Arts and Thefts

by Allison K. Hymas

  Smiling, I pulled Becca’s camera out of my pocket. “How’s that for hard evidence, Becca?” I said into the camera’s microphone, and stopped the recording I’d started when I’d put my hand in my pocket.

  Like I said before, a good retrieval specialist knows that when playing cards (be it Go Fish, Old Maid, or slapjack) or working a job, always keep an ace up your sleeve. Or in your pocket.

  Lee gaped, and I carefully but jauntily tossed the camera from hand to hand. “It really wasn’t hard getting you going. You sure like to hear yourself talk.”

  “What?”

  “I could have turned you in, but then it would have been my word against yours, and that could have gone on forever, and I have an awards ceremony to get to. So I thought, you know, what’s better than a witness testimony? A confession caught on tape. And I got it. Every ill-advised word, every insult to your partner. I can think of a few people who’d like to hear it.”

  “Give me that!” Lee lunged for the camera, and I pulled it away.

  “Nope.” I tucked the camera in my hip pocket, and I was sure Lee wasn’t enough of a pickpocket to get it away from me.

  Lee’s mouth opened and closed like a hungry baby bird. “You won’t play that file for anyone. Casey and Hack would kill you.”

  “You get caught as a saboteur planning to stab his partner in the back, and I get killed? Can you explain that logic? Don’t worry about me. Worry about yourself.”

  He scowled. “At least I got Sandra’s sculpture first.”

  “Oh, right. About that. I must have forgotten to mention.” I pulled out my phone and pulled up the photos Larissa had sent me. “It wasn’t Sandra’s sculpture that fell. It was yours.”

  Or, when possible, keep two cards hidden.

  “What?” Lee grabbed at my phone, wrapping his hand around mine. He turned as pale as the phone’s light as he saw the pieces of painted clay scattered across the ground, and in the background, Sandra’s sculpture safe on its stand. “No, it’s impossible.”

  I pried his hands off my phone and put it away. “You said Aaron did it for the revenge, right? Well, he had no problem with Sandra; he hated the painters, not the sculptors. And you, well, you treated him like dirt and planned to betray him. Who do you think he’d want revenge on? He might be only a finger painter, but still, somehow, he knew to attack you before the judges had gotten to the sculptures.”

  I smiled. I’d felt such relief when Larissa had sent me the pictures. And I had been correct. Lee was suffering. Served him right.

  He turned away from me, shoulders hunched. He kept shaking his head. “You’ve taken it all from me. All of it.”

  I tucked the camera away. “No, this one’s on you. Now, are you going to come quietly, or should I call the law?”

  “You think you’re so smart, Jeremy,” Lee said. He rested a hand inside his vest. “But you’re wrong about so many things. You were wrong to tell me about my sculpture. Now I have nothing to lose and everything to gain, by hurting you!”

  With that, Lee lunged at me. I jerked back, but was too late. His hands scraped along my arm, drawing red behind them.

  No, not blood. Paint. The same paint as used in the sabotages.

  Lee watched me. In his hand was a wide paintbrush, the bristles soaked in red paint. On the ground lay a plastic bag. The little creep must have been hiding it in his vest this whole time.

  “If you were so smart, you would have seen where we are,” he hissed at me as he gestured to the painting between us. I stiffened as I recognized Case’s seascape.

  Lee grinned like a feral cat. “Always have a Plan B in your pocket. In my case, literally.” I hate it when the bad guy has the same idea I have.

  The paint on me. Leading me away to Case’s painting. Lee was going to strike where it hurt: he was going to ruin Case’s painting.

  No, Case must have already been judged. But if Case won, and got a picture in the paper with his art, and his art was ruined . . . I couldn’t let that happen!

  Lee smiled that too-perfect grin and swiped his arm at Case’s painting. With a grunt I leaped, latching onto his arm. Paint flew, spattering my face and shirt.

  Great. Finally wrecked my real shirt. Should have just worn the snot-crusted poncho all day. But I had saved Case’s painting. Just barely. At the last moment, I pulled the wet bristles away from the black-and-white seascape.

