The Mystery of the Third Lucretia

by Susan Runholt

  “You want to go?” Mom said, and turned.

  “No!” I said quickly. “I mean, could we just wait here a second?”

  Lucas said, “Yeah, we’ve been inside all afternoon, and just as you came up we were saying how fun it is to look over everything happening on Trafalgar Square. I especially like the buses.”

  “Sure,” Mom said, but I saw her following my eyes as I watched Gallery Guy going down the steps to the sidewalk.

  “Who’s that?” she asked. “What’s going on here?”

  “That’s just a guy we saw in the Rembrandt room,” I said, ignoring her second question. It maybe wasn’t the whole truth, but it was the truth and nothing but the truth, and it sounded especially honest coming right after Lucas’s lie. I always think it’s good to tell the truth to your parents whenever you can. For one thing, it’s usually easier.

  “You are going to use the mummies, aren’t you?” Lucas asked. She was talking about what Mom had said about trying to decide what to feature in her story about the British Museum. They have Egyptian mummies there that Lucas and I really like.

  I suppose now is as good a time as any to explain exactly what Mom kept doing in the British Museum. If you read The Scene, you’ve probably seen some of my mom’s stories about museums. She did the very first one the other time we went to London. It was about the costumes at the Victoria and Albert Museum, and I guess a lot of kids read it. So since then she’s done two more, one on the big Louvre museum in Paris, and one on a museum in Florence, Italy.

  Mom talked the people at The Scene into letting her do four museum stories a year. She’s always telling me she’s so tired of articles on supermodels that she could just throw up, and if the magazine doesn’t try to do something for the 999 girls out of a thousand who could never be models, she doesn’t think they’re being very responsible. So she tries to get them to run articles that help get girls interested in things besides just their looks and boys.

  Anyway, it was time for The Scene to run another museum story. This one was going to be about the British Museum. So that’s mostly what she had to do in London this time, besides another “London Looks.” All the time we’d been in London, she’d been trying to find a theme for her article and decide what to have the photographer take pictures of.

  Lucas’s question about the mummies had been just the right thing to get Mom started.

  “Yeah, I’m definitely going to include them. I figure if you’re that interested in them, other kids will be, too. In fact, maybe—” She broke off. “Oh, duh. Good grief. Why didn’t I think of it before? How about, ‘The British Museum: A Teenager’s Guide’?”

  “Sounds like a good theme to me,” I said, though I actually thought it seemed pretty basic.

  “Of course! That’s it!” Mom said. “I’ll take you two around to the galleries tomorrow and we’ll take pictures of whatever you’re the most interested in.”

  I saw Lucas’s face fall, and even I felt disappointed. So much for our plans to come back and keep an eye on Gallery Guy.

  Mom was too excited with her idea to notice. “I’ve been racking my brain for almost a week. You’d think I’d have thought of something so obvious at least four days ago. Terrific! I suddenly feel all energized.”

  I looked at Lucas. It was obvious she didn’t feel all energized, and neither did I.

  11

  Blessings Upon Thee, O Camellia

  We were going to eat at Robert’s restaurant that night. The restaurant isn’t as far away from central London as Robert’s house, but it still takes a long time to get there on a double-decker bus. When we got on, Lucas and I went to find a place to sit upstairs. We never got tired of sitting upstairs on double-decker buses and noticing how weird it felt to drive on the left side of the road.

  “We’ve got to figure out something so we can get back to the National Gallery tomorrow,” Lucas said the minute we were away from Mom.

  “Well, the only thing I can think of that would keep us out of the British Museum completely would be a bomb scare,” I said, “and I think that might be going a little bit far.”

  “Yeah, probably a bit,” Lucas said with a sigh, as if she was sad to give up the idea. “But let’s at least make out a list tonight of our favorite things in the British Museum. We’ll show them to your mom as fast as we can tomorrow morning, and maybe by the time we’ve had lunch, we’ll be able to go check out what Gallery Guy is doing.”

  “Good thinking,” I said. “And sometime tonight I’ll let her know we have our own plans for the afternoon and don’t want to be stuck in the British Museum all day.”

  So we pulled out the little tablet Lucas used for a sketch pad and one of her soft lead drawing pencils and started making our list.

  On the bus I’d been thinking I’d absolutely hate the time we had to spend in the restaurant, because I wanted to be talking to Lucas about our plans for the next day. But believe it or not, when we actually got there, there were so many other things to think about that I almost totally forgot about Gallery Guy.

  Mom and I had met the chef and one of the waitresses the last time we were in London, and this was the first time we’d eaten there on this trip, so everybody kept coming over to our table and making a fuss over us, and bringing over tall nonalcoholic drinks with pieces of fruit on little sticks.

  What with everything going on, I forgot all about Gallery Guy until we were in the middle of the meal. When I did remember him, I got a little shiver of excitement thinking about being in the gallery with him again, even though I was still worried that he’d remember us from that time in Minneapolis. Then I thought of something that totally spoiled my appetite.

  What if Gallery Guy remembered us from Minneapolis and also happened to look at us yesterday when we weren’t watching him? He’d recognize us right away and figure out we were spying on him. Even though we had a right to be in the museum, I had the feeling he’d find some way to make sure we didn’t find out what he was up to. The thought gave me the shivers.

