by Jude Watson
“Simplicity,” March said. “Visit the place, open a window, come back later. But that was back in 1964. We’ve got alarms and guards….”
“And people that night. And waiters, right?”
“And a stage,” Izzy said.
March swiveled and regarded her. “What?”
She seemed to shrink under the attention. “For the choral concert,” she said in a tiny voice. “Leon is a big benefactor of school choruses in New York City. They’re picking the best ones of all the private schools, and they’re all going to sing at the beginning of the evening.”
March sprang forward and enveloped Izzy in a hug. She turned rosy. “I did good?”
“What are you thinking?” Darius asked.
March smiled.
March felt perspiration trickle under his collar. He kept his restless hands in his pockets. If he showed nerves, Darius and Izzy would lose theirs.
They stood across the street from the museum. They were now all wearing blue blazers and gray flannels. They had bought a comb and used it. They had gone over the plan. Now all they had to do was wait.
How had Alfie done it? There had been many times when March waited in a hotel room while Alfie put on his dark clothes and went out on a job. March could sense his complete concentration, but not his nerves. How had Alfie controlled his own jumping skin, the thoughts crowding his brain about the million things that could go wrong?
Across the street the museum sprawled for blocks, massive gray stone, with a grand entrance, tall columns, waving banners. Police barricades had been set up, and bored photographers stood behind them, checking their equipment. A red carpet ran from the sidewalk all the way up the grand steps.
Suddenly their plan seemed impossible, crazy, foolish … destined to brand them incorrigible and land them in juvenile hall.
March saw Darius swallow. “You sure about this, Marco?”
“I’m sure,” he said. Inside his pockets, he crossed his fingers. “Here’s what we’ve got going for us. Nobody pays attention to kids. The security guys will be worried about the fancy folks. The fancy folks will be worried about looking good for each other. The museum people will be worried about the food and the drinks and that everything runs smoothly. All we have to do is steal the necklace.”
“Right,” Darius said. “That’s all.”
“After that, they’ll want to get the chorus kids out as soon as possible so they can find the thief. I’ll just walk out with it in my pocket. Easy peasy.”
“Right,” Darius said. “Except for the part where we steal the necklace. That’s hard.”
“Sure,” March said. “Or we could go back to Polestar and eat creamed corn.”
There was a short silence.
“Still in?” March asked.
“Still in.”
Lights winked on as twilight deepened. Floodlights illuminated the grand façade of the museum. The first limousine arrived, and a couple in formal wear headed up the wide stairs. Flashbulbs popped for a second, then stopped. The woman in the flowered gown dropped her fake smile and looked disappointed.
March kept his eyes on the photographers. That would be one way for Oscar Ford to sneak in. Or he and Jules could have already hidden themselves somewhere in the museum. Jules could be inside right now, her nerves pulled as taut as his.
He touched the moonstone in his pocket. It made him feel closer to Alfie. If only you could absorb steel-trap nerves and cool daring through a rock.
The limousines were now a long line of waiting cars. March nudged Darius as a yellow school bus pulled up and a bunch of kids spilled out, dressed in black pants and white shirts.
“Them?” Darius asked.
Wait for the moment of maximum chaos.
“Not yet,” March said. “Five choral groups are coming. Somebody is always late. The later we go, the more pressure the people who run this thing are under. That’s when things get overlooked.”
The trickle of partygoers turned into a full-blast faucet of tuxedos and bright spring gowns. Skinny, long-necked women teetered out of limousines, posed, and slowly ascended the steps.
One choral group after another arrived. March counted them off on his fingers. A red-haired woman in a yellow-and-pink gown emerged from a limousine. She faced the photographers for long moments, allowing them to take hundreds of shots in an explosion of light and shutter noise. Something big gleamed from the neckline of her dress.
“Dolores Leon,” Izzy said.
“And her necklace,” March said.
A few straggling partygoers hurried from limousines. A black van made an illegal U-turn and bumped to a halt just a few feet from where they stood waiting. A nervous-looking woman jumped out and shouted, “Come on, get a move on, we’re late!”
“This is us,” March said. His mouth felt dry.
Students tumbled out of the van. The woman danced alongside the group, hurrying them forward.
March looked at Darius and Izzy. Darius’s gaze was glassy with fear. “Now or never,” March said.
Darius gave a quick glance at Izzy. She nodded.
“Go,” they whispered together.
March ran forward and jogged alongside the frantic woman. “You late, too? We’re from Huntington–Chumley.”
“Bedford Prep. Traffic!” she panted.
Darius and Izzy dashed forward and attached themselves to the group as they ran toward a side door. An anxious young woman in a black dress peered out at them.
“Bedford Prep,” the woman said, breathing hard.
“You are super late,” the young woman said, frowning.
“Traffic!”
“They’re starting in ten minutes. Follow me!”
And just like that, they were in.
March and Darius and Izzy followed the group down a dingy corridor and through the winding back corridors of the museum. They slipped into Milstein Hall from a back door marked NO ADMITTANCE. March made a note of where it was and saw that you didn’t need a key. Waiters were using it to run food to the tables.
