

# Jonathon Wart and The Hand of Doom

# By Terence O'Grady

Copyright 2016 Terence O'Grady

Cover by Boris Rasin

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

Table of Contents

Chapter One: Jonathon's Brainstorm

Chapter Two: Mr. Thumbs and Felicia

Chapter Three: Meeting with Mr. Thumbs

Chapter Four: Plotting with Felicia

Chapter Five: The Grand Deception (Part 1)

Chapter Six: To the Art Institute

Chapter Seven: The Grand Deception (Part 2)

Chapter Eight: The Curse of Doom

Chapter Nine: Butting Heads

Chapter Ten: The Séance

Chapter Eleven: Danger Ahead

Chapter Twelve: Unraveling the Mystery

Chapter Thirteen: On to the Next Adventure

# Chapter One: Jonathon's Brainstorm

Jonathon pushed himself away from the computer keyboard, grabbed his phone off the desk and smiled. No question about it, he had come up with another idea. And it was a good one. In fact, it was quite possibly a brilliant one.

Now he leaned back in his chair, as far as the flexible back of the seat would stretch, his fingers flying over the keyboard of his phone. There was no doubt about it. He was sure his new plan would work perfectly.

"So Jonathon," said his sister cheerfully as she strolled into his room, "what are you up to? And how's your latest risky get-rich-quick scheme going?"

Jonathon turned toward Lizzie and smiled. "I think you mean, get richer quick, don't you?"

"Well, if we're so rich, why don't I ever get to spend any money?" Lizzie asked, flopping down on a brown leather sofa in the corner of the room.

"What do you mean? You get an okay allowance."

"Okay for what? Buying a stick of gum at the supermarket?"

"Sure. Or buying some tacky bracelets in one of those bright, shiny little mall stores you love so much."

"Hey, do I insult your miserable taste in comic books?"

"No, but only because you never read anything so you're easily impressed."

"You don't have to be insulting. I read a lot. They just don't happen to be your kind of books. Besides, I'm not trying to start a fight here. I just want to know why we aren't allowed to spend any of the money you've made with your crazy schemes? I mean, Uncle Wart left us a fortune. And you've made even more money since then. So how come it's all locked away in some vault somewhere and we can't touch it?"

"It's not in a vault somewhere, Lizzie. It's in a bank. And some day we will be able to touch it. Think of it as building for the future. We're both going to turn twenty-one eventually, you know. And when we do, with any luck we're both going to be pretty wealthy."

Lizzie rolled her eyes. "Yeah, but only if you keep coming up with those risky but brilliant new ideas to increase Uncle's fortune, right? And you haven't had one of those for a while, have you?"

Jonathon grinned broadly. "Well, it just so happens that I do have a new plan...very new as a matter of fact. Stick around for a couple of minutes. Emma's going to be here any second now and I'll explain my newest brainstorm to you both at the same time."

Seconds later, Emma Wang, who acted as Jonathon's and Lizzie's tutor (as well as helping Jonathon realize his sometimes crazy schemes) ambled casually into the room.

"So what's up?" Emma asked perkily. "I just got your text."

"What's up is his newest stroke of genius, Emma," Lizzie said, stifling a yawn. "And I've got a feeling that Jonathon's going to tell us about it whether we like it or not."

"A new idea?" Emma asked. "Is it as ridiculous as the South African diamond mine?"

"Much worse," said Jonathon, smiling broadly as he turned around in his seat to print off a page on his printer. "Take a look at this article," he said, grabbing the page out of the tray when it appeared and handing it to Emma.

Emma stared intently at the picture inserted into the article. "Okay," she said slowly. "I'm looking at it, but I don't know what it is."

"It's a painting, or at least a reproduction of one," said Jonathon.

"A painting?"

"Right."

"If it's a painting, it's a horrible painting," Emma said.

"Maybe not horrible..." replied Jonathon.

"Horrible enough," said Emma.

"Let me see it!" said Lizzie, grabbing the page from Emma's hands.

"Oh ick!" she said making a face. "It is horrible."

"I like to think of it as atmospheric," said Jonathon. "The painting is called 'The Hand of Doom.'"

"I believe it," said Emma, now studying the picture over Lizzie's shoulder. "Who on earth painted it?"

"An eccentric billionaire—A Mr. Samuel Diggersby," said Jonathon. "Even richer than Uncle Wart, or so I've read."

"He may be rich, Jonathon, but he's a horrible painter," said Emma, taking the page from Lizzie. "That strange arm stretching across the front of the painting and that decrepit looking hand, pointing with those bony fingers...was he trying to make it ghastly?"

"Sure," said Jonathon cheerfully. "Doom is always supposed to be ghastly, isn't it?"

"I see your point," said Emma," but I still don't think he's much of a painter. The background part is pretty nice, though. But anyway, why do you care about this painting?"

"Because I'm going to buy it. Mr. Diggersby passed away last month and there's going to be an auction that includes many of the paintings in his estate."

"That's right," said Emma. "I'm starting to remember him now. Very rich old guy who collected paintings. Some very famous paintings, right?"

"Yes, some very famous paintings worth millions of dollars," agreed Jonathon. "But he was also an amateur painter himself and some of the paintings that he created are also going to be on sale at the auction."

"And this horrible painting is one of them?" asked Lizzie.

"It sure is," said Jonathon. "And this is the one I'm going to buy."

"But why this one, Jonathon?" asked Emma. "It seems to me to be next to worthless. I mean, the guy might have had great taste when it came to buying famous paintings, but his own work seems pretty sad."

"I don't think 'sad' is the right word, Emma," said Jonathon. "I actually think that this particular painting could turn out to be very valuable."

"Wait a minute!" said Lizzie, grabbing the page from Emma. "I remember this one now. The newspaper article talked about this a lot."

"Right."

"But Jonathon...according to the newspaper, that painting's not just horrible, it's actually cursed! I mean, the newspaper article said...."

"Don't be so gullible, Lizzie. They're just trying to generate interest in the estate sale. There's nothing cursed about it."

"Well, I'm not so sure," said Emma. "If it's not cursed, it's certainly been unlucky for its owners. I read the same thing that Lizzie did. The newspaper article says that old Mr. Diggersby actually gave the painting away when he was still alive. Three times as a matter of fact."

"Maybe he was just being generous...sharing his art with his friends," said Jonathon.

"That's not what the article is implying," said Emma. "According to that article, he gave it as a gift to one of his business competitors about three years ago. Within a year, the competitor's business had completely fallen apart and the guy was left penniless."

Jonathon shrugged. "That happens in business. Could have happened to anybody."

"So old man Diggersby got the painting back," continued Emma. "And then he gave it away again...to another business competitor."

"Still being generous, of course," said Jonathon.

"And this time the guy's factory went up in flames three weeks later. Strangely enough the painting—which was hung in the lobby of the reception area—was completely untouched by the fire."

"Bad luck," said Jonathon calmly. "Let's hope the poor guy had insurance."

"So Mr. Diggersby gets the painting back again," said Emma. "And he gives it away again, this time as a Christmas gift to an Italian inventor who apparently beat Diggersby to the punch in registering some patents for an invention similar to one of his."

"Don't tell me," said Jonathon, cracking a smile, "there was a great flood and it washed away the other guy's entire operation."

"You're close," said Emma. "There was a devastating earthquake. First one in that part of Italy for five hundred years. Everything was destroyed."

"Tough luck," said Jonathon, forcing a yawn," but you can't expect me to take all this seriously...a bunch of random coincidences."

"That's not what the newspaper says," interjected Lizzie. "Some people were quoted as saying that the old miser knew his painting was cursed and he purposely gave it to people he wanted to ruin. Besides, the paper said that Diggersby's own children, when they were growing up, reported that weird and crazy things happened in the house whenever the painting was displayed in the main dining room."

Emma rolled her eyes. "Really, Lizzie? That may be a bit too much. I don't think you can really believe a story like that. I mean, I can see how that horrid painting could give somebody indigestion if they spent too much time looking at it while they were eating, but anything more than that...it's pretty difficult to believe. Does the paper say what sort of weird and crazy things happened?"

"Well, no, it doesn't," said Lizzie, quickly scanning up and down the page. "But if you combine what his kids said about the painting with all of the horrible things that happened to the former owners, you get..."

"You get the overly imaginative ravings of an underpaid newspaper reporter who is desperate to sell a few more copies of the daily edition or get a few more hits on his newspaper's website on the unlikely chance that the editors are going to give him a raise," said Jonathon, shaking his head slowly.

"So maybe that story is a little far-fetched, Jonathon, but still..." began Emma.

"Hey, look," said Jonathon, giving his shoulders a slight shrug. "I've seen the photograph. I know what it looks like. Although Diggersby was a reputable art collector who had some famous works in his collection, I know his own paintings are probably not that great. And I know that 'The Hand of Doom' is actually kind of spooky with this old, decaying hand stretched out over an old-fashioned landscape. But I have my reasons for wanting to buy it. Who knows? I might be able to get it cheap."

"That's not what the newspaper says," said Emma, shaking her head. "It says that some local art critics were projecting it to go for at least a couple of thousand."

"You're kidding," said Lizzie, staring more intently at the photograph. "I could have painted this. If this is really worth a lot of money, then I'm going to become a painter...today!"

"I don't think it will be very expensive," Jonathon said thoughtfully. "The famous paintings in his collection will have a number of bidders, but the paintings he did himself...well, let's just say that most people tend not to be too impressed by them and see them mostly as curiosities. I'm thinking that the bidding will stop at a few hundred dollars."

Emma shook her head. "But a few hundred bucks isn't exactly free, is it? I mean, if the painting is worthless, a few hundred bucks is far too much."

"True, Emma, but I have a strong hunch that this painting is more valuable than it seems to be on the surface."

"Huh?" murmured Emma. "Explain please."

"I can't. Not right now. I have more research to do. And as soon as I've completed my research, I'll explain the whole thing to you. But right now, everybody's just got to assume that I know what I'm doing."

Emma sighed. "I don't know about this, Jonathon, but I have to admit that your track record is pretty good on this sort of thing."

"Do you think Mr. Thumbs will approve the purchase, Jonathon?" asked Lizzie as she popped a wad of gum into her mouth.

"That's right," said Emma. "Your financial advisor will have to approve all such expenses...even for a few hundred dollars."

"Sure he will," said Jonathon confidently. "Old Thumbs is obligated to approve any venture I come up with as long as there's an element of risk in it—those are the terms of Uncle Wart's will. And who could deny that buying the painting of an eccentric old rich guy, who everybody thinks is a horrible painter, is a risky proposition?"

Emma smiled. "You're right of course. Mr. Thumbs will approve this because he'll think that the idea is nutty and will make you look bad. And there's nothing Thumbs would like better than making you look bad. If you prove to be an incompetent guardian of Uncle Wart's fortune, the terms of the will state that the authority to handle Wart's fortune can be taken from you and handed to his daughter, Felicia. And that's just what Thumbs wants. He wants you to fail so that Felicia can get control of Uncle Wart's money."

"Sure," said Jonathon, "because if she has control of the fortune, than he gets control of the fortune as well. And I can always rely on Mr. Thumbs to do the greedy thing."

