Moxie and the Art of Rule Breaking (17 page)

March 1990.

I pulled the picture out so quickly I almost tore it, and added
Old North Church—possible second site
to my proof. But this time, although I was excited, I made myself go through the rest of the album, just in case there were other March photos.

On the second-to-last page, I stopped. There was Grumps, standing in front of an unmistakable Boston landmark. Even if I
hadn’t
been searching for millions of dollars worth of stolen art, I would have pulled this photo out for a closer look—it was that awesome.

Grumps stood on a patch of brownish-green grass, left hand in his pocket, a grin to knock his ears off. A green wall, painted with white grid lines and the numbers 2 and 3, was behind him. I didn’t even need a second to know what
that
was:

The Green Monster—Fenway Park’s famous left-field landmark.

And on the back?

March 1990.

I texted Ollie that I had news that was too big for texting—he had to call me as soon as he could—and then I switched “Seasons of Wither” to “Mamma Kin.”

From downstairs, my mother yelled, “Oh thank
GOD.”

Guess the fifteen repetitions were getting to her?

Twenty minutes later, my phone rang. “I found two more!” I chattered, and without giving Ollie time to say anything, I launched into my latest discoveries.

“Well?” I said, when I was finished. I admit it—I was a little out of breath from freaking out. “What do you think?”

Instead of a response, all I got was silence. “Ollie?” I asked. I pulled the phone away from my ear and checked the display. It was his number.

“Ollie? You sleepin’?”

This time, instead of silence, I got a low, awful chuckle. A blood-freezing, stomach-dropping, maybe-wet-your-pants-a-little chuckle. A chuckle that grew into a full-blown cackle.

A redheaded cackle.

I dropped the phone like it was covered with bees and raced to the bathroom.

Where I puked my guts up.

When I was done heaving, I rested back on my heels.

What had happened to Ollie? How did The Redhead get his phone? Was he okay? How could I get to those places before her? How could I get
anywhere
while I was grounded?

Sweet chocolate bunnies, I’d lost
everything.

Another wave of nausea, and I yurked again.

“Moxie?” my mom called up the stairs. “You okay?”

I wiped my mouth and splashed water on my face with shaky hands. The scratch was an electric line on my pasty cheek. I called out some garbled answer to get Mom off my back, and trudged to my room. I had to get in touch with Ollie. My stomach felt hollow and tight, and even though my room was hot, I was cold all over.

I rang his family’s landline, but got no answer—just his parents’ answering machine, with LeeLee singing “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” on the message. I hung up. My next urge was to IM him—but Mom had taken my laptop.

Had The Redhead kidnapped Ollie? Should I call the police? Tell my mom? How had she gotten his phone? Would she hurt him? And, on top of all those questions:
How could I have been so stupid as to blurt out everything without making sure it was Ollie on the other end?
I should have checked first. Every so often his mom or dad called me from his cell—it doesn’t happen often, but sometimes, if he puts the phone down and goes out caching, they text to tell me not to expect to hear from him for a while.

Curled in a ball on my bed, the worry ate at me. How
would I know he was safe? Should I call his phone back? What if she answered? What if she didn’t?

I was way out of my league. I wished—harder than I’d wished for anything in my life—I wished that I could talk to Grumps.

But the simple truth was that I was alone, and I had to figure out how to deal with this on my own. That made me want to yurk again, but I couldn’t.
Get it together
, Moxie, I thought.
Put on your big-girl pants and deal.

A knock at my door.

“Can I come in?” Mom called.

I grunted.

The door swung in and Mom’s eyes went wide when she saw me.

“Moxie! Are you okay? You don’t look good.” She sat on the edge of my bed and did the patented Mom Test for Fever: a hand across the forehead and a studious frown. “You’re clammy and pale. And what happened to your face?”

“Just a scratch,” I mumbled, hoping she wouldn’t notice that I didn’t answer her other question.

She leaned back and studied me. “I think you’re coming down with something. We’re staying in tonight. I’ll call Richard.”

Holy close call, Batman! I’d completely forgotten that Mom, Putrid Richard, and I were supposed to have dinner to discuss that “important issue.” And, as grateful as I was to get out of dinner—because, let’s face it, Putrid Richard could wreck my life just as easily as The Redhead or this mystery—it
didn’t take a math genius to calculate that there was a much higher probability of me getting to the bottom of what happened to Ollie if Mom ate with Richard alone.

“You don’t have to stay home because of me. I’m sure I feel sick from riding around in the heat and not really eating much today. I’ll be fine.”

Mom gave me a critical eye. “Riding your bike in the middle of the summer without eating? That’s a recipe for disaster.” The stuff she didn’t say?
Moxie, you have an appetite the size of Rhode Island. Since when do you not eat?

“Yeah. Dumb move. But I got caught up and just realized that I skipped lunch. I’m sure I’ll be fine after I have some water and eat something.” And find my best friend.

Mom slid off the bed and stood, eyes narrowed. “Come down and I’ll make you something.”

