by Linda Johns
We made a photocopy of that page to show Libby. I wanted an excuse to go to their house anyway. I needed to finish my drawing of Izzie on the corner of the couch.
We took the escalator down, stopping on the third floor and then the first floor. We stopped at the Teen Center for us, and then at the Children’s Center to get picture books. I picked some to read to Rachel, and Lily grabbed a couple for The Brother.
Neither Lily nor I can leave a library without a book or two—or nine.
Mom made me wait until after dinner to call next door. As soon as Calvin heard my voice on the phone, he invited me over for cocoa. I asked if I might be able to draw Izzie some more and he said, “You bet. We’ll make it a double cocoa.”
I wasn’t going to babysit, but I had a hunch Rachel would be disappointed that I wasn’t bringing the Special Day Suitcase. I grabbed a coloring book from the suitcase and a box of sixty-four crayons. I’d tell her it was a Special Art Day.
Mom walked me over. As soon as Calvin opened the door, I could smell the cocoa. It smelled delicious. It wasn’t just ordinary instant cocoa: this was Mexican hot chocolate, my absolute favorite.
“Thanks! It smells so good, like the kind I get at Wired,” I said, heading over to the counter and cradling a mug in both hands. I took in a good chocolatey whiff, just like I do at Wired Café where Mom works.
Mom laughed. “It is the kind you get at Wired.”
Libby held up a canister of Wired Cocoa. “We love it. Thank you, Maggie.”
“Well, you’re welcome. But it was intended as a thank-you for helping us get this house-sitting job, not as Hannah’s personal supply,” Mom said.
Mom said good-bye, and Calvin promised to walk me home later. Then he turned to me.
“Can we see what you have so far?” Calvin asked, nodding toward my sketchbook.
I opened my sketchbook to show them, and then eagerly took another sip of my drink.
“Oh, Hannah, this is lovely,” Libby said. “It conveys right away that Izzie is a part of our family.”
Wow. That’s exactly what I was trying to do. Cool.
“I’ll help you re-create the pose,” Calvin said. “Izzie, you lucky girl. You get some couch time.” He patted the couch and Izzie obligingly hopped up, and then plopped into the corner.
“I moved the vase back to the dining room, but I decided those photos looked nice on the table here,” Libby said. “I’ll get the vase for you.”
Rachel settled next to me and we began our Special Art Day projects.
“Calvin, could you come here a minute, please?” Libby said. My ears pricked up. Her voice sounded a bit tense.
“Are you sure you put it there?” Calvin said, speaking softly. “When was the last time you remember seeing it? Has the cleaning service been here? Are you sure it’s gone?”
I couldn’t resist. I put down my sketchbook and headed to the dining room.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“My vase. It’s gone,” Libby said, looking around as if it might suddenly appear.
A police siren broke the strained silence. Flashing red and blue lights pulsated through the dining room window. We all ran over and looked out, just as a second squad car pulled up. The officers jumped out and went to the house directly across the street.
CHAPTER 18
“WE’D BETTER STAY in here,” Calvin said. “We don’t know why the police were called. It might not be any of our business.” Calvin, Libby, and I stood at the dining room windows, our eyes transfixed across the street.
I jumped when the doorbell rang. Calvin opened the door to let my mom in. I had a feeling she didn’t like being in that big house all alone when something was happening across the street.
I jumped again when the phone rang. It was Grace, starting the Block Watch phone tree. Grace called Libby, and then Libby would call Louise, and Louise would call the couple next door, they’d call someone else, and so on.
“I need to call Louise, but let me tell you quickly. Someone broke into Mark and Tom’s house. Their Chihuly bowl was stolen,” Libby said. I’d never been inside Mark and Tom’s house, but I know that Dale Chihuly is the best-known glass artist in the world. He lives in Seattle, but he’s famous well beyond this city. A Chihuly bowl would be extremely expensive.
“Anything else missing?” I asked.
“Not that they’ve noticed so far,” Libby said, dialing a phone number.
