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“Of course my father would hide the key behind his Bottom.”

Now it's my turn to look confused. What the heck is she talking about? Happily, I can always count on Caleb to bail me out.

Caleb has a baffled look on his face. “What? He hid the key in his butt?”

Isabel laughs. It's not her grown-up laugh. More like a “stupid me” laugh. I like it better.

“Sorry. Family joke. Father got that painting when I was three, and we always called it his Bottom.”

Now it's our turn to stare through the slot. Isabel sighs.

“You guys, Bottom is the name of the comic character in Shakespeare's
A
Midsummer Night's Dream
who is given the head of a donkey by the king of the fairies.”

“Uh-huh…,” says Caleb, looking dubious.

Then it dawns on me.

“The man with the donkey head in the painting!” I say.

“Right!” Isabel says. “And Titania, queen of the fairies, is enchanted to fall in love with him.”

“A guy named Bottom gets a donkey head,” Caleb says skeptically. “It sounds like a real laugh riot.”

“At least it's not about some guy who dresses up like a bat and is supposed to scare bad guys,” Isabel snaps back.

“I think we're getting off track,” I say. “We need the code. It's clear that your dad locked up the book for a reason. It has to have something to do with the code.”

“Of course!” Isabel crows. “We just need to find four numbers in here.”

“Hunh. How about a year?” suggests Caleb.

My eyes widen. He's got it. I know he's got it.

“Isabel,” I instruct. “Check the publication date. It's on the—”

“Ted! I think I know where the pub date of a book is!” Isabel says, actually rolling her eyes. She opens the book and reads out: “ ‘First paperback edition, 1948.' You really think this is it?”

Our eyes meet. “Yes. I'm pretty sure. Only one way to find out.”

Standing on the steps, we hear her slowly and carefully enter the four numbers into the number pad.
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP.

I hold my breath.

Two corresponding beeps are heard. She's deactivated the alarm.

The door slowly opens. Isabel stands there, eyes bright with excitement, holding
The Maltese Falcon.

She steps carefully over the threshold to the outside.

We all stand stock-still, waiting to hear a siren, or any other sign that the plan has failed.

After ten long seconds of silence, Isabel breaks into a grin, and Caleb and I cheer.

She is about to leave, and turns around.

“What are you doing?” Caleb hisses.

“Resetting the alarm,” Isabel says, her usual calm demeanor having returned. “Just being a responsible daughter.”

Slowly, the three of us walk down the stone walkway, saying nothing, as if at any moment, Graham Archer will reappear and foil the whole elaborate scheme.

We walk along, our bodies beginning to relax as the truth dawns on us.

“We really did it,” Isabel marvels. She turns and gives a surprised Caleb a huge hug.

“It…it was mostly Ted,” Caleb splutters.

I wait for my hug, a big smile on my face. I can't help it. Things are working out perfectly. I've rescued Isabel, and soon we'll solve the riddle of where the key belongs, and then—

That's when Isabel punches me in the face.

At that exact moment, two thoughts go through my mind simultaneously.

First, as a middle-class half-Asian, half-Jewish kid, I've never punched anyone in the face in the entire twelve years of my life.

And second, Isabel Archer packs a mean punch.

Her fist lands squarely—perfectly, of course—on my cheek, sending me reeling.

“What the heck did you do that for?” I screech.

“I come from New York, so let me tell you, I've known some creeps in my time,” Isabel spits out, “but you are without a doubt the creepiest, most disgusting excuse for a—”

“You're
mad
at him? But he just got you—” Caleb tries to get between Isabel and her prey, but she swings hard and gets me in the gut this time.

She stands over me, her face red with what looks like a combination of rage and disbelief.

“How did you know what was in my bathroom? That my wallet was on my desk? God! It's too gross to even think about! Did you climb into that tree and stare at me at night or something? You…you…”

“I never thought I'd see it,” Caleb says. “Isabel Archer is actually speechless.”

Isabel whirls and faces Caleb, her hands still balled into tight fists.

“Hey! Don't get mad at me! I wasn't the one spying on you!” Caleb quickly adds.

“Caleb!” I moan from the ground. “You're not helping….”

“I mean, Ted wasn't spying on you either! Ted wouldn't do that. It would be—”

Caleb talking is good,
I think through the pain as I prop myself up on one arm.
It gives me a chance to gather my thoughts.

