by Linda Johns
We headed south on First Avenue. There are lots of restaurants on First Avenue with outside eating areas, but it was too early for the after-work crowd. Restaurant workers were just setting up the outside tables. It was safe territory for Ruff at 4:30, but in about thirty minutes I’d have to pick a different route if I didn’t want him to go crazy wanting bits of bread or food from people’s plates.
We stopped at a little park on Second and Bell. It was one of Ruff’s favorite sniffing areas. There were always people and dogs at the park. Ruff sniffed his hello to seven dogs. We were just leaving the park when a cyclist on the sidewalk cruised past us, almost mowing down Ruff.
“Use the street!” I screamed. Geesh. Another cyclist cut around a corner sharply. Ruff jumped back and yelped.
“Come on! You guys aren’t supposed to be on the sidewalk!” I yelled.
I started yelling before I really looked at who was pedaling. I saw the familiar purple and black. A Swifty’s bicycle messenger. The rider turned around and glared at me, and then he zipped around the corner. The same guy I’d seen three times before. It figures.
“If a crime happens right here, right now, it’s definitely not a coincidence,” I muttered to Ruff. I looked around and listened, as if waiting for a frenzy of activity and the wail of sirens. Nothing.
Ruff and I were right by Wired Café. I looked through the window, but there was a glare from the sun, and I couldn’t really see who was inside. I could tell there were some people in line for coffee. I peeked through the doorway and saw Nina working behind the espresso counter. She looked up and waved me in. I pointed down to Ruff. I couldn’t go inside with a dog. Nina held up three fingers. That meant to hang on for three minutes and she’d come outside. I signaled back “okay” with three fingers up.
Wired keeps a bowl of dog water outside, and Ruff eagerly lapped some up.
“We’ll need to have everything ready for Mimi to review later tonight at The Factory.” A voice traveled outside through the open door. The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it.
“She wasn’t at all happy when she stopped by the studio earlier this week,” said a man with a Jamaican accent.
“I just don’t know how much longer we can keep working at this pace,” the first voice said.
Two people came outside, each clutching a Wired Café cup. Ms. Murdoch, my art teacher, stopped when she saw me.
“Hannah! What fun to see you outside of school!” she said. “I’d like you to meet my friend James.”
“I believe we met at the studio,” James said. “You are a friend of Nina’s, right?”
I wanted to blurt out “Yes, I saw you at your studio when you were painting the Seattle Streetscapes, which looked suspiciously like a trio of paintings by Mimi Hansen.” But I didn’t get a chance because Ms. Murdoch put her arm around someone who had just arrived at Wired. Someone in a purple-and-black Swifty’s jersey. “And this is my brother, Conner,” Ms. Murdoch said.
Her brother held out his hand. “Conner Murdoch. I think we’ve run into each other around town,” he said. “Or at least I almost ran into you a couple of times.”
Conner Murdoch was the same cyclist who’d almost just plowed over Ruff. The same one I’d seen outside the Hennings Boveng Gallery. The same one I’d seen in the background of the news and in front of my building the other night. The same one I’d drawn in my sketch pad on Monday.
Was he the same one I’d seen outside Belltown Towers the day we’d moved in?
CHAPTER 22
NINA CAME OUT with a Mexican hot chocolate for me. It doesn’t matter how hot or how cold it is, I am a sucker for this concoction of semisweet chocolate, cinnamon, vanilla bean, and cream. It’s nothing like the instant hot cocoa with dehydrated minimarshmallows we have at home. Nina says she makes it special for me because she’s part Mexican, but it’s actually a regular drink on the Wired menu. She brought a big dog-cookie dog treat for Ruff. I vowed I’d walk him another ten minutes to make up for veering from his diet.
“Are you guys leaving now?” Nina asked Ms. Murdoch and James. “I’ll catch up with you at The Factory tonight. I’ll be there for a while before I have to come back here to close Wired.”
The three of them left.
“You know my art teacher?” I asked.
“It’s a small town if you’re an artist,” Nina said. “It seems like we all know each other.”
“Is her brother an artist?”
“No, but he’s into it,” Nina said. “I guess he knows Mimi Hansen and lots of gallery folks. I don’t really know much about him. He’s cute, isn’t he?”
