Claudia and the Mystery at the Museum

by Ann M. Martin

  She nodded and threw it on the bed. “What about these silk pants?”

  “Are pants okay at a formal party?” asked Mary Anne doubtfully. “You don’t want to look like a kid who doesn’t know how to dress.”

  “Ditch the pants,” I said immediately.

  Stacey pulled outfit after outfit out of my closet. I have a lot of clothes, but nothing seemed right. Most of them are fine for school, or even for special events like dances or parties. But nothing looked right for a party like this one. A grown-up party.

  “You look terrific in this,” Stacey said, holding up a bright blue sweater-dress.

  “Thanks,” I said. “But it’s not right, either.”

  “Do you think I could borrow it?” she asked.

  “Sure,” I said, falling back onto my bed. “Oh, this is a disaster,” I moaned. “We’ll never find anything.” Mary Anne patted my arm sympathetically.

  “What’s this?” Stacey asked, reaching into the back of the closet and coming out with a long, silky pale green robe embroidered in gorgeous colors.

  I stared at it. “That’s — that’s one of Mimi’s kimonos,” I said. My grandmother wore regular clothes most of the time, but she had brought some beautiful kimonos with her when she came to this country from Japan as a girl. She wore them for special family occasions sometimes, and she always looked graceful and young when she did. Seeing the kimono made me miss Mimi terribly.

  “This is it!” said Stacey.

  “What?” I asked.

  “This is what you’ll wear tonight. Put it on.” She handed it to me. “I just have a feeling this will be perfect.”

  I took off my vest and shirt, and slipped on the kimono. The silk felt soft and light against my skin. It seemed to float around me. I tied the sash (which Mimi called an “obi”) around my waist and stood up straight.

  “Wow,” said Mary Anne softly.

  “Awesome,” said Stacey. “You look totally awesome.”

  I walked to the mirror to see for myself. The green and blue colors of the kimono set off my black hair, and the long, fluttering sleeves looked romantic. For half a second, I saw Mimi’s face instead of mine in the mirror, and I felt tears come to my eyes. It was almost as if she were in the room with me, urging me to wear the kimono to the party. “I’ll wear it,” I said. “Definitely.” I smiled at the mirror.

  “Let’s put your hair up and find some accessories that will go with the outfit,” Stacey said. She started to rummage through my jewelry box. “These earrings will be perfect.”

  “You look wonderful,” said Mary Anne. I thought I saw tears gleaming in her eyes, too. She had been very close to Mimi, and I know she misses her almost as much as I do.

  I pulled my hair into a modified French twist, put on the earrings, and added a few gold bracelets. Then I put on my makeup. “Hand me that lip gloss, will you, Stace?” I said. She and Mary Anne stood behind me, watching. “Now all I have to do is figure out how to act at this party. I mean, it’s not going to be like a school dance, where the boys stand around on one side and crack jokes and the girls stand around on the other side and giggle. This is an adult party, and I’ll have to act like an adult.”

  “It’s true,” said Stacey. “You wouldn’t want to pull any tricks like bringing a rubber tarantula to tease people with.” One of Stacey’s dates did that once, at a dance. Can you believe it?

  “Okay,” said Mary Anne. “Time for the etiquette quiz. First of all, what do you say when you meet Don Newman?”

  “Um, I guess I say ‘Hi, Don,’ ” I answered. “He said to call him that.”

  “No way,” said Mary Anne. “This is a fancy party. You have to call him Mr. Newman, at least at first.”

  “Okay,” I said. “What else?”

  “Watch out when you go to the ladies room. Be careful not to get toilet paper stuck to the bottom of your shoe and drag it back out to the party with you,” advised Stacey.

  We cracked up, but I blushed at the thought.

  “Don’t drink anything that might stain the kimono if you spill it,” said Mary Anne. “And don’t eat anything that might get stuck in your teeth.”

  Mary Anne had a whole storehouse of etiquette tips, from how to shake hands to how to make small talk with strangers. Stacey added a few of her own, and soon I felt ready for anything. I was still feeling nervous, though. “Thanks, guys,” I said as I saw them out the door. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “No problem,” said Stacey. “You look gorgeous.”

