Page 37 of The Stolen Queen

“Cleaning duty. You spend the shift mopping floors and picking up trash.”

The table of pretty girls erupted in laughter. Billy gave them a cursory glance. “The development staffers. They always leave tons of scuff marks from their high heels, drives us nuts.”

“What’s your favorite painting?” she asked.

“Oh, that’s a tough one.” He glanced down at his watch. “Shoot, I better be heading off.”

“But you barely touched your food.”

“That’s okay. It was fun talking to you.”

“It was.” Annie was thrilled to have made a friend. “Where are you off to?”

“Nineteenth Century American Paintings, up on the second floor.” Billy gave a shy smile. “I’ll tell you what? Why don’t you walk with me and I’ll show you one of my favorites.”

Annie finished the last piece of her scone. “You bet.”

They tossed their trash and walked through to the Great Hall before climbing the sweeping staircase that led to the second floor.

Billy, as a security guard, probably knew more about the ins and outs of the building than anyone. “I know you’ve only been here a month, but have you ever had anyone try to steal anything while you’ve been guarding?” asked Annie as they ascended the shallow steps.

“No, thank goodness. I mean, it’s not as if we have guns oranything to stop them. A year ago, a couple of teenagers stole a ring from one of the vitrines in the Egyptian Art collection.”

“Aren’t they locked?”

“This particular one had a quarter-inch crack in between the door panels, as well as some space at the very bottom. The kids noticed the cracks, and then came back with a wire hanger and a museum floor plan. One acted as a lookout as the other fished into the vitrine with the hanger, knocked the ring onto the museum map, and pulled it out. Easy enough when you think about it.”

“It seems almost too simple. Where was the guard?”

“We can’t be in every room, and they timed it just right.”

“There aren’t any alarms or anything?”

“No. Not yet, anyway. That kind of technology is still a long way off. Luckily, the dopey kids went straight to a jeweler right on Lexington Avenue, who recognized the ring and called the museum asking for eighty thousand dollars for his trouble.”

She paused at the top of the staircase. “Wait a minute, the jeweler tried to blackmail the museum?”

“Stupid, right? The security head nabbed him as well as the kids.”

“What happened to the kids?”

Billy led her along the mezzanine balcony and into the American Paintings and Sculpture galleries. “It was their first offense, so they didn’t get any jail time. The jeweler got a light sentence, I think.” He smiled. “This place is full of crazy stories. I love it.”

“You should write a book about it.”

“Nah. My plan is to save enough money and get my undergrad degree, eventually be a technician here. They get to spend time with the art, make sure it’s in its optimal climate, create mounts, that kind of thing. Can you imagine being able to touch a Michelangelo? With gloves on, of course.”

“I can’t. I’d be terrified.”

He stopped in front of the enormous oil painting of George Washington crossing an icy Delaware River. “This is one of the most popular paintings in the museum.”

“I can see why.”

“But over here’s my favorite. Winslow Homer’sNortheaster.”

He guided her farther into the gallery, to an oil painting that showed a great wave smashing onto dark, craggy rocks, the water spraying up almost like smoke on one side and curling over in a massive breaker on the other.

“It’s almost like the water’s about to splash down on you,” said Annie.

---