“It … it’s gone!” exclaimed Benny.
Everyone turned to him. “What’s gone?” Jessie asked.
“The number one on Buttercup’s bell!” Benny was staring at the painting with wide, unbelieving eyes.
“Oh!” Violet came up behind her little brother. “Benny’s right. The number one has disappeared!”
The Alden children looked at each other, their eyes round. What on earth was going on? Did this have something to do with the mystery riddles?
“But how could…” Fran’s eyebrows furrowed as she stared at the painting.
Before the children could answer, Grandfather said, “Maybe it’s not the same painting.”
Fran sank down into a chair. “I … I don’t understand.”
As Reese placed a gentle hand on Fran’s shoulder, Cora turned to Grandfather and said, “Are you implying someone stole the original painting and … and replaced it with a fake?” She looked doubtful.
Henry and Jessie exchanged glances. Had someone else figured out that the painting was a treasure?
“Why in the world would anyone steal it?” argued Nelson. “That old painting wasn’t worth a thing.”
“It was to me,” corrected Fran, burying her head in her hands.
“And to anyone hoping to make some quick cash,” put in Henry.
Nelson looked over at him. “Quick cash?”
“Selling it to an art collector, I mean,” Henry explained.
“Someone like Rally Jensen,” Jessie added, watching Lottie closely. “I bet he’d pay a lot of money for that painting.”
Fran slowly lifted her head. “What? Why?”
“We solved the mystery, Fran,” Jessie explained. “The clues led us straight to The Runaway Ghost painting.”
Violet nodded. “It turned out to be the treasure.”
“Only, now it’s gone.” Benny scratched his head. “The number one was on Buttercup’s bell just before we went to the park. I saw it with my own eyes!”
“That means the painting was taken while we were out,” Grandfather reasoned. “The thief couldn’t have gone far.”
“You’re right, Grandfather,” said Henry. “The thief is still close by.” He gave Lottie a meaningful look. “And so is the painting.”
Lottie’s eyes darted from side to side. Then she suddenly rushed toward the door. But Grandfather was too quick for her. “Don’t even think about leaving, young lady,” he told her, blocking the way.
Fran was so startled she needed a few moments to collect her thoughts. “What’s this all about?”
As Lottie turned and faced everyone, she forced a tense laugh. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Benny eyed her package suspiciously. “What have you got wrapped up there?”
“Now look here,” Lottie began sternly. “This is my painting. It’s the one — ” She stopped talking. Her shoulders slumped and she sat down in a chair, looking defeated. Tearing the wrapping away from the canvas, she revealed the painting of The Runaway Ghost.
“I think you have some explaining to do,” said Grandfather.
After a moment’s silence, Lottie began to speak. “I’m sorry, Fran. I did it for the money. I told myself you’d never notice,” she confessed.
“But we noticed,” Benny said.
Jessie looked at Lottie. “You figured out that Selden’s friend was really Winslow Homer, didn’t you?”
Lottie didn’t deny it. “I studied all about the great American artists. There was no mistaking Winslow Homer’s style — or his signature in the corner of the painting.”
Fran looked at her, stunned.
“It’s true, Fran,” Violet said quietly. “Winslow Homer was your great-great-grandfather’s mysterious friend.”
Fran’s mouth dropped open. She was too shocked to speak.
Jessie turned to Lottie. “That explains why you wouldn’t show anyone what you were painting in your room. You were making a copy of The Runaway Ghost, weren’t you?”
“Yes, I admit it,” said Lottie. “I took some snapshots of the painting and copied it in secret. I was desperate to make enough money for school. The only problem was time.” She avoided looking Fran in the eye. “I needed time to get the details right.”
“But Rally Jensen is leaving town tomorrow,” said Henry, urging her on. “So you had to finish quickly.”
“Yes,” Lottie said, looking surprised that Henry knew that. “Rally was willing to pay a great deal of money for the original painting. It seemed simple enough. Nobody at Shadowbox had a clue this was an original Winslow Homer. So … I figured, what was the harm in making a switch?”
Violet smiled sadly. No wonder Lottie had been so upset the other night. She must have thought they were on to her when Jessie asked if it was hard making that kind of switch.
Benny frowned. “Your plan almost worked, too.”
Lottie looked at Benny and nodded. “I hadn’t counted on the Aldens being such good detectives.”
“What about the photograph of Homer?” Violet asked. “Did you take it?”
“Yes.” Lottie reached into her purse and took out the old photograph. “This looks a lot like one of Homer’s other paintings. I was afraid somebody might see this and figure it out.”
Cora nodded. “And that’s why you were so quick to agree with me about that magazine article,” she guessed. “You didn’t want The Runaway Ghost painting to get any publicity.”
Henry had something to add. “You even tried to convince us the mystery riddle was just a silly parlor game,” he said.
Lottie nodded. “I knew there was a treasure hanging right there, above the fireplace. I didn’t want anyone to find out.”
Fran hadn’t said a word while Lottie had been telling her story. Now she spoke up, her face pained. “I know it isn’t easy putting yourself through school, Lottie. But that doesn’t make it okay to steal.” She looked as if she really couldn’t believe what Lottie had done.
Lottie twisted her hands in her lap. “I really didn’t want to steal from you, Fran. You’ve always been so kind to me.” Her voice wavered. “I know you won’t believe this, but I was about to put the painting back when you came through the door.”