“Stand on the risers,” the young woman whispered, even though the noise from the crowd was a steady, loud buzz. “The museum director will introduce you. You’ll sing your number, and then remain on the stage while your benefactor, Mrs. Leon, presents the necklace and the director makes a short speech. After that the lights will go down, entrées will be served, and you’ll exit out the same door.”
March joined the others on the risers. He scanned the crowd anxiously. He looked carefully at each waiter and waitress. No sign of Oscar or Jules. That would be the easiest way to get close to Dolores Leon, he supposed, though he wondered how Jules could pass for a server. She looked older than twelve, but not that much older.
“This might be a good time to mention I can’t sing,” Darius whispered.
“Just mouth the words,” March said.
“But what are we singing?”
“I hate this,” Izzy said.
The director of the museum went to the microphone. She welcomed the crowd and went through a list full of people to thank. The crowd applauded politely.
March’s gaze roamed the crowd. If Jules was out there, what was she thinking?
Alfie suddenly loomed in his head, his hand fluttering, saying, Find Jules. How would his old man feel if he knew his kids were now enemies, pitted against each other?
March pushed the uncomfortable thought away. Jules had been the one to take off. She’d started this.
And he was going to win it.
The director introduced Dolores Leon. The big necklace gleamed under the lights.
“And, now, thanks to the generosity of Mrs. Leon, so many schoolchildren in New York have found their voices. In her honor, they will sing her favorite song, ‘My Heart Belongs to Daddy.’ ”
The choral director stood in front of them. He raised his hands, and then brought them down. Exactly on cue, all the voices sang out. Except for three.
March kept his gaze on Dolores Leon, who
was standing off to the side, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief while she watched the singers.
When she turned her head, he studied the intricate clasp. Impossible to undo it quickly. Had to wait until she removed it herself.
Da-da dad, da da dad dad a dad …
March kept his mouth moving, but he didn’t know the words. Most people in the crowd were smiling, some of them swaying a bit with the tune.
“Hey, we’re rock stars!” Darius said to him under his breath.
The last note faded. Dolores Leon wiped away her last tear.
She approached the microphone. “Thank you, children. That was beautiful. I’m so touched. When children raise their voices in song, we hear the angels, don’t we? Children are my passion. Children … and jewels.”
She paused for the laughter. March noticed two security guards move closer.
“And to have both of my passions come together in one evening makes for a beautiful experience. Tonight I’m loaning my favorite necklace, the Widow’s Knot, to the museum’s Gem Folklore exhibition.” She reached up to unclasp the necklace.
The director moved forward, smiling, to help her.
Dolores Leon held out the necklace, glittering in the white spotlight.
Izzy fainted.
“Give her some air!” Darius shouted.
March dropped through the risers and scrambled as fast as he could through the maze of feet. Before he could reach Dolores Leon, the spotlight moved, and he peered through the steps and followed the light … up, up to the shadowy heights of the ceiling.
High above them, a girl sat on top of the whale.
She wore a spangled mask and was dressed all in black. She stood on the whale’s back, and the room went silent. Everyone stared at the tiny figure on the giant blue whale over their heads.
Jules.
She leaped off the whale, straight in midair. A collective gasp sucked the air out of the room. She had what looked like two silk ribbons in her hands. March knew they were strong and flexible.
He saw out of the corner of his eye that the director was confused. Dolores Leon was looking up, smiling, as though this were a delightful gift. The rest of the crowd thought it was part of a prearranged show, and they burst into applause as Jules landed in the swing created by the two pieces of fabric, then executed a dizzying spin. Little white lights were twined through her costume and in her hair.
The lights went out.
All anyone could see was the whirling lights overhead as Jules spun.
Distraction is the first rule of an open-air grab.
This was it — this was the strike! Heart pounding, March rolled out the end of the risers and ran toward Dolores Leon. He had to get there before Oscar.
A third security guard appeared. He slipped a pair of glasses out of his pocket and put them on. Infrared lenses. It was Oscar Ford, and he was moving fast.
March threw himself forward at Dolores. He muttered an apology, pretending to trip, and reached for the hand holding the necklace. It was empty!
Jules couldn’t have swiped it, she was still up there. He could see the spinning lights. And Oscar was still a few paces away.
Distraction …
March looked closer. Jules hadn’t been twirling at all. There was no one on the swing.
“My necklace is GONE!” Dolores screamed.
Jules had stolen the necklace right out from under him!
“TURN ON THE LIGHTS!” the director yelled into the microphone.
March looked around frantically. He saw a slender column of light as the door marked NO ADMITTANCE was cracked.
“CLOSE THE EXITS!” the director shouted, but her voice was lost in the noise of the crowd.
March leaped off the stage and charged toward the door after Jules.
He dashed down the hallway. As he rounded the corner, he saw her disappear through another door.
“Check the exits!” someone shouted.
March dived through the door after Jules. He found himself in a dark gallery, facing a couple of musk oxen on a snowy hill. He stifled a shout of surprise.
Across the hall, two moose were fighting. One was goring the other with enormous antlers.
