“Very good, Sean!” Mrs. Gomez exclaimed. Mrs. Jackson beamed at him.
Sean tried not to burst out laughing when he saw Debbie Jean’s openmouthed stare.
Debbie Jean struggled to regain control of herself. “Oh yeah?” she said. “Who’s Sean calling Grandma Moses? I know she’s not his grandma.”
Everyone looked at Sean. Mrs. Gomez waited for him to say something. Sean searched his memory for what was written in that art pamphlet.
“Grandma Moses,” he said, “was a farm wife who didn’t start painting until she was in her seventies. Her real name was Anna Mary Robertson Moses.”
Sean could tell from the smile on Mrs. Gomez’s face that she had begun to catch on. That was OK with Sean. At least Debbie Jean hadn’t. Her nose and cheeks were splotched an angry red, and she scowled at Sean as though she couldn’t figure out what to do or say next.
“Suppose we take a look at one of Grandma Moses’s paintings right now,” Mrs. Gomez said. She winked at Sean. “And after our tour of the exhibit, I hope you’ll all take one of the pamphlets about the exhibit, which you’ll find on a table near the front door.”
Now that the fun with Debbie Jean was over, Sean didn’t care if she found out that he’d memorized parts of the pamphlet. And Mrs. Jackson would be pleased that Sean had learned something on his own. Cheerfully he walked with his class through the exhibit, listening to what Mrs. Gomez said and making notes.
As soon as the tour was over, however, and the class was allowed to examine the rest of the museum on its own, Sean began taking pictures.
“What are you doing?” Debbie Jean asked him. “Why are you taking a picture of that crossbow? What are you doing in the weapons room, anyway, when we’re supposed to be studying art?”
Sean tried to ignore her and aimed his camera at one of the cases.
Debbie Jean smoothed down her shirt and skirt and brushed back her hair with one hand as she stepped in front of the case. “I’ll pose for you,” she said. “Pictures are always more interesting with people in them.”
Sean groaned. “Debbie Jean, get out of the way!” he grumbled. He moved around her, then took the picture.
When Sean tried taking pictures inside the early California history room and in the Egyptian room, however, Debbie Jean kept getting in his way. She even followed Sean when he walked through the door to the business offices.
“Why are you going in there?” she demanded. “You’re not supposed to be in there. You’d better get out of there. You’re going to get in trouble.”
“Be quiet,” Sean whispered. Inside the office, Sean was relieved to see that Hilda Brown wasn’t at her desk. Probably her lunch hour, Sean thought. He snapped pictures as quickly as he could in every direction.
“Let’s go,” Debbie Jean whined.
“Not yet,” Sean said. He carefully opened the doors to the other offices.
The first two were empty. They belonged to Mr. Brandon and Mr. Wang. Mrs. Gomez’s office was empty, too. Sean took pictures of everything.
Sean was feeling lucky until he opened the door to Mr. Vanstedder’s office. Thinking it was empty, too, Sean calmly raised his camera and snapped a picture.
“What do you think you’re doing?” boomed an angry voice.
Debbie Jean screamed and ran.
Sean stumbled sideways, accidentally knocking down Mr. Vanstedder’s cane, which was leaning against the wall.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Vanstedder,” Sean said as he picked up the cane. “I’m taking pictures of everything in the museum for a report I’m going to do.”
Mr. Vanstedder, who was seated behind his desk, glanced from the cane to Sean. “You don’t belong in the office area! Get out of here! Immediately!” he demanded.
Sean turned so fast that he collided with a tall young man, who grabbed him by his shoulders.
“What’s this kid doing back here?” the man asked.
“Let him go, Dave,” Mr. Vanstedder grumbled. “He belongs back with his class.”
Dave Brandon, Sean thought.
He stared down at Sean. “I’ve been watching this kid take pictures of some pretty strange things,” he said, “like the locks on the exhibit cabinets and the emergency exits. Do you know him, James?”
“I believe his name is Sean,” Mr. Vanstedder said.
Sean spoke up. “It’s Sean Quinn.”
