Pieces and Players

by Blue Balliett

  “Cool name,” said Calder. “Eagle.”

  “It would be cooler if he was bald,” Tommy pointed out. “Is he bald?”

  He wanted Early to hear, but she was busy reading. Zoomy, however, thought it was funny, which was some consolation.

  “No,” Ms. Hussey said. “He is not bald.”

  Petra looked up. “Check it out, guys. We should have done this already.” She pointed to the following list, under the Pieces photos:

  1 by Johannes Vermeer, The Concert (oil), 1658–60.

  3 by Rembrandt van Rijn: Storm on the Sea of Galilee (oil), A Lady and a Gentleman in Black (oil), Self-Portrait (etching). 1633–34.

  1 by Govaert Flinck, Landscape with an Obelisk (oil), 1638.

  1 by Edouard Manet, Chez Tortoni (oil), 1878–80.

  5 by Edgar Degas: 2 sketches of dancers, musicians, musical instruments and boats in a harbor, 2 of racehorses with jockeys, 1 group of people in a landscape (pencil, watercolor, charcoal and color wash), 1880s.

  1 bronze Ku, a Chinese beaker for drinking wine, 1200–1100 B.C.

  1 brass Eagle: wings half open, finial from top of French flagpole, 1813–14.

  “Now for the Players. He starts with the trustees and a few words about each one.”

  William Swift Chase, age 83, great-nephew of Sarah Chase Farmer, director of the Farmer Museum

  Carolyn Crunch, age 79, former CEO of development company

  Hershel Hurts, age 73, dental surgeon and inventor

  Monument Cracken, age 83, former CEO of Industrial Recycling Company

  Winnifred Whacker, age 79, patron of the arts

  Hurley Stabbler, age 89, owner of Stabbler Metalworks

  Louise Sharpe, age 83

  “Whoa, eighty-three! No wonder Mrs. Sharpe has more wrinkles than an elephant,” Tommy muttered.

  Petra chose to ignore this. “Then our five names, all age thirteen, then Ms. Hussey’s and Eagle Devlin’s. Hey, you and he are both thirty-one, Ms. Hussey. I like the guy who put this together — he’s on top of things. But why did he include everyone’s ages?”

  Calder pulled the P out of his pocket. “That’s easy. Primes,” he said.

  “Maybe,” Ms. Hussey said. “If you believe in taking stuff like that into account,” she added under her breath.

  “There’re fourteen names here,” Calder said. “If you got rid of one, that’d be thirteen names and thirteen pieces. Maybe the people’s ages are there to make things even, because the art dates are there. You know, to play fair. This guy’s awesome!”

  “Unless he thinks like you, and has to knock one name off to make it thirteen and thirteen,” Tommy said.

  “All right,” Ms. Hussey said. “That’s enough of that.”

  Zoomy was inclined to agree with Calder. He liked people who made lists.

  Early also liked lists. But there was something about this one that had her worried. She was used to lists having answers. This one only raised questions.

  “Okay, off you go,” Ms. Hussey said brusquely. Everyone turned at the sound of a man’s footsteps.

  “Hello,” called a cheerful voice. “It’s the kid detectives, right? My name’s Steel, as in the metal. I know, bad name for the occasion, but what’s a guy to do?” A jolly laugh seemed to startle even the building. The man rubbed his hands together. “I’m your go-to guard for the visit. No touching anything, now. You kids are lucky to be here, so don’t abuse the privilege.”

  Mr. Steel jumped suddenly and rubbed his cheek. “Strange,” he muttered. “Cold in here,” he said to the group. “Upstairs windows are all closed this morning, of course, but somehow there’s a draft … I’ll check the basement. The other guards are busy adjusting the monitor screens. Ma’am, you’ll be with the kids, is that right?”

  Ms. Hussey nodded.

  “Back in a jiffy!” The guard trotted toward a far door.

  The group stood in a silent clump at the edge of the courtyard, looking around. Even Zoomy could sense how much space there was. You had to be really rich to have so much room for gardening that inside smelled like outside.

  “Makes you feel small but welcome, doesn’t it?” Ms. Hussey said softly. “Mrs. Farmer wasn’t much of a traveler. I don’t believe she ever left Chicago, but she was a huge reader, supporter of the arts, and hostess. The woman fell in love with what she knew of Venice, Italy. The walls of this courtyard were designed to look like the exterior of a Renaissance palazzo, or palace, in Venice, but on the interior. Ingenious, don’t you think?”

