Off the Wall by P.J. Night Page B

thought Lucy.
    Ever since the lock-in, Lucy had avoided Egyptian art. Somehow it didn’t appeal to her anymore. But as she stared at the half-remembered exhibits, she could feel her interest returning.
    There was Prince Amun’s sarcophagus, and there were the turquoise beads—still as bright as when they’d been made four thousand years earlier. The onyx statue of Horus, the falcon-headed god of the sky. The shards of pottery that were valuable because they showed such realistic scenes of ordinary Egyptian people doing ordinary things.
    And down the hidden hallway was the other sarcophagus—the one Lucy couldn’t help but check out.The one that had been open and empty on the night of the lock-in. The one that had been closed the morning after. The one that possibly housed Daria’s mummy.
    The sarcophagus was closed now, just as it had been the last time she saw it. The ancient painting on its surface stared blank-faced at the ceiling. The image of the unknown princess looked serene and untouched, as if the princess herself had never felt a single emotion.
    Lucy leaned over and stared into those intensely black painted eyes. “Are you in there, Daria?” she whispered.
    Of course there was no answer.
    With a little sigh, Lucy followed Cailyn and the rest of her classmates out of the exhibit. Mr. Flaren was talking about their next stop—the Portrait Gallery one level below. Now that he wasn’t so worried about losing people, he had relaxed into his usual teacher-speak.
    â€œThere are several things I want you to keep in mind as you study the paintings,” he said. “Look at the eyes first. They’ll tell you the most about the subject’s personality. What about the sitter’s expression? And look for little details that might be clues. What about the clothes? What about jewelry? Is the subject rich or poor? Is there anything that shows what interests the subjectmight have had? And take notes, because we’re going to talk about these in the next class!”
    Lucy had always loved portraits. She walked into the gallery so eagerly that she almost banged into the guard at the door.
    â€œNo need to rush, miss,” said the guard in a friendly voice. “The people in these paintings aren’t going anywhere, believe me.”
    The members of her class began to drift around the first room, but Lucy wanted to be more organized. She decided to start with the closest paintings and work her way around the whole gallery.
    It’s almost like meeting new people, she thought. The longer you look at the face, the better you get to know the person. She decided to make a little game out of reading each painting’s title before looking at the picture itself. Then she’d be able to compare her expectation with the actual painting.
    Frau Schmidstorf Making Lace.
    Lucy envisioned a stern, stout middle-aged woman, but Frau Schmidstorf turned out to be frail and elderly, just examining her lace.
    The Honorable Hugh Nettlestone .
    Instead of the white-wigged old judge Lucy had imagined, Hugh Nettlestone turned out to be a little boy patting a pet rabbit.
    Charles Dickens at His Desk .
    Lucy already knew what Dickens looked like. No surprise there!
    Madame Isabelle Meunier and Her Daughter Jeanne .
    This would be a woman giving her baby a bath, Lucy guessed. But no—the two were outside. The woman had her arm around her daughter, who looked about twelve. She had a shy smile and wavy blond hair.
    Wait.
    Lucy stopped in her tracks.
    Jeanne looked just like Jane, the girl she had met that fateful night so many years ago.
    Lucy read the card again. Under the title were the words “Early nineteenth-century watercolor by an anonymous artist. A gift to the museum.”
    And the year that that gift had been made? The same year as the lock-in.
    Jeanne . . . Jane. Jane was the English version of Jeanne. . . .
    Lucy suddenly remembered that Jane had