“I keep seeing him around. Usually right around the same time that the paintings disappear,” I said. “Look, I even sketched him a couple of times.”
“Hmm … pretty good, Hannah. Maybe you agree with me and you think Conner Murdoch is a hottie.” Nina smiled and winked at me.
“Ewwww! He’s old, Nina!”
“Not too old for me. Besides, I’m sure it’s just a coincidence that you keep seeing him. Swifty’s headquarters is just over on Wall Street, so it makes sense you’d see him around here.”
“Maybe,” I reluctantly agreed. It was time to get back home if I wanted to have dinner with Mom before she left for work at Wired.
When I got into the lobby of Belltown Towers, a large, flat parcel wrapped in brown paper caught my attention. What can I say? I’m like a magnet for these packages these days. And this one was just leaning next to the mailboxes. It was addressed to Mr. Chomsky, with no return address. Time for me to be a Good Samaritan.
I wrestled the three-foot-by-three-foot package onto the elevator and pushed the “PH” button. I lugged the parcel down the hallway and breathlessly knocked on PH-2.
“Hannah!” Mr. Chomsky said warmly. “Did you decide to come back to discuss Byzantine history?”
“Not yet. I have a package for you,” I said. “Don’t they usually bring packages up to you?”
“It’s different with every service.” He sighed.
I decided not to beat around the bush anymore. “So, Mr. Chomsky, what’s being delivered to you these days?”
“Usually musty old documents and paintings,” he said. “Museums hire me to research the history and authenticity of paintings from all around the world. Lately I’ve been researching the origins of some local contemporary paintings. It’s a case you might be a bit familiar with.”
All of my suspicions about Mr. Chomsky being the art thief dissipated. He seemed as authentic as they come. I looked past him into the living room filled with paintings and books. My eyes stopped on the same blue painting I’d seen in his apartment the other night.
“Is that a Mimi Hansen?” I asked. “I mean, is that a painting by Mimi Hansen?” I asked more correctly.
“Ah, a good question, Miss West, no matter how you choose to frame it,” Mr. Chomsky laughed at his pun. “Also, an excellent question no matter how you phrase it. As you may have noticed, there is no signature on this painting. But perhaps the signature would not tell us the truth anyway. It seems that at this point in time, this painting’s origins are a bit of a mystery.”
As you can tell by now, I love a mystery.
“Surprise!” Lily called when I walked into our apartment.
“Hey, what are you doing here? How’d you get here?” I asked.
“Dad was meeting a friend at the Belltown Pub, so he gave me a ride down here early for our big overnight extravaganza,” she said.
“Cool! Mom has to work tonight. We can hang out in Belltown and stay out late!” I said.
“Wait a minute there,” Mom said. Her laptop was put away, and she was wearing her Wired uniform. They don’t really have uniforms, but Mom has a definite look when she’s working at Wired. Tonight it was a pink tie-dyed tank top with one of those long slinky sarong-style skirts that tie. She had on big black Dr. Martens boots, which she insisted on wearing if she was on her feet for a long shift. Her massive blond cur
ly hair was in a ponytail on the top of her head. She has to keep her hair up or she’ll start playing with it, twirling it just like I do (she says she’s not sure if I got it from her or she got it from me). I watched as she put in her earrings, which takes a while since she has four piercings on one ear and seven on the other.
“I know you’re kidding about being out late, but we need to go over some ground rules, girls,” she said. “Belltown is crazy on Friday nights. You can come down to Wired if you want to hang out for a while. You’ll need to call me to tell me when you’re leaving Belltown Towers so I’ll know when you’ll be at Wired. Then you’ll need to get back here before it gets dark. You can stay up as late as you can stand it, as long as you’re in pajamas and have your teeth brushed and flossed by ten o’clock.”
Nothing like a mother to put you in your place. Even a mother with eleven ear piercings.
Lily’s dad had given her thirty dollars to order Chinese food. We were sitting on Owen’s balcony looking at the water.
“I could get used to you guys living here,” Lily said. “It’s so exciting to be downtown. I can pretend we’re in New York or something.”
