Page 53 of The Stolen Queen

The man registered the weapon with wide eyes, taken off guard. Annie did the only thing she could think of.

The scream came from deep in her belly, a terrifying, massive sound that she’d never made before in her life. It sounded like something a cornered animal made, ungodly in its pitch, echoing against the tunnel walls and hurting her own ears.

The man took a step back, turned away, and disappeared into the darkness.

Charlotte was shuttled off to be seen by the museum’s medical staff after Annie scared off the attacker, insisting to the guards who led her away that she was fine, just bruised. Annie, meanwhile, wasmarched upstairs to the mezzanine level and planted in a chair in the security office under the watchful eye of a man who introduced himself as Mr. Fantoni, the Met’s chief security officer.

“The fence barrier deep inside the tunnel had been clipped,” reported one of the guards to Mr. Fantoni. “It appears that’s how the thief escaped.”

“We need to check the entire tunnel system under the building and make sure it is fully secure,” said Mr. Fantoni. “There’s no excuse for this, absolutely none. We’ll also need to perform a search of the entire museum. It’s going to take all night, so let’s get all hands on deck. It’s possible the thief left the statue in a public area and plans on returning later for retrieval, so keep your eyes peeled. First and foremost, make sure that fencing is secured.”

Billy stood in one of the far corners of the room, his face ashen. It was awful that they were going after him, too, that Annie had dragged him into this nightmare. He’d only been trying to help when he let her go through security with the box. And now his job was probably on the line, just for being a nice guy. When she caught his eye, Annie mouthed, “I’m so sorry.” He gave her a wan smile in return.

“In the meantime,” continued Mr. Fantoni, “no one is allowed to leave the building without a thorough search of their belongings. What are the approximate dimensions of the statue?”

The guards looked at each other, unsure.

“The Cerulean Queen is around five inches in width, height, and depth,” answered Annie. “About the size of a large grapefruit.”

“Don’t you work for the Costume Institute?” asked Mr. Fantoni, checking his notes.

“I do, but I visit the Egyptian Art collection all the time. The Cerulean Queen is one of my favorites.”

Mr. Fantoni looked up at his staff. “It may be that the two eventsof this evening—the stolen statue and the moth incident—are related. That one was a diversion for the other.”

“Charlotte and I had the same thought,” said Annie. “About the events being related.” Maybe if she was as helpful as possible, she wouldn’t get in trouble for her part in releasing the moths. “That the moths pulled the guards away from the gallery with the statue so the thief could steal it.”

“Where is Miss Cross now?”

“Getting examined by the medics.”

Mr. Fantoni studied Annie closely, like he was trying to decide something. Maybe being helpful wasn’t the best idea. “How long have you worked here at the museum, Miss Jenkins?”

“I started last week.”

“I see. A recent hire. And how did you get the moths in the building in the first place?”

Billy stepped forward. “It was me. I’m sorry, sir. I let Annie take the box in. I was told they were butterflies. But she’d never do anything like this on purpose.”

“Billy, I’m disappointed in you,” said Mr. Fantoni. “Did you inspect the box? Or even question why it would be a good idea to bring a flock of butterflies into a museum?”

“A kaleidoscope.”

The tall figure of Mrs. Vreeland breezed into the room. Annie turned around in her chair and offered up a hopeful smile. At the very least, now Annie had someone who could attest to the fact that Annie had been just doing her job.

“Sorry?” said Mr. Fantoni.

“That’s what a collective of butterflies is called,” Mrs. Vreeland declared. “Akaleidoscope.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Vreeland, for that.”

Mrs. Vreeland turned to Annie. “What on earth were you thinking?I simply don’tunderstandhow this could have happened. An absolute travesty, that’s what it is, an absolute travesty.”

Annie squirmed in her chair. “I did what you told me to do. Not moths, of course. But butterflies. For the VIP tour.”

“I never told you anything of the sort.”

Annie’s heart turned to lead and she struggled to speak. How could Mrs. Vreeland deny it? Had she forgotten their conversation in her apartment? Or was she trying to dodge being blamed? But Mrs. Vreeland was forthright to a fault and known for her trap-like memory. “You did,” said Annie. “You said, ‘There simplymustbe butterflies! Hundreds of them, a dizzying kaleidoscope of shape, pattern, and color.’ You wanted the room to feel like it was taking off, flying, like the dancers on the stage.” Annie had memorized the wording scribbled in her notebook.

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