The one who spoke was clearly in charge. He was standing erect, more sure of himself, closer to them, with a sneer on his face. Madelyn was certain he was the one who ransacked Grandpa’s house. His eyes, mocking and cold, told her he would shoot anyone he thought the least bit expendable without a second thought.
But second thoughts were clearly what the other man was having. He was acting nervous, fidgeting with the gun like he didn’t really want to be holding it. He was the one who had gone gently through their house the first time, Madelyn realized, and merely planted a bug the second time. But that also made him a thinker. He wouldn’t act rashly. His actions would be smarter, more calculated.
She didn’t know how to use what she had observed, but she was going to have to try. The men weren’t wearing masks. There was no attempt to hide their identity. It’s like Aunt Dory had pointed out earlier, once they found the painting, they wouldn’t need them alive.
“So, shall we go find us a painting?” the man Madelyn nicknamed Sneer said.
“Come on,” added the one she was calling Thinker.
They had no choice but to stand up. Madelyn did so slowly so as not to alarm the men and also to buy some time, time to figure a way out of this. She tried to make eye contact with Thinker. Maybe she could gain his sympathy. Their eyes met, but he turned away quickly, unwilling to make any connection, to even see her.
“You can leave Eliza here. She’s blind, and she’ll just get in the way. And Annie doesn’t talk. In fact, she doesn’t understand anything that goes on around her,” Madelyn said.
Sneer didn’t seem to care either way and said, “Fine. The rest of you get going.”
Madelyn breathed a sigh of relief, hoping she’d live long enough to apologize to Annie for the lie. Just then, Thinker caught her eye. He raised his eyebrows, questioning her statements, but then he blinked and turned away, allowing Madelyn her merciful act.
Uncle Tommy’s usual slow walk now felt like the last ticking seconds of their lives—step with the left, lift the right, put it down—repeated over and over, across the lunchroom, through the workroom, and down the hall toward the breakroom, even slower than normal, if that was possible. It felt like hours, each movement crushing them, hammering them into an early grave.
“What you want? Why you doin’ this?” Uncle Tommy said.
“Shut up, stupid. Just keep moving, and hurry it up,” Sneer said.
Madelyn could see Mom’s blood boil. Holding them at gunpoint was one thing, but calling her brother stupid was something she had fought against her whole life. Mom’s mouth opened to say something, but then she apparently thought better of it, closing it and continuing silently forward.
Madelyn was thinking fast. “Um, it’s in an air vent, so we need to get a screwdriver, and it would be a good idea to turn off the air conditioning first. The painting—it’s behind, on the other side of the fan,” she said.
Sneer stopped. “Oh, so you were holding out on us. You already know where it is,” he said. “Well then, you better go do that. Go with her, will ya,” he said, nodding at Thinker. Madelyn was happy to have accomplished what she wanted until she realized she would be leaving Mom and Uncle Tommy alone with a crazy and unpredictable Sneer, who at this point had nothing to lose.
“I … I don’t know where the control panel is or where to find a screwdriver. You should probably take him—Tommy. I think he knows where they are.”
Sneer grunted and nodded his approval of the change in plans. “Okay. You stay. He can go.”
Madelyn grabbed Mom’s sweaty hand in hers, watching Tommy and Thinker make their way down the hallway, hoping against hope that she wasn’t seeing her uncle for the last time. Tommy turned and smiled at her. Then he winked just before ducking into the workroom with Thinker at his back.
“All right, where is this air vent you were talking about?”
Frantically Madelyn pictured the breakroom and storerooms nearby, sorting through the mental images she’d stored. But she was having trouble picturing mundane things like vents that her brain typically edited out.
Thankfully, Mom spoke up. “It’s either in the breakroom or the bathroom next to it. We’ve only been told the general area, but we haven’t seen it for ourselves yet.” She said it with a calm voice despite the hand that was shaking in Madelyn’s.
Madelyn squeezed her hand. “Brilliant,” was what she was trying to say to her.
Once inside the breakroom, Mom made a beeline for the bathroom. “I think here is the best bet.” Then she pointed to the fan above the toilet. “There. If you look closely, I think you can see the package.”
Greed clouded Sneer’s eyes. “Let me see,” he said, pushing past them into the bathroom.
“Stand up on the toilet seat. I think you’ll be able to see it.”
In his haste, he set his gun down on the sink while giving himself purchase to step onto the toilet. Mom let go of Madelyn’s hand and inched closer. Just as Sneer planted both feet and reached up, Mom, in one swift motion, grabbed his gun and pushed Madelyn and herself back out of the bathroom and firmly pulled the door shut behind them.
“Grab a chair. We’ve got to wedge this door closed,” Mom said while dropping the gun onto the floor like it was a hot coal.
They both moved a chair into place then grabbed each other in a tight hug. But Mom quickly pulled back. “We’ve got to go find Tommy.”
She bent down to pick up the gun when a voice stopped her. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” It was Thinker, and he wasn’t alone, roughly escorting Uncle Tommy along with Annie, Eliza, and a couple of Tommy’s friends Madelyn didn’t know by name.
