The Harlem Charade

by Natasha Tarpley

  On the other side was a large, open room, lit by streaks of sunlight squeezing through the cracks in the boards on the windows. The room was empty except for a few padded chairs, a small desk in one corner, and a raised platform with a couple of thin pillars stretching from floor to ceiling at the front of the room.

  “This must be where the church congregation that used to be here held their services,” Jin observed.

  “And before that, where the Invisible 7 held their meetings.” Alex looked around. “Read the next lines of the poem, Elvin.”

  “ ‘Encased in this place, my heart still beats, faint as an ember,’ ” Elvin read.

  Alex shook her head. “What I don’t get is the ‘encased’ part. If something is encased, it’s enclosed in something, right? And ember, that makes me think of fire … ” She wandered around the room, turning the lines over in her head.

  “Look.” Jin pointed. A plywood board, just a little taller than the desk, leaned against the wall. It didn’t seem to fit in.

  “Let’s see if there’s anything behind it,” Alex said, and the three of them pushed the desk aside. The board fell to the floor without the support of the desk, revealing the hearth of a fireplace.

  “The ember … ” Alex muttered. She ignored the excruciating pain in her ankle and dropped to the floor to take a closer look. Sticking her head into the shallow opening, she could see that the back of the hearth was smooth, cold metal. “That’s weird,” she said to herself. She would’ve expected it to be brick or stone. She shined her light around, searching for anything that would tell her they were on the right track. And then she saw it. A small keyhole. She turned to her friends. “I need the key. Quick!”

  Jin passed it over. Even before she tried it, Alex knew that it would fit.

  They had found Henriette’s paintings.

  It took longer than they would have thought to empty the fireplace. It looked deceptively small from the outside, but inside Alex found canvases of all shapes and sizes, wrapped and rolled and boxed. While she worked them free of their hiding spot, Elvin and Jin laid each one out and tried not to let their mouths hang open. There were about thirty paintings in all.

  “I think this is the last one,” Alex said as she passed a small canvas out to Elvin.

  Except it wasn’t Elvin who took it from her, it was T.J.

  “Let me give you a hand.” T.J. grabbed her arm and dragged her up from the floor.

  “Be careful. She’s hurt!” Jin shouted.

  Alex turned to see that Pugnacio and Clarence had already grabbed Jin and Elvin. Instinctively, Alex reached into her pocket for her pepper spray, but her hands were shaking so much, the can slipped out of her grasp and tumbled to the floor.

  “Pepper spray, how cute.” T.J. kicked the canister so hard, it rolled across the room to the doorway.

  “Come on, let’s deal with our little detectives here so that we can get out of this dump,” Clarence said. “This place brings back bad memories.”

  T.J. produced a length of rope, and the men used it to roughly tie Jin and Alex to one of the pillars, Elvin to the other. Then Pugnacio stood watch while Clarence and T.J. started to load the paintings into rolling crates that they had waiting in the next room. They’d obviously planned ahead.

  “Isn’t this an appropriate end for a harrowing journey?” Pugnacio sneered, pacing in front of them. “Sacrificial lambs on the altar.”

  “How did you find us?” Elvin asked.

  “Oh, T.J. followed you. He was at the museum today to resolve our little situation with Verta Mae Sneed, when you three showed up. We couldn’t let such a bountiful opportunity pass—you’ve gotten so good at asking the right questions after all, and we can’t have you spilling any of our secrets to the police. Councilman Markum pays us too well for that. So we decided to eliminate you three today instead. Verta Mae owes you a debt of gratitude. You saved her life—at least for the moment. Too bad she won’t get a chance to thank you.” Pugnacio grinned and lifted a jug of gasoline that the kids hadn’t noticed. “It’s a shame how people let these beautiful old buildings deteriorate. It’s so easy for them to catch fire,” he clucked.

  Pugnacio began to pace. While his back was turned, Elvin kicked the pillar to get Jin and Alex’s attention. He lifted his hands, which were tied behind him, to show them that he was working on untangling the knot. The girls nodded.