  “Case’s art is good enough on its own,” I grunted as I hauled on the saboteur’s arm. “Doesn’t need a touch-up.”

  For a skinny, weird little guy, Lee was pretty strong. Must have been all that sculpting. He struggled against me, inching the paintbrush closer and closer to Case’s painting.

  Where were the guards when you needed them? Probably in the tent.

  I grabbed Lee’s arm with both my hands and resorted to that time-honored tradition of retrieval specialists out of their league: cheating. With a hard tug I dropped to the ground, using all my weight to counter Lee’s pull.

  Lee came tumbling after me. The paintbrush clattered on the sidewalk, but not before splattering both of us with a fresh shower of red droplets.

  The little creep made a grab at the camera in my pocket, which I easily deflected. He scrambled away from me, reaching for the brush. I grabbed him by the waist-band and hauled him back.

  “What was your original reason for bringing me here?” I asked as I pushed the squirming criminal away from the brush. “Back when you thought all I had on you was an orange vest.”

  Lee struggled. “F-frame you,” he sputtered.

  “Really? A frame job? A frame job?” I pushed the squirming criminal away from the incriminating brush. “At an art show? Are you completely uncreative?”

  That must have struck a nerve. Lee lunged again, but this time aiming a fist at my face. I crossed my arms in front of my face, blocking the blow, and screamed as loud as I could, “HELP! SABOTAGE! HE’S RIGHT HERE!”

  Bet the smug little saboteur didn’t think of that.

  He didn’t. His face paled under the flecks of red paint, and he made another play for the brush. But this time I was between him and his target. I swept at the brush, sending it skittering farther down the path. “Try it again,” I said. “Just try.”

  Lee froze. He was breathing hard. “It’s over now,” I said. “You’ve lost.”

  His eyes widened and then narrowed. Then he took off running down the path.

  Oh, perfect. I scrambled to my feet and took off after him.

  Case’s painting was safe, but I wasn’t. Lee had marked me with his paint, and if anyone saw me there, next to the paintbrush, they’d jump to some unfortunate conclusions that would take time to explain away. And I didn’t have time. I had to catch Lee.

  The saboteur had a head start on me, but I was a track jock in my element. The paths were empty; everyone was at the tent, waiting for the ceremony to begin. Sure, I had to dodge a few passersby, but I could race, unhindered, after Lee. And boy, did I race.

  I saw Lee, running hard, up ahead. Pushing harder, I closed the distance. Sixty feet. Fifty. Forty.

  We were by the Contestants’ Tent. I could hear conversation inside. The ceremony must not have started yet. Good. I’d be able to be there for Case after all this was over.

  Thirty feet now.

  And then Lee stopped suddenly and faced me. He held out a hand like a police officer. “Stop.”

  Yeah, right.

  Around the corner, walking toward the tent, came a small swarm of judges. They must have finished judging the art and were coming to announce the winners. I skidded to a halt and hunched protectively over the red on my shirt. If they were to see the incriminating evidence on me . . . that was it.

  Lee laughed. “Your speed won’t help you now, Wilderson.”

  “Don’t call me ‘Wilderson.’ Only Becca gets to call me that.”

  He laughed again and disappeared into the paths. The crowd of judges and the need to hide the obvious paint on my shirt slowed me down. A lo
t. I had to wait for them to pass.

  After the judges went inside the tent, I ran ahead, looking for Lee.

  I scanned the park. Something, anything, had to give him away. Come on, think, Jeremy. He was almost as painted as I was. He couldn’t stay where any stragglers could see him. He’d have to be moving away from the main paths of the park. I ran away from the tent, toward the grassy areas.

  And there he was, sprinting toward the toolshed where Becca and I had kept our disguises. All those cans of paint . . . we had been right. The paint was with the park’s supply in the shed I’d unlocked earlier. Oh, that made a delightful bonus.

  He was too far ahead. Even if he didn’t stop at the shed, he’d make it out of the park before I could catch him. After he got out, it would be too easy to lose him for good.

  I ran harder. Lee looked back and grinned at me. He knew he was in the clear. He passed the shed, still looking behind him.

