“Yes, I’ll be at the university, and then Professor Breton will bring me home. I thought we could all have dinner together so you can tell us about your day. Sound good?”
Paloma nodded just as the bell from the gate rang. Tavo and his parents were right on time. Her mom walked her out to Tavo, who was wearing a Diego Rivera T-shirt.
“You look awesome,” Tavo said, pulling his sunglasses off. “Are you ready to have your mind blown by more Mexican art today?”
“¡Por supuesto!” Paloma chuckled, squeezing into the back seat of the white Range Rover. From the front, Tavo’s parents turned to welcome her. In return, Paloma wanted to say how sorry she was to hear that their home had been broken into, but she kept quiet. Maybe this excursion was their way of forgetting all about it.
The ride to Museo Soumaya was only a twenty-minute drive. From the outside, the museum looked like a shiny aluminum trophy that had been run over by a truck. Paloma had never seen a museum like it. She and Tavo took a dozen selfies in front of it.
Once inside, Tavo and Paloma rushed up the white floors to the fourth level to see artwork by Mexico’s finest artists. The two passed paintings by artists named Orozco, Siqueiros, and Tamayo before pausing at Frida Kahlo’s Self-Portrait with Braid. In the portrait, Frida’s dark hair was tied up into braids and knots at the top of her head. A dark red ribbon weaved through her hair. Around her neck was a necklace made of stones. Her shoulders were bare and covered only by large green leaves.
“This one is different,” Paloma said, studying the painting. “It’s different from her other self-portraits.”
“How so, querida?” Mr. Farill said, suddenly standing next to her and Tavo.
“Well, because …” Paloma started. She gave the painting a long gaze, absorbing every detail. “In her other self-portraits, Frida has her hair down or up, but in this painting her hair is pulled tight and twisted into knots at the top of her head.”
“Very good. Go on. What else?” Mr. Farill said.
“Seriously, Dad?” Tavo said, rolling his eyes. “This isn’t art class.”
Paloma giggled but continued. “Frida uses lots of background images in her self-portraits, like birds, butterflies, trees, and even clouds, but this one is pretty bare. In this one, she chose an ugly green-yellow color behind her. There’s not much else. Also, her shoulders are uncovered. In most of her paintings, she has a blouse or shawl on. I’m not sure why she did it this way.”
Mr. Farill stood silently, rubbing his chin. “You could be an art professor, Miss Paloma,” he said finally. “Or a detective. You have a keen eye.” He smiled at her. “If you want to know why she painted this one differently, there is another clue, but it’s not in the painting. It’s revealed in the year this painting was made by Frida. Sometimes timing is everything.” He pointed over at the title tag on the wall beside the painting.
Tavo read it out loud. “Self-Portrait with a Braid. 1941. Frida Kahlo.”
“This painting was done the year after Frida remarried Diego Rivera,” Mr. Farill explained. “See, Frida was a deliberate painter. Every color and image meant something to her. At this time in her life, she painted her hair knotted up in braids atop her head. Many believe it had to do with the fact that she was confused about whether she had made the right choice to remarry Diego.”
Paloma thought about how her stomach had felt tied up in knots after she spoke to the Fortune-Teller about Gael and Lizzie. Everything the Fortune-Teller said about her friends being desperate and buying medallions for protection confused her.
“And what does that necklace symbolize?” Paloma asked.
“This is the same necklace she wore the day they remarried in San Francisco. It’s made from rare pre-Columbian stones. That is what is so intriguing about her self-portraits. She is giving you clues into her life.”
Paloma eyed the painting. “Where is the necklace now?” she asked. “Is it on display somewhere I can see it?”
“Most of it is on display at her museum,” Mr. Farill answered. “Although two weeks ago, a man who assisted with one of the exhibits at Casa Azul was arrested for stealing several pieces belonging to the museum. He’s in jail now.”
Paloma flashed him an are-you-serious? look. “Did they get the jewelry back?” she asked.
Mr. Farill shook his head. “They only retrieved a jade necklace. What he did with the other pieces, we may never know. It’s all very tragic for Mexico to lose these valuable pieces.”
