London Art Chase

by Natalie Grant

  Maddie thought about how it would feel to have parents who let you run around on your own when you were only ten years old. She and Mia always complained that there were way too many rules in her family, but on second thought, maybe they had the just-right amount. Not that Maddie regretted coming out here—she had to do this thing—but she wouldn’t want it to be no big deal that she was out on her own. Because, in truth, it felt like a very big deal.

  She passed through the gates with the giant lions and wove her way through the crowds of people toward the fountain. Now what? She didn’t want to stand out in the open, right next to the fountain, especially since Aria had seen her earlier. There wasn’t a bench where she could sit and be inconspicuous, either. Maddie turned in a full circle, taking in the wide open square. She could maybe sit on the steps, but they were so far away, she’d hardly be able to see anything at all.

  What now, God? she prayed, hoping some very clear answer would pop into her mind. Nothing. She wasn’t all that surprised. Honestly, she wasn’t sure being out here on her own was what God wanted her to be doing right now. If she was really, truly honest with herself, she had to admit that Mia was right. God didn’t expect kids to chase down thieves. This definitely hadn’t been what Mom meant when she said God might give her something to do. Maybe she’d handled this all wrong, but no one had listened to her. And she felt out of options, cornered, even. All she wanted was to find “Sun-Splattered Afternoon” and prove . . . yes, prove that she hadn’t been entirely wrong.

  Why did she need to prove herself? Mia would definitely demand Maddie’s answer on this question. Maddie had no answer. She didn’t seem to be able to stop herself. She was like a boulder that had started rolling and kept picking up speed, unstoppable until it made it to the bottom of the hill. Or crashed into something.

  Maddie looked around at the other people, trying to figure out a look-casual strategy. People were either walking, or standing still, staring into their phones. That was it! All she had to do was take out her phone and pretend to be reading it, or taking pictures or something, and then no one would think it was weird that a ten-year-old was standing on her own in the middle of the square.

  After fishing her phone out of her purse, Maddie turned the power on and flipped through screens. She had a few games, but not much else on her phone. Really, it was meant to be for emergencies. Still, no one else had to know she wasn’t reading important messages on the glowing screen. She positioned herself about thirty yards away from the fountain, where she could see most of the way around. If the woman ended up on the exact opposite side, Maddie figured she could move around slowly, making sure not to miss anything.

  Her phone read 2:55. Just in time.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  As the clock ticked off minute after slow minute, Maddie flinched at every tiny sound. Three o’clock came and went, and Maddie still didn’t see Aria. Slowly, Maddie began to circle the fountain, starting to doubt herself. What if she’d heard Aria’s conversation wrong? What if there was no meeting at all?

  Then, just as she was about to turn around and head home, Maddie saw Aria approaching the fountain, still carrying her large bag. Aria scanned the crowd warily. Maddie ducked behind a tall man so she wasn’t in direct sight. Wow! She was not so bad at this detective stuff. Mia would be proud. Maddie grinned, and then remembered to focus. Aria’s meeting. The painting.

  Maddie sidestepped, as casually as she could, until she had a clear view of Aria. She checked her watch and then scanned the crowd again. This time, Aria seemed to see whomever she was looking for. Then, Maddie saw him too, a man in a perfectly pressed suit, with two giant men following him, men that made Mom’s security guards look like the Scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz. The three men strode across the square to meet Aria.

  Once they arrived, Aria and the perfect-suit man began to talk. Maddie couldn’t hear what they were saying, far away as she was, but she imagined what might be happening.

  Do you have my painting? the man might be asking.

  Yes, it’s right here. Aria indicated her bag. Did you bring payment?

  Painting first.

  Payment first.

  Are you going to keep wasting my time?

  Maddie realized she was narrating this conversation as though it were a television show, as though whatever happened didn’t really matter. But this wasn’t a television show, and what happened mattered quite a lot. “Sun-Splattered Afternoon” was at stake. Maddie had meant to stop the meeting, but now that she was here, she realized stopping the meeting wasn’t as simple as she’d thought. How was she supposed to interrupt a man and his two security guards—or whatever they were—who were breaking the law and buying a painting that wasn’t officially for sale? Not by running up and saying, “Excuse me, can you please stop that right now?”

