Chapter 11
Prakash was still crouched intently over his computer the next morning. I’d just come back from breakfast with some toast, jam, and peanut butter in my hand.
“I liberated this from the cafeteria for you.”
I felt my way across the darkened common room and gave an endless yawn as I handed Prakash his sandwich.
“Whatcha doing?” I asked in the middle of that yawn. “Sorry, I guess I’m still used up from yesterday.”
Prakash surfaced from the Sargasso Sea of the Internet and blinked at me lazily. He shrugged as he bit into the PBJ and swiveled around on his chair. “Thanks for breakfast, Mac. I would have starved without you.”
“Still googling pre-Columbian ceramic statuettes, Prakash?” I went over to open the blinds and let some light in the room. It was a warm morning, so I lifted the ancient window sash and let some air in too. Prakash had been in the dark so long he squinted when the light hit him. He had a long swig of the tea I’d brought him and took a lengthy stretch.
“You know, I may end up studying archaeology, Mac. This is really interesting.”
“So young to be so twisted.”
“In more ways than one, Mac. I might never straighten my back up again from being hunched over this laptop for about twenty-four hours.” He swiveled back to the desk. “Look at this, Mac.” He pointed to the article he’d been reading. “A whole industry of tomb robbing for artifacts just like ours. And here, look at this.” He brought up another screen for me to see. “Here’s another article on a Peruvian cottage industry. They create pre-Columbian fakes to sell to collectors, as well as the gullible tourists. Cool art, but it’s forgery. You can get ’em on eBay today, at low, low prices.”
“Class 101. How to thrive in the tourist industry for blackguards and shysters. Wow. Makes you wonder if any of this stuff is real,” I said, pointing to the pictures on the screen. This was utterly interesting.
“Some of it isn’t. Forgers have fooled the experts plenty of times. Here’s some stuff from the British Museum that they decided was phony.”
I heard a sound behind me as I ogled the photos.
“Hey, what are you guys doing? Studying on a Sunday?” Ian breezed in the door, fresh from his college visits.
“Hey, Ian. Come look at ‘Fakes that have fooled the experts for half a century.’ These are great pictures.” Ian walked over and looked over Prakash’s shoulder.
“Hey, bro.” Prakash turned and made enthusiastic fist-to-fist contact with Ian’s hand. We were way glad to see him.
“Miss Apples stopped me on the way in. I understand you guys were up to something Saturday. She told me that you would give me the details.” Ian crashed on the chintz chair with his leg over the chair arm. He directed his voice toward the door as Brookie wandered in from the hall. “I have trouble believing Prakash was throwing water balloons at you out open windows at two a.m., Brookie.” He reached under himself and pulled out Brookie’s juggling balls. He threw them overhand to Brookie, who snagged them and automatically began a cascade of balls, as he always did when he was nervous. His juggling wasn’t much hampered by his long pajama sleeves, but he tripped on the hem of his pants and did an ungraceful collapse on the floor.
Prakash and I looked at each other over Ian’s head. Brookie was avoiding eye contact with Ian by hunting for his juggling balls on the floor. I cleared my throat apologetically and spoke very quietly.
“Ian, we got the photo of that page in the museum acquisitions book last night.”
“You what?” His eyes big, he sat up, his hair kind of standing on end.
“Easy, Ian. Here, take a look at these.” Prakash pushed some papers across the table toward Ian.
Ian reached to take the printouts of the acquisitions book and a couple of articles on pre-Columbian art. He read the pages for a moment. Then he looked at us with a mixture of pride, envy, and worry.
“I’ll hand it to you, Brookie. As soon as I left, you got the goods. I asked for evidence; I got evidence—but did you have to break every rule in the book to get it? This could get you guys expelled, not to mention arrested. I can’t know how you did this, guys, and neither can anybody else. It could get me kicked out in my senior year,” he said, shuffling the pages on his lap nervously.
Brookie rolled his eyes as only Brookie could roll his eyes. “Sheesh, details . . . See for yourself, man. Brown, the donor was Obadiah Brown, and we’re almost sure there is an accomplice, either Brother Matthew or Brother Roger. Here.” He handed Ian the monastery directory with all the Browns highlighted.
“Yeah, some monk was hanging around in the halls near the museum when we were in there. We didn’t stop to introduce ourselves because we didn’t want to get caught.”
Ian looked skeptical at first and slid off the chair onto the floor, shaking his head.
“Strange, isn’t it, that this accomplice hasn’t walked out of the monastery with this sculpture and handed it straight to Harley so he can sell it, Prakash?”
“It’s in the Head’s office, Ian. Come on, man. It’s under lock and key until Father Dell gets back from his sabbatical.” I plopped down next to him on the floor.
“That is a relief. But I can’t believe Brother Matthew would have anything to do with this. Brother Roger, either.”