“Sick! He's a
sicko
!” Isabel screams.

Caleb talking is bad,
I think.
It gives
Isabel
a chance to gather
her
thoughts.

“I mean, I'm glad you got me out, but just the thought of you—”

Isabel pushes me back down again, this time with her foot.

As I writhe on the ground in agony, it occurs to me that perhaps I haven't thought this through completely. Clearly I shouldn't have mentioned her wallet and the desk. I should have thought of that. Of course, she would have—
ow!

Isabel has just elbowed me hard in the ribs.

Now, this part, with her hitting me, this is definitely new information.

I hold up my hands, flinching. “Let me explain….”

Isabel crosses her arms. “Okay, I'm waiting. And please don't insult me with any more talk about some game on your laptop telling you what to do.”

I wince. “Give me a second.” I'm trying to buy a little time. Nothing is coming.

I have to make it good. Isabel is too smart.

A look of contempt passes over her face. “All along, I thought you were kind of a cool guy, and now I find out you're a…a…”

“A what?” I ask, starting to get a little angry myself.

“You want me to say it? Okay, a
pervert
! God, spying on me like that! No wonder my dad didn't want me to have any contact with you!”

“Are you on drugs? How does that even make any sense?”

Isabel is pacing now. “Sure. That man who came and visited my father and upset him so much, he's probably a neighbor, and he saw you outside my window and told my father. And you concocted this whole thing to make yourself look like a hero or something.”

Isabel has worked herself up again, and runs at me.

Seeing her coming, I put Caleb between me and another blow to the head.

Isabel pulls up short and stands there panting. “You're so smart, huh? Let's see you escape
this
!” Just as she reaches to push Caleb out of the way, there's a buzz from my phone.

“Hold that thought,” I say. “I think that's my dad.”

It is indeed a text from Dad.
Oh, perfect.

Checking in. We said noon, right?

Just once, I wish Mom were wrong about the not listening. This is perfect.

Isabel is staring at me, with fire still in her eyes. “So?”

“That was our ride,” I say simply. “My dad isn't coming for another hour.”

“What? But that means—” Isabel begins.

The three of us freeze as a familiar heart-churning sound comes from up the street.

The unmistakable sound of a throaty engine returning.

I turn accusingly to Isabel. “You said your father was gone for the day!”

“He's supposed to be,” she says, her hand rising to her mouth. “Maybe the conference has been canceled?”

Too soon, a large, expensive car turns onto the road. But it's the Jaguar XJ6 sedan, with a welcome familiar face at the wheel.

Stan opens the door and gestures to us to come over. Scarcely believing it, we run over.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“I went by your house this morning to try to talk to you again and saw you guys on your bikes. I guess I hoped that maybe you were going to get whatever your great-uncle left you.”

“So you thought Ted had buried it in the woods or something?” Isabel asks.

“I've seen it happen,” Stan says. “But then I saw you guys kind of dusting it up back there, and wondered what was going on, so—”

“It wasn't anything about his great-uncle,” Isabel says, brushing herself off. “It was…a misunderstanding.”

Great! I think I'm off the hook, until I see the look she shoots me.

“So, do you guys need a lift?” Stan asks.

We look at each other in relief.

“Could you possibly drop us off at my house?” I say.

“Sure, no problem. Hop in!” Stan says happily.

Isabel goes back, picks up
The Maltese Falcon
from the ground where she flung it after punching me, and brushes it off. She heads to the car without so much as a backward glance at me and Caleb.

I note darkly that Isabel immediately chooses to ride up front with Stan, relegating me and Caleb to the backseat.

Stan asks her how long she's lived in the neighborhood, how she likes California, stuff like that. Since neither of them seems to want to include us, I text my dad to tell him we got a lift from Stan, and turn to Caleb.

“How are you gonna explain this to her?” he asks me. “I mean, I know you're a genius with these games, but you have to admit, it is a little wild that you knew her wallet was on her desk and—”

“It was all deduction,” I sigh. “I swear to God.”

“Hey, I believe you, but Isabel's the one you have to convince.”

For a while we ride in silence. The two up front continue to chat away like old friends.

This is good for me. As we near my block, I've worked out my entire defense. I just have to pray that it will work.