“Yes, dahling, ’tis magnificent here,” I drawled. I put on sunglasses and handed a pair of Mom’s to Lily. The view from Belltown Towers was truly incredible, but it faced west, and the sun was right in our eyes.
“What kind of action do you see on the street down there?” Lily asked.
“I don’t really look down that much,” I admitted. “It makes me kind of dizzy. I almost threw up the first day we were here.”
Lily stood on the edge of the balcony and peered over. My stomach fluttered just watching her be that close. She was looking straight down at the sidewalk. “Well, you’re not missing much down there,” she said. “Wait! Isn’t that Nina?”
I carefully looked down, my sweaty palms clutching the balcony railing. She’s kind of easy to pick out in a crowd, especially when she’s wearing her hair loose like it was tonight. Her thick, wavy hair fell past her shoulders. Its near-jet-blackness was a stark contrast to the tight white T-shirt she was wearing.
“It is. I wonder what she’s doing here. She knows Mom is working tonight,” I said.
But Nina didn’t stop at Belltown Towers. She crossed the street and went to the middle of the block. She paused in front of a black door. Then she went inside.
“Do you think she has a hot date?” Lily asked.
I reached for another potsticker. “Believe me, if we were living close to a guy Nina liked, chances are she’d move in here with us. But she hasn’t been hanging around much at all. Mom says she’s busy with some project.”
“Maybe that’s her project right down there,” Lily said.
A guy was definitely waiting outside the same black door that Nina had just entered. I grabbed the minibinoculars that Owen kept on top of the bookcase.
“Uh-oh,” I said.
“What? Who is it? What’s he look like?” Lily grabbed the binoculars from me. “Big deal. It’s just a bike messenger from Swifty’s.” She lowered the binoculars and turned to look at me. “Come on, Hannah. It’s probably just a coincidence. This guy probably just has a delivery to make to whatever business is across the street.”
“It’s after seven on a Friday night,” I pointed out.
Lily looked through the binoculars again. “Mr. Bike Messenger is kind of cute. Is this the same guy you’ve been seeing all around town? You never said anything about him being cute.”
“Yes! Will you listen to me? It’s the same guy. And get this: He’s Ms. Murdoch’s brother,” I said. “His name is Conner. Nina thinks he’s cute, too.”
“It looks like maybe Nina does have a hot date,” Lily said. She handed the binoculars back to me. Nina had answered the door across the street and was holding it open for Conner Murdoch to go inside.
“Let’s go see where they’re going,” I said.
“Ick. If they’re on a date, we can’t go spy on them,” Lily said.
“But what if they’re not on a date? What if he’s about to steal a Mimi Hansen painting and Nina’s in the wrong place at the wrong time?”
“Highly unlikely.”
“Yet you’re entertaining the possibility,” I countered.
Dog walking is excellent for undercover work. Five minutes later, Lily, Ruff, and I were out the front door of Belltown Towers.
“Oops. Forgot something,” I said, and turned right back into the lobby. I dragged Ruff back in after me. Lily followed grudgingly. “What’s up?” she started. I put my finger to my lips. “Shhh! Step back so that guy doesn’t see us.”
It was Mr. Snotty Art Guy from the Hennings Boveng Art Gallery. He was still wearing a black turtleneck, black pants, a black jacket, and even black sunglasses. “Hello. The sun is on its way down. What’s with the glasses?” Lily whispered.
“What’s with the whispering?” I whispered back. “It’s not like he can hear us out there.”
Mr. Snotty Art Guy was carrying a big flat artist’s portfolio, the kind with the handles on top. He jaywalked across First Avenue.
“He must not be from Seattle,” Lily said.
“I was just going to say that!” I said. No one jaywalks in Seattle. Cops on bikes give out tickets like crazy when people try to cross the street without a “Walk” signal. No one crosses in the middle of a downtown street. No one but Mr. Snotty Art Guy, that is.
“He’s heading for that same door,” I said. “Come on!” I motioned to Lily and Ruff. We headed back out on the sidewalk. Mr. Snotty Art Guy looked like he had just rung the bell across the street. He said something into the intercom. He was pacing in front, smoking a cigarette. The door opened and he headed in.