  “I have one more tip for you,” said Mary Anne, with a smile. She leaned close to me and spoke very seriously. “Just remember this. Have a great time!”

  I tightened the sash around my waist one more time as my father and I stepped out of the car. He looked handsome in his dark suit and tie. He smiled at me. “Ready, my dear?” he said, crooking his arm so I could put mine through it.

  I took a deep breath. “Ready,” I said. I was feeling as nervous as a cat in a room full of dogs. But we walked up the stairs and through the main door of the museum, and within seconds I had forgotten about being nervous. “Awesome,” I whispered, looking around. The main lobby was full of men and women, and every one of them was dressed to the teeth. Some of the men were even wearing tuxedos. A lot of the women were wearing floor-length gowns, and I saw plenty of expensive-looking jewelry. I glanced down at my kimono and smiled. I knew I had made the right choice. I felt comfortable, but I looked dressed up and exotic.

  “Everyone seems to be heading toward the Egypt Room,” said my dad. “Shall we?” He offered his arm again. We stopped outside the room to pick up name tags from a table, and then walked into the party.

  I hadn’t been in the Egypt Room before, since I had spent most of my time in the rooms meant for children and in the gallery. But as soon as I saw it, I knew it would become one of my favorite parts of the museum. I saw mummy cases with painted faces and fascinating symbols drawn on them. And I saw glass cases full of ancient jewelry. Hieroglyphics were painted on the walls, and there were panels with those pictures of people who seem to be walking sideways.

  I wanted to look at everything, but the room was so full it was hard to see the displays. Everyone was talking and laughing and eating pastries and drinking champagne. Waiters dressed in starched white shirts and black pants circulated among the guests, passing silver trays. I took a cracker spread with what looked like cheese from one tray, and a glass of cider from another, and then I just stood back and watched the crowd. Everyone was wearing name tags, and I had this feeling all of a sudden that I was in the middle of a scene in a murder mystery, the part where the whole cast of characters is assembled and the culprit is about to be revealed.

  I looked around to see if I recognized anyone. It didn’t take long to find someone. There, next to a woman in a blue-sequined dress, was the man with one blue eye and one green eye. I felt a shiver run up my spine. He seemed to be looking around the room, as if he, too, were checking out the crowd. He wore a fancy black suit with a shiny stripe down the side of his trouser legs.

  Unlike me, my dad seemed relaxed. He stood next to me, eating crackers and drinking club soda. “Do you see Don Newman?” he asked.

  “I think that’s him over by the small mummy case,” I said, trying to sound calm. “I recognize him from his picture in the paper.” At the moment, he was surrounded by people, so it didn’t seem like the right time to introduce myself. Dad and I stood there for awhile. I was trying to keep tabs on the man with the funny eyes, and I was also watching out for any other suspects. Then I noticed that Don Newman was walking toward a jewelry case, and I could see that he was alone. I pulled my father’s sleeve. “Come on,” I said. We walked quickly across the room. “Excuse me,” I said. He turned, and I checked his name tag just to make sure it was him. “Mr. Newman, I’m Claudia Kishi,” I said, remembering what Mary Anne had told me. I felt a little nervous again, but not much. Mr. Newman looked as friendly in person as he sounded over the
phone.

  “Claudia,” he said, shaking my hand. “Please, call me Don. It’s a pleasure to meet you. What a lovely kimono you’re wearing.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “This is my father, John Kishi.” “Dad, this is Don Newman.” They shook hands.

  “Nice party,” said my father. The three of us stood chatting for a few minutes, about the museum and how nice it was for Stoneybrook to have it. Then my dad looked at me. “Claudia, I just spotted some friends. Mind if I go talk to them?”

  “Okay,” I replied. Actually, I was glad to see him go, so that Mr. Newman — Don — and I could talk about the mystery.

  My dad said good-bye to us, and wandered off. “So, Claudia,” said Don, turning to me. “Are you enjoying the party?”

  I hesitated. “Well, it’s very nice,” I said. “But I can’t stop thinking about your sculpture, and how different it felt. I’m just so sure there’s something funny going on here.” At that moment, I saw Mr. Snipes walk by. “And I think he may have something to do with it,” I whispered.