  “Aren’t you going to finish the rest of your chicken?” Mom asked as I arranged my silverware on my plate. “I thought you said it was delicious.”

  “It is. But I’m full.”

  “Well, you’re going to have to eat more of it than that if you want dessert,” she said. Typical. I knew what desserts were like at Robert’s, so I shoved in a few more mouthfuls.

  Mom had been asking where we’d gone before the National Gallery, and Lucas was telling her all about the Tower of London.

  While they talked, I was in my own private world, thinking about how to spy on Gallery Guy without having him recognize us. Then I thought of another thing: the guard.

  If you go to museums, you know there are usually guards in uniforms hanging around, keeping an eye on all that expensive artwork. Well, the Rembrandt room had one of those guards. A balding guy. I’d noticed him right away because he had such a prissy expression. He had a long, pointed nose, and he held it high up in the air and looked down over it to let you know that he thought he was better than everybody else. He stood by the door scoping out everybody who came and went.

  What if he saw us hanging around, trying to see what Gallery Guy was working on? Would he make us leave the museum? Would he tattle to Gallery Guy? That gave me the shivers again.

  Then I came up with an idea. I don’t want to brag, but I think it was pretty brilliant.

  Disguises.

  Even after we’d weeded out the clothes Camellia had bought, we still had enough clothes to disguise ourselves as most of the Justin Timberlake fans from an average ninth-grade class. Plus there was that whole three-section bag full of cosmetics.

  What’s more, Camellia had provided us with the perfect excuse to use them all.

  I waited until Lucas had stopped telling Mom about what they had on the McDonald’s menu.

  “You know, one thing we haven’t done yet is to get any pictures of Lucas in those clothes Camellia wanted her to wear. Maybe we should
take a couple of outfits along tomorrow, and after we’ve finished at the British Museum”—I kicked Lucas under the table—“we could go get some shots at Trafalgar Square. We could take the tube and bus back to Robert’s when we’re done.”

  “Sounds okay to me.” Relief, relief, she didn’t expect us to stay with her all day long. “But where would you change?”

  “We could change in the museum bathroom where we went this afternoon. It’s way in the back, in the part of the building where they have classes. We went twice and there wasn’t anybody else around either time.” This was absolutely true, and what was really great was that this quiet little bathroom was close to the Rembrandt room.

  “Well, okay, but you’re going to have to make a list of everything you have along so you don’t forget anything.”

  Lucas hadn’t said a word during all of this, but I’d seen by her expression that she’d at least half figured out what I had in mind about the disguises. When mom went off to the restroom, I explained it all.

  “Is it brilliant, or what?” I said when I’d finished explaining.

  “Definitely brilliant,” she answered.

  Then, folding her hands and looking toward heaven, she said, “Blessings upon thee, O Camellia. God, I take back everything bad I’ve ever said about my mother.”

  She looked down, then looked back up again. “Well, maybe not quite everything.”

  12

  “Watchit, Dad”

  There was just one more thing that happened in the restaurant that turned out to be important later. Before we left, Celia dropped in to join us, and somebody else took over behind the bar so Robert could come sit at our table.

  It’s always fun when Robert and Celia are around. Celia’s cool, and when we’re with her we all like to tease Robert, who teases us right back.

  So when Celia saw Robert walking over to our table, she whispered to us, “After a few minutes, ask Robert if he’s ever had a part in a movie. And keep asking him until he tells you about his lines.”

  A little while after he sat down, Lucas said, sounding casual, “Have you ever been in a movie, Robert?”

  “Once,” he said. “Thing called Streets of Fear. Yes, I remember it well. Didn’t go very far. Should have done better, what with me having a speaking role.”

  “What did you play?” I asked.

  “A young tough,” Robert said. “Black leather jacket, a spiderweb tattooed on one cheek.”

  “So what did you say in the movie?” Lucas asked.

  “I’m not sure I can remember. . . .”

  “Oh, Robert,” Celia said, sounding innocent, “I’m sure you can remember all your lines. In fact, Ican even remember all your lines. Why don’t you tell these sweet girls?”

  “Sweet girls my . . . backside. Bunch of ruddy females,” he muttered, looking at the four of us. “Okay, you want to know my part, I’ll tell you. I said, ‘Watchit, Dad.’”

  Lucas and I waited. Finally Lucas said, “That’s all?”

  “Whad’ya mean, that’s all? It was an important line, and I delivered it with sensitivity.”

  Lucas and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes.

  “See, I was this young bast—this young ne’er-do-well racing through the streets of London on a motorcycle, and I ran over an old bloke who couldn’t get out of my way, and as he lay dying on the street I looked down on him and said, ‘Watchit, Dad.’”

  “Was the man really your dad? In the movie, I mean?” I asked.

  “Naaow.” (That’s how Robert says no.) “See, in England, young people without manners, like you lot, call older blokes ‘Dad,’ the way the posh crowd might call them ‘Sir.’”

  I leaned toward him and shoved him with my elbow. “Watchit, Dad,” I said.

