Finding the Forger

by Libby Sternberg

  “Call your dad!” I practically shouted at Kerrie.

  “What?”

  The waitress came over and set our appetizers before us.

  “Call your dad and ask him. Did Mr. Witherspoon ask him about Sarah that night?”

  At the mention of her name, Sarah peered at me suspiciously. “What are you thinking, Bianca?”

  “There’s no time to lose. I’ll explain later.” I asked Doug for his cell and dialed Connie’s number while Kerrie dialed her dad. You know all those people who get really annoyed when they see folks talking on cell phones in restaurants? They would have had an out-rage-fest if they’d seen us.

  “Connie?” I asked when she came on the line. “Don’t talk. Just listen.”

  After she quietly gave me a fake cheery hello, I rushed in with my explanations. “Witherspoon’s the one. He’s the thief, not Neville. And my guess is he’s not going to London. He’s probably going to vamoose to some country where he can’t be extradited.”

  “Uh …” she mumbled.

  “Look, I’m putting all the pieces together now—” At that moment, Kerrie looked at me with wide eyes and nodded her head, whispering that Bertrand had called her dad on the night in question and had asked about Sarah. “—but here’s what I need you to do. You have to stall him. Keep him from leaving while I call the police and—”

  Just then Bertrand Witherspoon’s booming voice came over the phone. “That won’t be necessary, Miss Balducci. Calling the police, that is.”

  Connie’s voice came next, dripping with disgust. “He was showing me how to hook up my cell phone to the speaker phone system when you called, you numbskull!” That’s what I love about Connie—the way she effortlessly lays on the guilt trip, even under duress. Now I’d placed her in jeopardy, a fact that was confirmed by Bertrand Witherspoon’s next icy words.

  “You call the police and you’ll never see your sister again, Miss Balducci. You’ve now turned me into a desperate man willing to do desperate things.”

  I gulped and could hardly speak. I must have looked like a ghost because Doug and Kerrie started asking me what was the matter. I shushed them with a waving hand, and pressed the phone hard into my ear as if that would bring me closer to a solution.

  “Look, Mr. Witherspoon,” I said, loud enough so the others could hear me, “I didn’t mean to mess things up for you. I just wanted to solve the mystery, you know. Ask Connie—she and I have some competitive thing going on here. Right, Connie?”

  “Uh-huh,” I heard her say. Her voice was a little high-pitched, which hit me in the gut because it meant she was a little afraid. For all I knew, Bertrand Witherspoon had some kind of weapon trained on her.

  “I don’t really care about any wacky new art at the museum,” I continued. “For all I care, they could burn all that stuff and no one would be the worse for it.”

  Hector cringed when I said this, but I plowed forward anyway. While I talked, I blinked my eyes at Kerrie, which in Balducci-In-Jeopardy language meant “Call your father! Help!”

  “It was all a game to me, sir. Just like it was to you. Just an innocent game.” While I talked, I saw Kerrie picking up her cell phone again and dialing. With Sarah and Hector behind her, she stepped away from the table to make the call in private.

  “Get up!” Witherspoon said, and I knew he wasn’t talking to me.

  “What are you doing?!” I practically shouted.

  At that point, our waitress came over and asked if something was wrong with the food that none of us was touching.

  “Who is that?” Witherspoon asked. “Where are you?”

  “Home! I’m home.” That was … our maid. Lucinda!” Holding the phone away from me, I said, “Thanks, Lucinda. That will be all,” and I couldn’t help saying it in some phony baloney accent. What was the matter with me, anyway?

  Witherspoon snorted. “I’m leaving,” he said into the phone. “This particular game is over.”

  No, he couldn’t leave! He had Connie! Who knew what he’d do to her now that he knew the jig was up? My hands were slippery from sweat, my face was hot from blush, and my heart was pounding so fast and loud I was sure Bertrand Witherspoon’s high-tech gizmos were recording it and my blood pressure over the line.

  “Don’t leave! Neville’s here!”

  At first there was silence. “Neville’s—” he started to say, then stopped. I had him. “Neville left. I know. I took him to the airport.”

