Jessi and the Jewel Thieves

  I took a deep breath and tried to shove away my nervous thoughts about that stupid Talk. I thought instead about how my sister was doing, back at the Pikes’. I’d called to find out, and Mal had filled me in on Mary Anne and Becca’s “camp-out.” I was confident that Becca was doing just fine.

  I checked myself in the mirror once more, then asked Stacey to walk me downstairs to get a cab.

  I arrived at Quint’s apartment right on time. Quint had already left to get ready for the performance, and the plan was that I would go to Juilliard with his parents and Tyler and Morgan. They were dressed and ready to go when I arrived. “Don’t you look nice,” said Mrs. Walter. “Honey, come look at Jessi,” she called. Mr. Walter walked into the living room with Morgan and Tyler behind him.

  “You look lovely,” he said.

  “You look like a princess,” said Morgan breathlessly.

  I felt a little uncomfortable. Here were the Walters, acting warm and friendly toward this person they thought was their son’s girlfriend. And here I was, ready to — well, ready to break up with him, I guess. I blushed. “You look very nice, too,” I said. “Morgan, I love your party shoes.”

  She spun around on her toes. “I’m a princess, too,” she announced.

  Tyler snorted. “Right,” he said. “Princess Pest.”

  “Am not!” yelled Morgan.

  “All right, all right,” said Mr. Walter. “Let’s not get into a squabble right now, kids. It’s time to go see your brother dance.”

  “Yay!” shouted the kids, their fight forgotten.

  We headed downstairs and piled into a cab. I held Morgan on my lap, and Mr. Walter held Tyler on his. We were squished in together, and everybody was joking about it. “Whose elbow is in my ear?” asked Mrs. Walter, chuckling.

  “Don’t tickle me!” squealed Morgan, when I put my arms around her waist.

  “I don’t think I have any feeling left in my legs,” said Mr. Walter. “You’re getting to be an awfully big boy, Tyler.”

  “My corsage is getting squished,” said Mrs. Walter. She was wearing a delicate pink corsage that Mr. Walter had given her for the occasion.

  I tried to join in the fun, but I felt awkward. The Walters were treating me like one of the family, but I didn’t really feel I deserved that kind of treatment. I just hoped they wouldn’t hate me when they heard about my Talk with Quint.

  Fortunately, the cab ride wasn’t too long, and soon we were pulling up near Lincoln Center. The Juilliard School is part of a complex of buildings at Lincoln Center. If you’re standing on Broadway (or rather, on the sidewalk next to Broadway), you see this gigantic fountain in the center of a courtyard. Surrounding the courtyard are three concert halls, built out of white marble. There’s the New York State Theater, which is home to the New York City Ballet and the New York City Opera. These neat-looking honeycomb-shaped lights hang on its front. Then there’s the Metropolitan Opera House. If you look through the big arched windows, you can see these gorgeous tapestries that hang in the lobby. The Met, as New Yorkers call it, is where the opera and the ballet perform. The third building is Avery Fisher Hall, which is where the New York Philharmonic Orchestra plays.

  Juilliard is kind of across from all those buildings, and you can enter it by climbing a set of stairs near the fountain. The school is built out of that same white marble, so it looks as if it belongs with the big concert halls.

  I stood looking at the scene for a moment. I get shivers whenever I see Lincoln Center, because dance and music seem so alive there. I mean, it’s like the center of the universe for dancers and musicians. You know, I’m not always positive I want to be a ballerina when I grow up, but when I look at Lincoln Center I feel there’s nothing else I’d rather be. Just to see all the people flocking into the theatres and concert halls, eager to listen and watch, makes being a ballerina seem very important. I mean, people need beauty in their lives, and ballet can certainly provide that.

  Wow! I’m getting philosophical here, and a little off the track. I just wanted to give you an idea of how exciting attending an event at Lincoln Center can be.

  Anyway, the Walters and I walked up the stairs and into Juilliard. “I think the theatre’s this way,” said Mr. Walter, leading us down a hall. Quint’s performance was going to be held in the Juilliard Theater, which was built just for student performances. “Here we are,” said Mr. Walter, stopping at a set of doors. Lots of other people were clustered around the entrance. Some were dressed up, like the Walters and me, but others were wearing T-shirts and jeans. I figured most of the T-shirt people were Juilliard students.

