"Martin, Ann M - Baby-sitters Club Mystery 011 - Claudia and the Mystery at the Museum" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin Ann M)

"Why don't you tell us about it?" asked Mary Anne supportively.
"Well," said Kristy, and she launched into
some complicated scheme for keeping better records of how many hours we work every week. Guess what I did while she was talking? I tuned out. I went back to that day at the museum. I pictured myself walking into the building, and down a haH. I saw myself peeking into the room where the coin case had been broken. What was it about that case?
"Whoa!" I said.
"What?" asked Kristy. Apparently I had interrupted her in the middle of a sentence. She looked annoyed.
"Nothing," I said. She began to talk again, and I concentrated on the image of that room with the broken case. I made myself look at it again. I tried to picture it exactly.
"That's it!" I shouted suddenly. "Oh, my lord!"
"What?" Kristy asked again, "Claudia, I'm in the middle of an idea here."
"I know, and I'm really, really sorry. But I just thought of something. Something really important about the museum mystery."
"Ooh, tell us!" said Mal. KristyТs latest great idea couldn't compete with the museum mystery. Everybody was looking at me, eager to hear what I had to say.
"Okay," I said. "Remember the glass case that had been broken into? The one that used to have the coins in it?" My friends nodded.
"Well, here's the thing. I was trying to remember exactly how it looked, and I realized something. I saw broken glass covering the inside of the case. If somebody had broken the case to steal the coins, the glass would have sprinkled all over the coins. Then, when the thief picked them up, there would have been little round bare spots where the coins had been. Do you see what I mean?" Again, everyone nodded.
"But there weren't any bare spots," I continued. "So that means somebody must have taken the coins before the glass was broken. Somebody who had a key. Like maybe the curator? Anyway, the thief must have broken the glass after he took the coins, to make it look like a robbery by somebody who didn't have a key. But it was an inside job. I'm sure of it." I leaned back and crossed my arms. "ThatТs it. What do you think?"
"Wow!" exclaimed Mal.
"Awesome," said Jessi.
"Good thinking, Claud," said Kristy, who seemed to have forgiven me for interrupting her.
"And your parents think that reading Nancy Drew rots your brain," said Stacey, giggling. "Obviously, you've learned a lot from those books."
We never did get back to Kristy's great idea.
We talked about the museum mystery for the rest of the meeting.
That night, I tried to study for a math test. But I couldn't concentrate. All I could think about was the museum. What if there really was a thief on the museum staff? Was Don Newman's work safe? I would feel awful if any of his sculptures were stolen. For that matter, maybe one of them already had been stolen. I remembered how Daphne had felt so strange to me. Sure, the curator had "proven" to me that it wasn't a fake, but I just didn't trust him.
I thought and thought, and I became more and more worried. Shouldn't Don Newman know there was funny business going on at the museum? Maybe he would want to pull his pieces out and keep them in a safer place. Suddenly, almost before I knew what I was doing, I reached for the phone and called Information. "Newman," I told the operator. "Don Newman." She gave me the number, and I dialed it without a pause. My heart pounded as the phone rang once, twice, three times. What was I doing?
"Hello?" A man's voice was on the other end.
"Um, Mr. Newman?" I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking.
"ThatТs me," he said. (He sounded friendly.) "What can I do for you?"
"My name is Claudia Kishi," I told him. "I Ч I really love your work."
"Well, thank you, Claudia Kishi. ThatТs always a pleasure to hear."
I relaxed a little. I began to tell him why I had called. I crossed my fingers, hoping he wouldn't think I was some kind of nut. And you know what? He didn't. He treated me like an adult, not a kid. He thanked me for my concern. And he told me a wonderful secret.
"I think I may know why Daphne felt different to you," he said. "You see, back when I created that sculpture, I had two small children. They're almost grown now, but at the time they were very young. I liked to involve them in my art, partly because it helped keep them occupied while I was working. So I created hiding places in my sculptures. Places where I could put little toys for them to find." He paused for a second, as if remembering. "I had almost forgotten about that. They loved looking for their surprises. It was fun for all three of us. Anyway, maybe I left one of the toys inside Daphne, and that's what you were feeling."
