“I’m fine!” I answered quickly. I pressed a hand against my chest, my heart skipping beneath. “Grandfather, what are you doing here?”
Matthew Leighton leaned forward into the overcast morning light coming in through the street-side window. I noticed the curbside curtains were drawn. He hadn’t wanted Grandmother peeking outside and seeing him. I’d ambushed my uncle in much the same fashion. Matthew Leighton certainly would make a fine detective, I thought with a shake of my head. What a shame he’d chosen the path he had.
“I didn’t wish to leave things off the way I did last night,” he replied.
I saw the welt on his jaw and the slant of his newly broken nose. Grogan’s handiwork. The carriage jerked forward as the horses took a fast clip up Knight Street.
“Why did you even help us?” I asked. “Why did you bother to get involved if all you were going to do was steal something in the end?”
He hooked one ankle over a knee and threaded his fingers together, forming a tight fist. He looked toward his lap, not at me.
“I had my reasons for wanting to stop the person who was burning down those buildings and stealing the Hornes’ art collection. They aren’t noble, though, if that was what you had hoped to believe.” He met my eyes now, his serious gaze unwavering. “I needed to clear my name, Suzanna. If my associates believed I was dipping into arson and murder, my contacts would fall off drastically. You might think the underground market is filled with thugs and good-for-nothings, but I’ve dealt with more titled, wealthy, respectable people than you could probably imagine.”
I didn’t want to imagine that anyone would be eager to purchase anything that had been stolen. It would never truly belong to them, no matter what price they’d paid.
“So you haven’t changed,” I whispered. “You’ll never change.”
He pursed his lips and blinked rapidly. I could tell he was uncomfortable.
“I have tried,” he said quietly. The roll of the wheels and the cracking of the horses’ hooves nearly overwhelmed his confession. “But I am afraid it’s an addiction for me. I think I shall always be tempted.”
Tempted to take what didn’t belong to him. “But it’s wrong, Grandfather. You have to know it is.”
He continued to look gray and serious. “Suzanna, if you’re to grow up to be a detective, you will fast learn that not everyone cares to always be right.”
So some people just enjoyed doing bad things? I knew it was true. Why else would the world need police officers and detectives? There would always be crime and people doing things that were wrong. I just didn’t want my grandfather to be one of them.
He stared at me, his shoulders rocking with the carriage’s motion. A wistful grin lifted the corners of his lips. “I admire you, Suzanna. I wish …” He paused to think the rest of his sentence through. “I wish I could be more like my granddaughter.”
Tears bit at my eyes. I had to look away, embarrassed my emotions had taken me by such surprise. He wanted to be like me? I didn’t know if my tears had come because his wish had made me happy, or if it was because it had sounded so sad.
“How did you know I was coming to Boston?” I asked.
My grandfather sat forward on the edge of the bench seat. “Your mother. She wrote to me.”
I sucked in a breath and nearly choked on it. “But … but she —”
“She has known my address for some time,” he jumped in. “She asked me to keep my distance, but she wanted me to see you. I think she is very proud of you, Suzanna.”
He reached into the inside pocket of his coat and took out a small, flat velvet box. “She has every right to be.”
He placed the velvet box on the cushion beside me.
“It belonged to your grandmother. I gave it to her at our wedding,” he said. I brushed the cover of the box with my fingertips before picking it up. “I would like for you to keep it. Your grandmother … well, she was very much like you.”
I opened the box slowly. Inside, an amethyst cameo pendant sat nestled on a well-indented silk cushion. The cameo was of a woman with wild, flowing hair that wrapped around her neck and streamed out toward the edges of the oval pendant. It was beautiful.
I hoped it wasn’t stolen.
“Thank you.” I wanted to say more, but I couldn’t. I knew what this cameo was. It was a parting gift. My grandfather was telling me good-bye.
The carriage slowed and the academy came into sight outside the window.
“And this …” My grandfather reached into the satchel beside him and brought out an object wrapped in linen. It was bulky and oddly shaped and I knew exactly what it was. In awe, I snapped the cover to the cameo box shut.
“Well, I suppose you know what to do with this,” Grandfather said.
He handed me the object and when my fingers closed around it, I felt the thin leg of the Little Dancer pointed out in front of her, the hands she held clasped behind her at the small of her back. I let the linen unravel and fall onto my lap. It was the Degas.