#  Chapter Two: Mr. Thumbs and Felicia

"He's on to something, I just know it," said Mr. Thumbs as he paced quickly back and forth over the expensive Oriental rug in his study.

Felicia yawned. "Don't worry about it, Mr. Thumbs. You're giving the boy more credit than he deserves. He isn't on to anything. So he's gotten lucky once in a while with his crazy investments and they've paid off. That kind of luck can't go on forever. I'm telling you, the boy is just not that smart."

"You don't think so, Felicia? Well, Jonathon's outsmarted us more than once. And I think he's plotting something right now. I can see it in his eyes. He's smiling too much of the time."

"Look, Thumbsie, you worry too much. One of these days he's going to take a big stumble and one of his hair-brained schemes will flop miserably. And when it does, according to the conditions attached to Daddy Dearest's will, the control of Daddy's fortune will come right back to me. I'm sick of living on that lousy allowance you give me."

"It's all according to the will, Felicia. There's nothing I can do about it. Jonathon has control of your father's fortune until he makes a mistake—until one of his risky ventures fails miserably. Then, as you say, you'll become the rich one and Jonathon will have to live on the measly allowance."

"And how about his stupid sister, Lizzie? I can't stand her any more than I can stand Jonathon. Will she get an allowance?"

"A very small one, my dear. I can assure you she'll be absolutely miserable."

"That's what I want to hear! But when? When will all this happen?"

"We must be patient, Felicia. Jonathon is up to something right now, I know he is. In fact he's scheduled a meeting with me tomorrow to discuss his latest risky venture."

"Will you approve it?

"Certainly I will...if it's stupid enough and bound to fail. And with any luck at all, that's just the sort of scheme that little Jonathon will bring me."

"And when Jonathon's latest scheme fails and I get control of the money, do you know what I'm going to do, Thumbsie?"

Mr. Thumbs broke into a conniving smile. "I think I can guess, dear Felicia, that it has something to do with the beach."

"Yes! That's it exactly," said Felicia, bouncing enthusiastically to her feet. "I'm going to buy myself some wonderful beachfront property on some tropical island somewhere and I'm going to swim and get a tan, and buy fun little things at all of the island's best shops, and get a tan, and swim and..."

"Yes, yes," interrupted Mr. Thumbs, "I think I get the idea."

Felicia collapsed into a nearby chair, a satisfied expression on her face. "And how about you, Thumbsie? What are you going to buy once we get our hands on Daddy's fortune?"

"Really, Felicia," Mr. Thumbs said in his most dignified voice. "I don't think it would be appropriate for me to..."

"Oh, Thumbsie! Don't be such a wet blanket! We're having fun here...dreaming about all the things we're going to do when we get rich. You must have some dreams...something you've always wanted to do."

Mr. Thumbs sighed and sank further into the sofa. Then his eyes perked up. "A sports car! That's what I always wanted! Something red, sleek...and Italian."

Felicia grinned at him. "Are you sure you're not talking about a new girlfriend?"

Mr. Thumbs sighed again. "A man of my age? No. My desires are simpler than that. Give me a sports car—an Alpha Romeo perhaps. And maybe one of those vintage muscle cars on the side...you know, for trips to the supermarket and things like that."

"You are a scream, Thumbsie. But I really don't think you'd look that good riding in a convertible. I mean, maybe if you had a little more hair."

Mr. Thumbs cracked a thin smile. "When you're driving down the street in a red convertible, my dear, it doesn't matter how you look. It matters only how you think you look. And I can imagine myself quite the dashing fellow. And who can tell? I might find a dashing young Italian lady who thinks the same way."

"Good luck to you on that one, Thumbsie. But if we want any of this to happen, we've got to stay one step ahead of Jonathon. Do you think you can do that?"

"Young lady, I promise that I will have Jonathon completely under my control. Yes, he's bright enough for a young kid and he's had his successes, but we both know that in the long run he can't match wits with someone of my experience."

"I sure hope you're right about that because we have a lot riding on it."

"I'm telling you, Felicia, this won't even be a problem. I'm meeting with him tomorrow morning and I'll have outwitted him by dinner time."

# Chapter Three: Meeting with Mr. Thumbs

Jonathon slowly closed the cover of his tablet. The Philadelphia Art Institute's website provided images of some of their most famous paintings and prints and the more he studied them, the more confident he was about his new idea.

But here he was—plotting and scheming again. It was too bad that it always seemed to come down to this...always looking for a way to outsmart Mr. Thumbs and Felicia. Jonathon knew that, in the end, he could always figure out a way to win the little game they were playing. It's just that sometimes he wished he could take a break from the competition.

Jonathon tried to think kind thoughts about Felicia and the solicitor. He kept telling himself that Thumbs was only doing his job...doing what his uncle had engaged him to do before Uncle Wart had passed away—to make sure that Uncle's money was being used wisely after his departure.

But somehow Jonathon couldn't really make himself see it that way. Thumbs seemed to go out of his way to make Jonathon's life miserable...and sometimes worse. There was no doubt that Thumbs had completely allied himself with Felicia and there was even less doubt that Felicia was out to get him...to wrestle the control of Uncle's fortune away from Jonathon and to throw him and his sister out on the street.

He really couldn't blame Felicia—not completely. After all, she had planned on being the sole beneficiary of Uncle Wart's fortune when he died. As far as she was concerned, Jonathon and his sister were just unwanted intruders. They had no business stepping in and coming between her and her father's money. Jonathon and his sister were just a nephew and a niece to Uncle Wart and Felicia was his actual daughter. And it wasn't as if Uncle Wart hadn't loved his daughter. It was just that he had known her very well. And among the things he had known about her was that she was an irresponsible, selfish and completely ruthless human being.

As for Jonathon, well, he and Uncle Wart had never had a particularly warm and fuzzy relationship. But for some reason he knew that Uncle Wart had liked him. He had told Jonathon's father on more than one occasion that 'the boy has a head on his shoulder.' To that, Jonathon's father would usually smile and reply with 'Well, his sister's got a pretty nice head, too.' But Uncle Wart had never made much of a connection with Lizzie and that's why he had left the complete control of his fortune to Jonathon alone. And of course that drove Felicia absolutely crazy.

But although Felicia might have been a little bit crazy, she wasn't stupid. And she had been plotting devious ways in which she could grab control of Uncle's fortune from Jonathon since the day the will was read. Jonathon knew that she represented a serious threat to him and he had to be aware of her at all times.

As far as Mr. Thumbs was concerned, Jonathon was never quite sure if he was just naturally evil himself or just appeared that way because he had been bribed into working with Felicia (who was obviously an evil genius of the first rank). If Thumbs had been working for a better person, would he himself have been less obnoxious? Jonathon wasn't sure. He knew that he should probably give Thumbs the benefit of the doubt but, since the man was always trying to spoil Jonathon's plans and trying to make him fail, he found that hard to do.

And what about his sister, Lizzie? He knew that Lizzie missed their parents terribly, but she always acted as if she didn't care about that or anything else. She had her friends, whom she was constantly texting. She had her favorite TV shows and she had her music, although Jonathon was always a little puzzled by her musical tastes, which seem to revolve around edgy death rockers from the 90s. He supposed it was her form of rebellion—to listen to music that almost everyone else hated.

It wasn't that Lizzie wasn't clever. She was as smart as anybody he knew. But she refused to show it in any way that people might notice. It was almost as if she was trying to be as superficial as possible as a defense against feeling anything too strongly. Jonathon thought that was sort of sad, but he knew that people had to develop their own strategies for getting through tough times. And even though both Jonathon and Lizzie now lived comfortable lives in Uncle Wart's fancy mansion, there was no use in trying to pretend that things hadn't been very rough in many ways since their parents had died.

And then there was Emma Wang, his and Lizzie's tutor. Jonathon could never quite figure Emma out. She was a great tutor and had helped Jonathon and Lizzie in any number of ways since she had taken residence in Uncle Wart's house as their live-in teacher. In some ways, Jonathon and Lizzie would have liked to go to a regular school like most other kids. But Uncle Wart's will had not allowed that. So Jonathon and Lizzie were stuck at home all by themselves on most days. But Emma did what she could to make their lives not only bearable but actually interesting. They were forever going on field trips together and Emma seemed to have a million different ways of making learning fun...or at least almost fun.

But despite Emma's efforts, Jonathon still felt alone a lot of the time. Lizzie had some good friends that she managed to sneak in when Mr. Thumbs (who did not, on the whole, believe in friends) wasn't looking. But it had been more difficult for Jonathon. He just wasn't as naturally outgoing as Lizzie and, as a result, didn't really have any close friends who might just drop in on the mansion when they were bored.

In fact, in many ways Emma was his best friend. She was the one who was easiest to talk to. He knew that it was pathetic to have your tutor as your best friend and at some point he knew he had to get out there and make some other friends. But for now, it seemed okay to rely just on Emma.

And Emma was so calm, she helped him relax. He wasn't sure how she could be so mellow when it seemed that Mr. Thumbs was breathing down everyone's neck all the time, but if Emma resented Mr. Thumbs, she never showed it. And Emma was kind to Felicia, too, even though Felicia didn't show her face very often in Jonathon's and Lizzie's part of the mansion. Emma, of course, was fully aware of the fact that Felicia and Mr. Thumbs were always plotting against Jonathon and Lizzie, but for some reason she never got too upset about it. Even when Emma was helping Jonathon pull off one of his crazy schemes, she never seemed to get too excited. And that was great, because Lizzie had a tendency to get real excited—too excited—whenever Jonathon enlisted her in one of his plots. But not Emma—cool as a cucumber at all times.

And this was one of those times when he thought he could borrow some of that coolness. Mr. Thumbs would get here any minute—Jonathon had arranged an appointment with him to get permission to buy the Diggersby painting—and no matter how hard he tried, Jonathon always seemed to get a little nervous when talking to Thumbs. Of course that was probably because Jonathon was almost always trying to put one over on Thumbs and was worried that he might give the game away. So far, Jonathon had been able to outsmart him every time, but you could never be sure. He knew that Thumbs didn't trust him and was getting more and more skeptical of his plans. Still, he was fairly confident that he could once again keep Thumbs in the dark about his latest ploy.

Just then, Mr. Thumbs strode briskly into the room, his expensive lawyer's suit somewhat rumpled from the nap he had just been taking.

"Jonathon, my boy!" said Mr. Thumbs, his jolly tone dripping with insincerity.

Jonathon nodded. "Mr. Thumbs, I have a proposition for you."

"Oh, lovely!" said Mr. Thumbs, his eyes widening at the thought.

"A business proposition. I think it's time that I launch another of those risky ventures that Uncle Wart was so fond of."

"A splendid idea! You will recall that according to the terms of your dear uncle's will, you are to undertake no fewer than four risky ventures each year. And, also according to the terms of the will, you must profit handsomely by each of them. Or else..."

Jonathon sighed. "Yes, Mr. Thumbs. I understand the terms of the will very clearly. Or else I will lose control of Uncle's millions."

"And they will pass instead to..."

"Yes, to Felicia. I understand perfectly. Now let's get down to business. I propose to attend the upcoming art auction at the Diggersby mansion and, at that auction, to purchase a painting."

