Hidden Pictures Read online

  “There’s no such thing as curses,” said the museum worker.

  “It doesn’t matter if—”

  But I didn’t get to hear whatever it was that Beverly DeSantos thought didn’t matter. Because just then, all the dust floating around finally got to me. I couldn’t help but sneeze.

  “Who’s there?” both of the women called.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Caught!

  “HELLO?” CALLED THE VOICE OF the museum worker. “Who is that?”

  I was busted. There was really no other option than to step out from behind the bookcase, which I did, while brushing the dust from my clothing and sneezing once more.

  Beverly DeSantos took a few quick steps in my direction. “What did you hear?” she asked me.

  “Nothing,” I said. Truthfully, I hadn’t overheard much. Or at least nothing I could understand without a little more context. “I was just… looking for the bathroom.”

  There was a pause as both women stared at me. Neither of them looked like they believed me. Who searches for the bathroom behind a dusty old bookcase?

  It didn’t seem to matter, though. Beverly turned back to Susan and said, “I hope you’ll reconsider.” Then she walked swiftly down the hallway and out through the STAFF ONLY door.

  Susan let out a deep breath as soon as Beverly left the hallway. She looked incredibly relieved to no longer be speaking with her.

  “You really can’t be back here,” she said while turning to face me. “The bathrooms are by the front desk. There are plenty of signs.”

  “Right,” I said. “I’m sorry about that.”

  Susan began walking me toward the door. I didn’t want to leave yet. Beverly and Susan had just had such a strange conversation, and I really wanted to ask Susan a few questions about it. I would have to get her to like me first, though.

  “That other woman was pretty rude to you,” I tried.

  “Yes, well,” said Susan. “She’s always like that.”

  “Is she?” I asked.

  Susan nodded. I didn’t think she was going to say anything else, but then she continued, “She thinks she can tell me how to run my museum.”

  “Why would she think that?”

  Susan looked at me suspiciously, as if I might be attempting to trick her. If I wanted to have a real conversation, I knew I’d have to give her a better reason to talk to me.

  “The truth is, I’m a reporter,” I said quickly. “That’s why I was back here. I’m writing a story about the museum. I’m sorry about sneaking around like this, but I would love to talk to you, actually. It could be a great way to get the museum some more publicity.”

  Susan raised her eyebrows. She seemed as though she was considering it. Then she said, “More publicity?”

  “Yes,” I replied. “I work for a travel and lifestyle magazine. We encourage our readers to visit certain events around the country.”

  Susan looked around, as if someone might overhear us in the empty hallway. “If you’re interested in writing about this curse business, I really can’t talk about it. At least, not on the record. The police already suspect I’m wrapped up in it.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “I can keep you anonymous.”

  “And this article—it won’t be all about the curse, will it? You’ll also encourage people to come see the photographs?”

  “Definitely,” I said. “Our readers would be very interested in an exhibit as great as this one.”

  This seemed to convince Susan somewhat. She was still frowning and looking at me with her brow creased, but she was also nodding.

  “So what was going on with you and that woman?” I asked.

  “I shouldn’t even mention this,” Susan said. “But that woman was Beverly DeSantos.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Wow, really?” I tried my best to look surprised.

  “That’s right,” said Susan. “Just because she donated the photographs, she thinks she can tell me what to do with them.”

  “Because of the missing people?” I asked.

  For a moment I was worried I had crossed a line and that Susan would stop talking to me. But luckily, she didn’t seem to mind. She said, “Exactly. She thinks she should be able to decide what to do now.”

  I knew this next question was risky, but I had to ask. “The police seem to think you might be behind these disappearances, that you’re trying to use the curse to stir up attention for the exhibit. Is there any truth to that?”

  “No,” said Susan sharply. “I might have pretended a photograph went missing and tried to blame it on the curse, but I wouldn’t do that with a person.”

  “But you still haven’t shut down the exhibit,” I said. “Why not, if one of your employees has really gone missing? Grace Rogers—I read that was her name.”

  Susan crossed her arms over her chest. She seemed a little annoyed by the question, like maybe she had been asked this before. “I hardly even knew Grace Rogers, and I don’t believe she’s actually gone missing,” she said. “Grace had only worked here for a few weeks, and she’d practically begged me to hire her. Then she just skipped town, no notice, and right as we were getting more popular. Now I’m running this museum all on my own.”

  “But the image of her in one of the photographs,” I said. “Where do you think it came from if you don’t believe something happened to Grace? And why not take the exhibit down, especially after a second person has disappeared?”

  “Someone’s tampering with my exhibit,” said Susan, clearly growing more annoyed with each of my questions. “I don’t pretend to know why. And I haven’t taken it down because, well, people have a right to see those photographs!”

  She didn’t seem entirely convinced by her own argument. “Oh, I agree,” I said, hoping to calm her down and get her back on my side. “People should absolutely be able to see them. It’s not as though you have anything to hide.”

  I wasn’t sure that I really felt this way. Two missing people seemed like more than enough of a good reason to shut down the exhibit. But I also wanted Susan to continue talking to me, so I had to make her think I agreed with her.