  Running without looking ahead can be dangerous. Lee never saw the hand snap out from the shed and grab onto his collar. He looked shocked as that hand yanked him down into the grass.

  I arrived on the scene to see Becca pinning Lee’s hand behind him. She was practically singing him his rights. When she saw me, she smiled.

  I smiled back. “Nice job.”

  She shrugged. “What are partners for?”

  TURNED OUT, AFTER THE HUBBUB in the sculpture garden had been taken care of, Becca had used Larissa’s phone to call Quinn. Our eyes in the sky had seen me confronting Lee and then chasing him. Quinn and Becca had coordinated to intercept him. But the kicker was that the real lead came from Ethan.

  “He told me all about how Lee would sneak off to the shed,” Becca said as she pulled out a pair of handcuffs (real ones) from her Mary Poppins–like pockets and cuffed Lee. “He was very forthcoming.”

  “No, really?” I said, laughing. “After all the nice things Lee did for him?”

  “Everyone has a breaking point. Anyway, when the sisters said Lee was headed this way, I knew where to set up. You may be good at running, but not even you can run forever.”

  “That sounds like a threat.”

  “Maybe.” Becca laughed. Catching bad guys put her in a creepily good mood, which wasn’t hurt by the fact that she was right and had caught the saboteur for her mom. “Great detective work, by the way. Figuring out Lee was the other saboteur.”

  “Thank you.” I guess I had managed to put the pieces together and solve the mystery, even though it’s not my usual gig. It felt good.

  “Oh, and here.” Becca tossed me a moist towelette packet she must have been keeping in her shorts. “You have flecks of red on your face. What is it with you and paint?”

  I scrubbed my face and looked soberly at the paint on my shirt. “One far-distant day, the best minds in the universe may figure it out. But today we are not so wise.”

  “Will you two stop flirting?” Lee spat from his place facedown on the grass.

  Becca leaned close to his ear. “Nope. Because you are too darn cute. In fact, you’re so cute, I think I should introduce you to my mother.” Lee visibly shivered and Becca laughed. “She’ll have some strong words to say about the attempted sabotage of Casey Kingston’s work, to say nothing of the sabotage of Diana and Justin’s paintings.”

  “And the attempted sabotage of Sandra’s statue.” I leaned toward Lee. “Attempted.”

  “Too bad about that other one, though,” Becca said, her lips twitching.

  “Shut up,” Lee growled. “At least when you bring me in, I’ll get to tell Aaron what I think of him for destroying my art!”

  Becca winced. “Sorry to disappoint you there, too.”

  “Aaron?” I asked.

  She got somber. “He got away. We did all we could. I’m sorry.”

  “What happened?”

  “Aaron had appeared in the sculpture garden not long after you left,” Becca said. “Larissa and I saw him right away. He was carrying a can of red paint, and basically looking really suspicious. He obviously wasn’t expecting a welcome committee. We shouted at him and blocked his way to Sandra’s sculpture. He threw the paint can at me—good thing it still had the lid on—and when I caught it, he moved toward the statue. Larissa grabbed it to protect it.”

  “But he wasn’t going for Sandra’s art,” I said.

  She shook her head. “He pushed over the one next to it. The crash made us both jump back, and he ran away. You should have seen us: me throwing the paint can aside so I could chase Aaron, and Larissa clutching the statue. I ran after him and Larissa dealt with the adults, but I couldn’t catch him. He disappeared.”

  Lee laughed. “You won’t catch him. But wait until I get my hands on him. I’ll—”

  Becca squeezed his arm, making him go silent. “I’m sure what you’re planning is wonderful, but it will have to wait. Right now, you’re going to come with me and explain to my mom why you’re covered in paint.”

  “You might also want to have him explain the paint-brush lying by Wall C,” I said. “And here’s this.”

  I handed her the camera and pressed play. Lee’s confession rang out, and Becca beamed.

  “Jeremy, you sure know how to give a girl a present. Evidence doesn’t get any better. Mom can’t ignore any of this. I call this a good day’s work.”

  “I second that,” I said as Becca hauled Lee to his feet. “Come on, Wilderson. Let’s hand this creep off to the proper authorities.”