“Evidence is getting stronger by the minute, Ian,” said Brookie. “They were both there the day we toured the museum, and somebody was there Saturday night.”
Ian turned over the pages to read the other sides. “What if both of them are in it together with Harley?”
Brookie nodded. “It could be either one of them or both, Ian.”
“I wonder if Harley is planning a double-cross, and they were just keeping an eye on him Saturday night?”
“I know I wouldn’t hand anything valuable over to Harley and expect him to give me my cut later, after what Ms. Kent told us.”
“Ah, Brookie, you do understand the criminal mind.”
“You know what I think? I don’t think any of them knows what they are looking for. They must be waiting to stumble across it, before we stumble on it.”
“A treasure map with no X on it, and nobody knows what the treasure is?”
“Except us, now,” said Brookie, tapping his puffed-out chest. He put down his juggling balls, squeezing in with all of us on the floor. He was just too much.
“But we also left the book open to just the right page, Brookie. Whoever came crashing in on us can now narrow down what we were looking for from that one page, hey? One entry from 1929? There wasn’t that much on it,” I said, pointing to the other entries on the page.
“If that was the accomplice who came in on us, he’ll let Harley know exactly what we were after.”
“Looks like we’re skunked.” Ian drooped dejectedly. “Okay, what are we going to do now? Or have we hit a dead end?”
“Not on your life, bro. Not after using up a couple of my nine lives last weekend,” I shouted.
“So what’s your idea, then?”
“We didn’t tell you the real shocker, Ian,” droned Prakash nasally.
“Cut the mystery; just tell him, Prakash.”
He bumped me in the arm with his fist.
“Mac thinks we can substitute our own statuette for Father Dell’s version, so the original doesn’t get stolen.”
“I think what?!” I turned to stare at Prakash.
Prakash was looking thoughtful, instead of superior. “You were the one that got us signed up for clay sculpture class. You might as well get credit for the idea. Harley doesn’t know what this thing looks like, right? What if we put one of our own in place of the original and let Harley steal it?”
“So let him. Maybe we can catch him red-handed.”
“Ah, bait the hook, pull him in?”
“Time out, guys,” said Ian, looking concerned. “I think we should keep it simple. Just keep it simple. No trying to catch anybody. Just put the replacement in the office. We m
ade Ms. Kent a promise to stay safe, remember?”
I nodded enthusiastically in agreement.
“Even if we don’t catch him red-handed, at least the original is safe, and maybe there will be proof that Harley was after something and broke into the Head’s office to get it.”
Brookie looked a little disappointed, but the thought cheered him up.
“That might keep him out of circulation for a while.”
But Ian, ever the voice of caution, had to find a flaw in our plan: “Wait, this still seems to require us also breaking and entering the Head’s office in order to place the fake on his desk or wherever he keeps the dang thing.”
“Seriously, Ian?” Brookie asked in disbelief. “We’re supposed to go in broad daylight, perhaps with Father Dell sitting at his desk, and make the substitution?
“Well, better that than falling out windows in the dark, Brookie.”
Prakash was not ready to give ground to Ian. “Okay, big brother. We’ll try to find some other way of getting it in there, without opening any locked doors. How, I don’t know.”
I nodded. “Seems reasonable to me.” I’d lived through the last break-in with only major heart failure.
Brookie had an unsettling grin. “But I really like climbing in through windows, Ian.”
“So work off your energy some other way, Brookie. So, like, take that sculpture class and get coached on pre-Columbian sculpture with Miss Apples instead. We need everybody’s help to make the fake. Besides, you won’t have time to do anything else.”
“Huh?”
“That’s the bad news that Miss Apples gave me to tell you.”
We were still feeling pretty cocky and weren’t ready for what hit us next.
“You guys know the punishment for throwing things out upstairs windows and being outside after hours? Well, guess what? Detention, guys. That means confined to the dorms and only study hall, practice, or classes for the rest of the week. No free time.” He paused on the way out the door and looked back at us sadly.
“Sorry about that, guys. I’m the enforcer in the dorm.”
“Coward,” said Brookie under his breath as the door closed behind Ian.
“That is way better than getting canned for breaking and entering, which may happen if anybody decides to figure out who broke into the museum.”
“You sure know how to help me sleep better, Mac.”
I yawned. “Chill. Don’t borrow trouble, Brookie. Trouble’s bound to find you, quick enough.” I got up and stretched as I walked toward my bunk, turned to look at Brookie and Prakash, and felt a deep craving for the “normal” inside me.
“You know what? I’m a simple soul. I need my sleep, I need food. I’m just going to practice and let the rest of you guys worry about this. You keep on getting your data, Prakash, and you keep making your guesses, Brookie, but I’m outta here.” I walked out and shut the door without looking back.
Deceiving Mr. Bevison Page 15