“This vase is the object that animates the room,” Ruthie answered.
“That’s unbelievable!” Dora exclaimed.
Jack walked into the Zen garden, out of sight, while Ruthie stayed next to Dora.
“Dora, the bento box there.” She pointed to Jack’s box on the black lacquer table. “Did you write on the note inside it?”
“I was wondering when you’d ask. Yes, I did. When I opened the room from the glass front to study the miniatures, something about the box stood out to me.” Ruthie could feel Dora’s obsession as she continued. “When I found your note—I had to write back. I used a magnifying glass and a very sharp pencil. Several weeks went by. Then I read about you and Jack in the paper, about how you had found Mr. Bell’s album. I knew you had to be the same kids. And then, as luck would have it, I met you that morning in the gallery.”
Ruthie let her talk without interrupting or asking any more questions. It was clear she wasn’t going to tell the entire truth about going to Mr. Bell’s opening: Dora had needed to see what they looked like so she would recognize them in the museum. It wasn’t luck at all that they had met. Dora had been betting on the fact that sooner or later she and Jack would show up in Gallery 11.
“I had already discovered that some of the miniatures weren’t really miniatures at all, but valuable antiques that had found their way into the rooms. I had the problem that I already told you about, that some of them had grown in my bag, and they were sitting in my apartment until I could figure out how to shrink them and return them.”
“Well, it’s good that we’ve put them all back,” Ruthie said, a meaningful tone in her voice.
Dora looked at her for a split second. “Don’t you believe me?”
“There’s still a globe missing from E6,” Ruthie said. She saw a look flash across Dora’s face.
“Oh, that. It was in my office, and a client insisted on having it. I’ve been planning on getting that back. Clients can be very demanding.”
Now that Ruthie knew for certain that it was Dora who had written on the note, it was time to remove it from the room before anyone else came across it. “Wait here.” Ruthie checked the viewing window and then rushed over to the bento box. She retrieved the letter just as Jack was coming back from the garden. “Do you still want to leave your box here?”
“Yeah. I like knowing that it’s here. What do you think?”
Ruthie nodded.
Back in the side room, Jack handed Dora her leather bag. “Here, you might as well take this now.”
“Thank you.” Dora looked at Ruthie and Jack for a couple of long moments. Then she said, “I would love to help you two understand what an opportunity you have here. No one has this sort of access to such treasures!”
Ruthie could hardly believe that Dora was still plotting how to steal more objects! It was clear; Dora wasn’t going to change her ways. But Ruthie played along. “Let’s go to E1 and show Dora everything,” she said in her most convincing voice.
“We’d better hurry,” Jack called as he charged forward. “We don’t have a lot of time.”
As they approached the ladder, Jack stepped aside. “Dora, why don’t you go first. That way you won’t worry that we’ll be leaving you behind, since we climb faster.”
“Thank you,” she responded.
When Dora was about ten rungs down Ruthie quietly took Duchess Christina’s key from her pocket and grabbed Jack’s hand. She tossed the key over the ledge, and together they jumped.
As Dora saw their two expanding figures fly by, she lost her footing and nearly fell. She dangled for several seconds until she was able to get her high heels on a toothpick again. “What are you doing?” she yelled.
“We don’t really think you’re the kind of person we can trust to keep the magic safe. Sorry, Dora,” Ruthie said.
“But where are you going? How will I get big?” Dora screamed hysterically.
“When the museum closes”—Jack looked at his watch—“in about two hours, just slip under the door. You’ll be full-sized before you get to the stairs,” he said.
Ruthie couldn’t resist adding, “Watch out for mice. And there are cockroaches too.”
“Wait! Please, don’t leave me here alone.” They didn’t even turn around again.
“You’ll be sorry!” That was the last thing they heard Dora’s tiny voice shriek at them as they unlocked the door and left her alone in the dark corridor, clinging to the ladder.
By the time they arrived at the apartment building where Dora lived (it had been easy to find—she was the only Pandora Pommeroy in the phone book), the police were already there with a search warrant. Ruthie and Jack ran from the bus stop and found Dr. Bell—as planned—standing near her car talking to one of the officers.