  “The curator?” asked Don. “But —”

  “I can’t explain right now,” I whispered. I was watching Mr. Snipes mingle with the guests. Then I noticed that he was about to leave the room. Without thinking, I grabbed Don’s sleeve. “Come on!” I said. “Let’s follow him.”

  Don grinned. “This is exciting,” he said. “Much more fun than a boring old party.” He followed me, and I followed Mr. Snipes out the door, back into the main lobby, and down a dimly lit hall. Guess where we followed him to? His office door.

  “Oops,” I said, turning to Don. I knew I was blushing. I had led us to a dead end.

  “That’s okay,” he said. “Listen, as long as we’ve left the party, how would you like to check out the sculpture?”

  “I’d love to,” I said. We walked to the sculpture gallery, but when we reached it, the door was locked.

  “That’s strange,” said Don. He led me back down the hall and we found a guard, one of the few on duty that night. “I’m Don Newman,” he said. “Do you know why the sculpture gallery is locked?”

  “The show has been taken down already,” said the guard. “All of your sculptures are in storage room B, ready to be packed up for shipment to your next show.”

  Don nodded. “I see,” he said. “Thank you.”

  We walked away from the guard. “Well, I guess that’s that,” said Don.

  “Let’s check out the storage room,” I said. I couldn’t stand the thought of giving up.

  Don looked at me, his eyes twinkling. “You’re very tenacious,” he said. “Okay, why not?”

  I didn’t know what “tenacious” meant until I looked it up later. So I didn’t know whether Don was complimenting me or insulting me. He didn’t look as if he were insulting me, so I just smiled. (I found out later that “tenacious” means, basically, stubborn. I guess it was kind of a compliment, under the circumstances.)

  We found storage room B near the gift shop, down a darkened hall. “It’ll probably be locked,” said Don as we approached the door.

  I was reaching for the knob when I heard footsteps. “Shh!” I said. I grabbed Don’s arm and pulled him into a dark corner. We watched as a custodian, pushing a mop and bucket, walked to the door of the storage room. He was wearing a Walkman, and he hummed to himself as he pulled out a large ring filled with keys, rummaged through them, and then stuck one into the keyhole and pushed the door open. He walked in and flipped on a light, and we tiptoed to the doorway and peered through.

  The custodian pushed his bucket over to the sculpture called Daphne. My eyes widened and I exchanged looks with Don. We stepped inside, since the man’s back was toward us. Then, as we watched, the custodian tipped the sculpture up, put his hand inside a hidden opening, and pulled something out. I nearly fainted when I saw what it was. Coins! A handful of shining, gold coins. I gasped.

  Don put his finger to his lips. The custodian, who was still humming to himself, dropped the coins into his bucket — and turned around. When he saw us, his face turned white. “I — I —” He started to say something, but seemed to change his mind. Instead of talking, he shoved his bucket toward us and turned to run.

  Don lunged at the custodian and tackled him. From behind me, I heard running footsteps, and before I knew what was happening, a third man barreled into the room and jumped on top of Don. I stood still, unable to move or scream, staring at the pile of arms and legs. Suddenly I realized who had tackled Don. I saw a black stripe running up a trouser leg. It was the man with one blue eye and one green eye!

  Dawn was sure to be confused by that letter, but I knew it would seem clearer after she read the newspaper article we had enclosed. Plus, Mary Anne could set her straight the next time they talked on the phone. Curators, men with different-colored eyes, sculptures that moved — the mystery did seem complicated. But really, it was very simple.

  I better explain what happened after that pile-up in storage room B. I was still rooted to the floor. Don was holding down the custodian, who was struggling to get to his feet. And the man with one green eye and one blue eye was on the top of the heap, yelling, “Nobody move! I’m a federal officer!”

  Within moments, Mr. Snipes appeared in the room. He had heard the commotion and called the police, who arrived soon after. Then, once the men on the floor had untangled themselves, we began to sort things out.

  The man with the funny eyes turned out to be named Mr. Olinger. He was a federal agent who specialized in art theft. He had been assigned to the Stoneybrook Museum when Mr. Snipes had been appointed curator. I guess the trustees of the museum had been warned that the museum was vulnerable to theft, and they thought the team of Olinger and Snipes could solve the problem.