Thumbs looked puzzled. "But Jonathon, my boy, I'm not sure I see the risk in that. My understanding is that the Diggersby collection features many famous and valuable paintings. Buying a painting of that sort hardly constitutes a risk."

"No," replied Jonathon coolly. "I suppose it doesn't, but I intend to purchase one painted by the recently deceased Mr. Diggersby himself."

"A painting by Diggersby himself? I understand that he was a mere dabbler."

Jonathon smiled. "I realize that Diggersby's reputation as a painter was that of a not particularly talented amateur, but one of his paintings—one that was reproduced in the newspaper a couple of days ago—caught my eye."

Mr. Thumbs was almost shaking with suppressed glee. "Really? A painting by Diggersby caught your eye? And you intend to bid on it at the auction?"

"Exactly."

"Well, that's delightful...I mean," said Mr. Thumbs as he tried to shift into a more serious tone of voice, "how interesting, I mean to say."

"Yes, it is, isn't it?" Jonathon replied cheerfully. "And I'm sure it will meet Uncle Wart's criterion of taking a risk. Wouldn't you agree?"

"A risk? Why it's frankly absurd..." blustered Mr. Thumbs. Quickly catching himself, his face broke into an oily smile. "What I mean, of course, is that it's an absurdly good idea. Yes, of course...one of Diggersby's paintings. And have you decided which one?"

"Oh yes. Only one of them really interests me," said Jonathon, "the one titled 'The Hand of Doom.'"

"'The Hand of Doom?'" asked Mr. Thumbs, his breaths starting to come in short gasps.

"Sure. Why not?" Jonathon replied coolly. "I thought it had a lot of depth and emotional intensity...you know— the sort of painting that might be worth a lot of money someday."

"But isn't that painting supposed to be haunted or possessed, or something else dangerous?"

Jonathon yawned. "Of course not... just an old fairy tale. But if its bad reputation keeps the bidding down, that's okay with me."

Mr. Thumbs narrowed his eyes. Although a little startled by Jonathon's choice, he was now thinking that it could work to his advantage. "Well, if you say so, Jonathon. How much are you willing to spend?"

"I figure it might go for a few hundred...you know—as a curiosity."

"I see. Well, I'll approve a bid of up to one thousand dollars for the painting."

"Great, Mr. Thumbs! I appreciate your cooperation," said Jonathon happily, grabbing and shaking Thumbs' hand briefly before sprinting out of the room.

Mr. Thumbs remained in the room alone, slowly shaking his head. "That boy is an even greater fool than I thought he was," he said to himself as his face erupted into a wide grin.

# Chapter Four: Plotting with Felicia

Felicia paced quickly back and forth in her large living room. Her apartments within the Wart mansion were extremely luxurious but, as usual, she wasn't happy. Quickly, she turned on her heels and faced Mr. Thumbs, who had been sitting quietly on the sofa looking at his phone.

"So what do you think?" barked Felicia.

Mr. Thumbs looked up, somewhat startled. "What do I think about what?"

"About Jonathon, of course. What the heck is he up to now? What's his latest crazy scheme?"

Mr. Thumbs' face broke into a devious smile. "I can tell you what he told me and, if it's true, his latest scheme is almost miraculously stupid. In fact, I had to fight to keep my eyes from tearing up in joy when I realized what he was up to. Jonathon's new investment idea is absolutely ridiculous and absolutely bound to fail."

"So don't leave me in suspense! What's his latest plan?" asked Felicia, leaning forward eagerly.

"Our young moron has turned art critic. He wants to buy a painting done by a crazy old deceased billionaire at an estate sale."

"Really? That's unlike Jonathon. I mean, it's not unlike him to be an idiot, but I never figured him for an artsy type."

"Well, maybe that perverse little mind runs deeper than we thought."

"So what's the deal here? Why does he want to buy a painting done by a crazy old coot?"

Mr. Thumbs smiled condescendingly at Felicia. "Obviously, Felicia my dear, because he thinks it has some value, although I have no idea why he might think so."

"So this is a stupid move, right?"

"Well, it hasn't happened yet, but if he goes through with his plan and bids successfully on the painting, then—yes—it's almost certainly a stupid idea."

"So the little idiot is playing right into our hands?" said Felicia, her face brightening.

"Absolutely."

"But how can he be that stupid? I mean, what if there's some trick involved?"

Mr. Thumbs nodded slowly as he checked his cell phone. "That's always that possibility. We know we can't trust Jonathon, even when we think we know what he's up to."

Felicia stared at the floor briefly and then began to smile broadly. "I've got it! I'll go to Jonathon's stupid sister."

"You mean Lizzie?"

"Yes, that's her name! A stupid name for a stupid girl."

"And what exactly is that going to accomplish?"

"Don't you see? I'll pretend to be her friend. She'll fall for it completely. I'm older, much more glamorous and infinitely more sophisticated. She'll be thrilled to death that I'm even giving her the time of day."

Thumbs paused. "Well, I'm not so sure about that..."

"Nonsense! The girl will be beside herself with excitement! Just think of it....me! Taking time out of my busy day to pay attention to her! She'll be so eager to talk to me that she'll cough up everything she knows in the first two minutes. If Jonathon is trying to pull a fast one on us, I'll get it out of her—every detail."

"What if she refuses to talk?"

"That stupid little girl could never resist me, Thumbs. I'll tell her we'll be best friends forever. She'll eat it up! And then she'll spill her guts!"

"Maybe, but...."

"This afternoon. I'll do it this afternoon. By tonight we'll know about every little secret that Jonathon's devious little brain is planning."

Mr. Thumbs sighed. "I hope you're right about this."

Felicia beamed. "Thumbsie, dear, when have I ever not been right about something like this?"

"Well, there was the time that...."

"Never mind about that! You go and sit in your office and wait for me. I'll find out everything and get back to you before you know it."

Minutes later, Felicia came bounding into Lizzie's bedroom where she sat playing solitaire on her tablet.

"Lizzie!" Felicia cried cheerfully. "I've wanted to talk to you for ever so long!"

Lizzie looked up, her face going a little paler. "Felicia? Uh, is that you?"

"Of course it's me, Lizzie! And why shouldn't it be me? I mean, we're practically sisters!"

"Not exactly," said Lizzie quietly. "We're really just..."

"Of course we are! My dad may just have been your uncle, but I know he was like a father to you."

Lizzie winced slightly. "Actually, I never really knew your father that well..."

"And Daddy Dear used to talk about the two of you all the time. It was always Jonathon and Lizzie, Lizzie and Jonathon. Some days that's all I ever heard about. He thought of you like his own children."

"But he barely ever saw us..." began Lizzie.

"Oh, but he wanted to, Lizzie. He wanted to. I can't tell you how many times he would come up to me and say, 'Now Felicia, I want you to be just like a sister to Lizzie—the sweet adorable younger sister you never had. You know how fond I am of Lizzie, he would say. Why, you two could be BFFs...you know you could."

"But..."

"I know what you're thinking, Lizzie. I'm so much older, more cosmopolitan, more attractive, uh, I mean, more sophisticated. So why would a dazzling young lady like me want to befriend a mere girl like you?"

Lizzie's eyebrows lifted. "Yeah, I was kind of wondering about that."

Felicia tried to look serious. "Well, I'll tell you, Lizzie. It's for Dad. It was my dearest father's last wish before he..."

"Cut you out of his will?" interrupted Lizzie.

"No, no! Not that! This is not about his will! What do I care about money? This is about honoring my father's last request."

"If you say so, but..."

"Now Lizzie, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that we don't have a lot in common. But we do! We both like art. You like art don't you, Lizzie?"

"I guess so...sort of...but..."

"And you and Jonathon will be going to that art auction in a couple of days, right?"

Lizzie nodded.

"So I think it would be great if we could combine our efforts, right? You just tell me what you and Jonathon will be bidding on and maybe I could help you buy it. I mean, you and Jonathon might have trouble at the auction. It's possible that the auctioneer won't even notice a couple of young kids like you. You might never even be able to get a bid in. Now me, on the other hand...I'm much older and they probably know who I am, so you know that they'll take me seriously."

"I guess so."

"Of course. I can be a great help to you and Jonathon. So how about it? You fill me in on what you're going to bid for and I'll help you get what you want."

Lizzie paused. "Maybe I should talk to Jonathon first."

"No, no! You don't have to talk to Jonathon. This is just between us...it's a girl thing, remember? You know...like sisters. It'll be our secret."

Lizzie smiled. "Sure, I guess so. But it's not like it's a secret. Jonathon told me that we're going to bid on 'The Hand of Doom.' He showed me a picture of it in the newspaper. Personally, I didn't think too much of it but Jonathon knows more about that stuff than I do."

Felicia squinted at Lizzie. "Really? Are you sure about that? That's really the painting that he's going to bid on?"

Lizzie smiled. "Yep. That's what Jonathon told me."

"And he hasn't changed his mind?"

"Not that I know of."

"Mmm," said Felicia. "I suppose it's possible. But if he changes his mind you'll be sure to let me know, right?"

Lizzie nodded her head eagerly. "Oh, absolutely! You'll be the first person I'll tell."

"Terrific!" Felicia said eagerly and breezed out of Lizzie's room.

Lizzie hurried to Jonathon's room.

"You won't believe it," she said as she bounced into her brother's room.

"Exactly what is it that I won't believe?" said Jonathon, looking up from his desk.

"Felicia came to see me, just a few minutes ago."

"What do you mean, came to see you? Does she even know who you are?"

"She knows I'm your sister and that's all she needed to know."

"Wow! I almost can't believe it. Tell me what happened."

"She just came strolling into my bedroom. I'm surprised she even knew where in this huge house it was. Anyway, she comes in all bubbly and tells me that she's decided that she and I should be best buddies."

"Buddies?"

"BFFs. She said it herself. Those words actually came out of her mouth."

"Why would the two of you become great friends?"

"Because that's what her daddy—Uncle Wart—wanted."

"Hold on, this is getting stranger by the minute. Her father—Uncle Wart—wanted her to be your friend? But if it wasn't for us, she would have inherited Uncle Wart's entire fortune. She's hated us ever since we moved into this house."

Lizzie smiled. "Not now. Now we're great friends. Oh, there's one more thing. She wanted me to tell her what painting you're really going to bid on at the auction."

"Oh, I see. She's trying to be your bud so you'll reveal our little secrets. And she clearly doesn't believe that I'm going to bid on 'The Hand of Doom.'"

"Nope. I think she and Mr. Thumbs thinks that it's too crazy to be true."

Jonathon nodded his head thoughtfully. "Very interesting. That's probably a good thing. If they think we're going to bid on some different painting, they're less likely to get in our way."

"Okay, so how do we keep them guessing?"

"I'm not sure, Lizzie, but I'm confident I can come up with something. Thanks for letting me know about this."

"No problem, Jonathon. I'll let you know if my new best friend comes up with any new questions."

Later that afternoon, Felicia pranced happily into Mr. Thumbs' office.

"Well, I've done it," she announced cheerfully "I've befriended the little idiot."

"Lizzie? Excellent! What have you discovered?"

"Believe it or not, he really intends to bid on that 'Hand of Doom' painting, just like Jonathon said."

"Really? So he's really that stupid, is he?"

"Of course. They're just two stupid kids. They can't begin to match wits with two sophisticated adults like us."

