The 100-Year-Old Secret (8 page)

Andrew kicked it straight to him. “Get it, Holmes!”

A small crowd cheered from the sidelines.

Yes! Xander thought, ready to accept the ball. He pictured smacking it with his foot. He imagined watching it flying into the Knuckers' goal. He set up the kick—and a flash of purple caught his eye.

He lost his concentration. It was just for an instant, but that was enough. In the flash when he saw the girl in the purple hat passing by the field, a Knucker intercepted the ball and disappeared down the field.

A moment later the Knuckers scored another goal. The International School never really recovered. They scored one more goal, but lost 4–2.

As the team straggled off the field, Xander heard Andrew talking to Zafir, a Turkish boy who had scored the Giraffes' second goal. “That's what happens when you allow Yanks to play,” Andrew was saying.

Xander clenched his fists. He burned with shame. Not only did that girl keep appearing and disappearing mysteriously, but he'd lost the game for his new school because of her! The next time she showed up, he vowed silently, he wouldn't let her escape.

T
he next day was cold and drizzly. As Xena and Xander emerged from the Tube after school, they opened their umbrellas and trudged toward home. The few blocks hadn't seemed like much before, but Xena's backpack was heavy with homework and Xander was still sore from yesterday's soccer match.

“Want to play the Game?” Xena asked.

Xander looked around. The people on the sidewalks were walking fast, heads down and half hidden under umbrellas, raincoats dripping. “I don't think we can in this weather.”

“Then how about a snack?” Xena fingered the change in her pocket. She had figured out English money by now and thought that she had enough. Maybe after a little food they could concentrate on the case.

Xander brightened and Xena hid a grin. The mention of food always cheered him up. “There's
a place around the corner with amazing scones,” he said. “Mom and I went there a couple of times when we were staying at the hotel and you and Dad were sleeping late.”

Xena had been thinking more of something like fish and chips, but it was nice to see Xander looking eager for something instead of brooding about soccer. So she agreed.

They sat by the window and hung their wet things on hooks by the door. It was warm and bright in the café, and as they watched people hurry by in the semidarkness with their faces ducked against the rain, they felt very cozy.

The waitress said, “Oh, it's the American boy!” She smiled at Xander as he flashed her his killer dimples. “Scones and clotted cream?” she asked, and laughed at his eager “Yes, please!”

“And some cocoa too, please,” Xena added.

The cocoa warmed their bellies as Xander spread cream and jam all over his first hot scone.

“There are only two days until the Batheson exhibit opens,” Xena said. “We've
got
to find out something else.” Xander nodded and took a huge bite.

“So what's our next step?” she went on.

Instead of answering, Xander sat upright, his mouth full of scone, and pointed out the window.

He spluttered something that Xena couldn't understand.

“What?” she asked, peering at the mist. But just as she caught a flash of purple, Xander bolted out the door, leaving behind his raincoat, umbrella, everything. Even his scones.

Xena slapped some money down on the table, hoping it was enough, and then took off after her brother. She ran out the door, barreling into a fat man who said, “Here now, young lady!” She caught her balance, blurted “Sorry,” and dashed onto the sidewalk.

The crowd of pedestrians had thinned a little, but people were still blocking her view. Thank goodness the drizzle had stopped, though the visibility was poor in the misty air. Where's Xander? she thought in a sudden panic. And what made him take off like that? There could be only one explanation, she realized. He must have seen that girl.

She looked left, then right, standing on tiptoe on the step of a small shop to peer over heads through the darkening afternoon. Nothing. What will I do if I can't find him? What if—Then she saw him a block away, tearing down the sidewalk, barely missing other pedestrians, and she chased after him.

People stared at her as she splashed through puddles and dodged around lampposts. She hadn't run track since last year at school, and she was afraid of slipping on the wet pavement, but even so her long legs ate up the distance between them. She caught up to Xander and grabbed his upper arm to get his attention. He barely slowed.