  “He came back!” I said. “He’s here right now! He’s downstairs. Let me go get him for you.” Relieved to have the break, I put my hand over the mouthpiece in a death grip and looked at Doug. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  Immediately, Doug pulled out his wallet and threw some cash on the table. Sarah and crew followed suit. The waitress, meanwhile, rushed over.

  “Is anything—”

  “Family emergency,” Doug said, putting his arm around me.

  Once outside in the brisk evening air, I ran to the car with Doug right beside me. “Get in and turn on the radio loud,” I said in a hush. A few seconds later, he was in the car with the music blaring. Then and only then did I take my hand off the mouthpiece.

  “Neville! Neville! Someone’s on the phone for you. Your father.” I raised my eyebrows at Doug, who was behind the wheel, and I held the phone out near the door. And Doug—my Doug, my sweet, bright, funny Doug—knew exactly what I wanted and stepped up to the plate.

  “Not on your life!” It was his best-ever Neville imitation, and the times he’d done it just to irritate me melted into the night. And then he threw in a curse, just as he’d heard Neville curse, and through the music and the distance, I knew he would sound just like Neville, even to Neville’s dad.

  In fact, if there is an aural equivalent of a drained face, Mr. Witherspoon’s voice as it came over the phone next would have qualified for the blue ribbon.

  “What?! Let me talk to him! How’d he— Put him on the phone right now!”

  “He won’t talk to you, Mr. Witherspoon,” I said. At the same time, I gestured to Doug to start the engine. As it roared to life and we stepped into the car, slamming doors, I covered the mouthpiece again.

  “What was that? Where’d you go? What are you trying to pull? Remember, I have your sister.” And then I heard him moving as if they were leaving the room together. Connie!

  “Don’t you dare hurt her, Mr. Witherspoon.” Why was I calling this creep Mr. Witherspoon as if he deserved respect? He had my sister, for crying out loud. “I’ll … I’ll …”

  Doug turned a corner sharply and the phone fell out of my hands onto the car’s floor. Since when did Doug drive over the speed of a snail’s pace? As I glanced at him, I saw a new look on his face, or maybe I just hadn’t noticed it before—determination and courage. He was heading toward the Witherspoon home. I hadn’t even had to tell him.

  When I picked up the phone, I was heart sick. I’d lost the connection. Would he let Connie answer if I called again? What was I going to do? Tears pooled in my eyes. What could I do to stop Witherspoon? And stop him from doing what? Was he so desperate that, to get away, he’d actually harm Connie? Of course he was. He’d let his only son take the fall for his misdeeds. The man was capable of anything. My stomach turned. I thought I would be sick.

  “Has somebody called the police?” I asked, miserably.

  “My dad did,” Kerrie said. “What happened? Did Mr. Witherspoon hang up?”

  “I don’t know … I don’t know what to do. I don’t know …” I mumbled, afraid of crying in front of my friends.

  “Call him back!” Doug said forcefully. “C’mon. Don’t let him win. Call him back!”

  “What will I say? I don’t know what’ll stop him.”

  “He thinks you’re with Neville,” Sarah said quietly. “You could use that.”

  “He doesn’t care about Neville!” I practically shouted. “He let him get pinned with the art theft. What kind of father would do that?”

  “
He didn’t exactly let him get pinned,” Sarah said again.

  “That’s right,” Kerrie said. “Neville pinned himself. He probably figured it out and didn’t want his dad to go to prison, so he took the fall for him. Then his dad bailed him out by giving him the money to get out of the country.”

  Hector snorted. “Right. Some family!”

  “Tell him you’re going to turn Neville in. Tell him Neville came back because he’s in love with you,” Doug said.

  “All right. I’m going to try again. I want you all to talk like there’s a party going on, okay?” They solemnly nodded their heads and I turned up the radio. Then I punched in Connie’s cell number.

  They had to be the longest ten seconds of my life, waiting for her—or someone—to answer. While the phone rang, I imagined all sorts of awful scenarios, ranging from … well, I don’t even want to think about them. But finally, finally, just before it would have kicked over to voice mail, he answered the phone.

