Arts and Thefts

by Allison K. Hymas

  “And Quinn.” I sighed and gave back her snow cone. “I know you don’t think it’s Quinn, but we did see her grab that paint. It could be whatever this is.”

  Becca groaned. “Stop jumping to conclusions.”

  “Stop staying put on yours.”

  She looked at me sternly. “Think about it, Wilderson. Quinn grabbed a small tube of paint, and the saboteur clearly has paint to spare. Also, like Case, Quinn shares a locker with her family. Why would she leave materials for sabotage where her family could find them?”

  As much as I hated Becca turning my own argument against me, she’d made some good points. Quinn didn’t have enough paint in that little tube to commit the sabotages, and she wouldn’t hide evidence where her parents could find it.

  “She did have that purse, though,” I said. “She could hide the paint in there.”

  “Still not enough for sabotage.” Becca sipped some syrup off the edge of her cone. “Anyway, the fact that the paint used for sabotage doesn’t match the paint we found in Case’s locker doesn’t rule Case out. We were in that locker room for a long time, waiting forever for you to finish opening that lock—”

  “Hey.”

  “And we only saw Quinn come in. Your friend could have kept the sabotage paint somewhere else, or had it with him when we were in that locker room. We still don’t really know the timing of the attacks.”

  “It wasn’t him!”

  “Find me some better proof and I’ll consider it. But he has Heather’s paint,” Becca said, counting on her fingers.

  “We don’t know it’s hers.”

  “We don’t? Really?” When I didn’t answer, Becca continued, “And he’s panicked about the contest. Sounds like motive.”

  “Without means or opportunity. He doesn’t have the right kind of paint.”

  “Do you know that?” Becca asked. “Do you know where he was when Diana’s painting was attacked?”

  I fell silent. I didn’t know. “Not committing sabotage.”

  Becca scoffed. “Please tell me you got something useful before running off on me.”

  “How about the victim’s story?” I filled Becca in on my chat with Diana.

  “So, she saw her painting, and it was fine, and then someone shouted to look away and she did, and then when she turned back, the painting was ruined?” Becca frowned. “I agree with my mom that someone is doing this sneakily, and that it has to be someone who is overlooked. Like a kid. Not an adult, like she thinks!” Her eyes gleamed.

  “Yeah, and there’s more. I don’t know about the first painting, but the second was done sloppily with a sponge or rag or something. There weren’t any fiber lines in the paint, so not a brush.”

  Becca drained the last of the juice from her cone and held up one hand. “That makes sense. The saboteur could have soaked a sponge in paint and placed it in the palm, here. It would just take a rubber band to secure it, and it would only take a second to brush it on the painting.”

  “So we’re looking for a red-handed saboteur?”

  “Not if the sponger used a glove. But it supports your theory that there are two saboteurs,” Becca said.

  “How so?”

  “Because Diana’s painting was attacked with a brush.” “No way.”

  She nodded. “It’s one of the reasons Mom thinks we have an adult saboteur. It was a large, coarse brush, the kind they sell at hardware stores. Thick fiber lines, broad strokes.”

  “So, not one of Heather’s brushes either.” I shook my head. “The sponge and brush work were so sloppy. I’m getting the feeling the saboteurs aren’t painters themselves. At least, not necessarily.”

  “Well, sabotage isn’t precision work, and paintings are being attacked first, which makes me question motive, but I see your point. We can’t rule anyone out. But at least we know there are two saboteurs. One to distract everyone and one to sabotage the painting. One to use a brush, one to use a sponge.”

  “No kidding.” I drained my own cone.

  “Two people. Much like, let’s say, Case and Hack.”

  I glared at her. “Or like Lee and Quinn.”

  “Quinn is innocent.”

  “So is Case.”

  She shrugged but didn’t press the issue, so I didn’t either. The truth would come out eventually. She’d see.

  “At least your friend has this going for him,” Becca said. “I’m convinced Heather’s thief is unrelated to the sabotage. Since the sabotage is the bigger threat right now, if Case stole Heather’s paints, I’ll have to deal with him later.”