  Maddie flexed and clenched her fingers, thinking, digging through her mind for any workable solution. Meanwhile, the man had nodded to one of his guards, and the guard had opened up a briefcase to show the woman whatever was inside. After Aria checked the contents and nodded, the guard closed the briefcase again. Then, Aria took a painting-shaped parcel wrapped in brown paper out of her bag. The man ripped open a small corner to look at the painting. He nodded too.

  No, no, no! Maddie couldn’t just stand here watching, but her body felt as immovable as if she were one of the bronze lions guarding the Square. What had she been thinking? It had been one thing to think she was coming over to confront Aria, but now, she realized she was witnessing a real crime. One she had no idea how to handle. Out of the depths of her mind, the bobby’s words sprung to mind. I’d call for backup. Backup! She whirled around, looking for a bobby. It had seemed as though there had been bobbies here and there and everywhere this whole trip, and now, Trafalgar Square was completely bobby-free. No, no, no, no, no!

  The guard handed over the suitcase and Aria turned to go. As the man and his guards began walking away, Maddie bit her lip. Should she follow Aria or the man? If she followed the man, she’d stay with the painting, but it wasn’t like she could stop him and his guards. She’d need the police for that. But Maddie thought maybe she’d be brave enough to face Aria down. Or maybe as she followed Aria, she’d run into a bobby along the way. At least she could ask Aria who the man was, and why she’d stolen the painting. Hopefully, from there, the authorities could find the man and recover the painting.

  Now that she had a plan, Maddie was able to move again. She shoved her phone into her purse and began to weave her way through the crowd, keeping Aria in sight. Aria seemed to sense that something was wrong, because she started to jog. Maddie glanced over her shoulder to see if the man had changed his course, but he was nowhere in sight.

  “Oof!” Maddie said.

  “Watch where you’re . . . Maddie?” a man’s voice said, one that sounded particularly familiar.

  Of all people, Maddie had run directly into Mr. Hughes.

  “Oh, Mr. Hughes. Mr. Hughes!”

  “Maddie, what in the world are you doing out here on your own? Where’s Miss Twist? And your sisters?”

  “I just saw . . . the painting . . . you have to . . .” Maddie grabbed Mr. Hughes’ arm and pulled him in the direction Aria had just gone.

  “Maddie, slow down,” Mr. Hughes said. “Tell me what’s happening.”

  Maddie took a deep breath, and tried to calm down enough to explain, keeping her eyes on Aria’s retreating back. “She stole the Renoir! And she’s getting away!”

  “How did you know the Renoir was missing?” Mr. Hughes asked, his eyes going round.

  “I just knew. And I promise to explain, Mr. Hughes, but we have to go, right now, or we’ll lose her.”

  “Well, yes, yes of course,” Mr. Hughes said. “Lead the way.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Maddie took off running after Aria with Mr. Hughes pounding down the pavement behind her. Something had clearly spooked Aria, because now she was running full-out.

  “You’re . . . quite .
. . the runner,” Mr. Hughes gasped.

  “She’s turning the corner!” Maddie called.

  Sure enough, they’d lost sight of Aria. Maddie’s heart sank, but she kept running, hoping that when they made it to the end of the block, Aria would be somewhere they could see her. There. Her head bobbed as she ran, far ahead of them, past a few groups of walking people.

  Down street after street, around corner after corner, Maddie and Mr. Hughes slowly closed the distance. Maddie’s legs ached and her lungs burned, and she started to wonder if she’d have to give up, when they finally rounded one last corner to catch sight of Aria climbing a set of steps up to a door.

  “But that’s Aria,” Mr. Hughes said, as he caught sight of the woman for the first time. “She delivers all of our mail from the National Gallery. And she . . . Oh!”