Calvin pulled out his cell phone. “I’m calling the police about the vase,” he said. Libby nodded in agreement as she started talking with Louise.
“The dispatcher is sending one of the officers from across the street to talk with us,” Calvin said.
“We don’t need to stand here and watch those obnoxious lights. Let’s all go back into the family room,” Libby said.
Mom and I offered to stay for a while. We could help distract Rachel while Libby and Calvin talked with the police. Two officers came. One asked for permission to walk the exterior of the house to look for signs of entry. The other asked about the vase itself.
“Do you have a photograph of the vase?” the officer asked.
“No. Actually … Hannah, could you bring your sketchbook?”
It was already open to the drawing of Izzie with the vase. “Nice,” said the officer. “Too bad it isn’t in color.”
I turned back several pages to the first drawing I’d done of the vase. I’d done that one with my Prismacolor pencils.
“That’s perfect,” Libby said. I offered to tear it out for them.
“Now, what can you tell me about the vase. Age, material, value?” the officer asked.
“I don’t know much about it,” Libby began. “It used to be in my grandmother’s bedroom. I’d always loved it, so she gave it to me when I graduated from college. I’m afraid I don’t know much more.”
“I do,” I said. I had completely forgotten to give Libby the photocopy from the book that showed a vase like hers. I pulled it out of the back left pocket of my jeans and unfolded it. I handed it to Libby, who passed it on to the officer.
“You certainly seem to have a keen interest in this vase,” the officer said. She looked at me for few more seconds and then wrote something in her notebook.
I was about to tell the officer what else I had learned about the vase when I noticed her looking at me funny. Suddenly, I had a feeling that I had gone from being helpful to being a suspect.
CHAPTER 19
“THERE’S CERTAINLY a lot to talk about at tonight’s Block Watch meeting,” Mom said during dinner the next night.
“Didn’t they just have one? Geesh. How often do these people meet?” I complained because I knew that is what people expect from a twelve-year-old girl. But I already knew there was a regularly scheduled Block Watch meeting. In fact, I was eagerly anticipating it in case I could get any more clues about Libby’s missing vase.
“Oh, stop,” Mom said, clearly seeing through me. “You knew this meeting was scheduled. Didn’t Libby already ask you to babysit?”
“Well, yeah. And I’m planning to stay close by again. I want to hear everything they discuss.”
“I would expect nothing less of you,” Mom said.
The meeting was at Calvin and Libby’s again. We headed next door about fifteen minutes before the meeting started. I could start playing with Rachel and get her interested in some art project, and Mom could help Calvin and Libby put out trays of cookies and coffee.
Neighbors came in groups of two and more, opening the door and calling out “hello” as they did. Nice and friendly, but in my opinion things were a little too friendly considering that a series of thefts were happening on this street. Louise slipped in silently, mouthing “hello” to me and moving gracefully to sit on a cushion on the floor. I could picture her meditating in a similar position.
“This is great. We’re all here tonight!” Grace began. “Thank you all for your cooperation during the Antiques Caravan parade. We have a lovely letter from
the producers of the show, as well as some delicious Dilettante Chocolates, which I’ll pass around for all to enjoy.” Grace paused and looked around the room. “We have some tough topics to address tonight. Before we get to the theft at Mark and Tom’s house, how about if we recap some of the odd things we’ve noticed in the past couple of weeks.”
“I’m curious by what you all mean by ‘odd,’ ” Louise said.
“ ‘Odd’ seems a bit mild,” one man said. “It’s a crime for someone to enter someone else’s home. Sure, it’s odd if things are rearranged, but the act of entering uninvited is well beyond odd.”
“Did the rearranging appear to be an improvement?” Louise asked.
“Are you joking?” the man replied.
“Actually, dear, it did seem nicer when we came home,” a woman said, patting her husband’s hand as if to calm him down.
“That’s not the point!”
“Clutter can create chaos and stagnant energy in our living spaces,” Louise said, although I think most people—except me—had tuned her out.