Paloma stood there in a daze. Did Gael and Lizzie know about this? Was the peacock ring one of the stolen items?
“Now they’re finally putting security cameras inside the museum,” Tavo said. “A little too late.”
Mr. Farill shook his head angrily. “It’s disgusting,” he hissed.
Paloma looked to Tavo for an explanation.
“My dad thinks that putting cameras inside Frida’s museum destroys the dignity of her childhood home. He was against it. It was a big fight, but the museum went ahead and started installing cameras everywhere.”
“Those security cameras don’t do anything anyway. I mean we have them in our home, and it was still broken into. Why ruin the spirit of Frida’s home with vulgar technology that doesn’t work?” He shook his head with disgust.
“My mom told me about what happened. I’m so sorry,” Paloma said, touching the coolness of her eagle warrior medallion between her fingers. “I’m glad no one was hurt.”
“Thank you. You’re sweet,” Mr. Farill said. “We’ve got the culprits on film. We’ll catch them. Anyway, as I was saying, Frida’s home is a historical site. It’s shameful to put up security cameras in every corner.”
Paloma tried her best to follow everything Tavo and his father were saying, but her mind kept zooming in on the missing jewelry at Casa Azul.
“Mr. Farill, do they know what other pieces were stolen from the museum? Was there a ring?”
Mr. Farill leaned back in surprise. “Yes, there was a ring of some importance …” Mr. Farill rubbed his chin. “I remember being told about the ring, but I can’t remember exactly the details of what made it particularly special.”
Paloma frowned. How did Gael and Lizzie not know this? The peacock ring had to have been stolen two weeks ago. She wanted to write down everything Tavo’s father said on a note card.
“Paloma, my dear, what made you ask about a ring?” Mr. Farill asked, snapping Paloma out of her thoughts. A wave of panic hit her hard. She was talking too much. Lulu Pennywhistle always warned, “Too much schmooze loses the clues.”
Paloma pulled on her side braid and shrugged. “You said jewelry, so I just thought about rings. I love rings.”
Mr. Farill nodded and looked at his watch. “It’s a great injustice. Now, if you two don’t mind, I must go upstairs. I promised Mrs. Farill that I’d meet her at the Rodin exhibit. See you both in the lobby in an hour. Enjoy.”
As soon as his dad was out of earshot, Tavo lightly bumped shoulders with Paloma. “Whoa, my dad really likes you. He never talks to me about art like that. You’ve totally impressed him.”
“I did?” Paloma said, surprised. “Your dad knows a lot.” Paloma dug into her bag for a note card and pen. She didn’t want to forget a single detail. “I’m going to jot down some notes.”
“Paloma Marquez, you’re such an art nerd!” Tavo laughed.
Paloma smiled at him and chuckled but kept writing. “If I am, it’s because you’re the one who nerded out on me that first night at the reception talking about Frida. It’s contagious.”
Tavo laughed some more and snagged her note card once she finished writing.
“Hey!” Paloma protested, but let him read it. It was just notes about the painting. He wouldn’t suspect she was up to anything else—like hunting for a peacock ring.
Tavo smiled as his eyes darted across the note card. “You forgot to note down the year of the painting.” He handed it back to her.
“That’s right,” Paloma said. She snat
ched the card back and wrote down “1941.” “Timing is important,” she muttered. Then another thought hit her. What about the timing of the peacock ring?
She pulled out a few more of her note cards. Did the ring go missing in 1954, when Frida died, or did Diego hide it somewhere else before he died in 1957? Did the peacock ring disappear after they opened the secret room in 2004? Or did it get taken two weeks ago during the robbery?
Two weeks ago. Paloma let the words soak in like a stroke of paint. Tavo drifted off to admire another painting, and that was Paloma’s chance to search through her cards. She was sure she had notes about other occurrences two weeks ago. She made a list as she rummaged through her note cards.
“More notes, Paloma?” Tavo teased from two paintings away.
She forced a cheesy smile and shrugged. “I love art! Can’t get enough.” Tavo shook his head, and Paloma went back to her cards. She made a list of everything that happened two weeks ago:
There was a robbery at Casa Azul and a man went to jail.