  I peeked into the theatre. It was beautiful! It’s a small theatre — it holds maybe two or three hundred people — but it’s really pretty. It has a red carpet and red upholstered seats, and wood paneling on the walls.

  “The panels are for acoustics,” said Mr. Walter, glancing over my shoulder to see what I was looking at. He pointed at these wooden panels that stuck out of the walls near the stage. “You know, so music sounds good in here.”

  I nodded. “It’s a neat theatre,” I said.

  “Ready to go in?” he asked.

  “I have to go to the bathroom,” whispered Morgan loudly.

  I had to go, too, but I wasn’t about to announce it. “I’ll take her,” I said. “I noticed the bathrooms down at the end of the hall.”

  “We’ll go ahead and sit down then,” said Mr. Walter. “Our seats are in row D in the upper level. I’m sure you’ll be able to find us.”

  Morgan and I hurried to the bathroom and used it (I took the opportunity to check the mirror to make sure my braids weren’t coming out), and then headed back to the theatre. As we approached the double doors, I looked ahead at the crowd of people and stopped short.

  “What’s the matter, Jessi?” asked Morgan.

  “N-nothing,” I answered. “Let’s go on in.” I hurried her into the theatre, my heart pounding. Guess what I’d seen? Or maybe I should say who? It was Red. Or at least someone who looked an awful lot like him. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Could he and Frank really be following me? And would they actually follow me to a ballet performance?

  I found my seat and settled down. Then, as I waited for the curtain to rise, I tried to relax. I told myself I was imagining things. I told myself jewel thieves don’t go to the ballet. I told myself I was safe with the Walters. And you know what? It worked. Kind of. At least, when the curtain did rise, and Quint and his classmates came out, I was able to forget about Frank and Red and allow myself to be swept up in the beauty of the dancing. These students were good. And I mean really really good. They looked like professionals.

  Mrs. Walter leaned over and whispered to me, “Doesn’t Quint look terrific?” Her eyes looked kind of teary. “I’m so proud of him,” she added.

  I nodded. “Me, too,” I said. And it was true. I was incredibly proud of Quint. I was also jealous! He’s getting such great training and it really shows. He’ll have no trouble becoming a professional if that’s what he wants.

  The first half of the program seemed to go by in a flash, and before I knew it the curtain had lowered for the intermission. I knew I should stay in my seat. I knew that if Frank or Red were there I shouldn’t show my face. And I knew I’d only get scared if I saw them. But somehow, I couldn’t help myself. “Excuse me,” I said, standing up. “I need some air.” I went out to the lobby, knowing I could be making a big mistake.

  Guess what? I was right. It was a big mistake. I saw the man again and I was sure he was Red. How was I sure? Because he was with Frank. They were standing at the edge of the crowd, and I couldn’t help staring at them. Until I noticed that Frank was looking straight back at me! Oh, my lord. That did it.

  I practically ran back to my seat. And the rest of Quint’s performance was, unfortunately, wasted on me. I just couldn’t concentrate on the dancing. I kept wondering where Frank and Red were sitting, and why they’d come to the theatre. I searched every face in the audience, but I d
idn’t see them. That made me nervous, since I figured they must be sitting behind me. Yikes!

  Finally, the program ended. I joined the rest of the audience in a standing ovation, but my heart wasn’t in it. I kept peering behind me until I saw Mrs. Walter giving me a funny glance. As we filed out of the theatre, I kept a sharp lookout for Frank and Red, but they were nowhere to be seen.

  The Walters and I went backstage to see Quint, and everybody made a huge fuss over him. I did my best to act normal and to appear excited about his performance, but all I was waiting for was a chance to get Quint to myself for a moment. When I did, I blurted out what I’d seen.

  “Now do you think we should go to the police?” I said. “I mean Frank and Red are following us. This is getting scary!”

  “Can you prove they’re following us?” asked Quint.

  “Well — no.”