  “Case didn’t steal anything—”

  Becca held up a hand. She passed me her camera, reached over, and pressed a button. A single shot filled the screen. “Later. Right now, look that over. I examined the painting, but a second opinion is always useful. Tell me if you notice anything with your trained thief eyes.”

  “Retrieval specialist eyes,” I grumbled, but I looked closer at a photo that was annoying me for some reason. It seemed different from the version of Diana’s painting that I’d seen pre-sabotage. I zoomed in and realized why. “This painting was marked.”

  Becca snorted. “I thought the red Z would have made it obvious.”

  “Not that. I mean, it was marked before the saboteur hit it. Look.” I showed her the picture, zoomed in. “See that in the corner? Doesn’t it look like—”

  “A little black dot.” Becca took the camera and saved the zoomed-in picture as a new file. “I would have noticed that,” she said, “if I had more time.” She scowled at me, but it didn’t carry any real power.

  “Right.” I had a thought. “Is it marker or paint?”

  “Can’t tell,” Becca said, peering at her picture. “Marker would be easier, but paint would blend in on a painting. Only the saboteurs would know what to look for.”

  My skin prickled. “Quinn. Her small tube of paint.”

  “Drop it.”

  “But a small tube would be perfect for marking paintings.” Why was she ignoring the evidence? Quinn was guilty!

  “So would a marker, and anyone could have one of those.”

  “Lee’s friend had one,” I said, remembering. “He was creating his own masterpiece on his shoe with it. It would have been easy for Lee to borrow and mark a few competitors.”

  “Too much speculation. Let’s focus on what we actually know.” Becca straightened her back. “The victims were Diana Legris and Justin Baker. Both painters, but Diana just finished seventh grade and Justin is our age. Both good artists, but why them?”

  “What does the saboteur know that we don’t?”

  “Good question. Throw it on the pile.” Becca looked at the camera in her hands and sighed. “There’s too much, Wilderson. We don’t know what kind of paint you got a sample of. We don’t know how many saboteurs we have or who they are.”

  “We have an idea of who they are. You just won’t admit it.”

  Becca shot a look at me but continued. “We don’t know if the black mark in the corner there is paint or marker or what that would mean. We also don’t know how the saboteurs are choosing their victims.”

  She groaned and stood up, making the paint cans rattle. One almost fell. Becca caught it and sighed. “Too many questions. We need to get some answers before the saboteur strikes again.” She closed her eyes and was silent for so long I thought she’d fallen asleep.

  “We need to split up,” she said suddenly.

  “What?”

  Her eyes snapped open. “I’ll say it again. We have to split up.”

  “How can we do that when we haven’t even been on a date?” I said. “Unless this is one, in which case, I am way underdressed. Where’s that trilby?” I searched through the heaps of our discarded disguises.

  “Not funny. I don’t like this. Who knows what you’ll do if I leave you unsupervised?”

  “Maybe what I came here to do. Hang out with Case and look at art until my brain shatters. Unless you can think of a better use of my time?” />
  Becca closed her eyes and rubbed her head. She looked like she’d been trampled by the soccer team. “Diana’s painting. I’m pretty sure the paint used to sabotage it was the same as the kind used on Justin’s, but we have to be sure. We also need to identify what kind was used. You need to get a sample.”

  “Um, okay. No problem. Where’s the painting now?”

  Becca winced. “My mom has it.”

  What? “Hang on. It sounded like you just told me to go track down a painting that is currently under guard. By your mom.”

  “You heard me,” Becca said through gritted teeth.

  “Do you realize what you’re asking? I’m not sure you do.”

  “Trust me, I’m aware,” Becca said bitterly. “But Mom’s not the only one with access to a lab. If I can prove the paint is something a kid might use, and even that some competitor here has used it, then I can get her to consider other options.” Becca handed me a plastic bag and a piece of paper. “Put the sample here. Just get the sample. That’s all. Whatever you do, don’t get caught.”

  I grinned. “Hey, it’s like you don’t even know me.”