  Now that she seemed to believe I wasn’t arguing with her, Susan’s shoulders slumped. “Honestly,” she said, lowering her voice, even though we were still alone, “the museum isn’t doing very well. I thought we were going to have to close by the end of this year. But ever since Grace went missing, and now this other boy, well, we’ve never been so popular. I know the police are threatening to shut everything down in a few days, but if I took the exhibit down now, I’d have to close anyway. I might as well make some profit while I can. Does that sound just awful?”

  I took a moment before answering. Really, I didn’t think it sounded very good at all. I thought that Susan should be more worried about the missing people, especially since one of those people had been an employee of hers. I was still trying to think of something to say when it became clear that I had taken too long to respond and lost my chance to say anything at all. Susan took a step away from me and seemed to realize what she had just said.

  “I’ll take whatever publicity I can get for the museum,” she said. “But remember that none of that was on the record.” It was clear that we were done with our conversation.

  “Of course,” I said. “Thank you for speaking with me. I’ll go now.”

  I walked quickly back to the STAFF ONLY door and turned the knob to exit, leaving Susan in the dusty hallway behind me.

  * * *

  I made my way outside the Carlisle Museum, and it looked as though the sun had finally managed to break through all that cloud cover. All the grass and the fall-colored trees outside were still flecked with drops of rainwater, but now everything was also sparkling in the new light.

  I stood for a moment and studied the museum building. It was large, made of the same red brick as most of the buildings in town. At first glance it looked impressive. But when I looked a little closer, I could see that one of the windows was actually crackin
g, the brick was badly damaged on the far left edge of the building, and the roof was missing its shingles in more than one section. Susan’s admission that the museum wasn’t doing well financially certainly explained the building’s run-down condition.

  “Nancy!” I heard someone calling me. “Over here!”

  I looked to my right, and sitting on a bench in front of the museum were Bess, George, and a boy I didn’t recognize. I was relieved to see my friends again. Even though I knew it hadn’t actually been that long, I felt as though we had been separated for a while. I was also eager to tell them everything that had just happened.

  “Hey,” I said as I approached them. “Where did you guys go?”

  “Sorry,” said Bess. “It was just so crowded in there, we had to step outside.”

  I thought back to all the people inside and told Bess that I completely understood. “I’m Nancy, by the way,” I said to the boy sitting next to Bess and George.

  “Right,” said Bess. “Nancy, this is Lucas. He’s here for the DeSantos exhibit as well.”

  I held my hand out to Lucas, and he said, “I was just telling Bess and George that I’ve been in town since the exhibit opened, about a week ago. So I’d be happy to show you guys around if you’re interested.”

  Lucas had a nice, wide smile and large brown eyes. He was wearing a leather jacket, and a shark tooth hung on a chain around his neck. I also noticed that when he offered to show us around town, he looked at Bess specifically. That didn’t surprise me: Bess usually had this effect on boys.

  “Yeah,” I said. “That would be great. Are you a fan of DeSantos, then?”

  Lucas shrugged. “Not especially,” he said. “I’m an art history student, specializing in historic photography. And I go to school a few hours from here.”

  “Oh, interesting,” I said. “Are you a photographer too, then?”

  Lucas laughed and said, “No, I’m a terrible photographer! I always loved the subject, though, so now I just study it.”

  “It must be an exciting thing to study,” I said. “Do you—”

  Before I could finish my thought, I happened to glance over at George. She was looking at me with wide eyes and was shaking one of her legs. I realized that she had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout this entire conversation, and I immediately became worried that something was wrong.

  “George?” I asked. “Are you all right?”

  George quickly looked around. Then, speaking in a voice that was both a whisper and a shout, she said, “We saw Beverly DeSantos!”

  “George,” said Bess, glancing over at Lucas. Lucas looked between George and Bess, as if one of them might explain why seeing Beverly DeSantos was such a big deal. Neither of them did. “Is now the best time to talk about this?”

  I knew what Bess meant. This conversation might sound pretty strange to someone who had just met us.

  George ignored her cousin and continued on anyway. “Beverly DeSantos stormed out of here just a few minutes ago,” she said. “Right before you came out. She looked pretty upset.”

  “Well,” I said, “there might be more to that story.”

  Bess and George both looked up at me. George had her brows furrowed, and Bess was tilting her head.

  “What do you mean?” asked Bess.

  “Yeah, and why are your clothes so dirty, Nancy?” asked George. They had clearly both just noticed that I was covered in dust.

  “Um,” I said. I wanted to tell them everything, but I felt strange explaining what had happened in front of someone I’d just met. I didn’t know Lucas yet, and sometimes people can react a little strangely when you tell them you’re an amateur detective. Especially since my story would involve me sneaking into a hallway that was off-limits and then lying about why I was there. Things may have gone well with Riley, but I didn’t want to risk it twice in one day. Plus, I didn’t want the whole town knowing I was there to investigate.

