The Classy Crooks Club (23 page)

Actually, I like Brianna better right now than I ever have before. For once she's not acting snotty or insulting someone or trying to show off. She always talks about stuff she wants because it's expensive and flashy and impressive, but she never seems to have actual
feelings
about any of it.

“Is it worth a lot?” I ask to test my theory. “Is E. S., like, a famous artist or something?”

Brianna shrugs. “No idea. Honestly, even if it was worth a ton, I'd never sell it. What else could I buy that's this cool?”

“I don't know, new diamond earrings or something?”

She waves her hand like she's trying to swat away a mosquito. “Eh, whatever. Diamonds aren't nearly as interesting.”

This is so weird. All Brianna has ever seemed to care about are jewelry and dresses and boats and jets. It suddenly occurs to me that maybe she talks about those things to cover up the fact that all she really
has
is stuff. I've definitely been jealous of her before, but now that I know what her family's really like, I wouldn't want to trade places with her for a second. I have people at home who actually care about me.

And Edna has people who care about her, too. She has her kids and grandkids and my grandmother and Cookie and Betty and me, and probably lots of other people I don't even know about. She doesn't need this painting. She can always make another one. But Brianna's life seems kind of empty, and I don't want any part in taking away the one thing I'm sure she loves.

“I wish I could tell the artist how much I like it,” Brianna says. “It's weird that I look at her painting every single day and she has no idea who I even am.”

“I'm sure she'd be really happy to know it has such a good home,” I say.

And I hope that's true, because if I have anything to do with it, this painting is staying right here.

Sorry, Edna
, I think to myself.
I'm out
.

W
hen Stanley brings me home from the party, sparkly-eyed and shiny-nailed and curly-haired and looking totally unlike myself, the grannies are waiting for me. It's way past six, when they usually leave, so I thought I'd have until tomorrow to work out how to tell them I'm not on board with this heist anymore. But when I open the door, Cookie's right there in the entryway, dressed in bright red shoes and a red beret covered in sequins. Before I have time to object, she grabs my elbow and steers me toward the storage room.

“Did you find it?” she whispers. “Come in here and tell us everything.” Then she notices my makeup and stops dead in the middle of the hallway, and her eyes widen behind her glasses until they practically take up her entire face. “Oh,
AJ
,” she breathes. “
Look
at you! You're absolutely
divine
!”

I'm pretty sure I actually look ridiculous—Stanley didn't comment on my makeup at all—but I say, “Thanks, Cookie.”

She drags me through the storage room door. “Girls,
look
at our AJ! She could be a little muse-in-training, don't you think?”

Edna looks slightly to my left and makes a sort of
hmm
noise, but Betty beams at me, and her eyes crinkle up until they're almost lost in their nest of wrinkles. “So beautiful,” she says, and suddenly I do feel prettier. I smile back at her with my weirdly pink lips.

My grandmother comes over to see what all the fuss is about, a parrot on each shoulder, and she frowns at me. “Good heavens, Annemarie. You looked so lovely when you left.
What
is all that ridiculous goop on your face?”

Did Grandma Jo just give me a backhanded
compliment
? “It was—” I start to say, but Cookie cuts me off.

“Don't get your knickers in a twist, Jo. Young girls are supposed to experiment with these things. It's perfectly harmless.”

Grandma Jo makes a harrumphing noise. “It's an enormous waste of time, if you ask me. Did you manage to find the painting, or were you too busy gadding about?”

“I found it,” I say.

Cookie and Betty let out happy shouts and pull me into one of their double hugs, and Edna raises her hands above her head and does her finger-wiggling silent applause thing. “Well
done
, my darling,” Cookie crows.

Betty beams at me. “I
knew
you'd come through for us.”

“Walk the plank!” Scrooge chimes in.

Everyone looks so pleased with me, even my grandmother, that I almost can't bring myself to say the rest of the words that are crouched in the back of my throat. I feel as nervous as I did the first time Grandma Jo made me carry a bird around. I remind myself that Ben and Maddie both said I was brave, but it turns out that the kind of bravery that involves standing up for what you believe in is harder than the kind that involves psyching yourself up to be a daredevil. I'd much rather fall off my skateboard than say no to people who are counting on me.

“Your painting is really beautiful, Edna,” I say, stalling. “I love the way the paint, like, sticks up off the canvas. How did you get it to do that?”

Edna gives me a big smile. “Thank you, dear. I used a palette knife to apply the paint. That painting is one of my very favorites; I can't
wait
to see it again.”

“Um, yeah. About that.” I take a deep breath. “Here's the thing. I, um . . . I don't think we should steal it.”

“Liberate,” Cookie and Betty correct me.

Grandma Jo's eyebrows pull down into a stern V shape. “What? Why not? Is it alarmed? Is it behind glass? It doesn't matter—Edna can get around it.”

Edna nods. “I'm a master.”

“It's not that,” I say. “It's not protected or anything. It's just . . . I think it's
wrong
.”

Nobody speaks for a minute, and the grannies exchange confused looks. Finally Cookie says, “What do you mean, dear?”

“I mean, it isn't right to take something that doesn't belong to you.”

“It
does
belong to me,” Edna says. “I made it.”

“But the Westlakes bought it. Look, I got this dress at Nordstrom. Are you saying it still belongs to Nordstrom, even though I paid for it?”