  “You’ll be sneaking into a place full of adults. Cops. My mom.”

  “Why can’t you get the paint? Just go up and ask your mom.”

  “Mom’s running her own investigation and she doesn’t need my input. So she’s blocking me out of this one unless I can find some substantial evidence that the saboteur is a kid.”

  “Great.” Holy cow, she was doing it. Using me and my skills to help her solve a crime. This wasn’t like the Mark job, where I was in control and she operated on a “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy (for the most part) when it came to me sneaking around. This was Becca Mills straight-up asking me to find and break into wherever park security was keeping Diana’s painting. Sneaking past actual law enforcement, somewhere I wasn’t supposed to go. Becca had crossed a line. I could get in real trouble if I got caught, and this was on her orders.

  From the defeated look on her face, I knew it wasn’t a setup. She was sacrificing her high ideals to stop the saboteur, and it made me like her more. Thrilled but valuing my life enough not to comment, I tucked the bag and paper in my pocket. “I have ins in the art crowd, so I can find out why anyone would target Diana and Justin. I can also scan the crime scenes for clues.”

  “Perfect,” Becca said. “I’ll look for art marked with black. I can also interview bystanders to find out if they saw anything. A lot of the contest officials are art teachers. They might also have some insights on why Diana and Justin were attacked first, but teachers can miss things kids notice, so you’ll need to talk to your friends. We should also check alibis for when the sabotages happened.”

  Becca still looked green, and I’d been the one with the apple snow cone. Her guilt must be weighing on her. Maybe letting her hire me for an actual retrieval job wasn’t a good idea. “You sure you want to split up?” I said. “I don’t have to go . . . do my thing.”

  Becca sagged with relief when I didn’t say breaking and entering. She gave me a small smile. “Thanks. But I’m sure. There are too many bad guys out there, and they’re hurting people. We have to make them do the time for their depraved actions.”

  I wanted to say, You say that I hurt people and I need to do the time at every opportunity, and now you’re telling me to go steal from your mom. But saying that would have meant I had a death wish, which I don’t, regardless of what my actions sometimes imply. So I just said, “I’m off, then.”

  “Great. Just remember, I’m counting on you. Okay?” Becca gave me a serious look. “Get the evidence and get back here. Don’t get in trouble. We need this.”

  It was weird seeing her so solemn. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You sure? You seem . . . uptight.”

  “Never mind me,” Becca snapped. She took a deep breath. “Let me worry about my own job. Keep your head clear for yours. You know what you need to do, right?”

  “Yeah, I got it. Get the paint, get the info, get out. Meet you at the snow-cone stand in an hour? So that’s . . .” I looked at my phone. “A little after one p.m. Is that enough time? I mean, I could have the paint sample, the saboteurs’ names, and Heather’s stolen stuff by then, but you might need more time.”

  I wasn’t trying to kick Becca when she was down. The opposite, actually. She looked so upset at herself for telling me to do shady things that I thought annoying her, challenging her, would spark her back up.

  It did. Her eyes blazed as she said, “I’ll have the case solved by then. And I’ll have figured out how to stick you with every crime you committed during sixth grade and summer vacation. Don’t talk to me about time.”

  “Fine, then.” I raced out of the shed before Becca could realize that I’d tried to cheer her up on purpose. Becca Mills endorsing the shadowy techniques of Jeremy Wilderson, retrieval specialist? A new, shining age had begun.

  I SLOWED DOWN AS I reentered the swirling masses of the art show visitors. I needed a plan. What did I have to do? Get the paint sample from Diana’s painting, look for general clues, and find out why Diana and Justin were targeted. On top of that, I had to find some evidence to make Becca reconsider Quinn as a saboteur suspect.

  Quinn may have fooled the gumshoe, but I’m a bit more cynical. I’ve met my fair share of crooks, and one thing I’ve learned is that no one is truly innocent. Once upon a time, I would have added “except Becca,” but now she was contracting my less-than-legal help on her case. I half expected her to put herself under arrest.

