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matter-of-factly.
    “You really think so?” Ruthie was skeptical.
    “Maybe. He has access to the rooms.”
    “
Had
access,” Ruthie corrected him. Since Ruthie and Jack had discovered his lost work, Mr. Bell had retired from his guard job. For the past month he had been working solely as an artist.
    “Yeah, but he could’ve put the note in there right before he left,” Jack said.
    “He knows us. Don’t you think he would have said something directly to us?”
    “Maybe, maybe not. It’s pretty unbelievable, after all.”
    “How about the archive curator, the one who helped us on the report?”
    Jack nodded, then added, “Any of the other guards or maintenance people.”
    Then something occurred to Ruthie. “Jack, remember what Mr. Bell’s daughter said at the opening last night?”
    “Caroline Bell? About what?”
    “About how her backpack was lost. She said the three of us have more to talk about. Remember, you elbowed me. I think we should try to meet with her.”
    “And just ask her if she knows anything about the note?”
    “No, not about the note exactly. But to see if maybe we can trust her. To see if she wants to know anything more about her memories and the rooms. Maybe she can help us.”
    “Okay. Put her down.”
    As she wrote the name, Ruthie realized something else. “Maybe whoever put the note in the box will notice that it’s gone now and come looking for us.”
    “You’re right,” Jack agreed soberly. “We’d better put it back. Tuesday—it’s a half day of school.”
    They sat on the floor of his room, looking from the letter to the list and back again, quietly mulling thesituation. The silence was broken by the sound of a key opening the loft door.
    “Hello,” Lydia called into the big space.
    “Hi, Mom.” Jack got up. “We’re here.”
    Jack and Ruthie went into the kitchen area.
    “Hello, Ruthie.” Lydia had just put down a bag of groceries and was looking through the mail. She smiled at Jack. “Yesterday’s mail. We forgot to bring it up,” she said. “And today’s paper. I hear we’re in the Arts section.” She opened the paper on the kitchen table and thumbed through to find their pictures. “Ah, here we are. Hey, you two look pretty good! … Oh boy.” Her tone changed as she skimmed another article. “I was wondering if this would make the papers. I’ve been hearing about this from some of my friends. An art thief!”
    “My family saw that too,” Ruthie said.
    “What else do you know, Mom?”
    “Not much more than what it says here in the article. Word is it’s been going on for several weeks; there aren’t any clues.” Lydia turned her attention to opening the mail. “What have you two been up to today?”
    “We took my mom to see the Thorne Rooms,” Ruthie said.
    “Yeah, and I met someone who’s maybe going to give Ruthie drawing lessons,” Jack added.
    “Really? Who?”
    “Dora Pommeroy. She’s an interior designer,” Ruthie answered.
    “She said she’d heard of you, Mom.”
    “I’ve met her a few times. She’s decorated homes of some people who’ve bought my paintings; she has a great reputation. I don’t know her well, though.” Lydia showed Jack a card that had come in the mail. “Look at this. It’s an invitation to a gala at the Art Institute—and I can bring a guest.”
    “Do you have to dress up?” Jack asked with an obvious lack of enthusiasm.
    “Yes. Gala means you dress up,” she answered. “I bet I could bring you both.”
    “I’d love to!” Ruthie looked at Jack, wondering why he didn’t appear to understand the opportunity this might present—being in the museum after it was closed! Now Ruthie had two things to look forward to: drawing lessons and an evening at the museum!
    “So my first drawing lesson is going to be on Saturday. My mom got an email from Dora last night,” Ruthie told Jack. It was Tuesday afternoon, chilly but clear and sunny. She and Jack sped two steps at a time up to the front