  “Then it’s not time to go to the police yet. Look, I’ll tell you what. Come to my house first thing tomorrow, and we’ll follow them for as long as it takes. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I said. “And — Quint? You were really awesome.”

  He looked down at his shoes. “Did you really think so?” he asked shyly.

  “I really did,” I said. And I meant it.

  I woke up the next morning to the sound of rustling paper. I yawned and rubbed my eyes and looked over at Stacey, who was sitting cross-legged on her bed. “Morning! What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Reading the Sunday New York Times,” she said. “It’s kind of a New York tradition to spend Sunday morning this way.”

  “Can I have the funnies?” I asked.

  She giggled. “Sorry. No funnies. The Times is a serious paper. No funnies. Or horoscopes. Or Ann Landers.”

  “So what do you read in there?” I asked.

  “Oh, there’s lots to read. Right now I’m reading about a new photography exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art. Dad and I may go see it today, after we have brunch.”

  Stacey is so cosmopolitan.

  “I have to go to Quint’s,” I said. “Today’s our last chance to try to figure out what Frank and Red are up to.” I’d told Stacey about seeing them at the performance the night before. She had been a little worried, but she seemed to think Quint and I could try some more detective work, as long as we were careful.

  “Mind if I call Becca again?” I asked. “I’ll leave your dad some money for the phone bill.”

  “Go ahead,” said Stacey. “I know you’re worried about her.”

  After I’d washed my face and brushed my teeth, I dialed the Pikes’ number. Mallory answered. “Hi,” she said. “How’s your weekend in the big city going?”

  I told her about Quint’s show, and about seeing the jewel thieves there. She was fascinated. “I am so jealous,” she said. “You’re in the most exciting city in the world, you get to eat lunch at the Plaza and go to performances at Juilliard, and you have a mystery to solve.” Mal loves mysteries, and I knew it was driving her crazy to be left out of this one.

  “I’ll tell you everything when I get home tonight,” I said. “I sure hope I can say that Frank and Red are safe in jail by then.” I paused for a second. “So how’s Becca doing?” I asked.

  “Much better,” said Mal. “She and Mary Anne came back by around eight last night, and Becca had ice cream with everyone else. Right now she’s eating pancakes.”

  “Her appetite is back, I guess,” I said.

  “Definitely. Want to talk to her?”

  Mal put Becca on the phone. “Hi, Jessi,” said Becca. “I’m having pancakes with ketchup on them. Byron told me it’s good, and he was right!”

  “You sound like you’re beginning to have a good time,” I said.

  “Uh —” Becca’s voice changed all of a sudden. “I miss you, Jessi. I feel so lonely here. Why did you all have to go away and leave me?” She gave a little sniff.

  I rolled my eyes. “I’ll bring you a present when I come back,” I said, ignoring her dramatics.

  “Really? Cool! ’Bye, I have to finish my pancakes.” She hung up the phone.

  I stared into the receiver. Then I smiled and shook my head. At least Becca was starting to enjoy herself. That was one less worry for me. Now I could concentrate on Frank and Red. And on The Talk I had to have with Quint, which I hadn’t had the night before. I decided to make Frank and Red the first priority, since I wasn’t particularly eager to start The Talk. It could wait awhile longer.

  I arrived at Quint’s by ten that morning. He was waiting for me. “Listen,” he said. “I had a great idea. I was reading this detective book last night, and there was this scene where the detective searched through the suspect’s garbage looking for clues.”

  “Ew!” I said.

  “Yeah, it’s kind of gross,” admitted Quint. “But it worked! He found a letter that practically proved the guy had committed a murder.”

  “What are we going to look for?” I asked. “I mean, we won’t find emeralds and rubies in the trash.”

  “Of course not. But we may find something incriminating. You never know.”

  “Well, okay,” I said, shrugging. “Since we don’t have a better plan.”

  “While we’re searching we’ll keep an eye out for the thieves,” said Quint, “and if we see them leave the building, we’ll follow them.” He led me outside to where the garbage is collected, next to his apartment building.

  “Double ew!” I said, looking at the pile of plastic bags and the overflowing garbage cans.