Thumbs put his hand to his chin. "Maybe...but I'm still not absolutely convinced."

"You're not?"

"No. And I've already taken some additional steps to make sure we can stay on top of things."

Felicia's eyes brightened. "Oh, goody, Thumbsie! I love it when you make devious plans!"

"And these are among my most devious, even if I do say so myself," said Mr. Thumbs, chortling softly to himself. "I'll soon be able to tell you exactly what he's up to because I've placed a digital listening device into one of the lamps in his bedroom and one each in the living room and dining room as well, so I'll be able to hear every word he says."

"You did?" said Felicia, throwing herself into a nearby chair. "That's great! Let's hope the little bugger doesn't notice it."

Thumbs looked hard at Felicia. "Uh, Felicia, you do realize that I'm the bugger right? I mean...I'm bugging Jonathon and..."

"Oh never mind! The point is that we've got to fool him. He can't catch on to our plan."

"No fear of that. He won't. All of the listening devices are cleverly hidden. There's not a chance in the world that he'll find out what we're up to."

# Chapter Five: The Grand Deception (Part 1)

Jonathon peered intently into the chandelier over the dining room table. A small bump nestled between two of its lowest lamps. It wasn't there yesterday and it wasn't good news.

He walked quickly into the living room, scanning the area carefully with every step. There was nothing obvious, but of course something like this would never be obvious. Jonathon ran his fingers over the wainscoting that surrounded the room on three sides. Nothing. But then his eye fastened on the large portrait of Uncle Wart on the far side of the room. Sure, why not? he thought.

He carefully removed the rather large painting from the wall. And there it was...on the back of the painting, a unit about two inches wide, a small green light blinking cheerfully from its corner.

The house was bugged.

He wasn't really surprised. Jonathon had outsmarted Felicia and Mr. Thumbs so many times before that he had to figure they would do something dramatic to even up the score. And yet there was still something desperate and disgusting about this.

He stopped in his tracks for a minute. Had he said anything this morning that Thumbs or Felicia could have heard and used against him? He didn't think so. And now that he knew that the two of them were eavesdropping on him, it shouldn't be too hard to use that to his advantage.

But he had to tell Lizzie before any vital information was passed on by accident to Thumbs and Felicia. He quickly grabbed his phone and texted Lizzie to come down to the living room as soon as she could. A few minutes later, Lizzie came bounding into the room with an annoyed look on her face.

"Jonathon!" she cried. "Whatever do you want? I was right in the middle of an absolutely disgusting algebra problem and I almost had it solved. I don't know if I can psyche myself up to that level again without a lot of junk food."

Jonathon flashed Lizzie an unnaturally large smile. "Oh, I'm sure you'll do just fine, Lizzie. And how nice of you to come visit me like this...just out of the blue."

Lizzie crinkled up her face. "Huh? Jonathon, what are you talking about? You texted me, remember? About three minutes ago? You said..."

"Yes, of course I did, Lizzie," Jonathon said, turning his head to speak directly into the microphone nestled into the frame of Uncle Wart's portrait. "I just forgot."

"Forgot? Jonathon, your memory isn't always great but you can usually remember what you did three minutes ago. What's up?"

"Oh, nothing in particular. I was only thinking..."

"Well, can you think a little faster? All of a sudden, I'm starving. If I don't get into the kitchen soon, I'm going to pass out."

"Sure, sure," said Jonathon, holding up his hand to get Lizzie's attention and then pointing to the microphone hidden behind the painting.

"Jonathon, why are you pointing? And why are you being generally weird? Is there something wrong with you? I mean, you know, more than the usual stuff."

"Nothing, nothing at all wrong with me. We just need a little music, that's all," said Jonathon, quickly taking out an mp3 player and making a few clicks so that the music began to blare through the Bluetooth speaker sitting only two feet away from Uncle Wart's portrait.

"Oh, Jonathon! Please...not your horrible '70's music," moaned Lizzie. "You know I can't take that stuff."

"Now Lizzie," Jonathon bellowed loudly to be heard above the music. "We both know the best punk bands were from the '70s."

Lizzie rolled her eyes. "Jonathon! I hate it when you pretend to know anything about music. You know that you have no taste whatsoever."

"Well, I don't have your taste..." began Jonathon.

"That's what I said!" shouted Lizzie. "So could you please turn that stuff down?"

"Down?" bellowed Jonathon. "You don't mean down, you mean up." Jonathon walked over to the speaker and turned it up even louder.

Lizzie shook her head. "Okay, that's it. I'm not going to stay here just to be tortured by bad '70s music. You texted me, you know. I...."

"Yes of course! Don't go yet! Just come over here," Jonathon said, gesturing her over to a far corner of the room.

Lizzie rolled her eyes again. "I'll do whatever I have to do to make all of this stop," she moaned.

As soon as Lizzie was close enough, Jonathon grabbed her by the arm and whispered loudly in her ear. "Don't say anything, but the room is bugged. I had to turn the music up so the microphone wouldn't pick up our conversation."

"Bugged? What do you mean, bugged?"

"Exactly what I said. I assume that we have Mr. Thumbs and Felicia to thank for this latest invasion of privacy."

"Why that's disgusting!" cried Lizzie loudly. "I won't put up with this!"

Jonathon shushed her quickly. "Could you be indignant a little more quietly? I don't want them to know that we know that they're bugging us."

Lizzie looked puzzled. "But they already know they're bugging us."

Jonathon nodded. "Of course, but it's better that they think we don't know it. Here, come on outside into the backyard with me and we can talk normally."

Lizzie grinned. "Come off it, Jonathon, You never talk normally."

"Just come," he said, leading her forcefully through the kitchen and out into the backyard.

Once outside, Lizzie's anger ballooned. "Really, Jonathon, I'm not dealing with this. I'm going to have it out with those two right now. You know, I never expected Felicia to really like us...I mean, she must think that we're the reason that she can't control her daddy's millions."

"And that's true, of course," Jonathon said calmly. "We are the reason she can't control her father's fortune. Or at least I am."

"Well, so what? We never asked for all of this. I never asked to live in this mansion, cut off from all my friends and never allowed to do anything. And Uncle Wart's money never really does me any good."

"Except for the allowance you get."

"So what? What teenager doesn't get some sort of allowance? I'm saying that if Mom and Dad were still here..."

"Yes, I know. It would all be very different. But that's just something that you and I have got to live with."

"And what about Thumbs?" said Lizzie. "Why does he hate us? He's supposed to be our guardian and financial advisor. Why is he always against us?"

Jonathon sighed. "Because he thinks he can get a better deal if Felicia has control of Uncle Wart's millions, I guess. That's why he's plotted against us from the beginning, even though he pretends to be friendly to us."

"I don't call planting bugs in our living room very friendly."

"That's why I said 'pretends' to be friendly. But he can't really do us much harm—and neither can Felicia—as long as we keep outsmarting them. And we can do that better if they pick up false info from us through their precious little hidden microphones."

"Oh, I get it," said Lizzie, nodding her head enthusiastically. "Let them think that they know what we're doing, but then we really do something else."

"Exactly! And that starts with the upcoming art auction."

"Jonathon, are you really going through with that art auction thing—you know, bidding on the scary painting by old man Diggersby? Isn't it taking a huge chance?"

"Sure it's taking a chance. But I've got to take chances according to the terms of Uncle's will. I have a hunch about this one, though. I think that 'The Hand of Doom' might turn out to be a very valuable painting."

"But I saw another picture of that horrid thing online. Nothing about that monstrosity could be valuable. It's ugly, it's scary..."

"And don't forget haunted—everybody says that painting is haunted."

"Okay, it's ugly, scary and haunted! Old man Diggersby was a terrible painter and that one has to be his worst."

"Maybe it is and maybe it isn't, but I'm not interested in it for how well it's painted."

"Why else would you be interested in it? Because it's ugly? Because of the curse?"

Jonathon smiled. "I don't really believe in the curse, Lizzie, and that's not why I want the painting anyway."

"So why in the world would you want it?"

"I can't quite tell you that until I confirm something. And I can't do that until the three of us—Emma, you and me—take an informative little tour of the Art Institute."

"You've got to be kidding."

"No, it'll be fun. We're going tomorrow morning. You'll like it, even though you probably won't admit it."

Lizzie responded with an over-the-top eye roll. "There's no way that..."

"Look, Lizzie," said Jonathon more earnestly. "We've got to do this in order for me to test out my theory. It's important."

Lizzie sighed dramatically. "Well, alright. If it's absolutely necessary."

"It is. But there's something else that's necessary right now. I have to lay down a false clue for Felicia and Thumbs. Since they've taken the trouble of bugging the living room, I'm going to feed them some new information to think about."

"But it'll be false?"

"Of course it'll be false. And it'll throw them off the track just enough to make things interesting."

"So how are we going to do that?"

"Come back inside with me. We'll sit on the sofa by Uncle Wart's picture—that's where one of the microphone bugs is placed—and just follow my lead."

Back inside the house, Jonathon spoke up loudly into Thumbs' hidden microphone. "So you see, Lizzie, I told Mr. Thumbs that I'm interested in the 'Hand of Doom' painting, but that's not really the one I'm going to bid on."

"Really, Jonathon?" Lizzie said loudly. "Which one are you really going to bid on?"

"A clever little painting by old Diggersby called 'The Acorn Rising.'"

Lizzie wrinkled up her nose at Jonathon and shook her head. "What are you talking about?"

Jonathon smiled back at her and moved even closer to Uncle Wart's painting and the hidden microphone behind it. "It hasn't gotten as much publicity as 'The Hand of Doom' but I think it's got great potential. It shows a little acorn becoming a mighty oak tree."

"And you think that's got potential?" questioned Lizzie.

"Sure I do. So that's the one I'm really going to bid on. I'm sure I'll be able to make a great profit on it when I resell it," said Jonathon, gesturing energetically for Lizzie to play along.

"If you say so, Jonathon," said Lizzie, now getting into the spirit of things. "You're always right about these things."

"Great! I'm glad you agree. I can't wait for the auction to begin!"

Minutes later, Mr. Thumbs paced energetically back and forth in front of Felicia, eagerly rubbing his hands together.

"The word 'moron' is no longer suitable for describing Jonathon Wart," he said gleefully. "No, it simply doesn't do him justice. The fact is he's much stupider than any moron you could ever imagine."

Felicia crossed her arms impatiently. "Thumbsie, what are you talking about?"

"He's been playing us, Felicia. That sneaky little Jonathon has been playing us."

"How? How has he been playing us?"

"It's just as I suspected. He told me that he was going to bid on 'The Hand of Doom' but he's not. He's got a different painting by Diggersby in mind."

"Really?"

"Absolutely. The little fool was explaining it all to his dim-witted sister and it was picked up by the microphones I so skillfully placed around the room."

"So you actually heard him say that he was going to bid on a different painting?"

"Yes, it's called 'The Acorn Rising.' It sounds stupid but I'm beginning to think that Jonathon may know something I don't. Maybe this 'Acorn Rising' painting is really valuable. After all, why would he try to mislead us into thinking he was going to bid on 'The Hand of Doom' if this other painting wasn't worth even more?"

"Maybe he's just being dense."

"Possibly, but I can't take that chance."