“My house was tidier and my toilet bowl was closed. Remember?” Jodi said. “Tell me that wasn’t odd.” She said it in a breezy way, but I could tell she was still freaked out about the possibility of someone being in her house. As soon as she stopped talking she started biting her nails. I looked around at the Millionaire’s Row dwellers to see what kind of nervous tics others might have. I could see the tension on people’s faces. Everyone’s except Louise’s. She looked relaxed and content.
“It’s worrisome to think of anyone being in your house or your private spaces,” my mom said to the nail biter. I could tell Mom was trying to comfort her.
“How about if we hear from Mark and Tom,” Grace said. She was a good leader. She stayed calm and kept the conversation moving. People seemed to respect her.
“I felt like something was off before I noticed that the Chihuly bowl was missing,” Tom began.
“What do you mean by ‘off’?” Calvin asked.
“I don’t really know how to explain it. There seemed to be subtle changes, such as a chair moved at a slightly different angle.”
“I hadn’t moved anything, and neither had Tom,” Mark said. “We called Geoffrey, our cleaning guy, but we didn’t really think he had any insight into it because he hadn’t been there for several days.”
“What kind of changes?” Louise asked.
“Well, in the kitchen the coffeepot was moved so that it was closer to the sink,” Tom began, but Louise interrupted.
“Was there anything between the sink and the coffeepot?” Louise asked anxiously.
“No. It was right next to the sink,” Tom said, looking at Louise as if to say, Why are you asking such a completely weird, random thing?
Louise crinkled up her forehead as if something was worrying her. Why had she asked about the sink and the coffeepot? A mental image of Libby’s kitchen counter popped into my head. That happens to me a lot: an image just pops into my head. Sometimes it takes me a while to figure out what it is I’m supposed to see in the image.
“Electrical can’t be right next to a water source,” Louise said softly, walking into the dining room. She wasn’t talking to me. In fact, she wasn’t talking to anyone, except maybe herself.
I pictured the sink in Libby’s kitchen, and how the electric teakettle had been moved. My mind whizzed back to Happy’s feng shui book and a paragraph I had read that said to place an object between a water source and an electrical source.
“Is the feng shui wrong?” I whispered to Louise.
She looked startled. “Yes. It’s the opposite of feng shui. Very bad chi.”
Did this mean that whoever was breaking into houses was anti–feng shui? (Or would that be un–feng shui?) Louise couldn’t be the culprit. I could tell that she was so passionate about the art of placement that she would never do it incorrectly.
“Louise, we’re going to make a comprehensive list of any strange occurrences. Could you come back into the living room?” Libby asked quietly. Louise nodded.
Calvin was taking notes on his laptop. “We have four separate breakins and two missing items. Anything else missing? Have you noticed anything, Louise?”
“Missing?” Louise seemed to hesitate before she said no.
The grown-ups wrapped up their meeting, promising to keep in contact with one another and to keep an eye on all of their houses. Grace made sure that the cell phone and work phone numbers were all up to date. As people headed out, I maneuvered to be closer to Louise.
“Are you sure nothing is awry at your house?” I asked her. “You seemed a bit distracted earlier.” I was impressed with my straightforward approach tonight.
“I may have misplaced something,” she began. “I’m sure I’ll find it soon. My son and grandson were here last week with their dog. It could have been moved. Or even broken by Ollie’s wagging tail.” I gathered that Ollie was their dog. Brilliant deductive reasoning, isn’t it?
“I really am interested in learning more about feng shui. Right now I’m confused about why someone would break into a house to feng shui. You would never do something like that …” My voice trailed off because I wasn’t really making a statement nor was I asking a direct question. Besides, I got sidetracked wondering if feng shui could be used as a verb.
“I don’t break into people’s houses!” Louise said. “That kind of intrusion would interfere with the chi.”
She didn’t exactly answer my question. Then again, I didn’t exactly ask her the question.
