The Red Blazer Girls (20 page)

“This is it,” Margaret says. “St. Veronica—that's her right there—was married to Zacchaeus, who is known in
France as St.
Amadour
. As in
Roc-amadour
, the town that was named for him and the town where the ring comes from. That's the connection: St. Veronica and the Rings of Rocamadour. All we have to do is look behind this painting and we will have the final piece of the puzzle.”

Margaret confidently raises the same corner that Mr. Winterbottom lifted not so long ago to show us the signature on the back. “And here it is.” She is rather nonchalant about it, all things considered. “Look—it's like two inches from the signature. If he had pulled it out just a little bit more, he probably would have seen it.”

“And probably would have removed it,” I say. “C'mon, open it up!”

Drumroll, please.

Something about that last line really gets to Margaret and me. Knowing all that happened between the time that Professor Harriman wrote those words and our reading them brings us back to a certain sad reality. Finding the ring seems more important somehow—not just because it is beautiful and valuable, but because in some way it represents the lives of Caroline and her grandfather, who never got together to celebrate her success in finding it. It makes us more determined than ever to carry our mission through to the end.

We get to Mr. E's classroom and Margaret immediately starts graphing while I run down to the cafeteria to find Rebecca, who is studying for a biology test. I look around quickly—no sign of Leigh Ann. I'm okay with that. Very okay.

Rebecca and I run back up the five flights of stairs and find Mr. E watching in awe as Margaret thinks and points and plots.

She turns to face us. “Okay are you guys ready for this? Good grief, Rebecca, are you in there? Your eyes look like they're bleeding.”

Rebecca waves her off. “I was up late studying. Go ahead.”

Margaret glances my way. “No Leigh Ann?”

“I looked. Didn't see her. Let's just go ahead.”

“It's simple,” Margaret says. “In fact, I really don't need to graph it out. I know what the solution to the
system of equations is without it, but I'll do it so you can see it, too. All right, the first equation is X + 3Y = 6.” She has her notebook open to the page that shows my solution. “Sophie, here's what you came up with. I'll just graph the exact same points you used.”

She marks the points (3,1), (6,0), (-3,3), and (-6,4) on her graph and then carefully draws a line through all four points with a yardstick.

“Voilà! So much for the first equation. The second equation is X − Y = 2, which is even easier to figure out coordinates for. For example, if X is four, then Y has to be two, because X − Y
must
equal two. Becca, I think it's your turn to solve.”

Rebecca takes the chalk from Margaret and struts to the board. “Piece of cake.” She starts to write something, then stops and makes a face. “Hmmm.”

“Do you want help?” Margaret asks.

Rebecca considers for a moment. “No, I've got it. So, I can use any numbers I want for X and Y, as long as when I subtract them, I get two. Like, you have this four and two. Is that right?”

“Exactly.”

Rebecca writes 6 and 2 under the X, and then 4 and 0 under the Y, and then marks the points on the graph with nice big dots.

“Now, the moment of truth.” Margaret hands the yardstick to Rebecca like it's Excalibur.

She places it against the blackboard and draws the line through her points. Her line intersects with Margaret's precisely at the point (3,1). Rebecca takes a bow and steps aside.

“Holy crap,” I say. “And that's where the ring is.”

Margaret steps closer to the board, smiling. “X marks the spot. Just like in the movies.”

“And this is really the
only
possible solution to those two equations?” Rebecca asks.

“Absolutely. Lines can only intersect at one point. It's a basic rule of geometry.” Margaret is positively
glowing
with her success.

Mr. Eliot whistles in admiration. “By George, I think she's got it. Bravo, girls.”

I point at Margaret. “She's way smarter than that old Nancy Drew.”

“Oh, puh-leeze,” Rebecca agrees. “It's not even
close. She could take Nancy Drew with half her brain tied behind her back.”

“Let's wait until we have the ring in our hands before we get carried away,” Margaret says.

But she is smiling, my brilliant, beautiful, amazing friend.

And so am I.

Rebecca and I think seriously about chaining Margaret to her locker to keep her from running over to the church and starting to pull up the floor tiles right in the middle of Mass. Not that I think Father Danahey—or the dozen or so ninety-year-old women who are the early Mass regulars—would notice. Nothing slows Father Danahey down during the early Masses. Crying babies, ringing cell phones, police cars and fire trucks with sirens screaming—nothing fazes the guy. He's just a grumpy ol' Mass-sayin' machine!