Edna blows out a puff of air and makes a vague, dismissive gesture with her hand. “Money doesn't
mean
anything. It's the spiritual connection that matters.”

“It's not really about the money, though,” I say, a little more confident now. “The girl who has your painting now? She
loves
it. It's been hanging in her room since she was a baby, and it's, like, her favorite thing in the whole world. I've never seen her care about anything the way she cares about it, including the
actual pony
she got for her birthday when we were ten. Don't you want someone who cares about your work to have it? If you took it away from her, she'd be so upset, and she has enough stuff to be upset about already.”

For a second I think I've gotten through to her. But then Edna says, “It's very nice to know she appreciates it. But I'd still rather have it back.”

“Her parents can buy her another painting, dear,” says Cookie. “I read in a magazine that her father is one of the richest men in America.”

“I know they can
afford
another painting. That's not the point. It's wrong to take someone else's stuff, even if you think you deserve it more! You can't really know what other people's lives are like or what things mean to them.”

All four of the ladies look at me like they've never even seen me before. Then my grandmother says, “I told you we shouldn't have trusted her with this.”

I hate how she's talking about me as if I'm not even here. She suddenly sounds so cold, and her tone makes me feel like I've been kicked in the soft place below my ribs. “How can you say that?” I snap. “I've been incredibly trustworthy! I've done
everything
you've asked me to do, and I've kept all of it a secret. It's not like I'm going to tell anyone about the other stuff you've stolen. But I think you should call this heist off. Can't you steal another abused animal instead? I'm sure there are plenty of birds that need your help.”

“We'll liberate another animal when it's Jo's turn,” Cookie says. “It wouldn't be fair to skip Edna.”

“But stealing Brianna's painting isn't fair, either!”

“We're going forward with the project,” Grandma Jo says. “Loyalty is what matters most, and Edna's a loyal friend who always works hard to help us get what we want. If this is what
she
wants, we owe it to her to help her get it. Good people try to make their friends happy, Annemarie. Since when do you care about this Westlake girl? After all I've done for you, I'd have thought you'd be on my side, not hers.”

I haven't felt this red-hot anger bubbling up inside me for weeks, not since Grandma Jo took my phone away and told me Maddie was a bad influence. But now the anger-lava is back, churning in my stomach. After all she's
done
for me? What on earth has she done for me but take me in reluctantly, rope me into an illegal organization, and try to keep me away from my favorite people?

I'm about to shout all of that at her, but that'll prove to Grandma Jo that I really am an impulsive, immature child who can't control myself. So I stand up very straight and take a couple of deep breaths, trying to be a hollow reed like Edna taught me. Then, as calmly as I can, I say, “I know I can't stop you from stealing the painting. But you'll have to do it without me.”

I glance over at the other ladies, then wish I hadn't. They've always stood up for me, and now they're looking at me like maybe they've been wrong about me all along. Even though I'm positive I'm doing the right thing, I feel like I'm betraying them. Especially Betty.

My grandmother moves toward me, and even though she's leaning on her cane, it seems like she gets taller and more imposing with each step. She looks furious, and I'm suddenly a little afraid of her. “Tell us where the painting is, Annemarie,” she orders, her voice cold and cutting. “You owe us that, at least.”

I'm about to snap back that I won't, that I don't owe them anything, but then I get a better idea. Grandma Jo is always talking about how there are consequences for breaking the rules, but she and her friends break the rules all the time, and
they
certainly never seem to pay for it. If I don't tell the grannies about Brianna's dog, there's no way they'll get past the entryway before they'll have to hightail it out of there. Even if the Westlakes manage to catch them and call the cops, I'm sure the punishment for breaking into a house is much less harsh than the one for stealing an expensive painting. They've been lucky so far, but maybe this will make them think twice about what they're doing. I don't want them to go to jail or anything, but I
do
want them to see that this isn't a game.

“Fine,” I say. “The painting's in Brianna's room. You go up the curved staircase in the entryway, turn left, and it's the first room on your right.” That's actually where the master bedroom is, but in case the dog doesn't bark up a storm, this will ensure that they walk right into a trap.

“And the alarm system?” my grandmother says.

I pull up the picture of the alarm box on my phone, then show it to Edna, who nods like she's recognizing an old friend. She jots down some numbers on the edge of the blueprints and hands my phone back to me. She seems distant, and I wonder if she's furious with me too, but it's hard to tell. Edna always seems distant.

“That's all we need from you, Annemarie,” says my grandmother. “Go to your room and wait there until dinner.  This hallway is off-limits to you from now on. If I catch you here, you will no longer be allowed out of the house.”

There's not a trace of warmth or respect in her voice; I may as well be a total stranger. It stings more than I expect, knowing things might be like this between us from now on. It's not like we've ever been close or anything, but we were finally making progress. The version of Grandma Jo who brought me Coke instead of tea and thought I was smart enough to help plan a heist was way better than the version who sent me an etiquette book for my birthday.

I guess never having something at all hurts less than getting what you want and then losing it again.

“What are you waiting for?” Grandma Jo says. “We have things to attend to.”

As I turn and leave the room, I hear Betty say, “Don't you think that was a bit harsh, Jo?”

“Don't question my behavior,” my grandmother snaps. “
You
don't exactly have a flawless moral compass.” There she goes again, implying that the only person who stands up for me around here is somehow defective. I guess now I'll never find out what Betty did that's supposedly so terrible. Who knows if I'll ever be allowed to speak to her again?