"That is so cool," I said. I was thrilled to hear such a personal detail from a famous artist. "You must be a wonderful father." Then
I paused for a second. "But there's still one thing I don't understand. Unless you put in a toy or took one out in the past year or so, Daphne would have felt the same to me both times I touched it. And it didn't. It felt different. I still think something may be wrong." I was embarrassed to be pushing my point, but I felt strongly about it.
"I'll tell you what," said Mr. Newman. "I'll be at the museum myself in a couple of days, and I'll check Daphne then. You've made me curious. In fact, I wish I could go there tomorrow, but I'll be out of town."
I sighed. I was grateful to him for taking me seriously, and I told him so.
"Well, this is serious business," he answered, "and I want to thank you for telling me about it. Listen, the museum is having a big formal party for the dosing of my show on Friday night. Why don't you come? ThatТs when I'll be able to check on Daphne. We can do it together."
"Oh!" I said. I was so surprised that I didn't know what else to say. This was the party I had dreamed about going to, and now I had been personally invited by the artist himself! Finally I recovered. "I'd love to," I told him. "But I don't know if my parents will let me."
"Bring them along," he said. "I look forward to meeting them Ч and you."
After I hung up, I drifted downstairs, feeling as if I were walking on clouds. I told my parents about the invitation, and my father said he would be happy to go to the party with me. (I didn't tell them about the detective work I was doing. In fact, I told a little white lie about having called Don Newman for a school project. I didn't know how else to explain the invitation.)
I floated back upstairs and tried to study again. But before long I had jumped up to look through my closet. I had been invited to a formal party, and I only had two days to figure out what to wear. This was going to take some thought.
Chapter 12.
On Thursday afternoon, Jessi and Mal sat for the Pike kids. It was a bright, sunny day, fortunately, which meant that the triplets, Nicky, and Margo were playing outside. Vanessa was curled up in an armchair with her nose in a book (her usual pose), and Claire was trying on different "audition outfits" and asking Mal and Jessi's opinion on each one.
"This is the glamorous look," she said, trailing a pink feather boa down the stairs. She wore a spangled tutu which Mal had worn in a first grade play (if s a little ratty by now, since all the Pike girls have used it for dressing up), white high heels swiped from her mother's closet, and a pair of red sunglasses pushed up on her head.
"Very nice," said Jessi. "But maybe just a little too Ч whatТs the word?" she paused. "Um, too glitzy, maybe? The agent might like it if you looked more like a regular girl."
Claire nodded and ran back upstairs to change. She came back down in a few minutes, dressed in her best pink dress with lace trim. She was still wearing the high heels, and the sunglasses were still perched on her head. "I don't want to look too regular," she announced. "How's this?"
Jessi and Mal exchanged looks and tried not to giggle. "Fine," said Mal. "Just fine."
Claire curtsied. "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen," she said.
This time, Mal and Jessi were unable to contain their giggles, but Claire didn't seem to notice. "Can I call Rosie?" she asked. "I want to ask her some more questions. Plus, she said she would show me her tap shoes the next time I came over. So can I call?"
"How about if I call for you?" asked Jessi. She didn't want Rosie to feel pestered by Claire. She dialed the Wilders' number, and Mrs. Wilder answered. It turned out that Rosie was busy with a violin lesson. "And tomorrow her voice teacher will be here," said Mrs. Wilder. "Perhaps Rosie should call you back when she has some free time."
"Boo!" said Claire, when Jessi told her how busy Rosie was. "I want to talk to her some more. Why does she have to take so many dumb lessons, anyway?"
"ThatТs just how it is, when you're in show business," explained Jessi. "I know, since I'm a dancer. I take classes all the time. I have to, if I want to be a professional ballerina someday."
"But you already know how to dance ballet," said Claire. "I've seen you do it."
"ThatТs true, but I still have a lot to learn," said Jessi. "Being in show business can keep a person very busy. If s not an easy life."