"So what are you going to do?"

"I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to go to the auction myself—in disguise of course—and bid on the 'Acorn' painting."

"So how does that help us?"

"Don't you see? I'll bid the price up so high that he won't be able to afford it with the thousand dollars that I've authorized him to spend. Then he won't have the painting he really wants, we will."

"Mmm," Felicia said. "I sure hope you know what you're doing."

Mr. Thumbs smiled smugly. "Don't give it another thought, Felicia. The kid won't know what hit him and we'll be in possession of a very valuable painting."

# Chapter Six: To the Art Institute

"Are you ready, Lizzie?" said Jonathon, pouring an over-sized bowl of cereal for himself the next morning. "Today's the big day."

"What big day?" mumbled Lizzie, wiping the sleepiness out of her eyes as she walked slowly into the kitchen.

"Our visit to the Art Institute of course! Remember? I told you all about it. I've got to check out a theory of mine."

Lizzie groaned loudly. "Oh, no! I was so sure you'd forget all about it."

"Me? Forget something this important? Of course not. It'll be good for you."

"Nothing like a trip to the Art Institute should ever be in the same sentence as the word 'good.'"

"You'll feel differently when you get there."

"Impossible, because I won't ever get there."

"Actually, you will. We're leaving in a couple of hours. Emma's already scored us three passes. There's a special exhibit of paintings by the French Impressionists and also some neat things by Constable and some other people you'll like."

"Please, Jonathon! What did I ever do to you?"

"Would you like a chronological or alphabetical list?"

Lizzie moaned. "But this is worse...far worse than anything I could ever have done."

"It'll be great. We're leaving right at 10:00 so be on time!"

At exactly 10:20, Lizzie, Jonathon and Emma found themselves walking up the long stone steps leading up to the impressive front facade of the Philadelphia Art Institute.

"My gosh, this place is huge," said Lizzie as she, Jonathon and Emma made their way toward the front door of the Institute.

"Yes, isn't it marvelous?" said Emma cheerfully. "The architecture is Greek-inspired. In fact it's sort of like the Parthenon."

"Huh?" grunted Lizzie

Emma smiled. "It's a famous building from Ancient Greece."

"Yeah, but this is so big it's going take us forever to get through it," said Lizzie, a pained expression crossing her face.

"It's too big to see everything in one day," said Jonathon. "We're only going to take a look at a few things."

"Which things?" asked Lizzie. "Will it take long?"

"We thought we'd stop in and take a look at the French Impressionists," said Emma as they walked into the large lobby. "It's over here to the right."

"You mean you've been here before?" Lizzie asked.

"Oh sure, lots of times," replied Emma. "Jonathon too. We've visited the place at least three or four times before."

"Three or four times?" said Lizzie. "Where was I?"

"We always asked you if you wanted to come," said Emma. "You were never interested before."

"I'm not sure I'm interested now," said Lizzie.

"Oh, come on, Lizzie," said Jonathon. "Keep an open mind. It'll be fun."

Emma led the way as Jonathon and Lizzie walked into a large room with a series of colorful paintings stacked up in two rows.

"So what am I looking at?" asked Lizzie, folding her arms across her chest.

"French Impressionists from the early twentieth century," said Jonathon. "Don't you love the colors?"

"Mmm," said Lizzy. "Seems a little confusing to me. Looks like sloppy drawing."

"Not sloppy," Emma said. "The loose brushstrokes were an important part of their style...made them stand out from earlier artists who were painting in the Romantic style."

"Really?" said Lizzie. "I just don't get it. I mean, it just doesn't look like much of anything."

"Which one are you looking at, Lizzie?" asked Emma, walking over to join her in front of a large canvas by Monet. "Is this the one, Monet's 'Poplars on the Bank of the Epte River'"?

"I guess so, but it's just so...I don't know...foggy. Is it just a bunch of trees?"

"Sure," replied Emma, "with their reflections in the water. I think it's a beautiful use of subtle colors."

"Maybe, but they don't really look like trees...they're too fuzzy."

"That's one of the neat things about Impressionism, Lizzy. The artist is just giving a quick glance of a scene, a fleeting impression rather than a precise image."

"Yeah, I guess, but..."

"Not everything has to look like a photograph," said Jonathon. "Sometimes things look more interesting if the artist uses his or her imagination to reveal them."

"Huh?"

"Come into the next gallery with me," said Jonathon. "I want to show you somebody who had a great imagination."

They walked quickly into the next gallery, full of works by Marcel Duchamp.

"Here's another French artist, from a little bit later than the Impressionists," Emma said.

Lizzie glanced quickly at a half-dozen works by Duchamp.

"All right, I don't get these at all, especially the tall one over there," she said, pointing to a rectangular painting titled 'Nude Descending a Staircase (No. 1).'

Emma smiled. "That's a particularly famous one."

"Famous for what? Looking like any kid could do it?"

"I'm not sure too many kids could have done this one, Lizzie. It was a very fresh idea when Duchamp came up with it," Emma said.

"What idea? It looks like a shaking robot. It doesn't make any sense," said Lizzie, squinting hard at the painting.

"It's not a regular portrait of some person, Lizzie. The artist is trying to show what a figure in motion looks like."

"By making him look like a blurry robot?"

"A lot of painters were experimenting with reducing human shapes to geometric ones in the early twentieth century," said Emma. "In this case he's using something like a freeze-frame camera technique."

"Why?" whined Lizzie. "Why would anyone want to do that?"

"It's just a fresh, new take on an old theme."

"Yeah, well, I don't see it. Did Duchamp ever paint anything I could recognize?"

"Some of his works aren't paintings at all," said Emma. "They're more like new concepts than conventional paintings."

"Do you mean like that thing hanging on a hook over in the corner?" said Lizzie, pointing to a dangling object about ten feet away. "It looks like a Christmas tree ornament."

"That's a great example," Emma said excitedly.

"Of what?"

Emma walked Lizzie closer to the object. "It's called '50 cc of Paris Air.'"

"Now I know this is all a joke," said Lizzie, shaking her head slowly. "So that little thing is full of air from Paris...and that makes it art?"

Emma nodded vigorously. "It's art in this case because it was a brand new concept—bottling up air like that—and putting it in a museum automatically makes it art."

"That makes no sense."

"It makes some sense. It's a unique idea and groundbreaking art is usually based on new ideas."

"That's not an idea. It's a non-idea."

"Being outrageous is sometimes part of the idea. It's an artistic movement called Dadaism."

"You're kidding. What does that mean?"

"Nothing much. It's not a real word."

"Why Dadaism? Why not Mamaism. Or Sisterism? I could invent that and become famous."

"You could try," said Jonathon, trying to hide a smirk.

Emma nodded her head. "I think Duchamp was trying to make a point about what makes something art."

"Which this isn't," insisted Lizzie.

"Well, that's the point," said Emma. "If you take an object and display it in a museum like it's a work of art, that sort of makes it a work of art."

"But what if it's not artistic? It's just somebody's stupid idea."

"Doesn't matter. You expect to see art displayed in a museum, right? So anything you see displayed in a museum, you think of as art. Get it?"

"That's just dumb. So if I go over there and break open that stupid little ornament, and then I breathe the 'Paris' air inside that bottle, am I a work of art then? You know....the girl who breathed the French air? I could stand right over there by the empty bottle...sort of like a live statue."

"If you go over there, break open the 'ornament,' as you call it, and breathe the Paris air, I'm pretty sure the guards will go over there and take you away," Jonathon said.

"Take me where?"

Jonathon shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. The police station maybe? For defacing a work of art."

"But I wouldn't have defaced it. I would just have breathed it."

"Probably the same thing in this case. Anyway, don't try it. I don't want to have to bail my sister out of jail."

"Alright," said Lizzie, shaking her head in disbelief. "I've had it. My brain can't take any more of this. Are we done now?"

"Just about," said Emma. "We're going to make a quick stop in the European section. Remember, Jonathon wants to check out the Constable collection."

"Please make it stop," moaned Lizzie.

Emma smiled. "Twenty minutes more and we're done, I promise."

Two minutes later, Lizzie and Jonathon were standing in front of a series of large paintings by John Constable.

Lizzie nodded her head slowly. "You know, these aren't quite as terrible."

"Glad we finally found something you like," said Jonathon.

"I didn't actually say I liked this guy. I just don't hate him as much. At least this stuff doesn't look like any kid could do it."

Emma gazed admiringly at the paintings. "Constable is one of the greatest English landscape artists of the nineteenth century. I love these paintings."

"They're nice, I guess, if you like cows. But there's something strangely familiar about them."

Jonathon nodded his head slowly. "Yes, there is, isn't there?"

Emma chuckled. "So you don't think you could have painted these yourself, Lizzie?"

Lizzie squinted at the closest painting for a few seconds. "No, Probably not. But if I had, I would have put a little more action in them."

"Action? What sort of action?" asked Emma.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe a bunch of horses running around?"

"You and horses," said Jonathon. "You've asked for a pony every Christmas since you were three years old."

"I haven't gotten one yet, have I? So what's wrong with asking? Besides, everybody knows that horses are better than stupid cows."

Jonathon shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. They're probably about the same. Besides, that's not the point. I think that these are very interesting paintings. I'm going to take a photo of a couple of them."

"The guard may not like it," said Lizzie.

"They only care about flashes and I'm not going to use one," Jonathon said, clicking the button on his phone.

"Whatever. Have we seen enough now? We've been here for hours," moaned Lizzie.

"We've been here for about forty-five minutes. But sure, we can be done. What do you say we hit the cafeteria?"

"Thank God! Pizza!"

"Probably not. This is a high-class museum, you know. You may have to settle for something more elegant."

"Who cares? I just want to rest my eyes. I'm not used to looking at things so hard!"

Jonathon smiled. "You're such a brave girl. I promise I won't try to improve your mind again for a couple of days."

"Very funny. So which way is the cafeteria?"

# Chapter Seven: The Grand Deception (Part 2)

Two days later, Jonathon and Lizzie walked slowly into a large, luxurious-looking meeting room in one of Philadelphia's fanciest hotels. It was the day of the big auction and some of Diggersby's painting lined the walls, an attempt by the auctioneers to stir up interest.

Jonathon was still taking in the room when Emma approached him, a big smile on her face.

"So this is the place?" she said cheerfully. "Pretty fancy, I must admit, considering that Diggersby wasn't much of an artist."

"No, I suppose not," replied Jonathon, "but don't forget that Diggersby also owned a lot of famous paintings by major artists and some of those will be auctioned off today as well."

Lizzie sighed. "How long before 'The Hand of Doom' is up for sale? That's the only one you're going to bid on, right Jonathon?"

"Right, but don't forget the other part of our plan, Lizzie. I need you to bid on that other painting, 'The Acorn Rising.' And don't forget to wear that veil that Emma gave you. I don't want anyone, especially Thumbs or Felicia, to recognize you."

"Actually," said Emma, "I think you look pretty cute in that outfit...the long black dress and veil...no one would ever know it was you."

Lizzie groaned. "But veils are really dumb. Who wears a veil? Nobody's worn them for a hundred years!"

"Doesn't matter," said Jonathon. "The plan is for you to look like a young heiress in disguise who's bidding on this fascinating painting. Thumbs will be bidding against you for the painting because he'll figure it must be valuable or I wouldn't be interested in it."