  “You can’t even say it right.” So for a few minutes Robert taught Lucas and me how to say “Watchit, Dad,” as if we were East Enders, with Celia shaking her head the whole time.

  “With that phrase and a black leather jacket, you’ll pass for a Londoner anytime,” Robert said. “Specially if you hang a ring through your eyebrow.”

  As it turned out, two days later, one of us did just that.

  13

  Rags, Treasures, and the Women’s Loo at the National Gallery

  The same kind of thing that had happened at the restaurant happened again the next morning. We’d thought being in the British Museum with Mom would be a real bummer, and we just wanted to get it over with. But it turned out to be pretty good.

  The big thing was that we were dressed in some of the new clothes Camellia had bought. My outfit was the black skirt and the crinkly white blouse with the big cuffs. Having a new outfit always makes me feel special.

  Even Lucas seemed to like wearing her green polka-dot dress. A person couldn’t help noticing again that it was a perfect color for her. And because she knew she looked good in it, she looked even better, if you know what I mean.

  We were dressed up because we were going to have our pictures taken for the magazine. That meant we also had to get all made up by Mom, and that was also cool. Mom said if she’d thought about having us in the pictures ahead of time, she would have gotten a professional makeup artist, and that would have really been fun, but since they weren’t going to be close-up shots, it didn’t have to be a perfect job. After Mom was finished with us, we were wearing more makeup than either of us had ever worn in our lives. We even had on eyebrow pencil and lip liner. We both looked very grown-up and sophisticated, or at least I thought so.

  The museum itself was another reason why we ended up having a good morning. Of all the museums I’ve seen so far, the British Museum is my favorite. Lucas loves it, too. They have Viking stuff, ancient jewelry from almost everywhere you can think of, probably the best collection of coins in the whole world, and room after room of things British explorers brought back from Egypt. And that’s only about one-millionth of what they have.

  That morning it was especially exciting because we were there before opening time and had it all to ourselves.

  We had to pose in the big room with the Parthenon Sculptures, which are beautiful statues and wall carvings of gods and goddesses that some English guy took away from the ruins of a famous temple in Athens, Greece. Mom especially wanted to write a story about it because I guess the Greeks want all the statues back, and there’s a big fight about it.

  It’s funny how being almost alone in that room made me feel. When I’d been crowded in there with enough tourists to about populate the entire state of Ohio, the statues and carvings were just interesting things to look at for a while before we went into another room to look at a few more things.

  But now that there were way more gods and goddesses than there were people, the statues seemed different. All of a sudden I realized they’d been around for centuries and centuries, and they’d still be there after I died, and after my children and grandchildren and great-great-great-grandchildren died. They’re permanent, and we’re all only temporary. It was a weird feeling, but it made me glad I’d decided to be an archeologist when I grow up. Uncle Geoff says that’s the kind of feeling he gets when he finds something old, and that’s what archeology is all about.

  Anyway, we posed for a while, which was mostly boring and made us feel silly, especially when ten o’clock came and tourists started pouring into the room. Then we went through the museum with just Mom and the photographer and pointed out our other favorite things. Every place we went, we had to say why we liked what we were showing them, and Mom recorded what we said and took notes to use when she wrote the article.

  Then it was lunchtime. And finally, at exactly 1:50, we were free.

  We didn’t waste any time. We grabbed the bags we’d packed with our extra clothes, raced across this little park to the tube station, hopped on the next train, and ended up at the entrance to the National Gallery at 2:19. We’d probably set a new speed record.

  We were feeling really good about this until we walked into the museum. That’s wh
ere the problems started.

  First a guard stopped us and wouldn’t let us in with our backpacks. They want everybody to leave their big bags in the cloakroom before they go in to see the paintings.

  I’d never thought of that, and I thought this meant we were completely meeped. But leave it to Lucas. She said, “We’re here to take a class. I think we came in the wrong door. You can look—all we have in our bags is clothes. It’s a class in fashion drawing.” She gestured with her head to where I was standing. “I’m going to draw her in some different outfits, and she’s going to draw me.”

  I held my breath. But the guard said, “I’ll take a look, if you don’t mind.”

  He opened both bags, dug around, and finally came up with the expensive digital camera Lucas’s parents had given her for the trip. “No cameras.”

  Lucas and I looked at each other. We were going to use it to take pictures of Gallery Guy and whatever he was doing. There went our entire plan.

  The guard must have thought we were upset because we didn’t know what to do with our camera while we were in class. “You can still go in,” he said. “Put your clothing in one of your bags and I’ll let you take that one in. But you’ll have to put the camera in the other bag and leave it in the cloakroom.”

  “Okay.” Lucas sounded as discouraged as I felt.

  “You know where you’re going when you’re done checking your bag?”

  We nodded.

  “Next time, use the education entrance around the other side. More convenient for you.”

  “I can’t believe you got by with that,” I said when we left the guard. “How did you know they’d be giving classes in fashion drawing?”

  “I didn’t.” Lucas flopped her backpack onto an empty bench and sat down next to it. “I just figured the guards are in a different department from education, and they probably wouldn’t know anything about the classes. Basically we lucked out.” Nerves of steel, I tell you.