Free The 100-Year-Old Secret by Tracy Barrett

exit in case she comes out that way.” Xander nodded, and slipped around the building.
    Xena hesitated. She must look awful, with her dark hair plastered down, mud splashed on her white school socks, and her navy blazer dripping wet.
    Just as she was about to enter the shop, Xander appeared at the corner of the building. He gestured wildly for her to follow him.
    â€œWhat?” Xena said as she joined him in the alley behind the store. “What if she comes out while we're back here?”
    Xander had climbed up onto a trash can that was leaning against the wall. It wobbled and Xena grabbed on to it to steady it.
    â€œGet down from there and let me do it,” Xena said. Xander jumped down and she easily hoisted herself up onto the trash can and looked into the window above.
    Xena gasped. What she saw was so unexpected that she couldn't take it all in at once. She closed her eyes and opened them again.
    It was still there.

C HAPTER 12

    I f all that had met Xena's eyes had been a girl in a purple hat sitting on an old-fashioned chair, she wouldn't have been surprised. Curious, maybe, but not surprised. Instead she saw a roomful of girls sitting on chairs in bright gardens, the same sulky expression on each chubby face, the same blond curls spilling out from under each broad-brimmed purple hat. Girls in frames, girls on stretched canvases, girls in purple hats all over.
    The room was filled with copies of the Batheson painting!
    The girl they had been following was perched on a stool. A woman entered the room and inspected her, removed a cloth from an easel, and then dipped her brush in paint and got to work. A good deal of the painting was already done; all that was left to do were the girl's shoulder and face.
    Xena turned away from the window and dropped silently to the ground, her knees flexing to take the stress of the landing.
    â€œNow what?” Xander asked. “We can't let her escape again.”
    Xena nodded. “Come on. We're going into that gallery.” They went around front and entered.
    They were soaking wet, and Xena's clothes were dirty where she had scraped against the brick. The receptionist, a slender woman with white blond hair and fingernails so long and curved that it must have been impossible for her to dial a phone or type on a keyboard, looked in horror at their feet on the white carpet.
    Xena shifted over to the hardwood and nudged Xander to do the same. “Quit pushing,” he said, but he moved.
    â€œCan I help you?” the receptionist asked.
    â€œEr,” Xander said.
    â€œJust looking,” Xena said.
    â€œLooking?” The woman clearly didn't believe them. “Looking for what?”
    â€œA present,” Xander said.
    â€œFor our dad,” Xena added.
    â€œThere are brochures by the door,” the lady said, and then she turned her attention to thephone that was ringing in a soft double trill. Xander watched in fascination as she stabbed at the blinking light with a pencil eraser. So that's how she did it! But how did she type at the computer with those claws?
    Xander was looking at the prices of the artworks. “Holy smoke,” he said, using one of their father's favorite expressions. “Ten thousand pounds? For that ?” He was looking at what appeared to be a lump of gray glass with pieces of metal sticking out of it. “What is it, a paper-weight?”
    â€œIt's a piece by an up-and-coming Romanian glassblower,” the receptionist said severely, hanging up the phone. “And now, if you have no questions—”
    But at that moment the door burst open, and a young man, almost impossibly tall and thin, strode in, waving his arms.
    â€œYou still haven't sold a single piece of mine? Do you have my work stored here like in a . . . in a . . . in a warehouse?”
    â€œPlease, Mr. Georgescu,” the woman said, rising from behind her desk. “Please, Mr. Georgescu, calm yourself.”
    â€œCalm