Page 73 of The Picasso Heist

“FIFTH AVENUE AND Eighty-Second,” I tell the cabdriver. “The Met.”

The guy glances at me in his rearview mirror. It’s subtle but unmistakable, the annoyance in his eyes: Really, lady? It’s only a dozen blocks. You can’t walk it?

No, buddy, I can’t. Not right now. Because right now I need to get to that damn museum as fast as possible.

So many people believe in fate. I’ve never been one of them.

Everything doesn’t happen for a reason. It was nothing but a coincidence that I just happened to be wandering around the Upper East Side close to the Metropolitan Museum of Art at the exact moment that Miss D called me.

Of all days and all times. Yeah, okay, on second thought…

I might believe in fate.

Twelve blocks later I hand the guy a twenty for a ten-dollar fare. I see a slight smile of forgiveness on his face before I jump out of his cab and sprint up the crowded steps of the Met.

One of the perks of working at the House of Echelon: free entry to all major museums in Manhattan.

I fumble for my employee ID and hold it up for the attendant, who scans the barcode on the back. Never mind that I quit my job a couple of hours ago.

I’m in and I’m walking. Then I’m running.

There are at least two places where you’re not supposed to run: pools and museums. Let’s just say lifeguards hated me when I was a kid.

I haven’t reached the room yet, but I can picture Michelle as clearly as the painting: She’s standing in front of Jackson Pollock’s Autumn Rhythm, trying to block out the world around her and the anger that’s grabbed her like a rip current. She’s staring so intently… so desperately.

She’s drowning.

I weave in and out of the throngs of people as they drift from one exhibit to the next. Finally I get to the room where the massive painting hangs. My eyes scan the crowd, and there she is.

Only she’s not.

I look around again. I can see Michelle from head to toe, from her braids down to her pink Reeboks with the scuff marks. It’s crystal clear in my mind. But nowhere else. She’s not here.

I suddenly realize how crazy I am. What were you thinking, Halston? Why would you think she’d be here, that this is where she’d run away to?

And then I hear it.

“I knew you’d come,” she says.

I spin around and see Michelle standing there, her eyes still red from crying. I hold her tight. If I hugged her any harder, she’d pass out.

“A lot of people are very worried about you,” I say.

“I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”

“No, everything’s fine. As long as you’re safe, that’s all that matters.”

“What about the museum people?” she asks.

“What do you mean?”

“I lied to get in here because I didn’t have any money. I told the person taking tickets that I got separated from my cousins and I thought they’d gone outside.”

It’s not lost on me that she chose to say her cousins instead of her parents, but all I do is smile and hug her again.

“That’s more than okay, sweetheart. We’ll just keep that between you and me,” I say.

I turn back to the Pollock painting, all those squiggly lines and drips of paint, the splatters and the splotches.

“So did it help at all? Looking at it again?”

She bobs her head. “A little. I mean, it did make me stop crying.”

“That’s good.”

“It’s true, though, what Janet said, isn’t it? About my mother being away a lot longer?”

We’re surrounded by people, and all the benches in the room are taken. “Let’s talk about that,” I say. “I’ll answer each and every one of your questions, and I promise to tell you the truth. But first it’s me that gets to ask a question, okay?”

“Okay.”

I whisper in her ear, “Hot dog or pretzel?”

She cracks a smile, and it’s like the sun peeking through a cloud. “Hot dog,” she says.

“Me too,” I say. “I’m starving. There’s a guy out front selling them. I saw his cart on the way in.”

As we head out of the museum, I know I’ve got my work cut out for me. Words can fix only so much of a young girl’s broken spirit. But right now, words are all I have.

“Hey, remember when I told you that you shouldn’t call that Janet girl Janet from Another Planet?”

“Yeah, I remember,” says Michelle.

“Well, from now on you can call her that anytime you want.”