“Ruthie, Jack! How did it go?” she asked.
“Better than we planned!” Ruthie said.
“Piece of cake!” Jack echoed. “I think she’ll show up here around five-thirty.”
“Are you the two amateur detectives we owe thanks to?” the policeman asked.
“Officer Randolph, this is Jack Tucker, and this is Ruthie Stewart,” Dr. Bell said.
“Pretty clever of you two to figure out who the art thief was and provide us with evidence.”
“We got lucky,” Jack said modestly.
“Officer Randolph just gave me some interesting news,” Dr. Bell started. “The woman who had given the suspect the necklace as a tip came forward this morning. She’d been out of town, but as soon as she returned and read about it in the paper, she contacted the police. She had befriended the man, and he confided in her that he wanted to impress his girlfriend but didn’t have enough money to buy her an expensive gift. She said she’d felt sorry for him, and she thought the necklace didn’t suit her anyway. Can you believe it?”
“Some tip, huh?” Officer Randolph concluded. Then something seemed to occur to him, and he asked Jack and Ruthie, “How do you know she’ll be here at five-thirty?”
Jack and Ruthie looked at each other, and Ruthie responded, “She’s doing something at the Art Institute, and it closes at five.”
“Well, you’ve been right about everything so far. We’ll just expect her then.” He walked away to confer with the other officers.
“The police were really knocked over when I took the video in,” Dr. Bell told them. “I also showed them the photo evidence you gave me with the apples. It turns out that a couple of collectors who had recently hired her as a decorator began talking to each other about the thefts. They started getting suspicious and had spoken to one of the detectives on the case, but they had no hard evidence. Your video was exactly what they needed!”
“That’s great!” Ruthie said.
“I bet we’ll be in the papers again!” Jack added gleefully.
“All they need to do is search her apartment for the stolen property, and then they can arrest her,” Dr. Bell explained.
Now it was hurry-up-and-wait time. At five-fifteen they got in Dr. Bell’s car to watch.
“I almost forgot,” Jack said, reaching into his backpack. “I swiped these from Dora’s bag when I was out of sight in the Zen garden.”
Ruthie looked at a set of keys in Jack’s hand. “I wondered what you were doing back there.” The keys were all labeled AIC, for the Art Institute of Chicago; one was the access door key, and a smaller one had a tag that said TR Fronts. “The key to the access door and the windows! Now for sure she’ll never be able to steal from the rooms!”
At five-thirty Dora’s car screeched to a halt in front of her building. She got out, slammed the door and stomped to the entrance.
Almost immediately, the three police officers followed her into the building.
“I wonder how long it will take,” Dr. Bell asked. “I’ve never watched an arrest happen!”
Her question was answered quickly: about fifteen minutes after they’d gone in, the officers came out again, this time with a handcuffed Pandora Pommeroy in tow. She s
tood tall and still elegant-looking between the policemen, but the face of this woman who had once appeared so stylish and impressive was now transformed by equal parts of pride and anger. They watched in silence as the police put her in the back of the squad car and drove off.
Dr. Bell went with Ruthie and Jack back to Mrs. McVittie’s and quickly told her everything. Then Ruthie’s parents arrived, with Claire. Jack called his mom and invited her to dinner at Mrs. McVittie’s, and Dr. Bell stayed as well. Even Gabe showed up—Claire had phoned him.
“I can’t believe it!” Claire exclaimed during dinner. “My little sister, the detective!”
Of course, not all of the story would be recounted publicly. But the part they could talk about, and the part that made the headlines, was amazing enough!
“There are going to be some very happy collectors in Chicago now that the real thief’s been caught,” Lydia said.
“So, Ruthie and Jack,” Ruthie’s father began, “when did you become suspicious of Dora?”
Jack answered, “At first she just seemed like a nice lady giving art lessons.”
Ruthie thought about it for a minute. In hindsight there were a few moments during her drawing lessons that had made Ruthie wonder a little about Dora. “I should have known sooner. She sometimes seemed more interested in things than in people. That’s never a good sign.”