  “Kind of an Escher move,” Calder said approvingly. “Dizzying.”

  “Mm.” Ms. Hussey smiled. “And perfect for who she was — she turned things inside out. By surrounding herself with so much great art and talent, she met the world on her own terms. And she had an amazing way of blending centuries of creation from many different cultures — everything looks comfortable.”

  “Like she was the hostess at a huge party and everyone got along,” Early said.

  “As she often was,” Ms. Hussey added.

  Petra then told her old teacher about the red book in Powell’s and the things Mrs. Farmer had said about her art becoming her family. “The book mysteriously disappeared from the shelf before we left,” Petra finished with a frown. “As if someone was watching us and then grabbed it.”

  “But aren’t you smart to have found that! There must be other copies around even though it’s old,” Ms. Hussey said lightly. “Wait — Tommy, where’s Zoomy?”

  “Over here,” came a muffled voice from under some ferns in the garden. “Investigating the running water.”

  “Sorry, got distracted,” Tommy muttered.

  Two fountains, one guarded by a commanding marble woman in a flowing gown, gurgled gently between statues, flowers, fragments of pots, and inviting pebbled paths.

  “Oops, not meant to be in there!” Ms. Hussey called. As Tommy dove in to help Zoomy out of the plants, Ms. Hussey looked around appreciatively. “Mrs. Farmer loved to play. Do you see the Medusa? She’s Roman, second century — that’s a long time to be underfoot.”

  A young woman with wild hair peered up from a mosaic patio set in the very center of the courtyard.

  “You know the ancient myth. If you looked directly at her — see all those snakes around her head? — you’d turn to stone. And this courtyard is filled with stone figures! There’s an empty marble chair, right near Medusa, where Mrs. Farmer liked to sit, as if to challenge her. She always dared the children who visited to climb up on that seat, and if they did, she acted frightened and warned, ‘Oh, don’t look, whatever you do!’

  “Of course they did, and then she laughed, rushed over to congratulate them on their bravery, and offered them a snake-shaped cookie.”

  “She sounds great,” Early said. “I wish we could have met her.”

  Calder looked at the marble chair. “I guess that’s one way to make sure your art isn’t stolen — make it really, really heavy.”

  “Check out these people,” Zoomy said, kneeling next to a huge marble box at the edge of the courtyard. “Couldn’t walk off with this, either.”

  Tommy read the label. “It’s a Roman sarcophagus. We’re talking thousands of years old.” He got down next to Zoomy, then popped up again. “What a coffin! It’s covered with teenagers dancing — and a lot of grapevines. Scaz! They’re only wearing beach wraps, minus the bathing suits. Come on, Zoomy.” Tommy glanced back at the girls and pulled Zoomy toward a lion crushing a howling man, both pinned under a column. “There may be more lions down here. Let’s find ’em while those guys are talking.”

  Zoomy grinned. “She likes excitement, doesn’t she?”

  “You mean Mrs. Farmer,” Tommy said. “I guess. Hey, maybe this is why Mrs. Sharpe has all those lions in her house — you know, the ones outside, the ones on the arms of chairs. She’s a copycat.” A slow grin spread across Tommy’s face as he realized what he’d said. “Get it? Lions are cats.”

  Zoomy, gripping his penc
il, was busy making marks on his clipboard. “Check this out, Tommy: I’m starting with the walls. There are old lions everywhere. On the edges of old stone window frames! Under furniture! Maybe it’s a lion clue.”

  Tommy had only suggested lions to get away from all the nakedness, but then remembered that even Mrs. Sharpe’s paper napkins were decorated with lions. Had she been trying to give them a hint?

  Mr. Steel reappeared, rubbing his head. “Funny,” he trumpeted. “Maybe the cop unlatched that door this morning before he left, but I sure as heck didn’t. Other guards say they didn’t.” He shrugged and marched ahead up the stairs, Calder, Petra, and Early following.

  Ms. Hussey stood at the edge of the garden, squinting up at one of the fourth-floor windows. She waved — just the smallest gesture — then hurried after the guard, calling back, “Join us on the second floor in a few minutes, boys, as soon as you’ve finished your count. Great idea to collect some data.”

