play, and stood back to watch. She was silent until the video ended. Claire, who looked nervous now, waited for her comments.

  “Not bad,” said Rosie thoughtfully. “Not bad at all, for an amateur.” She put a finger to her cheek and thought. “I’m sure you could find an agent if you sent this around. I would even tell you to send it to my agent, but I happen to know she’s not taking on any new clients these days.”

  “How do I find out where to send it?” asked Claire. Now she looked happy and excited.

  “I’ll give you some addresses,” said Rosie. “Then, the best thing to do would be to copy the video and send it out to everybody at once. That’ll save time.” She sat down at her desk and made a list of agents for Claire. “Here,” she said. “Good luck!”

  When we left Rosie’s, Claire was practically bubbling over with enthusiasm. “This is it!” she said. “I’m going to get discovered for sure now.” She skipped along happily.

  I knew that copying the video would be expensive, so I talked Claire into sending it to one agent at a time, starting with the first one on Rosie’s list. And that’s what she did, with my help and Mal’s, as soon as she got home. I thought we should wait and check with Mrs. Pike about whether it was all right to send it, but Mal said it was okay. Claire dictated a note to me, packed up the video, and gave it to me to take to the post office. I had a feeling she would be watching the mailbox every minute until she got a reply. Claire was sure she was bound for stardom.

  As soon as Mrs. Pike came home that afternoon, Mal and I headed over to my house for our BSC meeting. By running most of the way, we arrived before Kristy did. Just before. She came pounding up the stairs right after us. “Where’s everybody else?” she asked, impatiently. “I had a great idea on the way over here.”

  Mal and I let out big fake groans and rolled our eyes. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard those words — “I had a great idea” — come out of Kristy’s mouth. And usually, her ideas really are great. But we still like to tease her once in awhile.

  “It’s only five twenty-five,” I said, in answer to her question. “They’ll be here in time for our meeting, I’m sure.” And I was right. Two minutes later Shannon and Stacey arrived, with Jessi and Mary Anne behind them. “See?” I said to Kristy with a grin. I held out a package of Twizzlers. “Relax and have one of these,” I added. “Then you can tell us about your idea.”

  I passed a bag of Ruffles around the other way, and handed a bag of pretzels to Stacey.

  “Any news on the museum robbery?” Stacey asked.

  I shook my head. “Nothing,” I said. “But I think about it all the time. I know I’ll come up with something soon.”

  “Ahem,” said Kristy, pointing to the clock. It had just clicked to 5:30. “This meeting is now called to order.”

  Our meeting began the way they always do. We talked about recent news on our clients (Mal and I reported on Claire and her videotape) and about scheduling problems and stuff like that. I can’t tell you any specifics, because after a couple of minutes, I kind of tuned out. Stacey’s question had made me think about the museum mystery again. Why couldn’t I figure it out? I felt as if I weren’t remembering something right, or as if some fact were missing. And if I could just find that one fact, everything would come together and the mystery would be solved. I decided to go over the case again, starting from the beginning and remembering every single detail. I saw myself entering the museum with Corrie and Marilyn and Carolyn. In my mind, I walked through all the exhibits we had seen.

  The phone rang, jolting me out of my thoughts. Kristy answered it and talked for a few minutes to Mrs. Pike, who was asking for a sitter for the next day. Then Mary Anne checked the record book to see who was available. I knew I wasn’t, so I tuned out once more and went back to my first visit to the museum.

  The Science Room. The Discovery Room. The Music Room. I couldn’t recall anything strange happening in any of those places. I moved on, and remembered the sound of the fire alarm and how responsible I had felt for my charges. That was the point at which things had become exciting, so I tried extra hard to concentrate on the facts.

  Just as I was picturing the courtyard we had been herded into after the second bell rang, Kristy spoke up. “Okay, so as I was telling Claud and Mal,” she said, “I had this great idea.”

  This time, everybody in the room groaned and rolled their eyes. Kristy pretended to be mad, but I knew she thought it was funny, too.

  “Why don’t you tell us about it?” asked Mary Anne supportively.

  “Well,” said Kristy, and she launched into some complicated scheme for keeping better records of how many hours we work every week. Guess what I did while she was talking? I tuned out. I went back to that day at the museum. I pictured myself walking into the building, and down a hall. I saw myself peeking into the room where the coin case had been broken. What was it about that case?

  “Whoa!” I said.

  “What?” asked Kristy. Apparently I had interrupted her in the middle of a sentence. She looked annoyed.

  “Nothing,” I said. She began to talk again, and I concentrated on the image of that room with the broken case. I made myself look at it again. I tried to picture it exactly.

  “That’s it!” I shouted suddenly. “Oh, my lord!”

  “What?” Kristy asked again. “Claudia, I’m in the middle of an idea here.”

  “I know, and I’m really, really sorry. But I just thought of something. Something really important about the museum mystery.”

  “Ooh, tell us!” said Mal. Kristy’s lastest great idea couldn’t compete with the museum mystery. Everybody was looking at me, eager to hear what I had to say.

  “Okay,” I said. “Remember the glass case that had been broken into? The one that used to have the coins in it?” My friends nodded. “Well, here’s the thing. I was trying to remember exactly how it looked, and I realized something. I saw broken glass covering the inside of the case. If somebody had broken the case to steal the coins, the glass would have sprinkled all over the coins. Then, when the thief picked them up, there would have been little round bare spots where the coins had been. Do you see what I mean?” Again, eve
ryone nodded.

  “But there weren’t any bare spots,” I continued. “So that means somebody must have taken the coins before the glass was broken. Somebody who had a key. Like maybe the curator? Anyway, the thief must have broken the glass after he took the coins, to make it look like a robbery by somebody who didn’t have a key. But it was an inside job. I’m sure of it.” I leaned back and crossed my arms. “That’s it. What do you think?”

  “Wow!” exclaimed Mal.

  “Awesome,” said Jessi.

  “Good thinking, Claud,” said Kristy, who seemed to have forgiven me for interrupting her.

  “And your parents think that reading Nancy Drew rots your brain,” said Stacey, giggling. “Obviously, you’ve learned a lot from those books.”

  We never did get back to Kristy’s great idea. We talked about the museum mystery for the rest of the meeting.

  That night, I tried to study for a math test. But I couldn’t concentrate. All I could think about was the museum. What if there really was a thief on the museum staff? Was Don Newman’s work safe? I would feel awful if any of his sculptures were stolen. For that matter, maybe one of them already had been stolen. I remembered how Daphne had felt so strange to me. Sure, the curator had “proven” to me that it wasn’t a fake, but I just didn’t trust him.

  I thought and thought, and I became more and more worried. Shouldn’t Don Newman know there was funny business going on at the museum? Maybe he would want to pull his pieces out and keep them in a safer place. Suddenly, almost before I knew what I was doing, I reached for the phone and called Information. “Newman,” I told the operator. “Don Newman.” She gave me the number, and I dialed it without a pause. My heart pounded as the phone rang once, twice, three times. What was I doing?

  “Hello?” A man’s voice was on the other end.

  “Um, Mr. Newman?” I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking.

  “That’s me,” he said. (He sounded friendly.) “What can I do for you?”