“Okay. You’ve convinced me. We have to check this out!” I said. We crossed the street and went up to the black door. The nameplate by it was blank.
“Hannah! What are you doing here? And is that Lily Shannon?”
We turned to see Ms. Murdoch, my art teacher.
CHAPTER 23
“MS. MURDOCH!” I said.
“What are you girls doing in Belltown on a Friday night?” she asked.
“Mom and I are …” I almost told her about the house-sitting gig we had at Belltown Towers. But Lily grabbed Ruff from me.
“Hannah and I are visiting a friend, Owen, who lives in Belltown Towers across the street,” she said.
“Right,” I chimed in. “Owen asked us to walk his friend’s dog. This is Ruff. Remember, you saw him at Wired this afternoon? He needs to walk a lot.”
“What are you up to tonight, Ms. Murdoch?” Lily asked.
“Oh, I’m on my way to a party here,” she said. She didn’t look like she was going to a party. She was wearing overalls with paint splatters on them, sneakers with rips in them. Her hair was in two braids, and she had a red bandanna tied over the top of her head. “I know. I know. My students never like to think I have a life after school or that I might go to a party,” Ms. Murdoch was saying, a bit too enthusiastically if you ask me.
“Well, have fun, then,” I said lamely.
“Rock on,” Lily added. Even lamer.
“We’ll just head on our walk now,” I said.
We walked a few steps away and heard Ms. Murdoch whisper something into the intercom. Someone buzzed her in.
“Excuse me, will you?” a haughty voice said. We looked up to see that we’d almost run into Mimi Hansen. Of course, she didn’t recognize me. She barely even acknowledged that Lily and I were human beings. We were in her way, and that was inconvenient for her.
“Sorry,” we both said meekly. We walked a few more yards down the street and then slyly looked behind us to see Mimi go through that same black door.
“We’ve got to get into that building,” I said emphatically.
“And you’ve got to take me with you when you get in,” said a voice behind us.
I turned to see Jordan Walsh.
“Jordan?” I asked in disbelief. “What
are you doing down here?”
“I’m supposed to meet my dad at Mama’s Mexican Kitchen. But he’s running late, as usual. So I guess my mom’s going to be stuck with me for a while,” she said. “She told me she’d be here in case of an emergency, but she wouldn’t tell me what was going on. I guess this is an emergency, though, since she can’t expect me to hang around downtown for an hour all by myself. I’m going inside to find out what’s up.”
“Maybe it’s just a party,” Lily said.
“I don’t think so,” Jordan said. “She was acting a little too weird for it to be just a party. I have to find out what she’s hiding.” She started to look a little weepy.
“You’ve watched them in there before, haven’t you?” I asked Jordan.
“Not here,” Jordan said. “But yeah, I have watched them. I was never really sure what was going on, though.”
“Watched who?” Lily asked.
“The artists?” I asked gently.
She nodded again. “The real artists.”
“I thought so,” I said. It all made sense to me now. Someone else was creating the valuable paintings that were being sold as “Mimi Hansens.”
“Is this The Factory?” I asked Jordan, remembering the conversation I’d overheard Ms. Murdoch have at Wired Café.
Jordan nodded yet again.
Just then the door opened. All of us instinctively ducked into the doorway of Sticky Fingers Bakery.
Mr. Snotty Art Guy and Conner Murdoch were on the sidewalk. “I didn’t know your sister was part of The Factory crew,” Mr. Snotty Art Guy said. “I guess Mimi Hansen’s got the whole family on the payroll now.”
“I didn’t know Shelley was working for Mimi, either,” Conner said. “It seems like the whole city is.”
“I gotta go to Ralph’s,” Mr. Snotty Art Guy said.
“I’m heading back in,” Conner said.
“Leave the door open so I don’t have to buzz upstairs again. They’re getting cranky up there. I’ll be back in five.”
“Here’s our chance,” I whispered. We all moved to the black door.
“Let me go first,” Jordan said. We followed her up a flight of stairs. The carpet on the stairs was worn-out, and it seemed like every other stair creaked. We went up another flight of stairs and then down a gloomy hallway lit with a solitary naked lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. We could hear music coming through a doorway at the end of the hall. We also heard footsteps coming up the stairs.