  “What do you want?” This time he didn’t sound so self-assured. And his voice echoed. He’d moved to another spot.

  “I dropped the phone, Bertrand. No need to worry.” I was in control. I could feel it. He was afraid, and I knew exactly what he was afraid of. Kerrie, Hector, and Sarah were doing the party routine in the back seat, chatting it up and laughing, while Doug had the radio turned up so high I could hardly hear. It didn’t matter. That’s exactly the effect I was after. “You’re going to have to speak up, Bertie,” I yelled. “We’ve got a real party going here. Lots of ‘birds,’ as Neville would say.” Then I half-covered the mouthpiece, knowing Witherspoon would still be able to hear. “Hey, Nev, leave her alone—she’s my best friend!”

  As if on cue, Doug piped up in his Neville voice. “Oh, bugger that,” he said. I could have kissed him.

  “He came back because he’s in love with me, Bertie. And you know what? I’m not in love with him. So I was just about to call the cops …”

  “What do you want?” Witherspoon’s voice sounded almost frantic now.

  “Let me talk to Connie.” When he hesitated, I continued, laying on the table precisely what I knew he didn’t want to hear. “You put her on the phone by the time I count to ten or I’m going to get off this phone and dial the police. I know people there, Bertie. I won’t have to go through some screening process. I say the word and someone’s at your place in a flash. One, two …”

  “Bianca?” When Connie’s voice came on the phone, I could have cried with relief. She sounded nervous, but not too afraid. She even sounded a little amused. She was probably trying to figure out just what kind of game I was playing.

  “Are you all right, Con?”

  “Yeah, fine.”

  I didn’t want to say too much because I was afraid Witherspoon would be able to hear. No telling what kind of gizmos he was capable of hooking up. For all I knew, he had an earphone set plugged into the phone and was listening in on every word we said.

  “Neville’s here,” I lied. I knew Connie would know it was a lie. “We’re having a party.” If she didn’t know I was lying before, she would surely know now. “He just showed up on our doorstep. Didn’t go away after all.” Now I was hoping Witherspoon was listening.

  “I told you he didn’t,” she said smugly. I could have punched her for trying to sound like she knew more than me.

  In reality, I could have hugged her for being so self-confident around a maniac.

  “I told you he liked you too much,” she continued. Through the noise and confusion in the car, I could hear Witherspoon’s breath. As I’d suspected, he was on the line. “He told me that the day of the reception.”

  The day of the reception? Connie had been nowhere near Neville that day. Besides, Neville and I had just met—hardly enough time to form a Krazy-glue bond.

  Witherspoon spoke up. “All right, listen up,” he said with more confidence. “We’ll make a deal. You bring Neville to Martin’s Airfield. You know where that is?”

  “Yes,” I lied. Someone would know where it was. Plus, I wasn’t sure that’s where they were anyway.

  “I’ll have your sister there, and we’ll just exchange her for Neville.”

  My heart, which had calmed down to a mid-Indy 500 pace, was now zooming at finish-line speed. Something wasn’t right. I couldn’t trust him. But I let him keep talking.

  “You come around to the back of the airport and tell the guard you’re with me. A private jet will be there waiting. I’ll let your sister out as soon as I see Neville is safe. And if you bring anyone else with you, the deal is off.” He clicked off the phone.

  As I closed the flip phone, Doug turned the radio down and my friends stopped their noisy chatter. My party-in-a-car stopped while the car itself moved steadily forward.

  “What’s going on?” Doug asked almost at the same time Kerrie asked, “What are we going to do?”

  “Your dad is getting the police to go to his house, right?” I said, half to myself and half to Kerrie and the rest of them.

  “Yup.”

  “That’s where he started, but he said to meet him at Martin’s Airfield,” I said slowly.

  “You don’t sound like you believe him,” Sarah interjected.

  “Doug, you want me to drive?” Hector asked. “I know where Martin’s is.”

  Although Doug was going faster than his usual turtle’s pace, he was still being careful not to speed.

  Doug shook his head no.

  “Witherspoon’s voice sounded strange—echoey,” I said, peering out the window, feeling scared silly. “Someone call the police. Tell them to head to Martin’s.”