The Fortune-Teller arrived in Coyoacan.
Gael and Lizzie bought medallions for protection.
Gael and Lizzie’s father left for New York City.
Paloma wasn’t sure how it was all connected, but Lulu Pennywhistle didn’t believe in coincidences and neither did Paloma. There was only one way to know for certain.
“Everything okay?” Tavo asked, wandering back over to her.
Paloma felt her face go hot as she shoved her list into her bag. “I need to find your dad for a minute,” she said.
Before Tavo could say anything more, Paloma bolted up the passageway to the sixth floor. She found Tavo’s father just as he paused outside the exhibit of Rodin sculptures.
“Mr. Farill,” she said, out of breath from the run. He turned around, surprised to see her.
“Paloma, is everything okay?” he asked.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but you said the guy who stole Frida’s things was in jail, right? Who was he? Do you know his name by any chance?”
Mr. Farill nodded. “Yes, his name is on the tip of my tongue. I believe it was Antonio … Antonio Castillo.”
Paloma staggered back, in shock. “Castillo? Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m certain,” Mr. Farill said, and then put a hand on her shoulder. “Everything okay? Why do you ask?”
Paloma stiffened. She felt like she might pass out right there.
“No reason. I just thought it’d be an interesting story to share with my mom.”
He gave her one last gentle smile and walked off toward the exhibit with all the Rodin sculptures. Paloma felt as frozen in place as the sculptures looked.
Soon, Tavo approached. His mouth opened and closed as he talked excitedly about something, but Paloma couldn’t process anything he said. She managed a faint smile while her stomach knotted up. Could it be true?
Gael and Lizzie’s dad wasn’t in New York City. He was in jail.
During the car ride home, Paloma’s head spun through every conversation she’d had with Gael and Lizzie about their father. Several times she had felt like they were hiding something from her or not telling her the truth. It was a gut feeling she ignored because they were her friends. Now Paloma felt foolish. The truth had been there the whole time.
Paloma shuddered as she connected the pieces. The way Paloma saw it was once Mr. Castillo was caught for stealing from Casa Azul, he was thrown in jail. Losing their dad to jail, Gael and Lizzie suddenly felt afraid. That’s why they bought the Aztec eagle warrior medallions and a crucifix from the Fortune-Teller. That’s why Gael said he only spoke to his dad every other week.
Paloma felt like her head would explode.
Yet, there were still two burning questions she couldn’t answer: If their dad stole the peacock ring, then why were they looking for it? And why did they involve her in any of it?
Once the car parked in front of her house, Tavo walked her inside the gate. Paloma looked back over her shoulder toward the planter. She hoped Gael had left her a note.
“Is everything okay?” Tavo asked. “You were super quiet on the ride home.”
“I think looking at all that art has drained my brain,” Paloma said, adding a weak laugh. She felt bad that she hadn’t been better company to Tavo. He’d been nothing but honest and sweet, and instead of enjoying time with him, she’d been focused on Gael and Lizzie. “I’m just super exhausted.”
“Get some rest. Maybe we can meet later this week for churros after your classes or something?”
“Sure,” Paloma said, mustering a weak smile. She hesitated before going into the house, and waited for the Farills’ car to disappear down the street. Once it was gone, she rushed over to the planter and shoved the stems and leaves aside to check for a note from Gael, but there was none. As she stomped back toward the house, Professor Breton suddenly opened the front door.
“Hey, Paloma, welcome back. How was the museum?”
“It was good,” Paloma answered, looking around the house. She could hear her mom in another room on the phone, sounding very stressed out.
“Just good? Not fantastic?” Professor Breton teased. “Did you take a lot of pictures for—”
“What’s up with Mom?” Paloma interrupted. “She sounds upset.” Paloma bit down on her lip. Were Gramps and Nana okay?
“Well, it’s not good news, I can tell you that much,” Professor Breton said, shaking his head. “And it’s my fault.”
“What do you mean?” Paloma’s mind raced. Was her mom losing her fellowship?