  Just then, Clarence returned. As he picked up the last of the paintings to carry away, Alex called out to him.

  “She didn’t ruin your life, you know.”

  Clarence whirled around to face her. “What did you say?”

  “I said, ‘She didn’t ruin your life.’ It wasn’t Henriette’s fault that you gave up your dream of becoming an artist.”

  Clarence stormed up to the platform and grabbed Alex’s jacket collar. “What do you know about it?” he yelled, spittle flying. “I gave my life to the Invisible 7, and Henriette selfishly dashed it all away. Like my life was worth nothing, like I was just a tool to be discarded once I’d outgrown my usefulness … ”

  “Pop, let’s stay focused.” Pugnacio firmly pulled his father away. “We have the paintings. Once we hand them over to Markum, he’ll make us an important part of the Harlem World leadership. We’ll be rid of these annoying runts and Verta Mae soon enough. This will all be over after today. Then you can finally move on with your life.”

  Clarence nodded and took a deep breath. “You’re right, son,” he said as he headed toward the door.

  “Why don’t you tell your dad what you really plan to do with the paintings once you get them out of here,” Jin said loudly.

  “You keep your mouth shut,” Pugnacio hissed. He jumped onto the platform and squeezed Jin’s arm so tightly, Alex could see tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

  “Let her go!” Alex shouted as Clarence reappeared in the doorway.

  “What’s that about the paintings?” He eyed his son suspiciously.

  “Nothing, Pop. These foolish children are just trying to make trouble,” Pugnacio said, sheepishly.

  “Tell him about your side deal with Markum, how he’s actually going to make you the head of the new Harlem World art museum,” Alex said.

  Clarence’s face contorted into an expression somewhere between rage and sorrow. For a second, Alex thought that he might cry. “Not you, too!” Clarence shook his head sadly. “How could you betray me like this, after all that I’ve been through?”

  “Pop, I’m sorry, but this is a good opportunity for me. Let’s face it, you’re old now. Your generation already had its chance.” Pugnacio shrugged.

  Clarence let out a deep, guttural roar. “I won’t let this happen again. You’re not going to take this opportunity away from me!” He dropped the paintings he was carrying and lunged toward Pugnacio, grabbing him around the neck.

  While the two men struggled, Elvin released himself from the pillar and ran toward the can of pepper spray by the doorway. But before he could grab it, he saw something that had him reaching for the sky.

  T.J. stood in the doorframe holding a gun. Shocked, Clarence and Pugnacio stopped fighting. T.J. nodded at the last of the paintings lying at their feet. They’d almost been trampled in the two men’s scuffle. “Not cool, homeys,” T.J. said, eyes darting from Pugnacio and Clarence to Elvin.

  “I thought we said no weapons. They’re too easily traced. These kids aren’t worth going to jail over,” Clarence said.

  “I didn’t bring it for them,” T.J. said, waving the gun. “I brought it for you two.”

  “For us? Why?” Pugnacio asked.

  “Just in case you tried to give me any trouble when I walk out of here with the paintings. Without you.”

  “What are you talking about, T.J.?” Clarence asked.

  “I’m talking about the future, homey,” T.J. said, casually. “While you two have been stuck in the past, I’ve been making moves with Markum. We agreed a long time ago that I would be the one to run the Harlem World
art museum. All of that talk about history and preservation, that’s just static, noise. This world belongs to the young, and I have the vision that’s going to move this project forward.”

  T.J. pushed Elvin back onto the platform with Alex and Jin, and then pointed the gun at Clarence and Pugnacio, nodding for them to join the three kids. Keeping his gun trained on all of them, he grabbed the remaining canvases and smiled. “Thanks for the paintings,” he said, the gun still pointed at them as he backed toward the kitchen.

  Suddenly, a loud boom shook the walls. Armed police officers poured into the building from all directions.

  “Drop your weapon!” several officers shouted. T.J. dropped the gun and fell to the floor. A throng of policemen descended on him, handcuffing him and dragging him away.