Heart slamming, he stopped and listened for the sound of footsteps. He heard light footfalls coming from the darkness. Cautiously he began to jog toward the sound.
Gazelles and wildebeests stared at him with glassy serenity as he ran past. He reached the end of the hall. Jules was nowhere in sight.
Izzy and Darius ran up, breathing hard. “Security is fanning out,” Darius said. “And Oscar is right on our heels. He saw you jump off the platform. Do you have the necklace?”
“Jules has it!”
“Then just forget about it! I heard one of them say they’re going to set up checkpoints. We’ve got to get out of here.”
March wanted to stamp his foot in frustration. He’d bungled the job.
But Darius was right. They had to get away clean.
“There’s an exit this way,” he said.
They raced out into an anteroom near an exit of the museum. The round room was deserted except for a bronze statue of Teddy Roosevelt seated on a bench. Pushed against the wall were folded-up extra tables and a dolly — basically a rough board on wheels. The exit doors were locked and bolted. They probably had only seconds.
Running full tilt, Jules burst into the space.
For a moment they just looked at each other.
“You can’t get away from us,” March said.
“I’m trying to get away from Oscar, you idiot,” Jules panted. “Help me push this thing.” She ran to the dolly and pushed it closer to the bench with the statue. Then she stood behind the former president. “Come on!” she urged. “Help me!”
“Are you crazy? It’s too heavy!”
“If you keep standing there, it sure is. Help me tip it onto the dolly. This is the only door that’s not guarded.”
The three ran over. They put their shoulders and hands on the statue.
“One, two, three!”
Teddy rocked, but did not tip.
“One more time,” Jules said. “Come on, Darius, you’re the one with the muscles! One, two, three!”
Slowly, Teddy Roosevelt toppled onto the dolly. His nose smashed against the board, his butt in the air.
“Push!” Jules urged.
A meaty hand landed on the back of March’s shirt.
“Hand it over, kid,” Oscar snarled. “You’re out of your league.”
Oscar spun him around and took a fistful of his shirt near his collar. Buttons popped as he bunched it in his hand and twisted it. March felt a sudden inability to breathe.
“The rest of security is heading this way. I want the necklace.” He twisted the material tighter. March felt his airway closing. Black spots appeared in front of his eyes.
Jules spoke quietly. “Oscar, let him go.”
“We’ve got about seventy-five seconds to get out of here,” he said to her. “They’re right behind me. But I’m not leaving without it.”
“I’ve got it,” Jules said. “So let go of March, and then you’ll get it.”
March felt his knees go weak.
“Let me see it.”
“Let him go.”
Oscar twisted the material tighter.
They heard the sound of running footsteps.
Jules tossed the necklace at Oscar. She tossed it high and hard. He had to drop March’s shirt collar to scramble after it. It hit the hard stone floor and came apart. The huge amber stone slid and the moonstones rolled as if trying to make a break for North American Mammals.
Oscar threw himself at the amber gem, snatching it up and then taking off into the dark gallery. The security guards collided, some diving for the gem too late, others going after Oscar. For the moment they didn’t pay attention to the kids in blazers.
Feeling dizzy, March crashed against the dolly. Izzy pushed him onto it. The three — Jules, Darius, and Izzy — gave a
great heave. The dolly went flying. Glass shattered and crumbled as Teddy and the dolly smashed through the door.
Alarms rang as Darius shoved the door open the rest of the way, pushed Izzy and Jules through, and half dragged, half pushed March off the dolly into the cool night air. One guard leaped through over the glass and charged after them.
March staggered, trying to gulp air while he ran, stumbling up a driveway and then alongside the grand staircase in the front of the museum. Cop cars were parked at crazy angles near the front entrance. A TV van screeched to a halt, and a reporter and cameraman vaulted out.
Now that they were among a crowd, they slowed their run to a brisk walk. Security guards ran out, scanning the crowd.
March saw one cop speaking into a walkie-talkie. The cop looked over at them. He did a slow double take as he took in the fact that Jules was wearing a leotard and tights with a short, filmy skirt.
“Uh-oh,” March breathed.
“What do we do?” Izzy asked through clenched teeth.
“You there! Stop!”
“Run!” Jules said.
Dodging cabs, they raced across Central Park West. The cop’s whistle split the air, and two cops took off after them. The four kids leaped over the stone wall and plunged into the darkness of the park.
They crashed down a hillside, stumbling over rocks until they hit a path. They raced along its windings, hearing the cops tear through the shrubbery behind them.
The path wound over an arched bridge. They dashed over it, turned right, and took off across a grassy field. Suddenly they blundered onto a road with traffic.
A black limousine pulled over and a door was flung open. A dark figure leaned over and said, “Get in.” It was Carlotta Grimstone.
* * *
“Drive, Samuel,” she said calmly. “The police have most likely called for backup. Head to Park Avenue and we’ll lose ourselves in the other limos.”
March and the others crashed against the leather upholstery, trying to catch their breath. On the upside, they had escaped the police. On the downside, they were now trapped in a limousine with a rich, crazy, mean lady who could turn them in.