The Vanishing Violin

by Michael D. Beil

  After we tell her about Leigh Ann’s first-punch theory, Margaret puts her arm around our friend’s shoulders. “I had a feeling that crack about Queens would get to you.”

  “Well, it’s no wonder Livvy hates you,” I say. “I mean, look at you. Even in sweaty gym clothes you look like a model. Come to think of it, I hate you,” I say, looking down at my gawky own self.

  Sister Bernadette, who is making the rounds of the gym, stops in front of us. “Well, girls? I think it’s a big success, don’t you?”

  Margaret at least tries to be enthusiastic. “It was fun, Sister.”

  Sister Bernadette looks at Raf, then at me. “Aren’t you going to introduce your friend, Miss St. Pierre?”

  “Oh. Um, sorry, Sister. This is Raf, er, Rafael Arocho. He goes to Aquinas.”

  “Ah, I remember this young man. You were a St. Andrew’s student, am I correct?” St. Andrew’s is the boys’ school right next to St. Veronica’s. Raf attended through sixth grade.

  Raf nods. “Uh-huh. I moved over to the West Side last summer.”

  “Well, I’m happy that you could make it today, Mr. Arocho.” She starts to turn away but stops midturn. “Before I go—any news to report, girls? Regarding our little investigation?”

  “I think it’s safe to say we’ve solved the case, Sister,” Margaret says.

  “Well, that is good news. You can tell me all about it later. Looks like I need to get the next game organized.”

  Across the gym floor but directly in our line of sight, Livvy continues to flirt shamelessly with Andrew. First she laughs a little too much at something he says, and then she touches him on the arm, and finally, with a look over her shoulder to make sure we’re watching, she flips her hair for the forty-seventh time and drags the poor guy off to meet more of her friends.

  “I’m telling you,” says Leigh Ann after witnessing this sorry spectacle. “One good punch.”

  “Who feels like getting something to eat?” Raf asks. “I’m starving.”

  I stick him with my elbow. “When aren’t you hungry?” It’s true. The kid has the metabolism of a hummingbird and the digestive system of a goat. He’s a humminggoat.

  Margaret pulls me away from Raf and through the doorway. “We don’t have time. We need to stop by Mr. C.’s to see if there’s anything new from my violin guy. I left the message about the last clue in the park this morning.”

  “Weren’t we going to try to meet the people upstairs today?” I remind her. “You know, the ‘interview’ for the school paper.”

  “Right. We’re going to have to put that off until tomorrow, right after school. Can everybody come?”

  Rebecca tugs on my blazer. “Um, Sophie, weren’t we supposed to be rehearsing after school tomorrow? We missed yesterday, and I think Tuesdays and Thursdays are the only days we can use the back room at Perkatory. If we’re going to play anytime in the next century, we need to practice.”

  “I need my days to be a few hours longer,” I say. “Twenty-seven or -eight would be just right.”

  “Well, if you’re not going to eat, I’m heading home,” Raf announces.

  I stick out my lower lip in a fake pout. “Call me later?”

  He gives me his own version of the shnod.

  Rebecca, Margaret, and Leigh Ann begin to chant, “Byyeee, Raaaaffffff!” as he turns and ambles away for the distant lands of the Upper West Side. What they don’t know, but I do, is that he’s not headed for the bus stop on Seventy-second Street—he is much too cool for the bus now that he has experienced the wind in his face and the taste of bugs in his teeth. He is Scooter Man, and his trusty mechanical steed is parked a block away.

  “Be careful!” I shout after him, which earns me a what-the-hell? look from Becca.

  “At least we didn’t have to witness any PDA this time,” she teases.

  “What? We barely touch in front of you guys.”

  “She’s teasing you, Soph,” Leigh Ann says. “You guys are so cute together.”

  We are?

  Her words are still hanging in midair when Malcolm and Elizabeth, both carrying those “green” reusable bags packed with groceries, turn the corner and practically run into us.

  “Ahem. I assume you are referring to us as being cute,” Malcolm says, puffing up his chest and straightening his bow tie.

  “I, um … yeah, definitely,” Leigh Ann says, unable to hold back a smile.