  The trustees didn’t count on Mr. Will Saries, though. That was the custodian’s name. Only he wasn’t really a custodian. He was a thief who had been planning this robbery since before the museum opened. His plan was basically a good one, too. First, he set off the fire alarm as a distraction. Then, he did, as I had guessed, steal the coins by using his key to open the case. After that, he broke the case to cover up the evidence, which set off the burglar alarm. In the confusion that followed, he dumped the coins into his bucket. Later, he stashed them in Don’s sculpture. (He knew about the special hiding place because he had helped to unpack Daphne when they were first setting up the exhibit.) His only problem came when, after the robbery, the museum tightened security and posted guards twenty-four hours a day. He didn’t get a chance to retrieve the coins until the night of the party, when the security was relaxed.

  He had made arrangements to sell the coins to a museum in Switzerland, and he was hoping to retire on the money he would make. Now, as Kristy said, “It looks like he’ll be retiring behind bars.”

  I got all kinds of attention for helping to catch the robber. Actually, I thought it was mostly luck, but I had to admit that I would never have been in that room if I hadn’t been trying to figure out the case.

  “Teen Detective Helps Nab Coin Thief,” read the headline in the Stoneybrook News. In the story was a funny quote from my father, who said he had no idea that his daughter was “an ace detective.” And below the headline was a big picture of me, Don Newman, Mr. Snipes, and Mr. Olinger. Mr. Snipes was shaking my hand and grinning.

  I never told Mr. Snipes that my friends and I had suspected him. I was too embarrassed. He turned out to be a pretty nice guy after all. I think he was just really busy and preoccupied when I first met him. And guess what? My fantasy came true, sort of. Now that I’m an honorary trustee, Mr. Snipes wants me to help him set up a show of local student work. “Including your own, of course,” he said. I can’t wait.

  On Friday, a week after the mystery was solved, my friends and I celebrated by ordering in a pizza after our club meeting. While we ate it, we passed around the letter that we were writing to Dawn. Kristy read aloud from the newspaper article, to entertain us. “Ms. Kishi, a student at Stoneybrook Middle School, say
s she has no formal training in detective work. Yet federal agent Olinger insists that her follow-up on clues was ‘professional and complete. She’s tenacious,’ said Olinger. ‘She’d make a wonderful agent someday.’ ”

  Tenacious. There was that word again. I told my friends what it meant, and they agreed that I can be extremely tenacious. “You’re tenacious about not giving up your Nancy Drew books,” Mallory pointed out.

  “Or your junk food,” added Stacey.

  “And you’re definitely tenacious about not doing your homework on time,” said Kristy, giggling.

  I laughed and blushed at the same time. “Well, you guys are pretty tenacious, too,” I said. “I couldn’t have solved this mystery without your help. How about a pizza toast?”

  We picked up our pizza slices and bumped them together, as if they were champagne glasses. “Here’s to Claud!” said Stacey. “The best detective in Stoneybrook.” Pizza toasts may be silly, but they’re one of my favorite BSC traditions.

  Jessi was looking at the newspaper again. “This is a great picture of you, Claud,” she said. “You should cut it out and frame it.”

  “I just might,” I said. “My parents like that picture, too. They must have bought a dozen copies of the paper so they could send it to our friends and relatives.”

  “You’re a star,” said Stacey. “No doubt about it.”

  “Speaking of stars,” I said, “I’ve been so busy with the mystery that I almost forgot about Claire. What’s happening with her video?”

  Mallory laughed. “Well, the agent sent it back,” she said. “She said Claire has a lot of promise, but that she isn’t looking for her ‘type’ at the moment.”

  “What’s Claire’s ‘type’?” asked Stacey. “Silly brown-haired five-year-olds with blue eyes?”

  Mal laughed again. “That must be it,” she said. “Anyway, the agent was really nice to write a note like that. I think it made Claire feel better about being rejected.”

  “I thought she wanted to be rejected!” said Jessi. “At least, that’s what she said the last time I saw her.”