Ann Martin - Claudia And The Mystery At The Museum

"Do you have an appointment?" she asked, "Mr. Snipes is a very busy man, and he doesn't usually see people on Saturdays."

"I'm sure he's busy and I don't have an appointment," I said, "but this is a very important matter. I have to see him as soon as

possible." My voice was growing louder. Stacey stuck by my side, but she didn't say anything.

"I don't think — " began the receptionist, but just then a door opened behind her and a man stuck his head out.

"What's going on, Ms. Hobbes?" asked the man. He was a skinny guy, dressed in a black suit. He looked more like an insurance agent than a curator. He had black hair and a thin black mustache and very pale skin.

"These girls wanted to see you," she said, "but I told them — "

"What seems to be the problem?" Mr. Snipes asked, interrupting her. He looked at me intently, and I noticed his small, dark eyes.

"If I could just speak to you for five minutes," I began.

"Yes?" he said impatiently. He gestured toward his office, and Stacey and I followed him in.

He sat down behind his desk. Stacey and I stood in front of it. Suddenly I remembered my fantasy — Mr. Snipes asking me to show my art in his museum — and I blushed.

"Well, it — if s just that I noticed something strange about one of the Don Newman pieces," I said finally. I told Mr. Snipes that I had seen — and touched — the sculpture before, and that it seemed different now. "Maybe

somebody switched it during the robbery. I just think it may be a fake, I mean, a forgery," I finished, looking at the floor. Somehow I knew he wasn't going to believe me.

I was right. "This is the most absurd thing I've ever heard," he said, rolling his eyes. He pushed a button on his intercom. "Ms. Hobbes, bring me the Newman file," he said into it. Then he looked back at Stacey and me. "Playing detective may be an amusing way to pass an afternoon," he said, "but taking up my time with your ridiculous theories is pushing things too far." Ms. Hobbes brought in the file, and he showed me the registration number for the sculpture. Then he marched us down to the gallery and showed us that the number matched the one on the artwork. Afterward, we went back to his office. "I hope you've enjoyed your little game," he said. "And I trust I won't be seeing you in here again."

"No, sir. We're very sorry, sir," said Stacey.

I didn't say anything. I was too busy sneaking a piece of paper off of the desk while Stacey apologized. It was a copy of Mr. Snipes' resume. I saw several lying there, and I had been overcome by the need to know more about this nasty man. I know it wasn't the right thing to do, but right or not, I had to do it. I was so happy to have this new museum to go to,

and I wasn't about to let some crooked curator spoil things for me — or for the kids of Stoneybrook. Something rotten was going on in that museum, and I wanted to get to the bottom of it.

Chapter 8.

I didn't sleep well at all that Saturday night. I guess I was preoccupied with trying to work out a solution to the museum mystery. I kept tossing and turning, trying to figure out what was different about that sculpture and how it could be tied to the coin robbery. I just knew they were related, somehow.

First thing Sunday morning, Kristy called me. "How about if we all come over this afternoon to talk about the mystery?" she asked. 'I've been thinking and thinking, and I haven't come up with any answers. Maybe if we get together we can make some progress."

Of course, Kristy already knew what had happened the day before, after she and the others had left Stacey and me at the museum. I had called the BSC members and told them about our visit with Mr. Snipes. But I had left out one detail. I hadn't said anything about

swiping that resume. I guess I was a little ashamed of myself for doing it. In fact, I had decided to throw it away and pretend I had never seen it.

I told Kristy that a meeting sounded great. "I'll make some raspberry brownies," I said. "And some popcorn, too, for Stacey. "

After we hung up, I headed downstairs for breakfast. "Morning, honey," said my mother, who was sitting at the table eating waffles. My dad was at the stove, cooking them. That’s his Sunday morning project.

"Any left for me?" I asked.

"Coming right up," he said. He poured some batter into the waffle iron.

I picked up the local paper and began to read it. I scanned all the articles in the news section, but I didn't see one word about the robbery. I wondered if the police were even taking the case seriously.

After I had baked the brownies for my friends, I spent the rest of the morning working on a small clay sculpture I had started before I saw the Don Newman show. I had been happy with it two days ago. But now, after I'd seen a professional artist’s work, it looked lumpy and uninspired. I smushed it into a ball and started over again.

Before I knew it, it was time for our "meeting." Kristy arrived first, as usual. I heard her thumping up the stairs, and I barely had time to whisk Mr. Snipes' resume into my desk drawer.

Kristy had barely settled herself in the director's chair when Mary Anne and Logan showed up. "I brought him along," said Mary Anne, pulling Logan into the room, "even though he didn't really want to come."

"I had a basketball game planned for this afternoon," said Logan, "but Mary Anne convinced me this was more important." Mary Anne sat down on my bed and patted the spot next to her.

"Sit here, Logan," she said.

Logan blushed and shook his head. Sometimes he has a hard time being in a room full of girls, and sitting on a bed next to his girlfriend would only make him more uncomfortable. He sat on the floor, instead, and I sat beside Mary Anne.

Jessi and Mal showed up next, with Stacey right behind them.

"Any news?" asked Stacey, raising her eyebrows at me.

"You mean, did Mr. Snipes call to say I was right and the statue was a fake?" I asked, grinning. "Nope. Sorry to disappoint you."

"Mr. Snipes was kind of creepy," said Stacey. "I didn't like the way he talked to you. It was like he was the king and you were a peasant or something."

"Condescending," Mallory murmured.

"What?" I asked.

"Condescending," she said again. "That's the way he was talking to you. In a condescending manner. It means he was acting superior." Mal kind of collects words. I guess if s because she wants to be a writer some day.

"Speaking of acting," said Mary Anne, with a giggle, "wait till you guys hear about the video that Claire made yesterday." She and Mallory told us about Claire's big show business debut.

"The amazing thing," Mal said, after they had told us about their day at the mall, "is that the video is really pretty good. I should know, since I've been forced to watch it at least fifty times already." She rolled her eyes. "I mean, I'm sick of it already, but I do have to admit that Claire has some talent."

"Maybe she should go on Star Search or something," said Logan.

"Please!" exclaimed Mallory, rolling her eyes again. "Don't put any ideas in her head."

We all cracked up.

"Okay," said Kristy, sitting up in her chair. "Let's get down to business. We're here to talk about the museum mystery."

"Right," I said. "So what do we do next?"

"I think we have to find out more about Mr. Snipes," said Stacey. "I have a feeling he's involved in the robbery somehow."

"But he's the curator of the museum!" said Jessi.

"I know," said Stacey. "I just think he's up to no good."

"What can we do, though?" asked Logan. "We need to find out more about him, but how?"

I was practically biting my tongue. His resume was sitting right there in my desk drawer, and it would tell us a lot. But I knew I had been wrong to take it, and I felt embarrassed.