  Malcolm chuckles. “You can’t even say it with a straight face, Miss Jaimes. Elizabeth, I think we should be insulted.”

  “Nonsense,” she replies. “What a nice surprise running into you all. Everyone heading home?”

  “Eventually,” Margaret says. “How are things working out with Ben?”

  Please, please, please don’t say he has disappeared with his new friends Pablo Picasso and Henri Matisse.

  Elizabeth leans close to Margaret. “Can I keep him? He’s so adorable! And he’s a wonderful cook, too. Last night, he made a seafood risotto that was absolutely to die for. It was the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

  Malcolm clears his throat again, and she gives him a good-boy pat on the back. “Malcolm, dear, I’m sorry. Your grilled cheese sandwiches are still the best. Girls, you see how men are? You need an extra room just to hold their ego!”

  “That’s a relief,” I say. “I mean, that it’s working out with Ben.”

  “And I didn’t even tell you about the furniture,” Elizabeth gushes, causing Malcolm to raise his eyebrows dramatically. “He completely rearranged my living room! I’ve been trying for years to make that room cozier, and he walks in and does it in a day. Like magic!”

  “As long as we’re on the topic of cozy rooms,” Rebecca begins, “I have a question. Your house has a basement, right?”

  Elizabeth nods. “Oh yes. I don’t go down there much. There’s a Ping-Pong table and an old couch. Not much else. Why do you ask?”

  “Well, me and Soph and Leigh Ann are starting a band, and we’re having a hard time finding a place to practice. And I was just wondering …”

  “Anytime you want. You won’t bother us at all. If you close the door, we won’t hear a thing. But I can’t imagine the three of you make that much noise anyway.”

  “Oh, you’d be surprised,” I say. “But thank you. That would be awesome.”

  “We’ll definitely be stopping by one day this week,” Rebecca promises. “Won’t we, Sophie?”

  “Yes, Becca.”

  Malcolm gives Elizabeth a nudge. “We’d better keep moving. We don’t want to keep the kitchen magician waiting for these groceries.”

  “Tell him we might have a break in the case,” Margaret says. “We should know more tomorrow.”

  Elizabeth winks at me. “You girls take all the time you need. And I’ll take good care of Benjamin.”

  We’re just starting to walk away when Elizabeth calls out to me. “Sophie, this might seem odd, and I’m probably mistaken, but I could swear I saw you the other day on the back of a scooter with a boy that looked like your friend Raf. You had a helmet on, but I caught a glimpse of your beautiful smile—or at least I thought it was yours.”

  Gulp. “On a scooter? Me? Where?” I’m sure the look on my face is a mixture of confusion and terror, but lucky for me, Elizabeth seems to notice only the confusion.

  “Oh, it must have been somebody else. I have to admit, it did seem a little strange. Toodle-oo, girls.”

  As Malcolm and Elizabeth continue on their (mostly) merry way, and I try to do the same, Margaret and Becca, arms crossed, block my path.

  “Sophie Jeanette St. Pierre. Have you been scooting?”

  Trapped. Exposed. Betrayed yet again by my tomato red face.

  “A scooter? With Raf? What were you thinking?” Whoa, this is a Margaret who is really mad at me.

  “I dunno. I wasn’t going to, and then—”

  “Sophie, do you know how dangerous that was? How stupid? Raf doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

  Sucker p
unched, I fight back the tears that are coming because of the overload in my emotional fuse box. Why can’t I tell her how much fun it was?

  “He does, too! His uncle taught him. He was careful. And it was only the one time. It’s no big deal. And at least Raf is the kind of boy who would stick up for me.”

  It’s an Andrew slap, and I regret it the second it hits her, but …

  I have to cry. And so, I run.

  Chapter 18

  In which the blazers do get us in the door

  Leigh Ann calls me at nine-thirty, late for her.

  “You okay?” she says.

  “Yeah.”

  “Have you, um, talked to, um, Margaret?”

  “No. She might have tried to call, but I had my phone off.”

  “Sophie, when you ran off, she was crying, too. You’re her best friend, and she’s afraid something bad might happen to you. That’s all. She’s not mad at you.”

  “She called me stupid.”