  Quint held his nose. “Let’s get started,” he said. He grabbed one of the bags and pulled it open. I peered over his shoulder. The bag was full of orange peels, coffee grounds, and something that looked like dog barf. “Ew,” said Quint.

  Just then I heard someone whistle, and I turned around. It was Frank! He was standing on the curb, facing the street (luckily we were hidden behind the garbage), and Red was with him. He was whistling for a cab.

  “Come on!” I said to Quint. I pulled his sleeve and he dropped the garbage bag. We hit the curb just as Frank and Red were getting into a cab. I saw another cab right behind theirs, and I threw up my arm. It pulled up and I shoved Quint into it. “Follow that car!” I said to the driver.

  I have always wanted to say that. I couldn’t believe I actually had the chance.

  Quint looked at me admiringly. “That was cool, Jessi. You really acted fast.”

  “Thanks,” I said. I was keeping an eye on Frank and Red’s cab. Our driver was staying right behind it. He had a little smile on his face.

  “Playing cops and robbers?” he asked, looking at me in the rearview mirror.

  “Kind of,” I said. “Whoa, watch out! They’re speeding up.” He hit the gas to follow them, just making it through a yellow light. Their cab was moving fast, but we stayed behind it. I could see Red’s hair, bright as a carrot. We followed the thieves down Central Park West to Columbus Circle where the traffic zooms around this big plaza. Then they turned left onto Fifty-seventh Street. We turned, too. After a few blocks, their cab slowed down. It pulled to the curb on the corner of Fifth Avenue. “Pull over!” I said to the driver.

  “Here,” Quint said, handing him some money. “This should cover it.”

  “Thanks, buddy,” said the driver. “Good luck with your game. Hope you catch those robbers!” He smiled at us indulgently. We clambered out of the cab, watching Frank and Red the whole time.

  They were already halfway down the block. We followed behind “at a discreet distance,” as the detective books say. They were strolling along slowly, looking into store windows. They stopped at one, and looked more closely. Lots of other people were window-shopping, so we were able to inch our way pretty close to Frank and Red without being noticed. I could even hear snatches of their conversation.

  “… diamonds are huge!” said Frank.

  “That ring there must be worth …” said Red.

  I exchanged excited glances with Quint. It was obvious that the thieves were “casi
ng the joint.” (That means they were checking out the merchandise and the layout of the store, so that they could make careful plans about their robbery. In “case” you were wondering.)

  I looked into the store window. Wow! The display was lined with black velvet, and jewels of all kinds were sprinkled over it. Emerald earrings the size of marbles. Diamond-studded watches. Necklaces sparkling with rubies. Ropes of pearls. The stuff almost looked fake, but I knew better. There must have been thousands of dollars worth of jewelry in that one window.

  I was so busy looking at the jewels that I missed the next part of Frank and Red’s conversation, but then I saw them look at each other and shake their heads. They started walking again. “They must have decided the jewels at this store aren’t worth it,” I whispered to Quint.

  “Either that or they’ve realized the security is too tight,” he whispered back. “Come on, we’re going to lose them.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me along.

  Frank and Red continued to stroll for a couple of minutes, and then they stopped short at another set of windows. I looked at the name of the store. “Heathe and Sons, Jewelers!” I said. “Wow. Do you think they’re planning to rob Heathes’?”

  Quint shrugged. “There’s a lot of great jewelry inside, from what I’ve heard,” he said. “Look — they’re going in!”

  “Come on,” I said. I marched up to the door that Frank and Red had just entered, and opened it. Quint followed me inside. “Awesome,” he said, looking around. There was kind of a hush in the store, even though it was crowded. And it had a certain smell, like all kinds of expensive perfume mixed together. People were standing at the counters, holding up diamond necklaces and trying on rings. Glass cases held beautiful crystal glassware.

  “May I help you?” asked a man, stepping from behind a counter. He gave us a funny look, as if he wondered why two kids our age would even be in Heathes’.

  “Uh-uh,” said Quint. He sounded nervous. He couldn’t think of anything to say, and neither could I. Were we supposed to tell him we were following a pair of jewel thieves who might be planning to rob his store?