We're about to turn into my driveway when I hear Isabel say, “Thanks so much. When we heard the car, we got a little spooked that you might be my father.”

“What's the matter?” jokes Stan. “Your dad doesn't want you to hang around with these clowns?”

“Something like that,” Isabel says. “Some guy visited him last night, and after that, Father freaked out and tried to keep me locked in the house.”

There's a squealing sound and we're thrown forward as Stan slams on the brakes.

“Your fa-father had a visitor last night?” Even from the backseat, I can see that his knuckles are white as he grips the steering wheel. “Someone from the college?” he asks hopefully.

Isabel frowns. “I don't think so. It was someone he didn't know. And it was a pretty intense conversation.”

“Fu-Fudgie the Whale!” Stan exclaims.

“Excuse me?” I ask, trying to figure out what's going on.

“I was going to say something else, but then I remembered there were kids in the car,” Stan explains.

“It's okay, I go to private school—our teachers curse all the time,” Isabel remarks.

It seems like all the blood has drained from Stan's face.

“You don't think this has anything to do with my great-uncle?” I ask.

“Er, no, of course not,” Stan says, in that way that means
Absolutely I do.

He pulls the car up to our driveway and we get out.

“So what do we do now?” asks Caleb.

“We?” says Stan, who seems in a hurry to get the heck out of here. “Well, I've got a lot of errands to do…and like I said, I'll be leaving LA today. It's been great meeting you kids….”

“Are you running away?” asks Isabel, using her best “let's be real” voice.

Stan is visibly sweating now. “The thing is…I didn't sign up for this. I'm just supposed to find stuff and report back to my father and the other Monuments Men. I promise as soon as I get home I'll get him to call someone and they can come out and—”

He doesn't even finish the sentence before he's slammed the door and backed out onto the street. He's going so fast he almost hits two garbage cans on the curb.

We watch him drive away.

“Our hero,” mutters Caleb.

As soon as we hit the kitchen and before Isabel can open her mouth, I hold up my hand.

“You said you wanted an explanation, and I guess I owe you one,” I announce.

Isabel looks at me. She starts to say something but changes her mind. Then, with a defiant look in her eye, she sits on one of the stools by the counter.

“I'm waiting,” she finally says.

I clear my throat. “Okay, let's take one thing at a time. You have to understand that a lot of what I guessed comes from hours and hours of playing these games, and learning where things usually are in houses and how people think of passwords and stuff like that.”

Isabel cuts in. “That doesn't explain—”

“Let me finish. Is it that weird that I knew you'd have a library card? You already told us you got that book from the library, remember? I mean, where else would it be but your wallet? I guessed it would be on your desk. You seem like the kind of girl who would have a place for everything. And I knew that the houses in your neighborhood were built in the seventies, when the room locks all worked the same way, with a button lock you could disable with the old credit card trick.”

“He's right!” Caleb interjects. “Our house was built then, and we always do that if someone locks the bathroom door accidentally.”

“Exactly,” I continue. “I'm sorry you got freaked out about the lip gloss, but you really jumped to some conclusions there. I have an older sister. And before she went to college, we shared a bathroom. She always kept her lip gloss in there. There were like a hundred tubes or something. So that was an educated guess.”

Isabel's face falls. She winces and puts her hand to her mouth, as if she wishes she could somehow take back everything she's said and done.

“So, you didn't…,” she struggles. “I mean, it wasn't like you—”

“First of all, I would never do anything like that. Second of all, don't you think your dad would call my parents, if not the police, if he thought that was the case? And third of all, I'm not that good at climbing trees.”

Isabel gets up and crosses to me. For a moment, I'm not sure what she's going to do. She leans in close to my face. It's funny—I can smell the conditioner in her hair.

Isabel winces. “I think you're going to get a bruise there.” She pulls away and goes to the refrigerator. “Can I get some orange juice or something? I'm really thirsty.”

I look at Caleb, who's grinning from ear to ear. Crisis averted!

“I think we all could use something to drink,” I say, reaching into the open fridge and grabbing the container. I pour three glasses, and we move into the living room.

It's time to get to work.

“Listen, Isabel, this guy—the one who freaked your dad out so much. Could you describe him?”

Isabel makes a face. “Sure, I guess so. Why? Do you think you know him?”

“I doubt it,” I say. “But just the idea of him spooked Stan so much. What did he look like?”