CHAPTER 20
THERE WERE NO mysterious feng shui visits or burglaries on Millionaire’s Row the rest of the week. That in itself seemed strange. Why the sudden stop? Did the thief think we were watching too closely? Mom was certainly watching me closely. If she’s at work, I always call when I get safely home after school. This week, however, she insisted that I not only call when I first got to the front door, but that I keep talking to her the entire time I’m unlocking the door, going into the house, and turning off the alarm system. Happy and Frank’s house was about the only house without an ACE Security sign—and also about the only house that actually had a working alarm system.
At long last, it was Saturday morning and time to head to the Convention Center for our chance to get one of our items appraised on Antiques Caravan.
Lily, me, and our moms carpooled downtown together. We could have easily taken the Metro. We even could have walked. But we needed the car because Mom was bringing a rather unwieldly object to the show.
I thought I would be embarrassed that my mom was carrying a lamp around, but we saw people hauling chests of drawers, cabinets, and other kinds of large furniture. There was a stash of grocery-style carts and flat carts for people to use.
The lamp belonged to Happy and Frank. They called to apologize for not telling us about the parade. When Mom said I was bringing something to the first-round appraisal, they asked if she thought it would be interesting to take something of theirs. I think what they were politely saying was that they had many valuable things in their house, and maybe we’d have a better chance to get on the show with one of their items. I thought for sure Mom would choose a piece of artwork, but here she was, carrying a table lamp.
“Lucky numbers 433, 434, and 435,” Lily said. “I feel pretty good about those numbers.” She was dressed, once again, in what she now called her “circa 1906 outfit.” She had one addition to the outfit this time: a brooch that her mother had hidden away. The women in her family had handed it down to their daughters over the years. Lily’s mom decided it was the right time to pass it on to her own daughter, making Lily the sixth to own it. “I never knew it was this old,” Lily had told me earlier in the week on the phone. “I always thought it was just some dorky pin my mom wore on Thanksgiving and when we visit my grandparents.” This morning Lily was wearing it proudly.
I counted about fifty-two people ahead of us. Our assigned time was eleven o’clock, with a suggest
ed arrival time of ten o’clock.
“I read something that said that Antiques Caravan is an extremely popular show in prisons,” I said. “Seems like pretty good thinking for those criminal minds. Gives them all kinds of ideas of what to steal when they get out.”
“Why don’t you girls go to Starbucks and get us some coffee?” Lily’s mom said, handing Lily a twenty-dollar bill. Mom nodded, which surprised me. She likes to stay loyal to small coffee shops like Wired, where she works, and usually steers clear of big chains. But there was a Starbucks right in the Convention Center, so I guess convenience won out.
On our way back, I checked out the crowd, trying to guess who would make it on TV and who wouldn’t. I was pretty sure Lily was doing the same thing. As I looked around, my eyes stopped on one particular individual. She wasn’t wearing the same apricot sweatshirt this time, but I recognized Georgia, the Om Woman, right away. I pointed her out to Lily.
“That’s Om Woman? I thought she’d look more zen and serene,” Lily commented. She was right. Georgia was downright fidgety today. I thought she was alone, but then Louise joined her, handing her a cup of coffee. I hoped it was decaf, because Georgia was practically jumping from foot to foot. Like many others waiting for their shot on Antiques Caravan, they had a grocery cart for carrying their treasures.
We were lucky we didn’t have to move any heavy objects. Mom was still hanging on to that lamp with one hand, holding her green tea with another. She raised the lamp a bit, which I realized was her attempt at a wave at Louise.
Louise bustled over.
“I didn’t realize I’d see so many people I know here,” Louise said.
“Isn’t it amazing? Just think of all the treasures and interesting stories these people must have,” Mom said.
“I suppose everything is a treasure if it has meaning to you. The problem is, people have so many things these days that they don’t know what’s important to them in life—or even in their belongings. Their acquisitive natures lead to all sorts of stress. They go shopping to buy things and then find themselves surrounded by chaos and stress because now they need to take care of all these things,” Louise said.
