Moxie and the Art of Rule Breaking (24 page)

“That won’t be necessary,” she said.

“But ma’am,” began one of the security officers, “your granddaughter got a great look at her, and perhaps the police
could find this person. She might be a known figure in the community.”

Nini shook her head firmly, eyes hard. “I’m not putting my granddaughter through that, you understand? Instead, maybe you should revise your security procedures to ensure that no one has access to the facility who doesn’t belong here.”

You could’ve sliced and served the tension in the room. Nini stared at the two men until they mumbled something and looked away. Then she went back to being sweet Nini, visiting her husband.

“You haven’t even seen him yet, have you, dear?” she asked me.

I shook my head.

“Well, why don’t you go find your grandfather and keep him busy while I finish cleaning this mess. I’m sure these fine men have work to get back to, as well.” She gave them a meaningful look, and they cleared out. I was right on their heels. Did Nini know something, or was she just protecting family business?

When I found Grumps, he was sitting across from a snoozing Mrs. Ricci, checkerboard still between them, looking out the window. Angel was helping another patient on the other side of the room.

“Hey, Grumps.” I pecked him on the cheek when I saw his eyes brighten.

We chitchatted about summer for a minute, and I asked him if he wanted to go outside. He nodded and pointed to the porch. “Go that way,” he said.

Angel came over and held the door for me. “Things okay?” he asked. I nodded.

“Yeah. Thanks,” I said, shy. It was weird, but I was embarrassed that he was the one who helped me up after The Redhead wrecked Grumps’s room. I steered Grumps outside, and Angel closed the door, giving us some privacy.

I plopped into a chair across from him. At first I didn’t say anything, just wrestled with what I
should
say. Sully’s collection deadline for the Gardner art was one day away, and I needed to keep myself—and my family—safe. Even if “safe” wasn’t what Grumps would have wanted, he had to know the truth.

“Grumps, I gotta tell you something that you won’t want to hear.”

“What is it, Moxie?”

I took a deep breath.

“I broke family rules. I found almost all of the Gardner art, Grumps. Sully Cupcakes came looking for it. He wants it back, and I don’t want to give it to him. Tomorrow, I’m going to Fenway for the last two pieces.” I stopped, needing to check Grumps’s reaction.

He shifted in his chair. “Sully Cupcakes is bad news. This is not safe.”

Okay, still with me.

“I know, Grumps. I’m going to give it to the police. But I need to know where you worked at Fenway, so I can get them before Sully Cupcakes does.”

He didn’t say anything, just picked at a spot on his pants. Was I going to lose him?

“What’s in it for me if I help you?”

Slipping a little…

“Your family will be safe,” I told him. “Sully will go away for a long time.” I hoped.

“I didn’t want him to have them,” he said. “He wanted to trade them for weapons, but I didn’t like that. When the statute of limitations is up I’ll return them.”

So
that’s
why he hadn’t told Sully! One of the things I’d learned in studying the Gardner case was that now the statute of limitations—the length of time after committing a crime in which you can be prosecuted—expired after twenty years. With Grumps in the nursing home, the paintings would have stayed hidden forever.

“It’s up,” I said, hoping it would give him some relief. “I’m going to give them back.”

He nodded.

“Doing the right thing,” he said, “is something I wasn’t good at. But I always kept my family safe.”

“You sure did,” I whispered, holding my breath and fighting the urge to hiccup. “What did you work on at Fenway?”

“The bleachers and the Green Monster.”

“Where did you hide the art there?” I pressed him. If it was under the bleachers, we could forget about this right now—they’d be long gone, victims of new construction. It wasn’t worth making the trip.

He frowned. “I don’t remember.”

“Are you sure?”

Grumps knuckled his eyes, as though he was forcing his
brain to show him the location. He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

This was as good as I was going to get.

I gave him a big hug and kiss. “Thank you, Grumps.”

He smiled. “Checkers?”

I went back inside to get the checkerboard, smile still on my face, but innards churning. Getting into Fenway Park would be hard, but getting across the field to check out the Green Monster would be next to impossible.

Nini made me promise not to tell my mom what happened in Grumps’s room—“We’ll keep it inside our gloves” is what she said—but grilled me about The Redhead the entire way home.

“What did she look like?” she asked me for the three thousandth time.

“Nini, I
told
you already—like a redheaded snake,” I snapped. “Do you know her or something?” Maybe I could get some much-needed answers on her identity. Until now, I hadn’t cared who she was. I mean, if someone is trying to make your life miserable, you don’t want to know their favorite color, do you? But now…well, we were close to the end. Maybe the more I knew, the better off I’d be.

Nini’s eyes remained glued to the road. “No. I have no idea who she is,” she said.

Liar.

Nini knew something…or, at least, suspected something. Getting her to reveal that info? Next to impossible. But I had to try.

“I don’t believe you,” I said. There. Bold and Out There.

“Too bad,” she retorted. “It’s not of your concern. Old neighborhood business.”