"But you're not even going to be there and I don't have any money, Jonathon. What if I win the bid?"

"You won't win it. Just bid the price up as high as you can and when Thumbs seems to be slowing down, you drop out."

Lizzie rolled her eyes. "I'm really not at all sure about this."

"You don't have to be. You'll be fine. Remember, you don't even have to speak."

Jonathon handed Lizzie a placard with a small handle on it. "Here's your bidding card. You're bidder no. 12. Every time you want to raise the bid, you just flash your card so that the auctioneer can see it. Good luck and be sure to keep that veil covering your face so no one recognizes you."

Emma patted Lizzie supportively on the back. "You'll be great, Lizzie. Jonathon's schemes almost always work."

Lizzie gave Emma a pained look.

"Well, they sometimes work," said Emma. "And besides, look at all this! This is really exciting!"

"Have you ever been to an auction before, Emma?" asked Jonathon.

"Nothing this fancy," Emma replied, taking in all the paintings on the wall. "Nothing with so many famous paintings that are going to go for big bucks."

Jonathon nodded. "I noticed that one of the famous paintings supposedly in Diggersby's collection isn't listed in the catalogue to be auctioned off today."

"Oh, really?" Emma said. "Something you expected to see?"

"Well, I didn't completely expect it. It was a little known painting by Constable."

"Constable? The English painter you were so interested in at the Art Institute the other day?"

"Right."

"Even a little known painting by Constable has got to be worth a fortune, doesn't it?"

"Absolutely, but we're apparently not going to get a chance to see it in this auction."

"I guess not." Emma paused for a moment, glaring intently into Jonathon's face. "Jonathon, did you know about this in advance?"

Jonathon smiled coyly. "I wasn't sure, of course, but it all fits into my theory."

"Which is?"

"Can't quite explain it yet, Emma. There are too many loose ends. As soon as I'm sure I'm right, I'll let you know."

Emma glanced quickly around the room as a number of people began to file in. "I think they'll be starting soon."

"Right!" said Jonathon cheerfully. "Time for you and me to disappear, Emma. Lizzie, you're on your own."

Lizzie moaned quietly. "Why can't you be the one to bid on this stupid 'Acorn' painting?"

"Because I've only got a one thousand dollar limit, and I'm hoping you can drive up the price much higher than that."

"And you're sure that Mr. Thumbs will bid on it?" said Lizzie.

"I'm positive," said Jonathon confidently. "I'm sure we've got him convinced that 'The Acorn Rises' is the painting I really want and so he'll do everything he can to make sure he gets it for himself."

"If you say so," said Lizzie.

"Have fun!" said Jonathon cheerily as he and Emma turned to go.

Almost half an hour later, the room was almost full with people quickly finding their seats. Mr. Thumbs, wearing a ridiculous blond wig, and Felicia snuck in quietly and took the last seats available in the back of the room.

"So where's Jonathon?" asked Felicia, pulling on Thumbs' sleeve. "I don't see him, but I thought this painting was very important to him."

Thumbs scanned the seated crowd quickly. "I don't see him either but he must be here somewhere. I'm sure he won't miss his big chance."

"So how much are you going to bid?" asked Felicia.

"That's the beauty of it, Felicia. I only approved Jonathon to bid for one thousand dollars when I thought he was going to bid on that other stupid painting, 'The Hand of Doom.' Since all he's got to spend is a thousand bucks, it'll be easy to outbid him for this one. I won't have to spend more than maybe a couple of thousand."

"What if somebody else bids on it?"

"Nobody else is going to bid on it, Felicia. I've seen a photograph of it. It's almost as ugly as 'The Hand of Doom' painting."

"If you say so."

"I do say so. Just sit back and relax. I'll outbid Jonathon for the painting and he won't even know I'm doing it thanks to this great wig I found."

Felicia looked worried. "I don't know about that wig, Thumbsie. I think you just look scary."

"Fine," said Mr. Thumbs. "Then people will be too scared to bid against me. In the meantime, Felicia, I want you to squish down in your seat a little. I don't want Jonathon to recognize you."

"If he's here."

"Of course he'll be here. He thinks the painting is very valuable."

Minutes later the auction began, the auctioneer announcing that the first works of art to be auctioned would be the handful of paintings done by Mr. Diggersby himself. Since most members of the audience had come to bid on the more famous paintings to be auctioned later, there wasn't much enthusiasm for the early works and the first three paintings by Diggersby sold quickly for only a few hundred dollars each.

Finally, 'The Acorn Rises' was brought up to the auctioneer's table and bidding on it began.

"And what am I offered for this excellent work by Mr. Diggersby himself?" chanted the auctioneer. "There is no question that this is among the finest of the Diggersby originals. I'm going to start the bidding at five hundred dollars. May I have an opening bid?"

There was complete silence in the room for almost thirty seconds when Lizzie slowly raised her bidding card and shook it slightly.

"That will be a bid of five hundred dollars by the...lady...in the veil," said the auctioneer.

"Huh?" whispered Felicia urgently to Thumbs. "Who is that bidding? I can't really see anyone up there."

Thumbs frowned. "I don't know who it is. It looks like some eccentric little old lady from here but I can't be sure."

"But where's Jonathon? I thought you said this painting was very valuable to him."

"I don't know where the little imbecile is! Maybe he forgot what day the auction was! Maybe he couldn't get a cab here! How would I know? But I'll tell you one thing...I'm not going to let this chance of a lifetime get away from me. I've got to have that horrible painting!"

"Oh, brother!" Felicia moaned. "I don't know about this."

"I have five hundred dollars," said the auctioneer. "Do I hear one thousand?"

Mr. Thumbs wagged his card violently.

"Ah, yes. A bid of one thousand dollars from the...gentleman in the back row."

For the next several minutes the bids flew back and forth between Lizzie (in disguise) and Mr. Thumbs (in a terrible disguise). Before either of them knew it, the top bid had risen to eight thousand five hundred dollars.

Felicia grabbed Thumbs' arm just as he was about to raise his bid to nine thousand dollars.

"I can't believe you're doing this!" she gasped. "You said the bidding would only get up to a couple of thousand dollars. It's going be up to nine thousand if you bid again!"

"But I've got to...I've got to," exclaimed Thumbs frantically. "Jonathon really wants this painting so it must be worth a fortune."

"But he's not even bidding on it! Who is that strange lady who keeps driving the price up? I can't quite see her. But whoever it is, Thumbsie, I think this is a big mistake!"

"But Jonathon..."

"He's playing you again, you fool! Can't you see?"

"No! No! It's impossible! Jonathon's not that smart. It can't be!"

Meanwhile, Lizzie was sweating bullets as the price of the painting surged higher and higher.

"This is ridiculous," she murmured to herself. "How am I supposed to know when Thumbs is going to stop bidding? What if he stops now? I don't have eight thousand five hundred dollars!"

But Thumbs didn't stop. He wrestled his arm free from Felicia's grasp and launched it into the air.

The auctioneer beamed his approval. "Indeed!" he chirped. "Our top bid is now nine thousand dollars!"

"That's it!" said Lizzie. "I can't take this anymore. I'm done!"

But as Lizzie looked up to see what was going to happen next, she caught a glimpse of Jonathon, standing in a far corner, with a hoodie half-covering a face. Jonathon was gesturing wildly—higher! Higher!

Lizzie gulped. "Here goes nothing!" she leaped up, thrusting her bidding card into the air. But her veil had become disconnected and her face was now exposed. She gasped, and then immediately put her hands in front of her face, while sinking back into her seat.

"Yes!" bellowed the auctioneer. "We have a bid for nine thousand five hundred dollars!"

Mr. Thumbs paused, staring at Lizzie as she fell back into her seat. "What's wrong with that woman? Is she crazy? Why is she covering her face? Does she have some sort of disfigurement?"

"Who cares?" roared Felicia as she jumped to her feet. "Whoever it is, let her have the stupid painting! It's too expensive, it's too..."

But it was too late. Thumbs had also leaped to his feet and was waving his bidding card frantically.

"Yes!" hissed the auctioneer. "We have a bid for ten thousand dollars! Are there any further bids?"

Lizzie was meanwhile slinking away from her seat, still trying to cover her face with her hands.

"No further bids?" said the auctioneer eagerly. "Going once, going twice, sold to the gentleman in the back row."

For a few seconds Mr. Thumbs seemed shocked into immobility. Then a broad smile spread over his face.

"I've done it! "I've done it!" he shouted.

"Yes," said Felicia sadly, "you've done it, alright, and now you're going to regret it."

But Thumbs was overjoyed. He quickly went over to a side table to write a check for the painting before clutching it in both hands. "I've got it!" he yelped. "I've got the painting that Jonathon wanted!"

Felicia merely shook her head sadly and followed the triumphant Thumbs out of the room.

About twenty minutes later, 'The Hand of Doom' came up for auction with Jonathon sitting in the front row. He was the only one to bid on the painting and paid only five hundred dollars for it.

"And that, my friends," he said enthusiastically to Lizzie and Emma, who had come to stand by his side after the bidding was complete, "is the first big step in my plan."

# Chapter Eight: The Curse of Doom

Felicia leaned back in her recliner, a frustrated look etched into her face. "Now let me get this straight, Thumbsie. You ended up buying the painting that you thought Jonathon really wanted—but which he really didn't want— for the outrageous price of ten thousand dollars, and he ended up buying that stupid 'Hand of Doom' painting for a measly five hundred dollars. Am I right?"

Mr. Thumbs shrugged and lifted his cup of coffee to his mouth. "Technically, yes. That's what happened. And I know you don't approve of what I did, Felicia, but I'm sure it will all work out in our favor in the end."

Felicia leaned forward eagerly. "But how? How? What makes you think that ridiculous 'Acorn Rising' painting is worth that kind of money? And don't tell it's because Jonathon wanted it because he obviously didn't."

"Okay, okay," Thumbs said, nodding his head slowly, "I can't explain right now why Jonathon decided at the last minute not to bid on 'Acorn Rising' and went for that absurd 'Hand of Doom' painting instead, but there's got to be an logical explanation."

"Oh, really? I'm having a real hard time seeing any logic in any of this," said Felicia, collapsing back into her chair.

"I'll admit it's not obvious right now, but that strange lady who was bidding against me clearly thought that 'Acorn Rising' had a lot of value."

"Yes, what about that strange lady? I never got a good look at her. You said her veil came off when she jumped up to make that last bid?"

"Yes...very strange behavior indeed. And then she covered her face and dashed off, just like she was hiding some terrible deformity."

"Or hiding something else," said Felicia thoughtfully.

"Well, don't concern yourself about her," said Thumbs confidently. "In the end the 'Acorn Rising' will turn out to be a very valuable painting and 'The Hand of Doom' will turn out to be worthless."

"Not to mention extremely scary looking," Felicia said with a shudder. "Jonathon's got that painting hung up on the wall in the downstairs living room. The thing looks really creepy if you ask me. And another thing...do you realize that ever since that 'Doom' painting has been in the house, strange things have started to happen?"

Thumbs narrowed his eyes. "Strange things? What sort of strange things"?

