Free Moxie and the Art of Rule Breaking by Erin Dionne Page B

manages to be both welcoming—it does kind of look like a giant house, with big columns and normal-sized doors and whatever—and intimidating, like the person who lives therewould never let you in. The trim around all the doors and windows is white, the actual building is red, and there’s a gold-covered dome that shines like the sun on top. During World War II, they painted the dome black so it wouldn’t be a target for the Germans (seriously, Massachusetts public education teaches you the most random historical facts ever).
    “Same stairs and gate,” Ollie said, looking back and forth between the two images.
    “And look at the arches,” I added. He nodded.
    “It’s the state house,” he said.
    I scrawled
state house stairs
on a sticky note and we placed it in the blank album spot. As I did, a chill ran down my spine: The space in the middle of the other photos reminded me of the empty frames left behind at the Gardner.
    I shook it off and dug through my desk for an empty envelope. I took another look at the photo, where the not-lines were on Grumps’s face, and tucked it away.
    “Could he really have gotten all that art into
that
building?” Ollie said. He’d closed the album and laid it across his knees. “I mean, we’re talking about where the governor works. And all kinds of officials. And security guards. That’s gutsy.”
    Still standing, I stretched my cramped legs. “Yeah, but it kind of makes sense,” I said, thinking it through as I spoke. “I mean, he’d have tools and stuff that he’d have to carry in, right?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Well, what if he was able to disguise the art like it waspart of his gear? If the stuff
is
actually in there, it’s not like he hung it on someone’s office wall or anything. It’s been hidden for over twenty years.”
    “True,” Ollie confirmed. “Now we just have to figure out where in the building it is. And,” he added, “it might not even all be there, if he was working on more than one place at a time. I still think it’s worth it to check the house too.”
    Before I could agree with him, there was a knock at my bedroom door. I nearly jumped out of my skin.
    “Moxie!” called my mom. “Hey!”
    “Just a sec!” I called back. I grabbed the album, shut and stuffed it back into the bag next to my bed. Then I raced to the door, a jittery ball of nerves. I didn’t dare look at Ollie.
    “Hey,” I said, opening the door. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
    “Not over the music,” she said. She was still wearing her work clothes, which meant she hadn’t been home for very long. Where had the day gone? Her eyes skipped behind me, to Ollie. Immediately my face flushed.
    “Hey, Ollie,” she said. Eyes back to me, narrowed in the Death Glare.
    Technically
, I was not supposed to have anyone over when my mom was at work. Not even Ollie, unless we were hanging out in Nini’s apartment.
    Another family rule.
    “Er, hi,” Ollie said. His face was as red as mine felt. I’m sure my mom took our joint humiliation explosion as acknowledging that we’d broken the rules, not that we were hiding the potential solution to a decades-old, multi-million-dollar mystery.
    Mom stuck her hands on her hips.
    “Ollie, it’s time for you to head home,” she said.
    “Uh-huh,” he muttered. He scrabbled for his hat, patted his pockets to make sure he had everything, and squeezed past me. “Later, Mox,” he said.
    My mom still blocked the door, her five-foot-nothingness seeming to fill the whole space. “You and Moxie know the rules, Ollie,” she said with a deadly calm. I watched the back of his head bob up and down. Mom was scarier than The Redhead, for sure.
    “I’m sorry, ma’am,” Ollie said. Ollie was polite to adults, but he only busted out the
ma’am
when it was serious business—like now. “It won’t happen again.”
    “Damn straight,” Mom said. She shifted to the side, allowing him to pass, and shifted her gaze to me. He pounded down the