  “She said riding the scooter with Raf was stupid.”

  “Was she mad about what I said about Andrew?”

  There’s a long pause on Leigh Ann’s end of the conversation. “Um, what did you say about Andrew?”

  “That at least Raf would stick up for me.”

  “That was about Andrew? I’ll admit, we were all kind of confused when you said it, but we just figured you were upset and not making sense. What did you mean?”

  “See, I can tell Margaret likes him, and sorry to put it this way, but I think he’s kind of a jerk. Twice I’ve seen him with Livvy when she was either talking about Margaret or being rude to her, and he didn’t do anything.”

  “Soph, you need to call her about this—right now. Call me later if you want.”

  I’m still debating the pros and cons of calling Margaret when the phone rings.

  “I just thought of how to get Livvy back!” Leigh Ann exclaims. “It’s a beautiful plan, if I do say so myself.”

  I’m immediately interested, and besides, I really don’t want to deal with my Margaret situation right now. All recent evidence to the contrary, I am not a big fan of confrontation. “Okay. Does it involve anything illegal, immoral, or unethical?”

  “Um, no, no, and probably not.”

  Revenge without guilt? Seems unlikely. “Okay, let’s hear it.”

  “See, it’s all about appearance. Livvy just has to believe that we—well, Rebecca, actually—did something illegal. I think we’ve proved that we can act, right? It’s time for another performance by the Red Blazer Players. Okay, you know that big science test we have next week? Multiple choice, on everything we’ve covered so far this year? We’re going to convince Livvy that Becca hacked into Ms. Lonneman’s computer and stole the test and the answer key.”

  “But why would we tell Livvy? She’ll never believe we’d help her.”

  “This is the beautiful part. Livvy is going to intercept a note from Becca to me, talking about what she did, and how we have to keep it a secret from you and Margaret because you guys are such goody-goodies that not only would you not cheat, you’d probably tell Ms. Lonneman what was going on and ruin it for the rest of us. Livvy will believe that.”

  “Are you kidding? I believe that.”

  “Then, at the end of Becca’s note, she’ll say that the copy of the answer key will be under the books in the top of our locker, which everyone knows we never lock.”

  “And you think Livvy will steal it?”

  “I guarantee it. She’s a sneaky one.”

  “Ohhh. Then she will totally bomb the test. And it’s not like she can complain. An answer key supposedly hacked from a teacher’s computer, which she stole from a locker. Good plan, Leigh Ann! Hey, I’m writing a song that’s kind of inspired by Livvy.”

  “Ewww.”

  “Well, not so much by her. More the dreaded apostrophe project.”

  “Your song is about apostrophes?”

  “You’ll see. I’m done with the lyrics, and I think I’ve got the music figured out. Gerry is going to help with that part when I see him for my lesson Saturday. But I promise, I’ll bring what I have to our next rehearsal. You know, I’m going to be really happy when we find this violin, so we can all get back to our normal crazy schedules.”

  • • •

  Leigh Ann hangs up again, and this time I don’t hesitate; I speed-dial Margaret. As I listen to the phone ring once, twice, three times, I realize my heart is pounding. I’m calling my best friend in the world for, like, the gazillionth time, and I’m nervous. The fact is, I know she’s right, essentially. Getting on a motor scooter to ride across the city with a twelve-year-old boy, even a reasonably responsible one like Raf—I shouldn’t do that. The fact that I was discovered proves—yet again—that I am the world’s worst criminal. I have been caught every single time I have broken the law. First, there was that incident with the St. Christopher medal at the St. Patrick’s gift shop, then getting busted in the church by a half-blind, hearing-impaired security guard, and now the scooter. I wasn’t on that stupid thing ten minutes, and Elizabeth Harriman spots me. Some people just aren’t cut out for the shady side of the street.

  Margaret answers on the fourth ring. “Hi.”

  “Hey.”

  “I tried calling.”

  I grunt. “I turned off my phone so I could think.”

  “Oh.”

  “Margaret—”

  “Wait. Let me go first. Look, I’m—I just freaked out a little when I thought of you and Raf zooming across town on a motorcycle—”

  “Scooter.”

  “Fine. A scooter. Sophie, what if something had happened to you?”