"Just this morning I was looking for my car keys and they were gone...completely gone."

Thumbs rolled his eyes. "Felicia, you're always losing your car keys. It happens every day."

"Sure," replied Felicia, her eyes widening. "But this time they reappeared in the cat's litter box."

"Do you still have that cat? I thought you got rid of him months ago."

"I did, but I haven't gotten around to removing the litter box."

"Oh Felicia, that's disgusting!"

"Hey! I'm not the bad guy here! It's that painting! And this morning, every clock in my bedroom had stopped! Every one of them!"

"Yeah, I think the current may have gone off during the night..."

"No! That's not it!" demanded Felicia. "It's that crazy painting! I tell you we're under a curse."

"Really, Felicia? A curse? That sounds a little overly dramatic, don't you think?"

"It's true, I tell you! Remember what the newspaper said? Think about it. Hasn't anything weird happened to you lately?"

"Weird? Nothing weirder than usual that I can think of unless...wait a minute. Now that you mention it, some of my computer files seemed to have disappeared this morning. In fact, I'm missing quite a few. They just disappeared! Poof! Right into mid-air."

"See! That's what I'm talking about! Strange things are happening and it's all because of that evil painting downstairs. We've got to get it out of this house before something even more terrible happens."

"But how could the painting..."

"Because it contains the evil spirits of all of old man Diggersby's enemies! The ones he was trying to do in by giving them the painting in the first place."

Thumbs stroked his chin thoughtfully. "It's true that the painting seems to have brought bad luck to all the people he gave it to."

"It's not just bad luck," Felicia responded urgently. "It ruined them! The newspaper implied that some of them probably died as the result of possessing that painting."

Thumbs furled his brow and clenched his fists. "Do you know what, Felicia? I think you're on to something. I think you're absolutely right about that painting. It is evil! It's haunted by Diggersby...or the ghosts of his enemies...or somebody!"

Felicia nodded her head eagerly. "And it's going to be the death of us if we don't get it out of this house as soon as possible."

"Right!" roared Thumbs. "And I'm going to see to it right away."

"So have you heard about Thumbs latest tirade?" said Lizzie perkily as she bounced into Jonathon's room half an hour later.

Jonathon pushed himself away from his computer desk and sighed. "No, somehow I have been lucky enough to escape it. But I'm sure you're going to tell me all about it."

"Oh, you wouldn't want to miss this," said Lizzie. "It's a classic. Mr. Thumbs and Felicia have come to the conclusion that our new 'Doom' painting is haunted."

"Haunted?" said Jonathon, narrowing his eyes. "That's pretty wild, even for Thumbs and Felicia."

"They're sure of it. Thumbs is convinced that the evil spirits of all the victims of that painting are somehow residing within it. And they've already started to destroy our house."

"Evil spirits? Who exactly did you say these evil spirits belong to?"

"You know...the legend of the painting says that Diggersby kept giving the painting away to people he didn't like and it brought all of them terrible luck. Some even died as a result of owning the painting."

"So first we hear that the painting is cursed, and now we hear that it's also haunted."

"Exactly!"

"Sure, it's a neat story," said Jonathon, a thin smile crossing his face, "but I don't think I can take it very seriously."

"They're taking it very seriously. Thumbs just came into my room and demanded that we remove the painting from the house. He says it's already done 'untold' damage."

"Untold damage, huh? Now what exactly would that be?"

Lizzie shrugged. "Mr. Thumbs was a little incoherent on that issue...something about files disappearing...clocks stopping...I don't know. I lost track after the first couple of minutes."

"We've known for some time that Mr. Thumbs was delusional, but somehow I didn't expect him to go this far off the deep end."

"I think he's serious about it. He mumbled something about 'putting a stop to it' and 'getting that horrid painting out of the house.'"

Jonathon sighed. "Well, I guess I shouldn't be surprised. He's pretty sure I'm up to something, having bought one painting when he expected me to buy the other one. And he's also convinced that the worthless painting he bought is very valuable while the 'Hand of Doom' is worth nothing. So he's confused and he's angry. I guess this is just the way it comes out."

"But Jonathon," Lizzie protested. "How can you be sure that the Doom painting isn't as worthless as Thumbs thinks it is? I mean, except for being scary-looking, it doesn't seem to me to have much going for it."

"I see your point, Lizzie, but I've still got a strong hunch that the 'Doom' painting is more valuable than it looks...much more valuable."

"When exactly are you going to be able to explain this hunch to me and Emma? Anytime soon?"

"Soon, but not quite yet, Lizzie. I'm still doing research on the subject. But in just a couple of days I'm going to take the painting to an art restorer and, if that trip goes well, I'll know a lot more."

"An art restorer? What is there to restore?"

"That's part of what I'm not sure about yet, but I do believe the painting is hiding a mystery. Of course that doesn't mean that it's haunted, or that it's causing anybody any problems—including Thumbs and Felicia. I haven't believed in the curse from the very beginning and I don't believe in it now. "

Lizzie shrugged. "Okay, suit yourself. But remember...Thumbs in on the warpath about getting that painting out of the house and you're next on his list."

# Chapter Nine: Butting Heads

"Alright, Jonathon," said Thumbs as he strode purposely into Jonathon's room, "I've already explained our position to your sister but I wanted to let you know directly about a decision that Felicia and I have recently made."

Jonathon turned from his computer and nodded politely. "Of course, Mr. Thumbs. It's always good to hear about your decisions."

"As you know, Felicia and I have become increasingly concerned about the dangers associated with having that horrible 'Hand of Doom' painting in the house."

"And what dangers would those be?" Jonathon asked mildly.

"I've said from the beginning that that painting was dangerous and..."

"I don't actually remember that."

"Well, I did. I'm quite certain of it. I can't in the world see what possessed you to acquire it."

"But I told you all along that I was interested in that painting, Mr. Thumbs. If you'll recall, you gave me very clear permission to buy it. You gave me a limit of one thousand dollars but it turned out that I only needed five hundred."

"But I thought that you really wanted the 'Acorn..." said Thumbs quickly.

"I'm sorry...what was that, Mr. Thumbs? I didn't quite hear."

"Nothing!" Thumbs blustered. "Absolutely nothing! The point is that now you've got that horrid 'Doom' painting and so what are we going to do with it?"

Jonathon smiled. "I think it looks rather nice on display in the downstairs living room."

"Ah," said Thumbs, beginning to wag his finger. "But that's just the point. Just by being in the house, that painting is doing serious damage."

"Damage?" said Jonathon in his most puzzled tone. "Whatever could you mean by that?"

"Didn't your sister inform you of my discussion with her? I'm talking about the serious problems that have arisen since that painting has been under our roof. Things going missing...files disappearing...things like that."

"Oh, I see," Jonathon said mildly. "I'm sorry you've been having difficulties, but I'm not sure what I can do about the situation."

"I'll tell you what you can do, Jonathon, you can remove that horrible painting from the house immediately!"

"But Mr. Thumbs! How can I do that? It's an investment and I'm sure that Uncle Wart would want me to directly oversee all of my investments. He always said..."

Thumbs grunted, crossing his arms across his chest. "Yes, I know all about what Uncle Wart would have wanted. But I'm telling you that the 'Doom' painting is dangerous and must be removed from this house."

"But Mr. Thumbs, is there any real evidence that the painting is causing any trouble? Things get lost all the time. Files can disappear any day of the week. I really don't see how you can blame all of it on having a painting in the house...not unless there's any proof of course."

"Now Jonathon, you know that painting had a bad reputation long before it came into this house. Still, I thought you might insist on proof that the painting is the cause of these problems and so I've arranged to provide it."

"Really, Mr. Thumbs? And how are you going to do that?"

"Simple. I've contacted a professional in the field."

"A professional? In what field? Art history?"

"Of course not," said Thumbs. "In psychic investigation. She's a medium."

"A medium what?" asked Jonathon innocently.

"A medium, Jonathon—someone who can contact the spirit world! Don't act dumber than you are!" growled Thumbs. "Her name is Madam Zambonini. She's quite respected in spiritualist circles and she will determine if the painting is inhabited by evil spirits."

"Are you serious, Mr. Thumbs? I can't believe that a man of your intelligence would fall for a carnival sideshow."

"Sideshow indeed!" said Thumbs angrily, raising himself up to his full height. "I'll have you know that Madam Zambonini is fully certified as a medium."

"But how can you certify a fairytale?"

Mr. Thumbs simmered. "The fact is, young man, that you don't know everything there is to know about life. You should think twice before you question those who have more life experience than you do."

"So do you regularly consult mediums, Mr. Thumbs?"

"Certainly I do, I....wait...that's completely irrelevant to the matter at hand, Jonathon. I'm taking a perfectly normal precaution here. I'm..."

"Hiring someone to get in touch with the spirits inhabiting a painting is normal?"

"Yes, it is!" Thumbs growled angrily. "In a case like this, all possibilities must be investigated. And if Madam Zambonini comes to the conclusion that there are evil spirits inhabiting that painting...well, then, it must be removed from the house immediately. I've arranged to have her come to the house tomorrow night and conduct a séance. That is my last word on the subject, Jonathon, and so I'll bid you a good day!"

Mr. Thumbs swiveled and marched quickly out of the room as Jonathon tried to suppress a smile.

Moments later, Jonathon walked jauntily into the living room to join Lizzie and Emma.

"It's official!" Jonathon said brightly as he flopped down into an overstuffed chair. "Thumbs and Felicia have gone bonkers!"

"No, Jonathon. Mr. Thumbs has always been bonkers," said Lizzie calmly. "And Felicia? I think she'd have to improve to be considered bonkers."

"Lizzy!" interjected Emma, smiling in spite of herself. "That's not really a very nice thing to say about Mr. Thumbs...or about Felicia for that matter. After all, Mr. Thumbs is your financial advisor..."

"Who's out to ruin us," interrupted Jonathon.

"And Felicia is..." continued Emma.

"A hopeless dork who wishes we were both dead," interjected Lizzie.

Emma shook her head. "You know that's not really true, Lizzie. I will admit that she'd probably be happier if both you and Jonathon were out of the picture."

"Just what I said."

"Yes, but she'd never really do anything...I mean, you know...dramatic, to hurt you" insisted Emma.

"What they've got planned now seems pretty dramatic to me," said Jonathon.

"And that is?" asked Emma.

"They're bringing in a spiritualist," said Jonathon. "A medium...someone who talks to departed spirits. Her name is Madam Zambonini."

"Whatever for?" Emma asked.

"It's about the painting," replied Jonathon. "Apparently there have been a few unexplained occurrences and Thumbs and Felicia naturally think it's because there's a haunted painting in the house."

Emma put her hand to her chin. "I don't know about haunted, but I'd certainly vote for eerie. You yourself said that the painting was a little creepy."

"Sure," said Jonathon, "but in a friendly sort of way. I'm actually growing somewhat fond of it. Anyway, Thumbs' devious little plan is to have the spiritualist come in, declare the painting to be harboring various evil spirits and then make me get rid of it."

"You're kidding," said Emma. "But why? What's the point?"

Jonathon shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe he's really afraid of it, but I think that's just an excuse. I think he's mad that I outsmarted him and got him to buy that worthless 'Acorn Rising' painting."

Emma nodded. "So what are you going to do about it?"