  He looked over at Maddie in amazement. “How in the world did you know?”

  Maddie pulled Mr. Hughes out of sight as Aria checked over her shoulder, scanning the street. She must not have seen them, because she went inside and closed the door. Maddie doubled over, catching her breath.

  When she finally could breathe again, she said, “I saw her at the National Gallery. She was talking on the phone about a Renoir, which caught my attention, because we’d just seen you take the Renoir. I thought her talking about a Renoir meant everyone knew about the robbery, but then the director didn’t know anything about what had happened.”

  “And he didn’t explain our new procedure for bringing paintings to the Archival office, since that procedure is confidential,” Mr. Hughes said, nodding. “I see.”

  “The director treated me like I was crazy, and didn’t tell me anything at all,” Maddie said. “I noticed Aria in the first place because she had paint under her fingernails, the way my art teacher at school does. I’ve always thought that I’d know I’m a real artist when I have paint under my fingernails like that. You know, the kind that doesn’t come out no matter how hard you try, because every time it’s almost gone you paint again and cake more on.”

  “You’re an artist?” Mr. Hughes asked.

  “I draw, and sometimes I paint.”

  Mr. Hughes looked about to say something more when something caught his eye and he looked over Maddie’s shoulder and seemed to remember they were standing on a random street outside Aria’s house, and that she had just stolen and sold a painting. “So . . . back to the point. How did you know Aria was the thief? And how did you know she’d be at Trafalgar Square today?”

  “I saw her at your office earlier. She was on the phone again, talking to someone about meeting at the Square at three o’clock, and that it would be ready. After she’d been talking about the Renoir, I had this feeling I couldn’t ignore, not even when I knew I should let it go. And you said the thief had to be someone who knew which paintings had come to your office. Since she was a messenger, Aria could poke around in both offices. Plus, she had a giant bag that could easily have hidden the painting. I asked Miss Julia to let me check if the painting was missing, but she said we couldn’t bother you.”

  “And if you’d come back in, we might have been able to stop Aria from selling the painting.”

  “But now it’s gone. She sold it to a man with two huge guards.”

  “We can work on finding him later. But for now, I suppose we need to go speak to Aria.” Mr. Hughes started toward Aria’s house and then stopped. “What am I thinking? Actually, what we need to do is to get you home.”

  “But we can’t let Aria go!” Maddie said. “She ran all the way home—she might have even seen us following her. She won’t wait around long.”

  “No one knows you’re out here on your own, true?” Mr. Hughes asked, and then answered his own question. “Of course that’s true. The minute someone realizes you’re gone, trouble and lots and lots of worry are going to break out. They’ve probably already discovered you are gone. Do you have any way to contact Miss Twist? Her phone number, perhaps?”

  A few blocks down, a bobby clip-clopped across the street on his horse.

  “Officer!” Mr. Hughes called, but the bobby didn’t turn back.

  “I have my emergency phone,” Maddie said. “But it’s only for emergencies . . .”

  “I think this qualifies. Stay right here and call Miss Twist. I’ll go down the block to see if I can catch that bobby.” He gave her a piercing look. “Promise me you’ll stay right there. I’m not going so far that you won’t be in clear sight. I’ll know if you take one step toward that flat. Got it?”

  “Got it,” Maddie said.

  Her phone was heavy in her hands. She could already hear Miss Julia’s voice on the other side of the phone, shocked, disappointed, angry. Maddie breathed deep and dialed. As the phone rang, Mr. Hughes came jogging back down the block, this time with the bobby in tow. The sight of Mr. Hughes running next to the sleek horse and its stern rider might have made Maddie laugh before, but not now, not while she waited for Miss Julia to pick up the phone.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Hello?” came a groggy voice on the other end of the line.

  “Miss Julia,” Maddie said.

  “Maddie?” Miss Julia was immediately awake. “Is this your emergency phone? You know you’re not supposed to . . . Where are you?”

  Maddie heard rustling and shuffling, probably Miss Julia tossing off her covers, on her way to check the girls’ room.