“Where did she go?” Xena asked, panting.

Xander pointed wordlessly down a narrow street lined with brightly lit shops, and Xena took off again. She didn't see a purple hat or anyone with golden curls but she kept going. When she reached the corner the light was red, and she leaned over with her hands on her knees, waiting for the light to change, trying to catch her breath.

Xander could not keep up with his sister's long strides. He saw her stop at a traffic light up ahead, but when he reached the corner, she was gone. He peered in all directions, and then finally spotted her standing under an awning. She had her back to the brick wall of a building and was leaning sideways, peering through a plate-glass window where paintings and sculptures were displayed under bright lights. When she caught sight of Xander, she beckoned him to come closer.

“She went in here!” Xena said. “I'll go in and
see if I can find her. You go around back and guard the emergency exit in case she comes out that way.” Xander nodded, and slipped around the building.

Xena hesitated. She must look awful, with her dark hair plastered down, mud splashed on her white school socks, and her navy blazer dripping wet.

Just as she was about to enter the shop, Xander appeared at the corner of the building. He gestured wildly for her to follow him.

“What?” Xena said as she joined him in the alley behind the store. “What if she comes out while we're back here?”

Xander had climbed up onto a trash can that was leaning against the wall. It wobbled and Xena grabbed on to it to steady it.

“Get down from there and let me do it,” Xena said. Xander jumped down and she easily hoisted herself up onto the trash can and looked into the window above.

Xena gasped. What she saw was so unexpected that she couldn't take it all in at once. She closed her eyes and opened them again.

It was still there.

I
f all that had met Xena's eyes had been a girl in a purple hat sitting on an old-fashioned chair, she wouldn't have been surprised. Curious, maybe, but not surprised. Instead she saw a roomful of girls sitting on chairs in bright gardens, the same sulky expression on each chubby face, the same blond curls spilling out from under each broad-brimmed purple hat. Girls in frames, girls on stretched canvases, girls in purple hats all over.

The room was filled with copies of the Batheson painting!

The girl they had been following was perched on a stool. A woman entered the room and inspected her, removed a cloth from an easel, and then dipped her brush in paint and got to work. A good deal of the painting was already done; all that was left to do were the girl's shoulder and face.

Xena turned away from the window and dropped silently to the ground, her knees flexing to take the stress of the landing.

“Now what?” Xander asked. “We can't let her escape again.”

Xena nodded. “Come on. We're going into that gallery.” They went around front and entered.

They were soaking wet, and Xena's clothes were dirty where she had scraped against the brick. The receptionist, a slender woman with white blond hair and fingernails so long and curved that it must have been impossible for her to dial a phone or type on a keyboard, looked in horror at their feet on the white carpet.

Xena shifted over to the hardwood and nudged Xander to do the same. “Quit pushing,” he said, but he moved.

“Can I help you?” the receptionist asked.

“Er,” Xander said.

“Just looking,” Xena said.

“Looking?” The woman clearly didn't believe them. “Looking for what?”

“A present,” Xander said.

“For our dad,” Xena added.

“There are brochures by the door,” the lady said, and then she turned her attention to the
phone that was ringing in a soft double trill. Xander watched in fascination as she stabbed at the blinking light with a pencil eraser. So that's how she did it! But how did she type at the computer with those claws?

Xander was looking at the prices of the artworks. “Holy smoke,” he said, using one of their father's favorite expressions. “Ten thousand pounds? For
that
?” He was looking at what appeared to be a lump of gray glass with pieces of metal sticking out of it. “What is it, a paper-weight?”

“It's a piece by an up-and-coming Romanian glassblower,” the receptionist said severely, hanging up the phone. “And now, if you have no questions—”

But at that moment the door burst open, and a young man, almost impossibly tall and thin, strode in, waving his arms.

“You still haven't sold a single piece of mine? Do you have my work stored here like in a . . . in a . . . in a warehouse?”

