Ann Martin - Claudia And The Mystery At The Museum

Our meeting began the way they always do. We talked about recent news on our clients (Mal and I reported on Claire and her videotape) and about scheduling problems and stuff like that. I can't tell you any specifics, because after a couple of minutes, I kind of tuned out. Stacey's question had made me think about the museum mystery again. Why couldn't I figure it out? I felt as if I weren't remembering something right, or as if some fact were missing. And if I could just find that one fact, everything would come together and the mystery would be solved. I decided to go over the case again, starting from the beginning and remembering every single detail. I saw myself entering the museum with Corrie and Marilyn

and Carolyn. In my mind, I walked through all the exhibits we had seen.

The phone rang, jolting me out of my thoughts. Kristy answered it and talked for a few minutes to Mrs. Pike, who was asking for a sitter for the next day. Then Mary Anne checked the record book to see who was available. I knew I wasn't, so I tuned out once more and went back to my first visit to the museum.

The Science Room. The Discovery Room. The Music Room. I couldn't recall anything strange happening in any of those places. I moved on, and remembered the sound of the fire alarm and how responsible I had felt for my charges. That was the point at which things had become exciting, so I tried extra hard to concentrate on the facts.

Just as I was picturing the courtyard we had been herded into after the second bell rang, Kristy spoke up. "Okay, so as I was telling Claud and Mal," she said, "I had this great idea."

This time, everybody in the room groaned and rolled their eyes. Kristy pretended to be mad, but I knew she thought it was funny, too.

"Why don't you tell us about it?" asked Mary Anne supportively.

"Well," said Kristy, and she launched into

some complicated scheme for keeping better records of how many hours we work every week. Guess what I did while she was talking? I tuned out. I went back to that day at the museum. I pictured myself walking into the building, and down a haH. I saw myself peeking into the room where the coin case had been broken. What was it about that case?

"Whoa!" I said.

"What?" asked Kristy. Apparently I had interrupted her in the middle of a sentence. She looked annoyed.

"Nothing," I said. She began to talk again, and I concentrated on the image of that room with the broken case. I made myself look at it again. I tried to picture it exactly.

"That's it!" I shouted suddenly. "Oh, my lord!"

"What?" Kristy asked again, "Claudia, I'm in the middle of an idea here."

"I know, and I'm really, really sorry. But I just thought of something. Something really important about the museum mystery."

"Ooh, tell us!" said Mal. Kristy’s latest great idea couldn't compete with the museum mystery. Everybody was looking at me, eager to hear what I had to say.

"Okay," I said. "Remember the glass case that had been broken into? The one that used to have the coins in it?" My friends nodded.

"Well, here's the thing. I was trying to remember exactly how it looked, and I realized something. I saw broken glass covering the inside of the case. If somebody had broken the case to steal the coins, the glass would have sprinkled all over the coins. Then, when the thief picked them up, there would have been little round bare spots where the coins had been. Do you see what I mean?" Again, everyone nodded.

"But there weren't any bare spots," I continued. "So that means somebody must have taken the coins before the glass was broken. Somebody who had a key. Like maybe the curator? Anyway, the thief must have broken the glass after he took the coins, to make it look like a robbery by somebody who didn't have a key. But it was an inside job. I'm sure of it." I leaned back and crossed my arms. "That’s it. What do you think?"

"Wow!" exclaimed Mal.

"Awesome," said Jessi.

"Good thinking, Claud," said Kristy, who seemed to have forgiven me for interrupting her.

"And your parents think that reading Nancy Drew rots your brain," said Stacey, giggling. "Obviously, you've learned a lot from those books."

We never did get back to Kristy's great idea.

We talked about the museum mystery for the rest of the meeting.

That night, I tried to study for a math test. But I couldn't concentrate. All I could think about was the museum. What if there really was a thief on the museum staff? Was Don Newman's work safe? I would feel awful if any of his sculptures were stolen. For that matter, maybe one of them already had been stolen. I remembered how Daphne had felt so strange to me. Sure, the curator had "proven" to me that it wasn't a fake, but I just didn't trust him.

I thought and thought, and I became more and more worried. Shouldn't Don Newman know there was funny business going on at the museum? Maybe he would want to pull his pieces out and keep them in a safer place. Suddenly, almost before I knew what I was doing, I reached for the phone and called Information. "Newman," I told the operator. "Don Newman." She gave me the number, and I dialed it without a pause. My heart pounded as the phone rang once, twice, three times. What was I doing?

"Hello?" A man's voice was on the other end.

"Um, Mr. Newman?" I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking.

"That’s me," he said. (He sounded friendly.) "What can I do for you?"

"My name is Claudia Kishi," I told him. "I — I really love your work."

"Well, thank you, Claudia Kishi. That’s always a pleasure to hear."

I relaxed a little. I began to tell him why I had called. I crossed my fingers, hoping he wouldn't think I was some kind of nut. And you know what? He didn't. He treated me like an adult, not a kid. He thanked me for my concern. And he told me a wonderful secret.

"I think I may know why Daphne felt different to you," he said. "You see, back when I created that sculpture, I had two small children. They're almost grown now, but at the time they were very young. I liked to involve them in my art, partly because it helped keep them occupied while I was working. So I created hiding places in my sculptures. Places where I could put little toys for them to find." He paused for a second, as if remembering. "I had almost forgotten about that. They loved looking for their surprises. It was fun for all three of us. Anyway, maybe I left one of the toys inside Daphne, and that's what you were feeling."

"That is so cool," I said. I was thrilled to hear such a personal detail from a famous artist. "You must be a wonderful father." Then

I paused for a second. "But there's still one thing I don't understand. Unless you put in a toy or took one out in the past year or so, Daphne would have felt the same to me both times I touched it. And it didn't. It felt different. I still think something may be wrong." I was embarrassed to be pushing my point, but I felt strongly about it.

"I'll tell you what," said Mr. Newman. "I'll be at the museum myself in a couple of days, and I'll check Daphne then. You've made me curious. In fact, I wish I could go there tomorrow, but I'll be out of town."

I sighed. I was grateful to him for taking me seriously, and I told him so.

"Well, this is serious business," he answered, "and I want to thank you for telling me about it. Listen, the museum is having a big formal party for the dosing of my show on Friday night. Why don't you come? That’s when I'll be able to check on Daphne. We can do it together."

"Oh!" I said. I was so surprised that I didn't know what else to say. This was the party I had dreamed about going to, and now I had been personally invited by the artist himself! Finally I recovered. "I'd love to," I told him. "But I don't know if my parents will let me."

"Bring them along," he said. "I look forward to meeting them — and you."