  “But nothing did.”

  “This time.”

  “Look, Margaret, I know the scooter thing was dumb—but it was also a-MAZ-ing! And don’t you have to do something crazy once in a while? I mean, sailing across the Atlantic Ocean in 1492 was dumb, too, but look where it got Columbus.”

  “You’re comparing yourself to Columbus?”

  “I’m trying to make a point—that you have to try new things. Sometimes you have to take chances. Even if I never get on another scooter—”

  “Which you won’t, if I have anything to say about it.”

  “I have that experience to carry with me. Forever. And you don’t have to say anything about it.”

  “Hmmm. I understand what you’re trying to say. You’re wrong, but I understand.”

  “So, should I call Raf? He can take you for a ride, too.”

  “How ’bout we start with some not-too-exotic sushi?”

  “Deal. And for your thirteenth birthday—a subscription to Teen Vogue?”

  “Don’t push it, Magellan.”

  All that day-before drama is mostly forgotten as four girls in red blazers and plaid skirts climb the stairs to the apartment directly above Chernofsky’s Violins. No matter what perils await us on the other side of the door, we’re ready.

  Margaret pauses before knocking. “Remember, we’re reporters for the school paper. Sophie, you have the camera? Leigh Ann, a notebook?”

  “Check.”

  “Got it.”

  She knocks firmly, and to our surprise, the door opens almost instantly. Two women, both about four and a half feet tall, with short gray hair and trim, athletic-looking builds, stand side by side. They’re not quite identical, but the resemblance is close enough that I blink a couple of times to make sure I’m not seeing double.

  “Hello,” says the one on the left. “Can we help you?” Classical music is playing on the radio in the background, and the smell of just-baked cookies perfumes the air.

  Margaret introduces us and explains the “purpose” of our visit, and we are invited into a comfortable, simply furnished room. Margaret is right about the power of the school uniform. It’s the equivalent of top-secret security clearance. Could I walk into a bank vault simply because I’m wearing a blazer and a plaid skirt?

  The two women are Natalia and Anna Mendlikova, and
it turns out they are cousins—not sisters—from Romania. Anna is the talkative one, while Natalia is a little skittish; she smiles and nods, but rarely makes eye contact with any of us. Every few seconds, she looks nervously at the door as if she’s waiting for the KGB to come crashing through and arrest them.

  “Everyone thinks we are sisters,” Anna says. She moves her face even closer to Natalia’s to emphasize the similarity. “We grow up together in Romania. We leave Romania together. Now we live together in America.”

  “How long have you lived in the United States?” Rebecca asks, taking notes like the good little reporter she isn’t.

  “We defect in 1976, but we spend almost one year in Canada before coming here.”

  “You defected?” I ask. I start to regret that I don’t actually write for the school paper. Even if they have nothing to do with the violin, this might make a great story.

  They nod in unison, and then Anna begins to speak very deliberately. “From the Olympics, in Montreal. Natalia and I were gymnasts, on the Romanian national team. You have, of course, heard of Nadia Comaneci, winner of many gold medals? She was our teammate. After the final events, Natalia and I disappear. Everyone pays so much attention to Nadia, so it is not so hard to do.”

  Leigh Ann leans forward in her chair, captivated. “And then what happened?”

  “We are lucky. We have friends in Canada who help us. It was difficult time. We tell our families what we plan to do before we go to Olympics, but still, it is very painful. We do not see them for many years.”

  “But now you can see them, right?” Margaret asks.

  “Yes, yes. Some come to America, too. My nephew Sergei lives here in New York. This is picture of him.” Anna takes a double frame from the table behind the sofa and hands it to me. “Now we make some tea for you girls and bring out some cookies. Then we will answer all your questions.”

  As they disappear into the kitchen, I get my first look at the photographs. And guess what? Sergei is a gymnast, too. The first picture shows him hanging from the rings in a position that seems humanly impossible—well, at least for this human. In the second, he is in a suit and tie, standing between Anna and Natalia, both in floral-print dresses; he is only slightly taller than the two women. Making sure that they are out of hearing range, I whisper to Margaret, “I’ll bet he could climb through a trapdoor.”