“Quinn?” Mr. Vanstedder said. “The private investigator Maggie hired is named Quinn.”
“He’s my dad,” Sean said.
Both men reacted with surprise. Then Mr. Brandon quickly released Sean, and it was hard for Sean not to stare. The palm of Mr. Brandon’s left hand was covered with a gauze bandage!
CHAPTER EIGHT
DEBBIE JEAN WAS WAITING for Sean just outside. “What took you so long?” she asked, but she didn’t wait for an answer. “Mrs. Jackson told us to line up and get ready to go back to school.”
“OK, OK,” Sean said. They hurried back to the main gallery, where the class was already assembled in two neat rows.
“OK, class,” Mrs. Jackson announced after she took roll call, “I want you to begin walking in an orderly fashion to the museum exit. The bus is waiting out front.”
On the bus back to school, Debbie Jean let out a shriek. Sean chuckled.
“Mrs. Jackson!” Debbie Jean complained loudly. “I just read the museum’s art pamphlet! That’s where Sean got all that information!”
Sean grinned and leaned back against the seat. True, he thought, he hadn’t come across any clues yet that might solve the case of the stolen sketches, and he had been caught taking pictures in the wrong place. But all in all, it had been a very good day.
After school, Sean took his film to be developed and raced home without taking time to look at the photos. He found Brian in the kitchen munching his way through some fudge brownies. Sean shoved the package of photos into Brian’s hands.
“Where’s Mom?” Sean asked.
“She left a message on the answering machine. She’s working overtime and is going to be late. She said to microwave the chicken noodle dinners in the freezer.”
Brian began to look through the pictures, which gave Sean a chance to attack the brownies.
“Dad left a message, too,” Brian said. “He’s going to be in a meeting.”
As Sean stuffed half a brownie in his mouth, Brian held up one photo. “That’s weird,” he said. He pointed at something in the photo. “What’s this blurred, lumpy thing off to the side?”
Sean leaned over Brian’s shoulder and squinted at the photo. “Oh,” he said, “that’s Debbie Jean Parker’s nose.”
“What’s it doing in the picture?”
“Don’t blame me. I tried to keep it out.”
Brian held up another photo. “Is this part of Debbie Jean, too?”
Sean studied the picture. “It might be her ear.”
“Who’s this guy?” Brian asked.
Sean picked up a photo he’d taken in the Egyptian room. Half a dozen kids from his class were bending over the exhibits. A man stood in the doorway watching them.
“That’s Dave Brandon,” Sean said. “I didn’t notice him when I took the picture. Debbie Jean kept distracting me. You can see in the picture that his left hand is bandaged.”
“I wonder why,” Brian said.
“I didn’t take the time to ask,” Sean told him. He spread out some of the photos on the table.
“Look,” Sean said around a mouthful of brownie. “There he is in the picture I took in the California history room. And there— he’s standing in the doorway to the early weapons room.”
“I wonder if he was following you,” Brian said. “Maybe he was afraid you’d take flash photos of the art when you weren’t supposed to.”
Sean told Brian about how Mr. Brandon nabbed him in Mr. Vanstedder’s office and how he had let go of Sean in a hurry when he found out who he was.
“It could be he wanted to make sure I didn’t take pictures of someth
ing he wanted to hide,” Sean said.
Brian looked through the other photos. “Hey! Great! You were able to get some pictures in the office area. Here’s Hilda Brown’s desk with some cartons and…what’s this big brown thing?”
Sean sighed. “Debbie Jean’s shoe.”
Brian studied the rest of the pictures. “There’s Mr. Vanstedder,” he said. “And I suppose this thing in the corner is another part of your friend Debbie Jean.”
“She’s not my friend. She’s something weird that was dumped here by hostile aliens from outer space.” Sean pointed at the photo. “That’s Mr. Vanstedder’s cane,” he said. “I accidentally knocked it down, and he got really mad at me.”
Brian frowned. “Wait a minute,” he said. “Mr. Vanstedder’s seated behind his desk, but his cane’s way across the room, near the door to his office. He needs the cane for support, so why would he prop it so far from his desk? How would he get to it?”