“Why are you giving this back?” I asked.
The carriage had stopped. My grandfather had already opened the door on the street side of the carriage. He grabbed his satchel and leaped down onto the cobbles. He turned and looked inside at me sitting awkwardly with the rare Little Dancer statue in my hands.
“I suppose even thieves need to know what it feels like to do the right thing every now and again.”
My grandfather winked at me, flashed a smile, and closed the door just as Grandmother’s driver opened the opposite one. I sat immobile, my pulse galloping.
The police had apprehended Hannah Grogan the night before as her bon voyage dinner was ending and her trunks were being loaded into a carriage bound for the Anchor Line terminal. Inside her trunks, wrapped in clothing, had been all sixteen pieces of art thought to have been destroyed and stolen, including the Cézanne taken from Mr. Dashner — who, in the end, hadn’t been criminally involved at all. Now, with the Degas, Adele and her father would have their entire collection restored.
“Miss Snow?” the driver said, still holding the door open. “Is everything all right?”
I looked over and spotted Adele passing by on the sidewalk behind him, surrounded by a throng of twittering academy girls.
“Adele!” I shouted. I didn’t care how rude it was to shout for someone’s attention, though the driver looked aghast.
Adele turned, her brows creased together as she peered inside the carriage. I thought to jump out with the statue, but didn’t want to make too big a scene on the sidewalk with so many of the girls watching.
“What is it?” Adele asked.
I held up the statue, still grinning like an idiot. Adele squealed and flew past the stunned girls and Grandmother’s driver and inside the carriage. She landed on the bench beside me. I gave her the statue, her eyes wide with wonder and astonishment.
“Oh, Zanna,” she breathed. “Oh, Zanna, thank you! How did you do it? How did you convince your grandfather to give it back?”
I picked up the ivory jewelry box and opened it so I could see the cameo again. I lifted the pendant from the cushion and felt its smooth backing. Flipping the pendant, I saw elegant cursive letters etched into the silver, rubbed dull in spots from the years the grandmother I had never known had proudly worn it.
With love and admiration,
M. L.
I ran my fingertips over the small letters. I knew my grandfather had intended the words for his wife, but I couldn’t help but feel he now meant them for me as well.
“I didn’t need to convince him,” I answered.
Adele ran her hands all along the wax statue, inspecting it for damage. Even after everything it had been through the night before, there was none. Matthew Leighton was not a careless thief.
“Come on,” I said. “Grandmother said she didn’t mind my taking the day off from the academy. And I think your father will be just as thrilled to see that statue as you are.”
Now it was Adel
e who couldn’t stop grinning.
I glanced up at Grandmother’s driver, who looked perplexed. “To June Street, please.”
Adele and I sat back, side by side, each of us with a treasure in our laps. The carriage kicked forward and Adele grabbed my hand. She closed her palm around mine and squeezed.
ANGIE FRAZIER IS THE AUTHOR OF THE Midnight Tunnel: A Suzanna Snow Mystery and the young adult novels Everlasting and The Eternal Sea. She lives with her husband and three daughters in southern New Hampshire. You can visit her online at www.angiefrazier.com.
Copyright © 2012 by Angie Frazier
All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Press, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, SCHOLASTIC PRESS, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Frazier, Angie.
The Mastermind Plot / by Angie Frazier. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
Sequel to: The midnight tunnel
Summary: In 1904, eleven-year-old Suzanna is delighted with her grandmother’s invitation to spend time in Boston and thrilled to help her famous uncle investigate a series of arsons, but much less pleased to be enrolled in Miss Lydia Doucette’s Academy for Young Ladies.
[1. Mystery and detective stories. 2. Arson — Fiction. 3. Private schools — Fiction. 4. Schools — Fiction. 5. Family life — Massachusetts — Boston — Fiction. 6. Uncles — Fiction. 7. Grandmothers — Fiction. 8. Boston (Mass.) — History — 20th century — Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.F8688Suz 2012
[Fic] — dc22
2011003770
ISBN 978-0-545-20864-2
First edition, March 2012
Cover illustration © 2012 by Antonio Javier Caparo
Cover design by Lillie Howard
e-ISBN 978-0-545-39315-7
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.
The Mastermind Plot Page 15