  Luckily, Bess seemed to figure out exactly what I was thinking.

  “Hey, Lucas,” she said. “How about you give me that tour of the town? Nancy, you probably want to go back to the hotel and change.”

  George quickly picked up on what Bess was doing. “Actually,” she said, “I wanted to grab something at the hotel too. So I’ll go with Nancy.”

  “Great!” said Bess. “Lucas, is that all right with you?”

  Lucas was smiling and nodding in Bess’s direction. “Yeah,” he said. “Sounds good.”

  “Then I’ll meet you both at the hotel later today,” said Bess, giving us a pointed look. “Ready, Lucas?”

  Bess and Lucas stood up from the bench and began walking in the direction of downtown. They were talking animatedly, and even though I could no longer hear them, I could see that Bess was already making Lucas laugh. Just before they rounded the corner, Bess turned back to George and me to give us a quick wave. I knew she wanted to hear what had happened to me, but I was also grateful she’d managed to give George and me some time to talk privately.

  I didn’t really need to change my clothes. Most of the dust had just gotten on my coat. Now that the sun was out, it was easy enough to take off my jacket and shake off anything that was clinging to the fabric.

  There was a steady stream of people entering and exiting the museum next to us, and I didn’t want to be overheard. “Do you think there’s anywhere more private around here?” I asked George.

  “What about the park on the other side of the museum?” she suggested. “I saw a picnic table there that looks pretty secluded.”

  “That sounds perfect,” I told her.

  We headed over in the direction of the table. Now that it wasn’t raining, it was much easier to look around and see that Shady Oaks was actually a really beautiful town. Almost everywhere there were large trees, most of the buildings were brick, and the walking path of this small park was lined with black metal lampposts to help guide the way. I could understand why a photographer would want to retire here and spend his final years taking photographs of the town.

  The picnic table and benches were still dotted with rain, so George and I sat down on our jackets and began to talk.

  “Tell me everything,” said George.

  I filled her in on the events of my recent adventure. The staff hallway, the argument between Beverly DeSantos and the museum curator, and what Susan had said to me afterward about Grace Rogers’s disappearance and the subsequent increase in ticket sales.

  “Wow,” said George.

  “I know,” I said. “I’m not sure what to make of it yet.”

  George thought about everything I had told her for a minute. Eventually she said, “I’m pretty suspicious of Beverly DeSantos. Remember what Riley said, about that interview? Beverly didn’t like her grandfather. So maybe she’s trying to sabotage his exhibit now, and the argument you overheard was her trying to get Susan to help.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “But then, why would Beverly even donate the photographs in the first place? Susan was also really happy about ticket sales, and she’s already tried to fake this curse once. I don’t think we can count her out as a suspect either.”

  Instead of responding, George waved at someone behind me. I turned around to see Riley heading toward us. Riley took long steps as she walked, so her movement was something between walking and skipping. As she made her way in our direction, her camera bumped against her from where it was still hanging around her neck. “Hey, George!” she called over to us. “Hey, Nancy!”

  “Hi, Riley,” I said, once she was closer. “How’s it going?”

  “Great!” Riley had a large smile on her face, and she looked eager to tell us something. “I have some good news.”

  George and I made brief eye contact before George turned back to Riley and asked, “Really? What is it?”

  “After our conversation at the diner, I went back to the hotel,” she began. “And I was just about to head out again when I ran into Emily!”

  Riley had her arms held out and she look
ed excited, like she had just told us a very important piece of information. But neither George nor I reacted much to it. I could tell by looking at George that, just like myself, she had no idea who Emily was.

  “Emily?” asked George.

  Riley nodded a little impatiently and then began to clarify. “Emily is the girlfriend of the second missing person!” she said. “The one who was crying in front of the museum this morning.”

  “Oh!” I said. “We wanted to talk to her.”

  “I figured,” said Riley. “Anyway, she’s staying at the same hotel we all are, and she said she’d be happy to answer some questions.”

  “Riley, that’s incredible!” I said. “When can we see her?”

  Riley beamed. “Now, if you want to.”

  George and I looked at each other and grinned. “We want to,” I told Riley. “Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The Unreliable Witness

  GEORGE, RILEY, AND I MADE our way toward the Elder Root Inn. The clouds were patchy and occasionally rolling over the sun, which made everything warm and then cold and then back again.

  The hotel wasn’t a far walk, though I suspected most places within downtown Shady Oaks were in walking distance of one another. Next to me, George and Riley were looking at Riley’s camera, and George was asking questions about why Riley still used film instead of digital.

  George seemed genuinely interested in what Riley had to say, but I also knew that my friend would always end up on the side of new technology.

  I was only half listening to their conversation. Instead I was thinking about what I’d ask Emily. Maybe her boyfriend had some connection to the museum like Grace did. I wondered if he knew Susan.

  I was so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I barely realized when we reached our hotel. Like most of the buildings here, it was made of red brick. It was a thin building, and pretty tall, especially compared to most everything else there. Hanging out front was a small square sign that read ELDER ROOT INN in decorative gold cursive.