  “Don’t forget those two,” a familiar voice rose above the din. Alex looked through the crowd of police to find Verta Mae Sneed standing behind the officers, pointing a finger squarely at Clarence and Pugnacio.

  “I told you T.J. couldn’t be trusted. Why don’t you ever listen?”

  “If you hadn’t wasted time arguing with those kids, none of this would’ve happened!” Pugnacio and Clarence bickered as the police led them away.

  When it was all over, Verta Mae flagged down a black livery car and squeezed into the backseat with Jin, Alex, and Elvin. Dr. Sneed directed the car to take them all to Harlem Hospital so that Elvin could see his grandfather, who had been very worried about him. Then she demanded a full account of their activities and was surprised to hear about how many people had helped them track down Henriette’s legacy. Dr. Sneed had already contacted Alex and Jin’s families, who were also on their way to meet the group. Jin thought that Rose and Rad should be there, too, so she texted them both an invitation. Rose texted back that she had some big news, but before Jin could ask what it was, Verta Mae cleared her throat.

  “You children did a very dangerous thing today. You shouldn’t have risked your lives like that. But you have done a tremendous service to the legacy of the Invisible 7 and to the great neighborhood of Harlem. I will communicate that to your families and plead for lenience on your behalf.” She smiled then—for the first time since they’d met her, Jin noted.

  “So how did you find us?” Elvin asked.

  “Your grandfather called me. He thought that you might be on the hunt for the paintings, and told me that he believed Henriette had left clues to their whereabouts in a little book she’d written for all of us Invisibles. We went through my copy and were able to put the pieces together. Funny, I had forgotten all about that book.”

  Elvin was shocked. His grandfather hadn’t written The Life of the Invisibles after all. It was kind of disappointing. He’d started to see the book as his grandfather’s way of talking to him and teaching him about this special place. But now that Jacob was awake, maybe Elvin didn’t need it anymore. He had the real thing. And knowing what he knew about Henriette and how she worked her invisible magic, maybe that was the point all along.

  SIX MONTHS LATER …

  A lex, Jin, and Elvin wove their way through the steady stream of people on 125th Street, which was crowded even on a cold evening in February. The three were silent as they walked, curling up into their own thoughts, a small buffer against the frigid air, which settled around their shoulders like an icy shawl.

  Since we rescued Henriette’s paintings, so much has changed, Alex thought. Her father had admitted that even considering getting involved with Councilman Markum’s Harlem World project had been a mistake. And when he’d finally listened to what Alex had to say about what the development was doing to their community, he’d gone a step further and figured out a way to shut the whole thing down. It turned out that many of the properties on Markum’s demolition list were eligible to be designated as landmarks. And once an important real estate magnate like Rich Roebuck got involved, applications were quickly approved, the Harlem World project was scrapped, and Markum’s career as a councilman was officially over.

  Alex had even started helping out at her dad’s company, coming up with ways to allow community members to be more involved in new development projects. She’d been thinking a lot about choices lately. About how people and communities deserved the right to make choices about their lives and neighborhoods. And about people whose power of choice had been taken away, and how she could help them get it back.

  She even thought about her own choices. She remembered something that her dad had told her at the hospital after they’d found the paintings. She’d wanted him to promise that he’d only take on projects that wouldn’t cause anyone to lose their homes or businesses. But while he had promised to think more carefully about the impact of his work, he’d also made some good points about how choosing one thing usually meant letting something else go.

  Several months ago, on this very street, Alex had chosen to let Jin come with her to deliver food to a shelter. She hadn’t wanted to do it because she was afraid of losing her independence and her strong will, qualities that she really liked about herself. Glancing over at Elvin and Jin, Alex realized that what she’d really let go of was the fear that no one would like her for who she was. She’d let down the walls she’d built up around herself and, as a result, gained two great new friends.

  Jin caught Alex’s eye and smiled. A few months ago, Jin had wondered whether or not they’d all still be friends after they found the paintings, but now she could see that she needn’t have worried. Even without a mystery to solve, the three of them still hung out together all the time, and they were closer now than ever. Elvin had even moved in with the Roebucks until his grandfather was well enough to leave the hospital.