“She’s on the phone with some university folks. It’s about your friends Gael and Lizzie, but let’s wait for her.”
Paloma’s heart stopped at the mention of Gael’s and Lizzie’s names. Soon her mom rushed into the living room. “This is just crazy.” She took Paloma’s hands and sat her down across from her on the living room couch.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” Paloma said.
“Okay, so you know how I was planning to call Gael and Lizzie’s parents about you guys sneaking out, right?”
“Oh, Mom! Why do you have to—?”
“Before you whine and moan, you need to hear this. I called some friends of mine who work at the university to inquire about how to reach Mr. Castillo by phone, and they’ve never heard of him.”
Paloma looked back and forth from Professor Breton to her mom. She hoped her face didn’t give away that she knew where they were heading.
“They have no record of his being at the university, or a visiting artist, or anything.”
“Then I remembered that your mom had told me that Gael and Lizzie hung out by the churro stand,” Professor Breton jumped in. “So we went and talked to Gael’s aunt. She says that their father isn’t an artist in New York. He’s in jail accused of stealing from Casa Azul. They’re living with her right now. That’s all she would tell us. Frankly, I was surprised. The newspapers had reported a case of vandalism at Casa Azul a few weeks ago but not a robbery. That’s why the museum has installed security cameras. Anyway, it’s a big mess.”
Paloma pulled on her side braid and wrapped it around her index finger over and over. When Mr. Farill told her the name of the thief, she didn’t want to believe it. Paloma had kept a little spark of hope that it would be another Antonio Castillo, but it was true.
“The aunt said that he’s innocent, but of course she’d say that,” her mom added, and let out a long sigh. “There’s more, too.”
“More? What else?” Paloma asked.
“That got us thinking about Gael and Lizzie. Since they lied to us about their father … maybe they were lying about other stuff, too.”
“Are you serious?” Paloma covered her face with her hands.
“So I went online to check their names in the language program registrar,” Professor Breton said. “It turns out they’re not even listed in the program! I called one of my colleagues who works with the program. He confirmed that they’re not in the program. They’re not s
upposed to be tutoring you. I feel horrible.”
“They’re little imposters!” Paloma’s mom said, throwing her hands up in the air in frustration.
“But …” she started. Paloma had no words. She looked up at Professor Breton for an explanation.
“I’m so sorry, Paloma. The night of the reception, Gael mentioned the language program. I’m certain he said he was part of it and was there to meet you. His English was excellent. I saw no reason to question it.”
Paloma’s brain was buzzing. She had to talk to Gael.
“I’m the one to blame,” Paloma’s mom said. She brushed the bangs away from Paloma’s eyes. “Here I was encouraging you to hang out with those two, and this whole time, they’ve just been a couple of little tricksters.”
“No, they’re not,” Paloma mumbled, feeling the weight of the entire day on her shoulders. Her brain hurt. Her heart hurt, too. Sure, the Castillos had lied to her. But they’d been so nice to her, too. She couldn’t dismiss them without hearing their side of the story first. “They’re my friends. I have to talk to Gael. Can I please have my phone back?”
“Absolutely not, Paloma Jane! Did you not hear what I said?” Her mom stood up and walked a few steps away with her arms crossed over her chest. “They’re hustlers. They came to our house with pastries. They sell this story about their father being an artist away in New York. They serenade us, but then they have you sneak out of the house for churros, and now this!”
“They didn’t make me do anything,” Paloma said with a quick eye roll. “They must have a good reason. I’m sure of it.”
Paloma stomped to her bedroom. She paced the room, pulling on her eagle warrior medallion. She still believed it protected her, but she wasn’t sure she believed in Gael anymore.
She opened her memory box and touched the purple flower she had worn in her hair the first night they met. Gael said that wearing a purple flower in her hair was something Frida would do. He had also told her that he had chosen her to help solve the mystery with him because he agreed with what she said about “not being fake,” but that wasn’t true. He’s been a mega-super faker this whole time—and Paloma was going to find out why.
Me, Frida, and the Secret of the Peacock Ring Page 10