“Then why did you try to make a run for it?” Nelson sounded doubtful.
“I panicked.” Lottie threw her hands up.
“Lottie was still sitting here in the dark,” Violet was quick to point out.
Fran thought about this for a moment. “Yes, I suppose you could have been long gone, Lottie,” she said at last. “You deserve the benefit of the doubt, so I’m not going to call the police. I don’t believe you had your heart in being a thief.”
Lottie’s face crumbled. “I’m so sorry I betrayed your trust, Fran.”
“If you mean that,” replied Fran, “then you’ll learn from your mistakes, and you’ll never do anything like this again.”
Looking truly regretful, Lottie walked slowly from the room and out of the house.
“I guess it was Lottie ringing that cowbell in the night,” concluded Benny. “But why?”
Fran raised an eyebrow. “Cowbell?”
Reese’s face turned red. “No, that was my idea.”
“It was your idea to scare us?” Benny looked upset.
Reese looked over at the Aldens sheepishly. “I wanted everyone to think the runaway ghost had come back. I got one of the old cowbells from my mother’s antique store, and I rang it in the middle of the night.”
“But why?” Cora asked, looking confused. “Why would you do such a thing, Reese?”
Violet thought she knew the answer. “You wanted your mother to include Buttercup in her article, right?”
Nodding, Reese hung her head and stared at the floor. “I thought they would if … if everyone was suddenly talking about the runaway ghost.”
Cora put an arm around her daughter. “I know you were just trying to help Fran, Reese,” she said. “But that wasn’t the way to do it.”
“I’m sorry if I frightened you, Benny,” Reese apologized.
“Oh, I knew it wasn’t a real ghost,” said Benny. “Right, Henry?”
“Right, Benny,” Henry answered, hiding a smile.
It wasn’t long before everyone was sipping lemonade and munching on chocolate cake. Nelson smiled as he looked over at Winslow Homer’s painting, hanging above the fireplace once again.
“It really is a remarkable work of art,” he commented.
Fran seemed surprised to hear this. “But … you always wanted me to put something a little more modern up there, Nelson. Something with more pizzazz, remember?”
“Yes, it seems to me I did say that,” Nelson recalled, laughing a little. “On more than one occasion.”
“Just imagine,” said Cora. “We’re looking at an original Winslow Homer!”
Nelson took a sip of lemonade. “The past really does hold some wonderful treasures,” he said. The ice clinked in his glass.
Fran nodded, her face beaming.
Henry was wondering about something. “What will you do with the painting, Fran?”
“You’ll have lots of pennies to rub together if you sell it,” put in Benny.
After a few moments, Fran went over to the fireplace. “This painting should be enjoyed by everyone,” she said, as she buffed the brass plaque attached to the frame. “I’ll make sure The Runaway Ghost finds a home in one of the finest museums in Wisconsin.”
Nelson opened his mouth as if about to argue. But then he closed it again. He said only, “Whatever makes you happy, Mother.”
Just then, Fran suddenly exclaimed, “What on earth … ?”
The others turned to look at her. “What is it?” asked Cora.
“This plaque’s a bit loose,” Fran said. “And … there seems to be something tucked into a small opening just beneath it.” While everyone watched in amazement, she pulled out a folded piece of paper, yellowed with age.
“What is it?” Benny asked, bouncing with excitement.
Fran carefully unfolded the paper, then read the words aloud:
“Dearest children,
If you are reading this letter, then you have solved the riddles and found this painting hidden in the Buttercup Room. Although our good friend, Winslow Homer, never laid eyes on our treasured pet, he has managed to capture Buttercup’s likeness exactly — right down to the number one on her bell! It’s enough to make you believe in ghosts, isn’t it?
Your loving mother, Anne.”
“So the mystery really was just a parlor game,” Jessie realized. “Anne just wanted her children to have some fun finding the painting.”
“There’s something I don’t understand.” Benny looked puzzled. “If the mysterious box was still under the floorboards, how was the mystery solved?”
That was a good question. It was clear Anne’s children had never found the box of clues. So how had Winslow Homer’s painting come to hang on the wall in the living room?
“Anne died from pneumonia the winter of 1866,” Fran said after a moment’s thought. “It’s possible she became ill before giving her children the first riddle.”
“Oh, no!” cried Violet.
Fran went on, “Somebody probably came across the painting of The Runaway Ghost when the old mudroom was torn down years later.”
“I guess the answer to the last riddle was supposed to lead to the Buttercup Room,” Henry concluded.
Grandfather nodded. “Anne probably had no idea the painting itself would be worth a fortune one day.”
“And when it was finally found,” added Cora, “I imagine nobody knew the real artist was the great Winslow Homer.”
“Well, thanks to the Aldens, the mystery has finally been solved,” said Fran. “And I have a lot more to add to that article I’m writing.”
Cora blinked in surprise. “You’re writing an article?”
Fran nodded. “For the historical magazine. It’s all about the runaway ghost.”
The Alden children looked at one another. That was what Fran had meant when she said she wasn’t going to sit around and do nothing. If Cora wouldn’t write about Buttercup, then she would!
Benny looked over at the painting. “Did Winslow Homer really paint a ghost?” he asked.
“I don’t know, Benny,” Fran said with a wink. “It’s a mystery.” |