“Please, Mr. Georgescu,” the woman said, rising from behind her desk. “Please, Mr. Georgescu, calm yourself.”

“Calm myself!” His arms waved even more frantically. Xena and Xander looked at each
other and nodded. They slipped through the door behind the receptionist's desk.

They found themselves in the room Xena had seen through the window—the one with all the copies of
Girl in a Purple Hat
. The artist was sitting with her back to them, but the little girl glanced up as they stopped at the door. Her eyes widened.

“Someone's here, Annie,” she said.

“Hush, Sarah,” the woman said. Her voice sounded odd, and Xander noticed that she was clenching a paintbrush between her teeth. “Just hush one second while I get your mouth. It's almost right but I think . . .” Her voice trailed off as she dabbed at the lips of the girl in the painting, turned down in an irritable expression.

“There!” she said, putting the paintbrush aside. “Another one done in time for the opening! And is that Miss Selden with our tea? Miss Selden, aren't you a bit early?”

She turned around. When she saw them, her face showed surprise. “Who are you kids?” she asked, reaching for a cloth. She wiped her hands, leaving smears of color on the rag.

Xander looked at Xena. Xena looked at Xander.

“We're detectives,” Xena said. The girl on
the chair let out a hoot of laughter, and Xena turned to her. “Yes, we are,” she said firmly. “We're detectives, and we've been looking for a missing painting.”

“A missing painting?” the artist asked, removing her smock and hanging it over the back of her chair.

Her obvious amusement stung Xander, and he said, “It's a painting that's been missing for a hundred years.”

“You mean
Girl in a Purple Hat
?” she asked.

“Aha!” Xander cried. “How did you know what painting we were talking about?”

“Isn't it obvious?” The artist waved her hand at the walls, which were covered with copies of the painting. “Why else would you come to this studio?”

“Why indeed?” asked a voice behind Xena and Xander.

They turned around. It was the receptionist, Miss Selden, and she was carrying a tray with a plate of cookies, a little teapot and mug, and a glass full of something fizzy.

“Tea!” the girl said, hopping down from the stool. She grabbed the glass off the tray.

“Careful!” the artist warned. “You don't want to stain that dress.”

The girl put down the glass, and the woman helped her into an artist's smock to cover the dress. Then the girl reached up her hand.

Xena and Xander gasped. When the girl took off her hat, the golden curls went with it!

X
ena stared as the girl casually placed the hat with the curls attached to it on a chair and shook out her straight brown hair.

“That's a wig!” Xander blurted out.

“Children!” Miss Selden was obviously starting to lose her temper, but just then a bell jangled in the outer room. It sounded as though someone had come into the studio.

“It's all right, Mary,” the artist said, pouring a cup of tea. “I'll handle this.”

Miss Selden nodded and placed the tray on a low table near the artist's chair. Then she left, glancing back at them as she closed the door behind her.

“Don't mind her. She's a bit overprotective of the gallery,” the woman said, stirring her tea. “All the same, it
is
a little strange, isn't it? The two of you bursting in here, soaking wet and bedraggled?” She took a sip of her tea.

“Sorry,” Xena said, “but we're trying to find out what happened to
Girl in a Purple Hat
.”

Xander nodded quickly. “When I first saw this girl I couldn't believe it—she looked just like the one in the painting! I knew she wasn't the same girl, but it made me curious. I thought she might have something to do with its disappearance.”

“How come you're making copies of the painting?” Xena asked.

The artist smiled, and friendly-looking crinkles appeared around her eyes. She stood up and opened a file cabinet, rummaging around among papers.

“Well, I don't know anything about the whereabouts of the real
Girl in a Purple Hat
,” she said. “I wish I did! I'm just making these copies to sell at the Batheson exhibit that opens on Friday. You know, as souvenirs.” She pulled out a letter from the cabinet and handed it to Xander. It had an impressive-looking seal at the top with the Victoria and Albert Museum logo.

Xander scanned the letter. “So you have permission to make copies of it?” he asked.