Thinker was behind them with his gun, but his right eye was swollen and starting to turn purple. “Carefully slide that gun over to me,” he said to Mom. Defeated, she did as he said.
“Now, you,” he said, pointing at Madelyn, “move that chair and let my friend out.” As Sneer came out of the bathroom, Thinker corralled the others into the far side of the room where he could keep an eye on them.
Sneer and Thinker were conferring with each other, so Madelyn sidled up to Uncle Tommy and whispered, “What happened?” nodding at Thinker’s emerging black eye.
“Annie and Eliza told everyone something was wrong, so my friends,” he said, nodding at the other two young men, “were waiting for us.”
“And that’s it? They were just waiting?”
“Well, that’s almost the story.” Madelyn turned to see who had spoken. It was Thinker himself. “Your Uncle Tommy’s a lot brighter than my partner gave him credit for. He jumped me, and then his friends joined in.”
“But you were behind him. How did he jump you?”
“He swung around fast before I knew what was happening. Took the gun out with his elbow.” He shrugged his shoulders, but there was a hint of a smile on his face—as if he was almost impressed with Uncle Tommy.
Madelyn turned to Uncle Tommy. “I didn’t know you could move fast.”
He just smiled. “Well, I never needed to before.” Then he shrugged his shoulders. “But I wasn’t fast enough.”
“He probably would have been, if I didn’t also have a knife,” Thinker said, pulling out a switchblade for emphasis.
The flash of cold steel made Madelyn shiver, even more than the gun had. She had such little experience with guns that the sight of it from the beginning had seemed surreal. It was frightening but in a detached way. The sharp blade, on the other hand, was right in front of her. She knew it could cut easily, as easily as she could slice tomatoes—or as easily as it could kill George Holliwell.
She shrunk back and put her arms out to protect Annie and Eliza behind her. But to her surp
rise, Uncle Tommy leaned toward Thinker. “Are you okay? I didn’t want to hurt you, but what you were doing wasn’t nice.” Thinker stared at him like he was crazy. Again, Uncle Tommy said, “Are you okay?”
“Uh … yeah, I’m okay,” he said, still studying Uncle Tommy.
“All right, everyone. Who’s going to tell me where we can find ourselves a painting?” It was Sneer. He was fuming after being locked in the bathroom, appearing even more dangerous than he had before. He was waving his gun around at everyone, and his eyes were black and cold. “Hop to it. My patience is gone. Now, someone mentioned something about screws before?”
“I did,” said Eliza. She stood up and walked over towards the other side of the room, apparently unperturbed by the guns or knife—although she probably couldn’t see them Madelyn realized. “A screw was on the ground after Tommy’s dad was here. I stepped on it.”
“All right, everyone, start looking for a panel or something that’s missing a screw. And no funny business. I start shooting the extras if you mess up.” Madelyn caught his glare. All of them were considered “extras,” she realized, and the thought made her shiver.
With earnestness, they spread out, scouring every inch of the room for the tiniest screw hole with no screw inside. Madelyn and her mom kept giving fearful looks to each other, but much as their searching glances asked, neither had an answer to this situation.
It appeared to Madelyn that Uncle Tommy and his friends didn’t seem to appreciate the gravity of their situation, talking cheerfully while they looked. Better that than knowing what fate awaited them, she finally concluded.
The thought, however, was soon overtaken with something out of place around her, only she wasn’t sure what it was. She stopped searching and with heightened senses tried to pinpoint what was different. She noticed Mom had done the same.
There were voices—not the muffled voices of the workers, but voices both clear and commanding. Madelyn caught Mom’s eye. It couldn’t be, could it? she mentally asked.
Soon, the voices reached them from down the hall. By now Sneer had heard them as well. “What’s going on?” he asked, but his voice came out hoarse and shaky. He motioned for all of them to move into a corner of the room while Thinker softly closed the break room door.
Everyone tensed up, knowing the moment of truth was coming. All of them, except for silent Annie.
The scream must have erupted from the very pit of her belly. It was loud and long and shrill. And the second it started, Eliza jumped up and head-butted Sneer right in his gut. With a groan, he fell backward, the gun falling from his hand. They all stared dumbfounded at Annie and Eliza. Who knew they were capable of that?!
Then Madelyn remembered Thinker. She turned around to see the door swinging open. He was gone. The thought of him being on the loose should have scared her, but it didn’t. He may not want to be caught, but he also had no taste for blood—just as she had hoped.
Pounding footsteps could be heard coming down the hallway. “What’s this? Are you okay?”
It took a bit of sorting out, but Eliza and Annie, it turns out, had wasted no time warning the others while also managing to call the police. Apparently, Annie had dialed the number while Eliza did the talking.
“I’m sorry to say we thought it was a prank call. The voice was garbled over the line and not very specific. I think all she got out was the name of this workshop and then the line went dead. All the same, we check out every call.”
“Thank goodness you did, officer,” Mom said.
“Well, to be honest, we’d pretty much dismissed it once we arrived. Everyone must have scattered because there was no one in the workroom. We were just about to leave when we heard that scream. I’ve never heard anything so blood-curdling before, even as a police officer.”