  Still, Jin was hoping for a new mystery, a new puzzle to solve. She had been born and raised in Harlem, but meeting Alex and Elvin and learning about the Invisible 7 had helped her to see her neighborhood in a whole new way. She’d always been observant, but now everywhere she looked, she saw the story beneath the surface—in the harried faces of customers who came to her grandparents’ store, in the pride of a flower box on a rusted fire escape, in the vacant lots that stood out like missing teeth, and even in the shiny new structures that seemed to sprout up overnight to fill the gaps. And she wanted to discover all their secrets.

  Elvin gathered his grandfather’s coat tightly around his body. It really wasn’t heavy enough for the winter, but he’d gotten accustomed to wearing it, so he just put on several layers of clothes underneath. Besides, it had kind of become his good-luck charm. As they continued on, Elvin wove through the maze of people and swerved around bags of trash piled on the sidewalk near the curb like it was second nature. In fact, just a couple of days ago, he and Rad had skateboarded down this very street. It was hard at first to avoid crashing, but eventually he got the hang of it. He was getting used to this city.

  When he first got to New York, he felt like he had landed on another planet, a loud and dirty one, where everything and everyone moved fast. Elvin had always been afraid that he’d disappear, get swallowed up by the enormity of the city. But looking for the paintings had helped him to break it down into manageable pieces. Now he could find his rhythm, his own places and spaces in the vastness. Suddenly, the streets and the houses and the people didn’t seem so strange anymore. They were even starting to feel like home.

  “We’ve got to hurry if we don’t want to be late,” Alex said as they picked up the pace and hoofed it the remaining blocks to the Studio Museum in Harlem. When they arrived, they spotted Rose and Rad in the crowd of people already gathered at the entrance.

  “Hey, dudes!” Rad, who was actually wearing a suit, waved Alex, Jin, and Elvin over. “Verta Mae said for us to come in as soon as you guys got here. She’s planned a special VIP tour of the new gallery for us.”

  The five of them walked up to the Verta Mae look-alike with the clipboard, who was checking off names at the door.

  Just as Alex was steeling herself for a fight with the uptight administrator, a deep voice cut thr
ough the din of the crowd. “They’re with me!” Verta Mae suddenly appeared behind the woman, who reluctantly let them in.

  “I wanted you children to be the first to see the fruits of your labor,” Verta Mae gushed as she led them into the museum. She stopped in front of the entrance to a gallery, so new that a faint smell of paint still hung in the air.

  “Welcome to the newest addition to the Studio Museum. The Henriette Drummond Gallery. Thanks to the generous support of Alex’s family, we were able to build an entire new wing of the museum, where Henriette’s paintings will be on permanent display. This gallery will be a space where young artists, especially those who are involved with the community, can display their work. There are also rooms set aside where Harlem residents and organizations can meet to plan community events,” Verta Mae explained. “None of this would have been possible without you,” she said, and, to everyone’s surprise, gave each of them a big hug. “Now, have a quick look around before we have to let everyone else in.”

  “So you knew about this?” Jin whispered to Alex as they headed into the gallery.

  Alex grinned and nodded. “But my parents swore me to secrecy. Isn’t it amazing?” She marveled. For once, having money isn’t so bad, she thought.

  “It is amazing,” Jin agreed. The walls of the gallery were white silhouettes in the shape of brownstones and storefronts, just like those on a typical Harlem block. On the walls hung Henriette’s paintings, positioned where the windows and doors would be.

  “They’re beautiful,” Jin whispered as she wandered through the gallery, taking in the paintings, which depicted scenes of life in Harlem and portraits of everyday people. So much had happened on the day that they found the paintings that she, Alex, and Elvin had not even had the chance to look at them.

  “Guys, come take a look at this!” Elvin called from the other side of the gallery. Alex and Jin walked over to where Elvin was standing in front of a small painting, perched in a first floor window. It was a portrait of a woman in coveralls with two, thick dark brown braids hanging on either side of her face.