  Scaz, Tommy thought to himself, now Calder’s the only guy with the two girls. No fair. I hope they’ll get a whiff of his pits and back off in a hurry. Wait, what am I saying? Tommy shook his head, glad that his thoughts were private.

  “Okay, Zoomy,” he said, “I’ll scout out the lions in the garden. You stick to the inside walls, then we’ll catch up. There’s not much furniture here to ambush you, just a few benches.”

  “Hodilly-hum, I’ll be fine,” Zoomy agreed. “I like lions, don’t you? King of the Beasts. I wish we had this kind of art at home.”

  Big cats did seem to be hidden everywhere around the courtyard. Soon Zoomy called out, “Twenty-three! Think that’s it!” from around a corner. Tommy had found eight, some buried in plants or clinging to stone railings. He also discovered even more mostly naked people. Why didn’t women have buttons or zippers in those days, and why did men seem perfectly happy without any underwear on, speaking of beasts? He was glad the girls had gone ahead.

  The word lion, Tommy realized suddenly, sounded like lyin’. Part of being a sharp detective was knowing when someone was lying … “Zoomy!” he shouted, wanting to share. “Where are you, man?”

  He found his new friend on the floor next to a huge stone carving mounted on a wall.

  “So was that one of the trustees?” Zoomy asked. “I thought they went upstairs.”

  “Who?” Tommy said absently, still busy with the idea that Mrs. Sharpe’s lions were some kind of lead on lying and the theft. And here was Zoomy, lying on the floor. He’d never seen double meanings all around before. Was this excellent thinking, or just weird?

  Zoomy looked up at him. “I was studying this panel, so close that I could smell it. A woman’s boot peeked out from a long skirt. Right here, by my elbow. The toe pointed to this leaping lion way down at the bottom. I said thanks, but then after I’d recorded it, the person was gone.”

  “Your grandma?” Tommy asked hopefully, his heart feeling suddenly squeezed.

  “She never wears skirts. Or has boots with laces,” Zoomy said.

  “Huh,” Tommy squeaked. He hadn’t seen anyone, but felt a sudden puff of cool air on his cheek. “Twenty-three plus eight makes thirty-one lions. Whoa, it fits: It’s a prime on the list of players! Come on, we’ll get in trouble for being down here so long.”

  Looking around at the empty courtyard, Tommy shot a quick wave to Gam and hustled his friend toward the stairwell.

  “Do you think the word lion could have a double meaning, Zoomy?” Tommy asked. “Like, the roaring animal and then fibbing?”

  “Huh. Maybe to someone like Mrs. Farmer,” Zoomy answered.

  “Yeah,” Tommy muttered, thinking that thirteen, an age where you had to hide stuff and sometimes lie, was a hard age to be a finder. He glanced at Zoomy, wondering if the two of them were a match for any kind of lion.

  “We’re headed down a hallway. I’ll tell you when we’re near the first step.” Tommy, walking next to Zoomy, glanced behind them. The overhead brightness of the courtyard had faded to a sepia gloom.

  “That boot — was it solid?” Tommy whispered in Zoomy’s ear, covering his mouth with his hand. Zoomy ducked.

  “That tickles, cut it out. Of course!” Zoomy said. “Hey, I like the scent of this new place — it’s a mix of earth and moss. Like a garden that’s never in the sun. Gam calls that a shade nook.”

  Tommy shivered. “Like in a cemetery,” he said — and, right then, tripped.

  “Scaz!” He looked down to see what had stopped his foot and bumped Zoomy, who staggered sideways, dropping his clipboard.

  “Sorry, man!” Tommy gasped. “Surprise attack,” he added, retrieving Zoomy’s lists. “Something was in the way.”

  “Happens to me all the time.” Zoomy nodded as they started up the stairs. “I call those trippers.”

  Forgive me, Mrs. Farmer, Tommy found himself thinking. I didn’t mean it, the attack part.

  He glanced sideways at Zoomy to see if he was thinking the same thing, but his new friend only said, “Scaz. I like that word.”

  “Calder, Petra, and I discovered it,” Tommy said. He explained what it meant.

  At that moment there was a silvery laugh, and Zoomy said, “Oh, I hear them just ahead.”

  Tommy didn’t think the laugh sounded like Ms. Hussey, and it was definitely not Calder. Or Petra. Or Early. Or Gam.