  “I’m with Mr. Hughes,” Maddie blurted out as quickly as she could, hoping she’d said it before Miss Julia saw the room for herself, before she saw that Maddie was not lying next to Mia where she was supposed to be.

  “What’s happening?” Mia’s voice asked in the background. “Where’s Maddie?” and then “Oh no!”

  “Oh no, what? Maddie, where are you? This isn’t a funny joke!”

  “What joke?” Lulu piped up.

  “I’m with Mr. Hughes. On . . .” Maddie read the nearest street sign. “Jasper Avenue. There’s a bobby here too,” she added quickly.

  “You’re not in the hotel room?” Miss Julia asked, her voice raising in pitch until it was so shrill it made Maddie’s ears ring.

  Maddie had known she would be in trouble, but she hadn’t expected it to be quite like this. Her stomach tied itself into knot after knot until she felt like she might be sick.

  “I want to speak to Mr. Hughes,” Miss Julia demanded.

  Maddie handed the phone over, relieved not to be the one on the spot anymore.

  “Hello?” Mr. Hughes said. “Yes, she’s here and she’s safe. She ran directly into me in Trafalgar Square. Oh, no, no, I had no idea . . . Yes, I know, and I think . . .” Mr. Hughes eyed Maddie’s face. “I think she knows too. But listen, Miss Twist, the thing is that Maddie found our art thief. Aria was under our noses all along—one of our delivery staff. We’re just outside her flat now with a bobby.”

  He waited a little longer, listening.

  “Yes. We’re at 1335 Jasper Street. As soon as you’re here, ring the bell. Yes, we’ll keep Maddie with us, never out of our sight. I promise.”

  As he hung up and handed over the phone, the bobby was also hanging up his phone. “I’ve called for backup, but I’ve been cleared to go in on my own if the thief is unlikely to resist arrest. We don’t want to give her time to escape, which may be the more pressing possibility.”

  “I thought I knew Aria,” Mr. Hughes said. “But obviously, I didn’t. That said, I’m sure she isn’t a violent person. She may run, but I don’t think she will resist arrest.”

  “You may come with me, then, to help me identify her. If there’s the slightest hint of any trouble, I expect you and the girl to leave the flat, no questions asked,” the bobby said, hitching his horse to the nearest lamppost.

  “Got it,” Mr. Hughes said, and in spite of her nervous stomach, Maddie smiled at the echo of the conversation she and Mr. Hughes had just moments before. The chain of command was clear, and now the bobby was in charge.

  “This way,” he said, marching up th
e stairs to the flat.

  Rather than ringing Aria’s buzzer, he rang another tenant and told them he was a police officer. “Please buzz us in. We need access to another tenant’s flat.”

  The door clicked open and they hurried into the foyer. Straight ahead, a brass number one hung on the door.

  “Number three must be on the third floor,” the bobby said. “Let’s head on up.”

  He led the way, and soon they were standing outside flat number three. “Ready?” he asked.

  “Ready,” Mr. Hughes and Maddie both whispered.

  He banged on the door. “Open up, by order of Her Majesty’s Metropolitan Police.”

  No answer. Maddie held her breath. She’d done just about everything wrong, and she was in miles and miles of trouble. If only one thing could go right, and she could know for sure that Aria would be stopped. If Aria had seen Maddie following her, Maddie would have been the reason Aria had run before she could be caught. If so, Aria’s escape would be Maddie’s fault too.

  “I’ll be opening your door in three,” the bobby said. “One . . . two . . .”

  The door swung open. Aria stood there a little behind the door, not willing to step forward.

  Aria’s eyes were wide, her face terribly pale. “What . . . How . . .?”

  “I’m afraid we must come in,” the bobby said, not waiting for her answer.

  Aria took a step back, and then another. She had no living room furniture, only easels, tarps, and art materials. A number of half-finished paintings ringed the room. One looked especially familiar.

  “That looks like ‘Sun-Splattered Afternoon’!” Maddie said, pointing.