And that was it. We finished the short ride in silence…but Nini had revealed this much:
Both
of my grandparents knew Sully Cupcakes and The Redhead.

After dinner, Ollie called to lay out our final plan.

“Our best bet will be to keep moving after the game ends,” he said. “We travel to different sections, duck into the bathrooms after they’re cleaned, find anywhere we can to hide until things quiet down.”

“Okay,” I replied.

“I’m hoping that since they have a double header on the fifth, the crew will clear out fast to catch fireworks.”

I doubted it, but I kept that to myself. Ollie had worked hard—even scoring us bleacher seats to the game by trading some Geo-Secret Knowledge—and who was I to burst his bubble? I certainly had nothing better to suggest.

As a matter of fact, I was the one who could potentially ruin the whole thing. I was still grounded, and Mom was off tomorrow. She might decide withholding a Sox game would be the pinnacle of punishment.

“So you wanna hear about what went down in my world today?” I told him about finding The Redhead in Grumps’s room, Nini’s reaction to the whole thing, and, finally, that Grumps had worked on the Monster.

He whistled through his teeth. “Dude, Mox. This is tough. But we know that The Redhead doesn’t have the paintings,
or she wouldn’t be going through his stuff in broad daylight. She’s desperate.”

Desperate people do desperate things…which worried me.

“What about the sketches?” he asked after a short pause.

“What about them?”

“Well, are we going to bundle up what we have and drop it at the Gardner on the fifth? Call the police once we find the ku and finial? Leave them on a doorstep somewhere? Moxie, we don’t even have to
go
to Fenway Park. We can just call and tell them what we know.”

I considered his option. Calling the police was so appealing…but I didn’t have a lot for them to go on—I didn’t even know where to look near the Green Monster. Besides, what if the same thing happened that did with Old North Church? How would that keep my family safe? Sully Cupcakes and The Redhead would be furious, and come straight for me.

“We don’t even have to call the police,” Ollie pointed out. “We could just call Fenway and let their security deal with it.”

Now
that
sounded like it would work. Calling the ballpark wouldn’t get us in trouble, and it could end the whole thing.

“Let’s try it,” I said. Ollie did some Google-fu and read the number off to me. I told him I’d hang up and call him back after.

My hands were trembling, but I dialed the phone. After three rings, someone picked up.

“Fenway Park security.” The voice was straight out of
Southie—South Boston—an extra thick accent, down to the
paahhk.

“Um, I’m calling because I think two of the missing pieces of art from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum are hidden in the Green Monster.” I tried to keep my voice steady, but a few uhs and ums escaped.

“Listen, kid. This ain’t no joke line. This is serious stuff—”

“But it’s true!” I interrupted.

“Don’t make me call the cops on you,” he said. Only, with his thick accent,
cops
came out like
cawps
and
you
came out
yuh.
Then he hung up.

Awesome. My insides felt like a deflated balloon. Well, at least we tried.

I called Ollie back and broke the news:

The only choice we had was to get the stuff, turn it in, and get The Redhead caught—all while staying out of the picture.

“We’ve gotta do it, Ollie. It’s the best way to make sure everyone stays safe.”

He groaned. “Fine…If by
everyone,
you mean me too. I don’t want to get not-kidnapped again.”

Getting kidnapped would be a picnic if this fell through.

Squeezing through the crowds of people filling Yawkey Way before a game should be exciting, energizing, and fun…not scary, paranoia-inducing, and stressful. People were decked out for the Fourth in crazy getups: Every third person had on oversized star sunglasses, a giant Stars and Stripes hat, or a shimmery wig. Anyone could have been The Redhead. Or Sully Cupcakes, for that matter.

Maybe my rejected disguise idea for the state house wasn’t bad…it was just for the wrong place.

“I don’t even know where to look,” Ollie said nervously.

“Me neither.” We pushed through the crowd, roasting in the heat, heading around the park to the bleachers entrance.

My mom, surprisingly, had agreed to let me go to the game with Ollie. She even said we could hang out downtown until the fireworks were over—a gift of extra time that I hadn’t dared hoped for. I think she was feeling bad about the whole moving/vacation confusion, and wanted to reduce her guilt load. This morning she made me charge my cell phone (I
hid the cracked screen from her) and helped me pack a day’s worth of provisions: sunscreen, cash, hat, bottle of water, and camera in a lightweight backpack that replaced my bike bag. When she went on to other things, I found a substitute for the screwdriver I’d given The Redhead, and added what was left of the granola bars from the pantry.

We found the entrance for our seats, and let the gray-haired security guy scan our tickets. He did a quick search of my bag too.

“What’s this?” He pulled out the screwdriver.

“I have no idea,” I said. “Must belong to my grandfather.”

“You can’t bring this into the park,” he said. “Is it sentimental or functional?”

“Uhhh…” What was the right answer? “Functional,” I decided. He pitched it into one of those industrial-sized garbage cans next to his station.