  So much to do and only an hour to do it. Where to start?

  The smartest idea would be to get the information about Diana and Justin first. All I’d have to do would be to talk to Case and Hack.

  I also didn’t want to rush into getting the paint sample. I needed time to think up a plan for obtaining it. If I was caught messing around with Diana’s painting, who do you think the cops would suspect first?

  Messing with the cops at all wasn’t a smart move, but I’m known for being sneaky, not smart. It was time to show it. Time to find my friends, and then later I’d find Diana’s painting and get the sample without anyone spotting me.

  First things first: time to go into disguise again. I circled back to the shed and put on the baseball cap and plaid shirt. I didn’t want Becca spotting me later when I looked for evidence on Quinn. I’d burned the disguise on Case and Hack, but as I’d have to go talk to them eventually, this wasn’t a bad thing.

  Becca’s voice floated back to me. Maybe it’s time to consider that Case has his own secrets. I shivered and dismissed the thought. Case was not our saboteur. He was probably off enjoying the sun and catching a saboteur, a job he should have stayed far, far away from. I had to trust he’d be smart enough to stay away from Becca.

  That might make it hard for me to find him and Hack. Hmm. Maybe I could multitask: look for Diana’s painting (but not get near it) and scan for clues while I look for my friends. That way I could use my time more wisely.

  Despite my worries about Case, when I returned to the crowds nearest the Contestants’ Tent, I felt like a new, more gung-ho person. I have to admit it was exciting. As I hurried past displays and through crowds of people, looking for my friends and a hint as to where security was keeping those paintings (high number of guards, a general aura of “don’t come here, buster”), I enjoyed a tingling on my neck I hadn’t felt since, well, since taking down Mark. I felt alive, but in more ways than just a physical adrenaline rush. The mystery, all those fragments of a solution, made my head fizz with a different kind of exhilaration.

  As I searched for Case and Hack, I located the place where I’d had my run-in with the guards, over by Case’s landscape (which was still safe). A quick but thorough search of the area turned up no new clues.

  Let’s see. Last time I was here, the guards yelled at me for touching the wet paint and then they carried Justin’s painting off . . . to the right. So I
turned right as well. Before too long I noticed I was heading toward the help office. Not to be confused with the help kiosk, located near the museum, that handed out maps and sold umbrellas on rainy days. No, this office was near the entrance to the park and was for reporting missing kids, renting out sports equipment, and handling medical emergencies. It was a larger, more stable structure, and there were too many people around it, even for a busy day in the park. The sabotaged paintings had to be inside.

  I leaned casually against a tree and cased the building from the outside. A tan brick structure, with double the number of guards they usually had on duty milling around the building’s front door. A woman was talking on a cell phone outside. I squinted; it was Becca’s mom. Wouldn’t it have been easier to put up a sign: sabotaged goods inside, going hot?

  On the other hand, who would be stupid enough to try to break into a place while Detective Mills was around? Oh, right. Me.

  Well, clearly my usual plan—walking through the front door with a grin and enough charm to drown a whale—probably wasn’t going to work. Next thing on the list: check for alternate entrances. Where could I get into the building without Becca’s mom or any other adult seeing me?

  I pushed away from the tree, planning to go around back and look for a window or a door I could use later. At that moment, Quinn and Larissa came up the path. They moved slowly and stopped to look at a painting of a ballerina on a high wire. Quinn’s purse was dangling loosely from her hand.

  I thought back to that black spot on Diana’s painting. The whole procedure appeared in front of me like a vision: Quinn, wandering the park, quietly marking the competition, and leaving her partner in crime, Lee, to come by later with the red paint.

  I had to search that bag. But how to get it? I could wait until she put it down, and go through it like I usually did when I was on a job.

  Still, what would it prove? If there was a tube of black paint in there, all it would reveal is that Quinn, a painter, had a tube of black paint. She could have borrowed it from a friend, or bought it at the museum gift shop. I could almost hear Becca chewing me out: innocent until proven guilty. How much proof would it take to convince her?