“But what was the deal with the apples?” Claire asked.
“We figure they’re her signature,” Jack answered. “You know—her calling card.”
Then Ruthie felt a flash of insight. “Apples! Of course! Mom, isn’t the French word for apple pomme?”
“Yes—oh, I see! And her name is Pommeroy. Pommeraie is the French word for an apple orchard!” her mother confirmed.
“I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before. No wonder I’ve been dreaming about apples all week!”
THE NEXT DAY AFTER SCHOOL, Ruthie and Jack went to the police station to give statements and sign some papers. They agreed to be witnesses if there was a trial.
“You two have performed a great civic duty by helping us,” Officer Randolph said. “She’ll be in jail for quite a stretch. We checked her bank accounts; she’s been making big bucks selling the stolen art. Personally, I think she’s maybe a little crazy, that lady,” he confided.
“Why do you think so?” Ruthie asked.
“She keeps talking about a curse that’s been put on her. And something about a giant mouse!” He shook his head.
“Sounds crazy to me,” Jack said.
“Me too,” Ruthie agreed. “Crazy.”
It turned out that Dora’s apartment was filled with many stolen antiques, and it would take some time for the police to get everything back to the rightful owners. The collectors whose apartments she had decorated were very cooperative when they found out she had been selling stolen goods to them. Ruthie did a careful check of the Thorne Rooms against the photos in the catalogue, and as far as she could see, nothing other than the objects they already knew about seemed to be missing.
Getting the little silver box back from room E10 was easy—as far as the police were concerned, it belonged to Dr. Bell, since they had seen it stolen on Jack’s surveillance video. It took several weeks to recover the globe. From Lydia’s photograph of the collector’s apartment Ruthie and Jack knew exactly where it was. Mrs. McVittie stepped up to claim it as hers, saying Dora had “borrowed” it from her shop. After she filed some official police documents, they eventually retrieved it (after all, they knew no one else could rightfully claim it). Ruthie and Jack planned to return it to the room where it belonged as soon as possible.
The staff at the museum was grateful to Ruthie and Jack for exposing the criminal in their midst. “I never really warmed up to that Ms. Pommeroy,” the archivist told them later. “She was always so perfect, never a hair out of place. That’s just not normal.”
The story did make the newspapers, as Jack had predicted—the front page! “Sixth Graders At It Again; Use Spring Break to Catch Thief,” one headline read. At both of their houses the voice mail was overloaded with messages from reporters. At Oakton, they were congratulated during morning announcements, and the whole school could be heard applauding the local heroes.
By Friday, Ruthie declared to Jack, “I’m kinda getting tired of all this, aren’t you?”
“Don’t worry. Everyone will forget by Monday.” He was only off by a few days.
It was Dr. Bell who approached them about making a return trip to the rooms. Ever since the day they had come to her office and unleashed her memories, she had been pondering what it would feel like to experience the magic one more time. “I’d like to put the silver box back myself,” she explained.
The following Sunday the weather was wonderful in the city, and a festival taking place in Grant Park ensured small crowds in Gallery 11.
“Stay really close to me, Dr. Bell, and keep your hand where I can grab it,” Ruthie instructed. “It will happen fast. As soon as the shrinking stops, just go straight under the door.”
“Are you sure I can do this? What if the magic doesn’t work?” Dr. Bell asked, sounding worried.
Jack said, “It’ll work. We’ve gotten pretty good at this.”
“Just do what we do,” Ruthie reassured her.
They didn’t have to wait long; the guard had gone to stand at the entrance, facing away, and no visitors were anywhere near them.
“Okay,” Jack said. Ruthie grabbed Dr. Bell’s hand just as Jack placed the key in Ruthie’s other hand and held on tight. The magic worked beautifully. Quickly the three of them scooted under the door.
Caroline Bell laughed. “Incredible! That was great!” She stood up and looked around the immense corridor. Ruthie saw in Dr. Bell’s face something of the little girl who had first discovered the magic. “I remember! It’s coming back to me.”