“Hop on one foot?” Sean suggested.
Brian’s eyes lit up as he remembered the hollow cane with the sword in it and Sam’s joke about a vampire keeping his lunch money in a hollow cane. “Was the cane heavy or light?” he asked Sean excitedly.
Sean thought for a minute. “Real light,” he said. “It’s made out of aluminum.”
Brian jumped up, pushing back his chair. “Sean!” he said. “We’ve got the answer! Mr. Vanstedder stole the sketches and paintings. He knew that Mrs. Gomez would call the police, but it would take a while to work out the sale of the stolen art. He didn’t want to take the chance that the police would search the employees’ homes and find the stolen art there, so he hid the art inside the statue of Anubis in the museum.”
Sean was confused. “OK, but what does his cane have to do with it?”
“It’s probably hollow. Mr. Vanstedder lied about having an accident. He knew that everyone would get used to seeing him walk with a cane. If he took the art from the statue, rolled it tightly, and hid it inside the cane, he could walk right out of the museum with it.”
Brian studied the photo again. “But you took a picture showing his cane far from his desk.”
“Why would he care?” Sean asked. “I’m just a kid.”
“Sure, you’re a kid,” he said, “but your dad is investigating this case.”
“Yeah!” Sean said. “And if Dad saw the photo of the cane so far from the desk, he’d figure things out. I bet that idea scared Mr. Vanstedder.”
“Which means he’ll probably try to get the stolen art out of the museum as soon as possible. Like tonight.”
“How’s he going to do it?”
“I’m not sure exactly,” Brian answered. “But however he plans to do it, he’ll have only a few minutes between the time the museum closes and when Mr. Potts begins to make his nightly check of the rooms. We need to get to the museum before it closes so we can stop him!”
CHAPTER NINE
FIFTEEN MINUTES BEFORE CLOSING time, Brian and Sean slipped inside the museum in the middle of a noisy family group and followed it into the nearest art gallery.
“I thought we were going to the Egyptian room,” Sean mumbled.
“We are, but not right now.” Brian smiled. “I don’t think Mr. Potts noticed us, so that means when the museum closes he won’t come looking for us.”
Sean shuddered. “You’re kidding, aren’t you? We aren’t going to be here in the dark.”
“It won’t be completely dark,” Brian said. “Haven’t you ever noticed that the museum keeps dim night-lights on? Besides, you don’t really believe Sam’s story about the statue, do you?”
“Mr. Marshall said it was true.”
“He did not,” Brian said. “He said only that he knew about the legend.”
“But what if the statue does walk?” Sean said. “We’ll be trapped in here all alone with it.”
“Would you quit worrying about the dumb statue,” Brian said.
“Can’t we just tell Mrs. Gomez what we suspect?” Sean asked.
“Mr. Vanstedder could just deny it,” Brian said. “We won’t have proof of what he’s going to do until he does it.”
“I don’t know,” Sean said.
“We’ve practically got this case solved,” Brian said impatiently. “Do you want to help or don’t you?”
“OK, OK,” Sean said.
Studying the paintings and trying not to look suspicious, Brian and Sean slowly worked their way to the next-to-last gallery, ducked out the door, and entered the darkened lecture hall.
After they had been waiting a few minutes, a bell rang.
“The bell means the museum is closing,” Brian told Sean. “There’ll be an announcement over the public-address system next. It will be a while before George Potts makes his rounds and clears everyone out.”
“What am I supposed to do until then?” Sean asked. He didn’t enjoy hiding out in the dark.
“I don’t know,” said Brian. “Why not try dreaming about your girlfriend, Debbie Jean Parker,” he teased.
“She’s not my girlfriend!” hissed Sean.
“Sssh,” said Brian suddenly. “I heard something.”
Brian cracked the door open an inch and heard Mrs. Gomez. “George, after you’ve locked the doors and made your rounds, will you please join us in my office?”
“Just give me fifteen minutes,” George called back.