  “Uhh, about that.” It’s not that I didn’t want to go back to the help office and face down Becca’s mom and all the guards I’d seen earlier. It’s just that I really didn’t want to.

  “Your witness testimony might be necessary,” Becca said.

  “I got you the recording. That should be enough.”

  “But you were part of the investigation. You should be there with me.”

  “I wish I could.” I really didn’t. “But I can’t. The awards ceremony is happening right now.”

  Becca nodded. “Casey.”

  “Yep. I should be there for him at least this part of today.” I examined the paint stains and sighed. “You’re my partner, sure, but he’s my friend. I owe him this.”

  Becca smiled and glanced from Lee to me. “I get that. See you around, then, Wilderson.”

  With that, she took Lee to meet his justice and I ran to the bathroom to change into the plaid shirt I’d hidden. It might have been stained, but it wasn’t splashed with red paint. I put it on and went to work scrubbing and peeling the stretchy paint off my face and arms. Once the worst of it was gone, I headed back to the tent.

  I was late, so I snuck in and sat in the back row. Case was sitting up on the stage with the other contestants. He looked kind of sick. The awarding hadn’t happened yet.

  “Hey, man.” Hack sat down next to me. “Whoa, what happened to that shirt? Why are you late?”

  “Trouble hunting mountain lions. Why are you late?”

  “Checking up on something,” Hack said. “Big.”

  “Get-you-grounded-again big?”

  Hack grinned and took his glasses off. “Maybe. Did you hear about the sabotage earlier?”

  “Which one?”

  “Lee’s. Not sure I care about that one, actually.”

  “Me neither. So what were you checking up on?”

  “A hunch. Someone isn’t as good as they think they are about covering tracks.”

  “And that someone is?”

  “Let’s just say that when the judges came in, I went looking for you. And you know what I saw? A dirty saboteur slinking out of the park, carrying a paint-soaked sponge in a bag. Probably trying to dispose of it. I got a picture and asked around, got a name. Guess what? He stupidly left his real e-mail address in the park volunteer database,” Hack said, his voice tinged with venom. “Case and I are going to pay him a visit and make him an offer he can’t refuse. You know the key to a good con.”

  I nodded. “Give the mark what they want . . . .”


  “Or, if that doesn’t work, threaten them with something they don’t.” Hack tilted his chair back and dramatically put his glasses back on.

  “Nice.” I grinned. “So what will you do?”

  “Too many people here. Let’s just say, for now, that I may have sent an e-mail to this certain someone offering some incriminating fingerprints I found. I may or may not have left out that no such prints exist. Too soon to tell. And when he gets back here for the meeting, Case and I are going to give him some very good reasons to turn himself in.”

  “Uh-huh.” Case, Hack, and I had been tight for a long time, but this was the first time one of them was really scaring me. A forger and a hacker tend not to be the most threatening people, on first thought. They’re white-collar troublemakers who work alone with delicate, sensitive instruments. But while Hack was talking to me, I had visions of viruses, compromised security, and false homework assignments. Secrets uncovered, and fake closet skeletons with convincing paperwork to back them up. My friends were bad people to tick off. I had a feeling Aaron was about to discover that for himself.

  I was so glad they were on my side. I was also glad that I’d successfully avoided being seen with Becca. The job was done.

  So I sat back, watched the mayor finish his speech, and then waited as art teachers from various schools presented different awards. Sandra won Best Overall, Henry won Best Photograph, and the kid who had been muttering to himself in the tent won Best Sculpture for a statue of a dog wielding a lightsaber.

  Diana and Justin were in the audience. I watched them, too. During the presentation of the Best Painting award, the mayor made a comment about the unfortunate tragedies of the day and his encouragement to the artists to “remember that art is a prize in itself.” At that, Diana looked at her lap and Justin twitched. We all read between the lines and knew they weren’t getting anything. My stomach squirmed, like I’d failed a job. This wasn’t right. Diana and Justin deserved more.

  But that didn’t stop me, when they announced Casey Kingston as the winner of Best Painting, from joining Hack in rushing the stage and carrying our friend off in a tide of victory.“I can’t believe you did that,” Case said after the ceremony. “That was so tasteless.”