The Mystery of the Third Lucretia by Susan Runholt Page A

at Trafalgar Square. We could take the tube and bus back to Robert’s when we’re done.”
    â€œSounds okay to me.” Relief, relief, she didn’t expect us to stay with her all day long. “But where would you change?”
    â€œWe could change in the museum bathroom where we went this afternoon. It’s way in the back, in the part of the building where they have classes. We went twice and there wasn’t anybody else around either time.” This was absolutely true, and what was really great was that this quiet little bathroom was close to the Rembrandt room.
    â€œWell, okay, but you’re going to have to make a list of everything you have along so you don’t forget anything.”
    Lucas hadn’t said a word during all of this, but I’d seen by her expression that she’d at least half figured out what I had in mind about the disguises. When mom went off to the restroom, I explained it all.
    â€œIs it brilliant, or what?” I said when I’d finished explaining.
    â€œDefinitely brilliant,” she answered.
    Then, folding her hands and looking toward heaven, she said, “Blessings upon thee, O Camellia. God, I take back everything bad I’ve ever said about my mother.”
    She looked down, then looked back up again. “Well, maybe not quite everything.”

12
    â€œWatchit, Dad”
    There was just one more thing that happened in the restaurant that turned out to be important later. Before we left, Celia dropped in to join us, and somebody else took over behind the bar so Robert could come sit at our table.
    It’s always fun when Robert and Celia are around. Celia’s cool, and when we’re with her we all like to tease Robert, who teases us right back.
    So when Celia saw Robert walking over to our table, she whispered to us, “After a few minutes, ask Robert if he’s ever had a part in a movie. And keep asking him until he tells you about his lines.”
    A little while after he sat down, Lucas said, sounding casual, “Have you ever been in a movie, Robert?”
    â€œOnce,” he said. “Thing called Streets of Fear. Yes, I remember it well. Didn’t go very far. Should have done better, what with me having a speaking role.”
    â€œWhat did you play?” I asked.
    â€œA young tough,” Robert said. “Black leather jacket, a spiderweb tattooed on one cheek.”
    â€œSo what did you say in the movie?” Lucas asked.
    â€œI’m not sure I can remember. . . .”
    â€œOh, Robert,” Celia said, sounding innocent, “I’m sure you can remember all your lines. In fact, Ican even remember all your lines. Why don’t you tell these sweet girls?”
    â€œSweet girls my . . . backside. Bunch of ruddy females,” he muttered, looking at the four of us. “Okay, you want to know my part, I’ll tell you. I said, ‘Watchit, Dad.’”
    Lucas and I waited. Finally Lucas said, “That’s all?”
    â€œWhad’ya mean, that’s all? It was an important line, and I delivered it with sensitivity.”
    Lucas and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes.
    â€œSee, I was this young bast—this young ne’er-do-well racing through the streets of London on a motorcycle, and I ran over an old bloke who couldn’t get out of my way, and as he lay dying on the street I looked down on him and said, ‘Watchit, Dad.’”
    â€œWas the man really your dad? In the movie, I mean?” I asked.
    â€œNaaow.” (That’s how Robert says no.) “See, in England, young people without manners, like you lot, call older blokes ‘Dad,’ the way the posh crowd might call them ‘Sir.’”
    I leaned toward him and shoved him with my elbow. “Watchit, Dad,” I said.
    â€œYou can’t even say it right.” So for a few minutes Robert taught Lucas and me how to say “Watchit, Dad,” as if we were