“So far so good,” Brian said. “Let’s go to the Egyptian room, hide under the mummy case, and wait for Mr. Vanstedder to show up.”
Sean and Brian crept silently into the Egyptian room. The dim overhead night-lights cast eerie shadows, and Sean shivered.
“This is giving me the creeps,” Sean said.
“Be quiet,” Brian said.
As they crawled under the mummy case, Brian grabbed Sean’s arm and pointed. On the floor, within easy reach, was Mr. Vanstedder’s cane. The handle had been removed, and they could see tightly rolled paper inside the cane.
“He got here before we did,” Brian whispered. He looked toward the statue, but it was too dark to see anything. He reached out, grabbed the cane and its curved handle, and slid them under the case.
“Come on,” Brian whispered to Sean as he fastened the handle onto the rest of the cane. “Let’s get out of here.” He began to inch backward.
Suddenly the statue lifted into the air and dropped onto its stand with a frightening clang. From under the mummy case, Brian and Sean saw a pair of hands fumbling along the floor.
“Run!” Brian whispered as he and Sean scrambled to their feet.
But before Sean could get away, a strong hand clamped down tightly on his shoulder.
“Give me that cane!” roared Mr. Vanstedder.
Brian stopped.
“Run, Brian!” shouted Sean. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, Sean saw a flash of gleaming metal. It was Anubis! And it was reaching out to grab him! Sean twisted out from Mr. Vanstedder’s grasp and rolled out of the way just as the statue came crashing down.
“Arrrgh!”
Mr. Vanstedder threw up his hands, but the statue knocked him to the ground.
Sean was too frightened to move but not too frightened to yell at the top of his lungs.
The museum’s main lights flashed on, and George Potts appeared. Behind him came Mrs. Gomez, Ms. Brown, and John Quinn.
“Dad!” Sean shouted with relief. “We didn’t know you were having your meeting here!”
Mr. Quinn and Mr. Potts lifted the statue from the floor, then helped Mr. Vanstedder to his feet.
“Dad,” said Brian, “Mr. Vanstedder hid the paintings and sketches inside the statue. He put them into his hollow cane and was going to take them out of the museum.”
“Ridiculous!” Mr. Vanstedder said. “This is all a mistake.”
“A big mistake on your part,” Mr. Quinn told him. He turned to Mrs. Gomez. “Call the police, Maggie. Mr. Potts can keep Mr. Vanstedder in custody until they arrive.”
Mr. Quinn put his arms around
Brian’s and Sean’s shoulders.
“That was good detective work,” he said, “but you shouldn’t have tried to handle it alone. I found out that Vanstedder had lied about visiting his doctor, and his telephone calls had been made to an Italian art collector who has been suspected of dealing in stolen art. I was ready to confront Vanstedder with the evidence.”
“I’m sorry, Dad, but we had to act fast,” Brian said. “Mr. Vanstedder blew it when he left his cane by the door and Sean got a picture of it. We knew he’d be in a hurry to move the art before Sean—or you, or anybody else—figured things out, and we had to be ready for him.”
“You could have been hurt,” Mr. Quinn told the boys. “If it weren’t for Brian’s being able to push that statue over onto Mr. Vanstedder…”
Brian interrupted. “I didn’t push the statue, Dad. I was over near the door.”
Mr. Quinn looked at Sean. “Well then, Sean, you must have pushed it over.”
“It wasn’t me,” Sean said, shaking his head. He looked at Brian, who was staring at the statue with wide eyes.
“The only way the statue could have got this far from its stand,” Brian said, gulping, “is if it walked!”
“It’s impossible,” Mr. Quinn said, puzzled. “It was probably just off balance and fell. After all, there has to be a logical answer.”
“Sure, Dad,” said Sean. “Whatever you say.” But Sean knew what he had seen. Sam Miyako was right! The statue really had walked!
Sean walked over and playfully punched his brother in the shoulder. Now he was thinking about Sam’s story about alligators in the sewers.
“I guess you won’t be taking any baths for a while either, huh, Brian?”
Both boys burst out laughing.
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The Statue Walks at Night Page 4