I told her I’d be down in a few. When she left, I flopped back on my pillow, still feeling gross. I’m sure she thought I made myself sick on purpose to get out of seeing her and Putrid Richard, but what could I do? Tell her the truth? I nearly laughed out loud at the thought.

The photo album was still next to my bed. As I bent to pick it up, another thought crossed my mind: As the lies I told piled higher, Grumps and I were becoming alike in ways I never expected.

Stressed and jittery, I choked down the dry toast and gallon of lemonade that Mom forced on me before leaving for dinner. Nini was downstairs, watching the Red Sox lose to
the Orioles (her cries of “Criminy! It’s the
Orioles
!
Come on
!” came up through the living room floor every so often). I hadn’t figured out a plan yet, and unfortunately, when I flung my cell phone to the ground after The Redhead’s witchy cackle, something must’ve come loose inside—static burst from the speaker when I turned it back on, and my screen now showed a starburst of pixels instead of caller ID or texts. Awesome.

At least I could still call out. I dialed Ollie’s parents’ landline again, but I got their machine and hung up. What kind of message would I leave? “Um, I was wondering if Ollie had been kidnapped or anything? Can you have him call me if he’s still around? Did I just ruin our summers forever because I got Ollie kidnapped?” Yeah…negatory.

I had to find Ollie. Maybe The Redhead would be so excited to have the locations, she’d let him go?

Doubtful. The Redhead wouldn’t release Ollie until she had the art—not just the locations.

And on the heels of that thought—Ollie had the sketches! Would she figure that out? Try to get it out of him? A panicky sensation tightened my chest.

Focus, Moxie. I had to believe that The Redhead wouldn’t hurt him; that all she was focused on was the art. Maybe by now she had scoured the Old North Church. As for Fenway, well, that would be tough for even her to get into. And depending on the schedule…

I ran down to Nini’s apartment and let myself in. Her favorite TV chair was empty, but she was standing in front
of the set, hands clenched and face red, Sox hat turned inside out—“rally cap” mode.

It was only the fourth inning, the Sox were down by seven, and by the looks of the brawl on the field, it was going to be a long night. And they were at home. Relief.

She glanced at me. “That headhunter of a pitcher just fired one straight at our best chance for an MVP! He had to hit the dirt to avoid having that face of his rearranged. They’re up by
seven
! Who does that?! Everyone’s getting kicked out after this mess. How are you feeling, dear?”

At least something was going my way today. There was no way Sully Cupcakes or The Redhead would be able to get into the park tonight. Maybe I could get Ollie back and still beat her to some of the art. I tried not to grin. “Better, thanks. Just wanted to see what all the yelling was about.”

Eyes on the TV, she shook her head slowly. “You don’t want to see this, trust me.” NESN, the local sports network, cut to commercial as the umps finished clearing the field. She turned to me.

“It was a bad day today.” I didn’t have to ask what she was talking about. I just nodded. She stepped back and sank into her chair.

“Tomorrow will be better,” I said.

She gave me a watery smile. We both knew that the number of bad days were creeping up, and soon the good ones would be the rarities.

“Is it okay if I visit more often this summer? I want to find
out about where he worked.” Asking the question made me feel awkward and shy. I wasn’t sure why I felt like I needed permission to go see my grandfather, but on the other hand, it also felt like the right thing to do—a courtesy to Nini, I guess. I hadn’t even expected to say that—it just popped into my head and, as a result, popped out of my mouth.

“You can go as much as you want,” she answered, surprise all over her face.
“Never
feel like you need my permission to see him, Moxie. He’ll love talking to you about that album.”

Her words were so gentle, after the day that I’d had, that my eyes filled with tears.

“Thanks, Nini.” I gave her a hug. On television, the game was back, teams on their respective benches, and a new pitcher for the Orioles was warming up. I decided to be bold.

“Grumps was talking about churches today,” I began, “while you were clearing the dishes. What did he do at the Old North Church?” For a second, I swore Nini’s eyes sharpened.

“Oh, I don’t quite recall,” she said. She faced the TV instead of me. “Something to do with the stairs, maybe? Or perhaps the floorboards?”

Nini was totally lying to me. I knew it, and I was pretty sure she knew I knew it. What else did she know?

“Cool. I’ll let you get to the game.”

I love my family like crazy, and I couldn’t let anything—or anyone—hurt them, Ollie included. No matter how much they lied. That meant one thing: finding Ollie first, then the art.

“Hey, Nini,” I added as I was leaving, “are the Sox home the rest of the week?”

And as Nini responded, I thought, Watch out, Redhead. I am going to bring it.

Back upstairs, I paced in my room. I had to get to Ollie’s house, to see if he was there. That had to be my first stop when I could get out of my house. Next, I pored through everything I could find about Old North Church in the guidebook Putrid Richard gave me. I even considered sneaking out and trying to find the art myself, but if I got caught—especially after getting grounded earlier that afternoon—I may as well call Sully Cupcakes and ask him to put me out of my misery.