Margaret finally agrees that we will have to wait until after school to get a good look at our target area—a particular location that poses a significant problem. The floor tiles are each one foot square, so if our target is the point (3,1), that means that the ring is only three feet away from a point right smack in the middle of the
church. We need to figure out how we are going to lift the tile and set it back in place without showing up on the security cameras. Plus, we have to be able to do it when the church is empty,
and
without making any noise. Piece of cake, right? Cupcake? Slice o' pie?

Speaking of food, Margaret, Rebecca, and I are sitting in the cafeteria eating tacos when Leigh Ann sets her tray down. Aware that I have no right to be mad at her, I pretend to be concentrating on
Great Expectations
so I won't have to talk to her. She looks like something from the cover of
Seventeen
. Her blouse and skirt are freshly ironed, her accessories—bangles, watchband, hair clips—perfectly matched, and she is even more cheerful than usual.
Sheesh
.

“Hi, guys! Where were you this morning? I came down here before school, and nobody was here. I thought you were avoiding me,” she says, laughing innocently, genuinely.

“We were up in Eliot's room,” Rebecca answers. “We solved the puzzle!”

“No way! You found the ring?”

“Not yet, but we know where it is,” Margaret says. “Sophie said she looked for you but you weren't around.”

“I
was
a little off schedule,” Leigh Ann admits. “I was up kind of late, talking on the phone.”

I sneak a peek to see if she is smiling. She is.
Grrr
.

“What
happened
to you yesterday?” she asks.

I look up from my book but avoid eye contact. “To me?”

“Yeah, you just took off.”

“Nothin',” I mumble. “Just had to get home.” Eyes back on the page.

“Oh … okay. I thought maybe you guys were mad at me because of the skit. I know it's a little long, but I think it's pretty good, don't you?”

“The skit's
great
,” Margaret says.

Grrrrr
squared.

Leigh Ann wanders off to the vending machines for a drink and Rebecca snatches Mr. Dickens right out of my hands. “What is your problem? I saw the way you looked at her.”

“Sophie thinks that Leigh Ann—”

“Margaret! Don't. It's
nothing
.”

Now Rebecca is really interested. “C'mon, quick, before she gets back.”

“Sophie likes Raf, but she thinks that he's going out with Leigh Ann, so she's mad at Leigh Ann, which really isn't fair because Sophie
told
her that Raf was available.”

I pound my forehead on the table.

Rebecca swats me with my own book. “I knew it! You act like such a dork around him.”

“I do not!”

“Margaret, does she or doesn't she?”

Margaret pats my arm. “Sorry, Soph. It's true. But only sometimes.”

Before Leigh Ann skips back to our table, I warn
them. “I will
kill
you guys if you say anything. I mean it.” And I pretend to read some more.

Miss Covergirl takes the seat next to me. “Boy, you're really into that, aren't you? I'm almost done, so I don't want to spoil it for you, but I was
really
surprised by—well, you'll see. That Miss Havisham is a nutcase. Hey—have you told Ms. Harriman about the puzzle yet?”

Margaret's face brightens. “No, but that's a
great
idea, Leigh Ann. We should go right now! We can take the inside route.”

I start to say something about being late for class.

“We won't stay long,” Margaret assures me. “We'll just tell her that we should have the ring by tomorrow night. She should know about this, right?”

Mere minutes later, we are past the security guard, through the locked “chalice” door (another bobby pin sacrificed for the cause), and up the scary, curvy staircase. After Margaret knocks, we hear the shuffling of papers and insistent whispering. We press our ears against the door but jerk away when we hear the CLUMP CLUMP CLUMP of heavy footsteps. As the door swings open, we are greeted by Winifred and a cloud of smoke. A cigarette dangles from her lower lip, her square face twisted into something that
resembles
a smile—or is it a glare?

“Hi, Winifred,” Margaret chirps. “Is Elizabeth home?”

She mumbles and grumbles something about using
the front door like most people, then waves us in. I take a quick look around the room and notice something very peculiar: another cigarette sits in the ashtray, burning away. A thin wisp of smoke pours steadily from it, fouling the air. It is definitely not one of hers. This one is shorter and stubbier, and almost looks homemade. I try to peek behind the door, where someone might be hiding, but Winnie practically shoves me down the stairs.

She takes us down to the living room and orders us to wait. I sit in the exact spot I sat in the last time; if Winnie is going to spy on us, I'm gonna spy on her spying. Teazle jumps up next to me, taking the spot Leigh Ann has been aiming for.
Good
kitty.