Madelyn hugged Annie. “Thank you,” she whispered in her ear.
“You’re welcome,” she whispered back, much to Madelyn’s surprise.
Sneer, or whatever his real name was, had lost a lot of his bravado once the handcuffs were placed on his wrists. He was sitting in the back of the police cruiser while several officers took statements and wrapped things up.
No longer afraid, Madelyn approached him. “So, the appraiser, Howard Cramer, did he send you?” Sneer glared up at her but said nothing. “Or was it your friend, Mr. Musil?” His expression didn’t change. Puzzled, she mumbled, “I didn’t think Peter Bruce was smart enough.” His eyes flickered, and his face went white for a split second. Quickly, he regained his composure, but it wasn’t quick enough.
“Officer” Madelyn called, “I think I need to tell you something.”
As if she needed confirmation, Sneer muttered, “He’s such an idiot. Without us-” He stopped talking as soon as he realized Madelyn was still standing there—and that she was listening to every word.
. . .
The police officers present ended up calling in detectives from the squad room to take Madelyn and her mom’s statements. As more officers gathered, Madelyn and Mom began to recognize most of their faces. The police soon dispatched a car to arrest Mr. Peter Bruce on suspicion of a whole slew of charges.
As the last car pulled away, Mom grabbed Uncle Tommy with one hand and Madelyn with the other. “Come on. Let’s go find the painting for real!”
Uncle Tommy laughed. “I already did.”
“What?” Madelyn and Mom said in unison.
“When we were looking before, I found the right spot—but I wasn’t going to tell those guys.”
Giddy with excitement, the three of them raced back to the breakroom. “Where is it? Where is it?” Madelyn squealed.
“See here, at the back of my cubby.” It was hard to tell if the panel had been there all along or if Grandpa had installed it at the back. Either way, there it was with screws in three corners and an empty hole in the last one.
“Now we just need a screwdriver,” Madelyn said.
“No, we don’t. I have a nail file in my purse. It should do,” Mom said. And she was right. After all the screws were removed, she pulled out a well-wrapped parcel. Madelyn and Uncle Tommy watched as she carefully took off the outer fabric covering, revealing a small rolled-up canvas.
Mom’s hands were shaking again. “I can’t believe I’m holding this.”
“Wow,” was all Madelyn could say.
“Hello? Anyone here?”
“Who’s that?” Madelyn asked, but the others shrugged their shoulders.
A woman who seemed vaguely familiar stepped into the break room. “Oh, my goodness. Are you all right?” When she saw their confusion, she added, “Mr. Musil sent me. I’m his secretary.”
Madelyn relaxed as recognition dawned. “Daisy? Daphne?”
“Very good. Daphne. Anyway, we just got a call from the police. I can’t believe what happened. Is everything all right?”
Mom was nodding. “Yes, I think it’s okay now.”
Daphne’s eyes darted to the scroll. “Is that it?” The gravity of the moment hit them all. “Have you looked at it yet?”
“No, we haven’t. Would you like to see it with us?”
Daphne nodded. “Mr. Musil wanted to make sure you had it in safekeeping until we could get it returned to France. But I don’t imagine it would hurt if we took a peak first.”
Uncle Tommy cleared off a nearby table, and Mom carefully set the rolled-up canvas down. Daphne reached out to open it.
Surprisingly, Mom gently but firmly pulled the canvas back, holding it close to her chest. “You know, maybe we shouldn’t.”
“But Mom,” Madelyn said. Only Mom wasn’t looking at her.
“You have a very nice manic
ure. Is that mauve fingernail polish?”
“Thank you,” Daphne said. “It is—kind of my signature color. But-”
“It’s understated yet striking,” Mom continued.
“Again, thank you. But, the painting?” Daphne said, reaching for the canvas.
Mom held it even tighter to herself. “I’m curious. Why did you pass Mr. Bruce a note saying keep him close?”
Daphne chuckled uncomfortably. “I did that for you, so you could see him more often.”
“No, that’s not true,” was Mom’s cold reply.
“Well, sure it was. And he was a friend to my boss, Mr. Musil. I know he wanted to see your father. I assumed you would too. So, why don’t I take that now,” she said, indicating the canvas in Mom’s hands.
“No. I don’t think so.”
Daphne was starting to redden around the collar. “It’s what your father would want. He wanted it returned to France. We need to keep it safe. I mean after multiple break-ins to your house, I’d think your safety would be important.”
“How did you know about the break-ins?” Mom said.
Daphne was growing impatient. “Your father spoke with Mr. Musil. He told him all about them.”
“He couldn’t have. We never mentioned our break-ins to Pop, did we, Madelyn?”
“That’s right,” Madelyn said.
“Okay, so we’re not going to do this the easy way, are we?” And with those words, Daphne pulled out a gun of her own.
Madelyn should have been scared by it, but she felt like if you’ve seen one gun you’ve seen them all. “Really?” came out of her mouth before she knew she was voicing her thoughts. No longer afraid, she ventured to ask, “So, you needed him close so you could keep pressuring him to tell you where the painting was, didn’t you?”
Dandelion Summer Page 27