  That boot in the courtyard …

  Once on the second floor, Tommy caught a glimpse of the guard and galloped in his direction, dragging Zoomy.

  Inside the Dutch Room, the boys joined a silent group standing in front of a wall with two huge, empty frames on it. Mr. Steel paced behind them, his shoes clicking on the bumpy tiles.

  Ms. Hussey turned and beckoned to the two boys. “Come closer,” she said. “This is where Rembrandt’s two paintings hung: Storm on the Sea of Galilee and A Lady and Gentleman in Black.”

  Petra was fighting the urge to run. The empty frames felt shocking. Like party clothes hanging on a wall after something bad happened to the person who wore them, she thought.

  Had someone whispered that to her?

  It wasn’t her kind of idea; it was more like Mrs. Farmer’s. Petra had never been to a fancy party in her life. But sometimes an investigator just felt things …

  She heard swallowing on all sides, the ga-glump sounds of people trying not to be emotional. Or was it a frightened sound?

  Tommy looked slowly around the room. Did he imagine it, or were all of the portraits sad?

  “It’s like the others want to say something, but can’t,” he blurted.

  Ms. Hussey touched his arm. “You’re so right, Tommy. They saw what happened last week.”

  “If Mrs. Farmer was here, maybe she would get them to talk,” Early said quietly. “Seems like she’d know how.”

  Tommy looked around wildly. “Don’t say that. I mean, what if she hears you?”

  “Hoo, hoo!” Calder breathed in his buddy’s ear.

  Zoomy, standing on Tommy’s other side, smiled.

  Petra tried to look brave. “I hope she does! We need her help.”

  “Come with me, Tommy and Zoomy,” Ms. Hussey said. “This is where The Concert was. Propped on this table so that you could sit and look at it for as long as you wanted. The Flinck painting was behind it, on the opposite side. Both set up for dreaming, like Mrs. Farmer said in her writings. For making the art your own.”

  “Hey,” Early piped up. “Here’s a strange thought: The only person in this room who didn’t see the theft was the man with his back turned, in the Vermeer.”

  Zoomy circled the table with the two empty frames. “I like Mrs. Farmer,” he said suddenly. “She knows how to make people relax and enjoy, like I do when I’m lying in the grass and watching ants. And I’ll bet she likes to laugh. Look at this chair, for relaxing in front of her best painting. Check out the lions on the arms, like in Mrs. Sharpe’s house, and these two bendy people crouched on the top. Whoa, they’re wearing nothing but beanbags on their heads!”

  �
��How come you’re talking about Mrs. Farmer like she’s here?” Tommy asked just as Calder and the others crowded in to see the naked kneelers. Zoomy backed up, tumbled sideways, then disappeared. Arms grabbed at thin air and Tommy’s sneaker flipped off as Calder stepped on the heel.

  “Scaz!” Zoomy muttered. He sat on the floor for a moment tapping his chin, then pulled out his pocket notebook.

  Tommy saw Zoomy write, ~Jittery-splat.

  “What’s that mean?” Tommy asked.

  “Nervous.” Zoomy nodded. “Like all of us in this room.”

  “Not me,” Mr. Steel said. “Hey!” he added, slapping his neck again. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say something in this here place is poking me with a cold finger when I say the wrong thing.”

  “I believe it,” Calder said.

  “There’s plenty of stories about Mrs. Farmer staying on as a ghost in her house.” The guard lowered his voice as he led the way toward the next room. “Other guards say they’ve seen someone after hours, when they were supposedly alone in the building. A woman in a long dress peers out of a window or drifts past a doorway. Just a glimpse, but still: wouldn’t want to be in here at night. Never have been, and don’t plan to be.”

  “So since the theft, are there more guards around?” Early asked, hugging her clipboard. “I mean, just to be sure …”

  “You have no idea, young lady.” Mr. Steel stopped walking. “They have two who patrol the galleries all night and four posted outside, one at each corner, and they move around also. Not like the old days, oh my, no.”

  “Guess that’s it for intruders,” Calder said, stirring his pentominoes. He pulled out a P.

  “Are they all men?” Early asked.

  “Now, that’s an odd thing to ask,” Mr. Steel said, looking around him.

  Suddenly everyone in the small group was quiet again, but it was the kind of quiet that was buzzing with things people wanted to say but couldn’t.

  “P for player,” Calder said. “Paranormal.”