Ruthie and Jack waited, letting her have a moment to let it all sink in before Ruthie said, “Let’s go to the ladder.” She started off into the corridor. Jack and Dr. Bell followed, and soon they saw the ladder, still hanging near room E7.
“You two climbed the whole way up?” Dr. Bell said.
“One of us could get big and lift you, if you’d rather not climb it,” Ruthie offered.
“No, I’m game.” She walked closer and admired Jack’s handiwork.
She was much more of a natural athlete than Dora, and wasn’t wearing high heels, so the climb went smoothly. Once she was standing on the ledge, Dr. Bell looked around. “Wow. Now I remember what this felt like.”
The silver box belonged in E10, a dining room from eighteenth-century England, which wasn’t too far along the ledge. Ruthie, Jack and Dr. Bell climbed through the framework and found the entrance to the room, a heavy wooden door with a big golden knob. Fortunately the door was open halfway. Dr. Bell looked in first.
“Yes, this is the room,” she said. “Will you come with me?”
“Sure,” Ruthie and Jack said.
The three of them walked into the room. The pale green walls were covered in delicate white carvings, and most of the furniture was highlighted with gold. A statue of the Greek goddess of the hunt, Diana, looked out from a wall niche.
“Do you remember where it goes?” Ruthie asked.
“Over there.” Dr. Bell stepped onto the finely embroidered rug and walked past the dining table to the far side of the room, where a three-tiered table stood. She placed the silver box on it. As she did so, they all heard the faraway but omnipresent tinkling, like an enveloping whisper; it was gone before they could exhale. Next they noticed the subtle but unmistakable change that took place: sounds of life could be heard from outside the large window. The view was of a walled courtyard, with a tall, wrought-iron gate in the center. Caroline Bell turned just in time to see a blackbird swoop down and land on the gate, chirping furiously. Her jaw dropped.
“Am I really seeing what I think I’m seeing?”
“Yes!” Ruthie said. “But we’d be
tter get out of here.”
Outside the door, Dr. Bell still looked thunderstruck. “It can’t be … it’s not possible.”
Jack and Ruthie explained to her what they’d learned about certain objects—the really old ones—animating the rooms. They told her about hearing the voice of Duchess Christina of Milan, about Sophie and Thomas, and about Louisa and her family, and Phoebe from Charleston.
When they’d finished, Dr. Bell said, “I’d like you to take me to the room where you found my backpack. The room with the canopy bed.”
“That’s E17. Right this way,” Ruthie said, taking the lead.
When they arrived at E17, the door to the room was open as usual and the “daylight” from the tall window streamed in, illuminating the rich surfaces of the room. And there was the canopy bed, fit for royalty. Dr. Bell looked in and Ruthie could hear the catch in her breathing.
“Oh my,” she said. “I think I remember.… It was in the big cabinet, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” Ruthie answered. “I almost didn’t see it, it was so dark in there, but I was in the cabinet hiding from sight. When my eyes adjusted, there it was.”
“I used to go in there, thinking it was my own little world. That nothing bad could happen.” Dr. Bell choked up for a minute. “I’m going to walk in there for just a second, if you think it’s okay.”
“Go ahead. Just listen for voices in the gallery,” Jack said.
Dr. Bell tiptoed into the room. She touched the silk of the bed, then walked to the cabinet and looked in. Jack and Ruthie watched from the doorway.
When she came back to them, her eyes were glassy with tears. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Sure,” Ruthie answered.
“I’m remembering everything now: when I left my backpack with the photo albums in that cabinet, it wasn’t really an accident. I did it on purpose,” she said.
“Why?” Ruthie asked.
“I missed my mother so badly. I thought that if I couldn’t have her, I didn’t want anyone else to have her either. I knew my dad was planning an exhibition of those photos, and it felt like I would be sharing the only thing left of her. If I’d been a little older, I would have realized how much more I had to lose by hiding the album. But now I—my father and I—we have it back, thanks to you.”
Stealing Magic Page 16