  “The lobby of his office building—maybe he was there,” Sarah offered. She leaned forward and grabbed the back of Doug’s seat. Kerrie got on her phone.

  “No, not enough time to get from his home to his office in between the first and second call,” I said. Wherever he was, we had to figure it out soon. “Connie was trying to tell me something.”

  “What did she say?” Hector asked.

  “She said Neville told her he liked me at the reception.”

  “The exhibit opening reception?” Sarah asked. “Maybe he’s got her somewhere Japanese. It was a Japanese print exhibit. Or a print shop! Does he own a print shop?”

  “The museum,” Doug said and deftly turned the car onto Charles Street to head in that direction. “That’s where he is.”

  “Yes! That’s it!” I could have jumped up and down. “It was echoey, like the museum. And Connie was trying to tell me that’s where they were because the reception was there and …”

  “And it’s only a few minutes from his house!” Kerrie said. She pulled out her cell phone again and I knew she was going to dial the police one more time.

  “No, don’t!” I told her and leaned back to put my hand on the phone so she wouldn’t punch in the numbers. “I don’t want to alert him to the fact that we know.”

  I looked at Sarah and Hector. “Tell me where he could be in the museum. Where would he take her?”

  Now it was Hector’s turn to lean forward. “He’s probably going to put her in the storage room in the old wing and lock her there. No one checks that room. She’d be there all weekend.”

  “Do you have a key?” I asked.

  With a huge grin, he pulled out his key ring, which was full of keys. “He’ll leave her there, then call you when he’s safely away,” Hector continued.

  We were now turning into the Hopkins campus onto the drive that led to the museum. It loomed behind trees in the dark and I felt like I was going to be sick.

  “Bianca,” Hector said softly as if afraid Witherspoon could hear us. “You must call the police and tell them. You can’t do this on your own. We can’t do it on our own.”

  Slowly, I nodded my head and punched in the number while Kerrie called her dad. By the time the explanations were over, Doug had pulled the car into a parking spot a block from the museum. We all sat silently in the car for a few minutes, nobody saying an
ything as we waited.

  “I can’t stand this!” I said at last. “What if he hurts her? We’re all assuming he won’t, but he’s a desperate man! What if Neville calls him while we’re waiting here and Witherspoon finds out we’ve been lying? He’d do something …” I choked up and Doug put his arm around me.

  So we got out of the car and crept up to the museum. Hector used his key to let us in. As soon as we crossed the threshold, I felt a chill. It was spooky in there. With only the security lights on, creepy shadows made fearful images on the walls and floor. We stood silently, waiting to hear something.

  And it didn’t take long. From upstairs, far away, we heard the dull thud of a door closing.

  “Come on,” Hector whispered and we all followed him up the stairs on our tiptoes. But once we got up there, the need for speed got the better of me and I ended up rushing through the sculpture gallery at such a pace that my heels made a muted clip-clop on the marble floor.

  Suddenly, a voice called out from the darkness up ahead.

  “Who’s that?” It was Bertrand Witherspoon, and he sounded even more desperate than before.

  I turned to Hector, Doug, and the rest. “You guys hide,” I whispered. “Let me take care of this.”

  “No way,” said Doug, and my heart melted again. But I was too intense for too much sentiment, so I shook my head.

  “Uh-uh. He was talking with me on the phone. I’ll deal with him. You guys stand behind those pillars until I give you a signal or something.”

  Without a word, they disappeared.

  “It’s me, Bianca!” I called out into the blackness. “I came to get Connie.”

  “Where’s Neville?”

  “He’s in the car.”

  “I told you to take him to the airfield.”

  “Hey, I might not be the class valedictorian, Bertie, but I’m no dummy. I knew you weren’t there.”

  “All right, then. Go get him.”

  “Not so fast, buster. I want to see my sister.”

  There was a pause, and I knew either one of two things was going on. He either didn’t have her—had locked her in a closet as Hector had speculated—or he was wondering whether bringing her out would be a good move. I held my breath, only letting it out when he spoke again.