"I'm going to outsmart him again," said Jonathon, breaking into a broad smile.

"By doing what?" asked Lizzie.

"I'm glad you asked, Lizzie, because you play a big role in my plan."

"I'm not sure I like the sound of that," said Lizzie quietly.

Emma frowned. "Please explain, Jonathon. What does Lizzie have to do?"

"Very simple," replied Jonathon. "She's going to be the spiritualist."

"Wait," said Emma. "I thought the spiritualist was named Madam Spontini..."

"Zambonini," interjected Jonathon.

"Whatever," said Emma. "But the point is that, whoever she is, she's a real person and Lizzie can't just step in and pretend to be her."

"She won't be pretending to be Madam Zambonini," said Jonathon. "She'll be pretending to be Madam Zambonini's niece, who's also a medium and will be filling in for her because tomorrow Madam Zambonini's mother will be ill and she'll have to go and look after her."

"And how do you know her mother will be ill?" asked Emma.

"Oh, she probably won't be," said Jonathon calmly. "I'll give Madam Zambonini a call tomorrow—pretending to be Thumbs, of course—to tell her that the séance has been called off. Meanwhile, when the time comes, we'll substitute Lizzie—suitably dressed and made-up of course—and have her conduct the séance."

Emma looked doubtful. "Do you really think that Thumbs will go for the switcheroo? You don't think he'll be suspicious?"

"Not if we do a good job," said Jonathon, turning to Lizzie, "and I'm sure Lizzie will do an excellent job."

Lizzie shook her head slowly. "I'm really not sure about this, Jonathon."

"You don't have to be, Lizzie. I'm confident enough for both of us. I'll prepare a script for you to use and all you'll have to do is memorize it. But remember, it's all got to seem natural and spontaneous."

"Jonathon," said Lizzie. "I'm no actress. I've never been in a play in my life."

"You'll be brilliant, Lizzie," said Jonathon. "Won't she be, Emma?"

Emma sighed. "I sure hope so, Jonathon, for everybody's sake."

#  Chapter Ten: The Séance

"So why are we all in my room, Jonathon?" asked Lizzie, a worried expression plastered across her face.

"Because this is where we make the great transformation," said Jonathon confidently.

Lizzie's eyes narrowed. "Transformation into what?"

"We turn Lizzie into a powerful medium who can contact the spirits and assure Thumbs and Felicia that the painting is not haunted at all...that it's perfectly harmless."

Lizzie rolled her eyes dramatically. "I've got a bad feeling about this."

"Now in order to get this done, Emma," said Jonathon, as he turned in her direction, "we're definitely going to need your help. Turning Lizzie into Madam Zambonini's niece won't be easy."

Lizzie gasped. "You're going to make me into an old lady?"

"Not that old, really, Lizzie. A niece could easily be twenty-something years old. We're just going to have to age you a little bit and of course we're going to have to make you look really weird. It really shouldn't be that difficult."

"Jonathon!" exclaimed Lizzie. "That's not funny. I'm not even sure I want to do this."

"And I'm not at all sure it's a good idea," objected Emma, a pained expression crossing her face. "What makes you think that Lizzie can pull this off? None of us really knows what goes on in a séance."

"Very true," replied Jonathon, "but neither do Thumbs or Felicia. If we can do something resembling a TV sitcom version of a séance, they'll probably fall for it."

"But what if they don't, Jonathon? What if they see right through Lizzie's disguise?"

"That's where you come in, Emma. You've done some makeup work for the local community theatre, right?"

"Right, but..."

"So it'll be a snap. Remember, we're not dealing with the two most perceptive people on the planet. And if by some weird chance they see through Lizzie's act, we'll just say it's all a joke and we were just trying to have a little fun with them."

"Hmm," said Emma slowly. "I don't think that will be Mr. Thumbs' idea of a good time."

"Oh, don't worry, Emma. Nothing is Mr. Thumbs' idea of a good time. Lizzie will be great. Just wait and see."

Emma sighed. "Well, okay, I guess. Let's give it a shot, if Lizzie is willing."

Lizzie sighed deeply. "I guess so," she said weakly.

Emma sat Lizzie down on the chair in front of the mirror in her room.

Minutes later, Lizzie stared into the mirror and saw someone she would never have recognized in a million years. Her face was lined, her eyebrows darkened and her eyes swimming in purple eye shadow, her hair teased up into a peculiar bouffant, and her ears sporting huge earrings that bounced off her shoulders. Her long dress was black with purple glitter sprinkled throughout.

"Oh my gosh, Lizzie," said Jonathon, his mouth open in surprise. "You're not even recognizable, which I must say is an improvement."

"Jonathon!" exclaimed Emma. "How could you say that? Lizzie's doing this for you, you know, just to help make another of your crazy schemes actually work."

Jonathon grinned, patting his sister gently on her shoulder. "Just kidding, Lizzie. You look adorable. And I do appreciate the fact that you're willing to walk right into the lion's den."

Emma nodded her head vigorously. "Yes, she's very brave, but her costume needs one more touch," she said as she reached into her bag of costume accessories and pulled out a short black veil.

"Not the veil again!" pleaded Lizzie, her eyes blinking.

"Exactly," said Emma, placing it carefully over Lizzie's head and face. "With this on, I don't think that anyone has a chance of recognizing you."

"But really...a veil?" questioned Lizzy. "Are there two people in the world who wear a veil?"

"Any spiritualist or self-respecting medium might very well wear a veil," explained Emma. "After all, you want that sense of mystery."

"Yeah," said Jonathon, "but remember, Lizzy is supposed to be Madame Zambonini's younger niece. I think she needs something a little hipper."

"Like what?" asked Emma.

"Like these," said Jonathon, producing some dark sunglasses from his back pocket and placing them on Lizzie.

"Cool!" said Lizzie.

"Maybe cool," said Emma, "but can you actually see anything, Lizzie? I mean, with sunglasses and a veil, you might not be able to see your hand in front of your face."

"Oh, Lizzie doesn't have to really see anything," Jonathon said confidently. "She just has to project a sense of mystery and be convincing. And we're just in time. Madame Zambonini is due any minute now so it's time for her niece to spring into action."

"Spring?" Lizzie chirped. "I don't think I can see well enough to spring anywhere."

"No problem, Lizzie," replied Jonathon. "Just feel your way out the back door, go around to the front of the house, and ring the doorbell. It's showtime!"

Two minutes later, Thumbs and Felicia were sitting restlessly on the living room couch when the doorbell rang.

Thumbs jumped to his feet. "Finally!" he cried. "Finally we're going to get to the bottom of this ridiculous 'Hand of Doom' painting. Madam Zambonini comes highly recommended and I'm sure she'll be able to tell us if the painting is really haunted and the cause of our misfortunes."

Thumbs moved quickly to the door, opening it as wide as possible.

"Come in, Madam Zambonini!" he bellowed. "We've been expecting..."

But seeing Lizzie in disguise, he stopped in mid-sentence.

"Excuse me," he said. "We were expecting Madam Zambonini."

"Oh, she couldn't make it," said Lizzie, using a high-pitched voice to make herself unrecognizable. "She had to go look after her mother who's fallen ill."

"What's that?" asked Felicia anxiously, having stepped up beside Thumbs.

"She sent me in her place," said Lizzie. "She told me that I'd have no trouble doing the job."

Thumbs stepped back. "Really? But we have a highly sensitive situation here. We need someone to get in touch with the evil spirits lurking in this canvas," he said, pointing in the direction of the painting on the opposite wall.

"No prob, Bob," said Lizzie, her voice sounding a little too normal.

"But you're just a child," said Felicia, clearly offended.

"No, no!" insisted Lizzie eagerly. "I'm older than I look...I'm twenty-something."

"Huh?" grunted Thumbs. "What does that mean?"

"I mean...I'm twenty-eight," Lizzie insisted. "That's it. I'm twenty-eight."

Thumbs narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Oh really?" he said. "And what exactly is your name?"

"Oh," said Lizzie, "I'm Madam Zambonini's niece...I'm..."

"Yes, but what is your name?" Felicia insisted.

"My name? Why it's...Madam Nini," replied Lizzie confidently.

"Madam Nini?" said Thumbs. "I've never heard of such a name."

"Oh, sure," said Madam Nini. "It means...uh...little Madame Zambonini. I am her niece you know. And I'm ...well...not as big so..."

"Huh?" grunted Mr. Thumbs.

"Whatever," said Felicia, rolling her eyes. "Can we just get on with this?"

Just then, Jonathon and Emma walked quickly into the room. "I see the guest of honor has arrived!" Jonathon said brightly.

"Well, yes, but..." Thumbs began uncertainly.

"That's just great!" continued Jonathon cheerfully. "Now we can finally uncover all the mysteries of this mysterious painting. But I do want to go on record right from the beginning that I think the painting is quite harmless. I don't think it's cursed or haunted and all the old stories about it are completely false. I'm thrilled to have this lady here to help us prove that. Shall we all sit down?"

As Jonathon and Emma began to take their seats at the table that had been set up only feet from the 'Doom' painting, Thumbs gave Felicia an exasperated look.

"What'll we do?" Felicia whispered to Thumbs urgently. "I'm not at all sure about this spiritualist. Do you really think she knows what she's doing?"

Thumbs shrugged. "I don't know...I suppose, if she's really Madame Zambonini's niece, she must have some powers as a medium...I guess."

"What are we waiting for?" Jonathon chirped. "I'm eager to get going."

Emma smiled at Lizzy. "We're delighted to meet you, Madam Zambonini."

"This isn't Madam Zambonini," Thumbs said gruffly. "It's her niece. Madam...Nini."

"Madam Nini," said Emma cheerfully, "what a lovely name! I'm sure you'll do a splendid job."

Thumbs and Felicia both sighed as they took their seats around the table, Madam Nini sitting at the head, directly across from the painting.

Madam Nini spoke first. "I understand from my aunt that you want me to contact the spirits that may reside in this painting. Is that correct?"

"Yes," Thumbs declared. "There are things we must know about this painting and we feel that only someone who can contact the spirits can tell us."

"What exactly do you want to know?" asked Madam Nini.

"First of all," said Thumbs, "we must know if old man Diggersby really painted the painting himself. If anyone ever had a disturbed spirit, it had to be that old man. Only a really pathetic case could have painted that horrible thing."

Madam Nini lowered her head. "I must have absolute quiet to contact the spirits," she said softly. "And everyone must clear their minds completely. I must have no competing brainwaves."

Felicia furled her brow. "What does she mean, 'competing brainwaves'?" she whispered to Thumbs.

"Never mind!" Thumbs whispered back. "Just let her do her thing."

Madam Nini closed her eyes and began to chant nonsense syllables softly. Then she said, "Oh spirits of the painting, speak to me."

Nothing happened.

"Uh, why can't we hear anything?" asked Felicia. "Why isn't the table moving or something?"

"Oh, we don't do the table-moving thing anymore," replied Madam Nini. "Too hard on the furniture."

"Wait a minute..." Thumbs began.

"Shh!" Madam Nini whispered. "I'm being contacted by the spirit of Mr. Diggersby."

"Really?" said Thumbs. "I can't hear a thing."

"That's because he's contacting me," whispered Madam Nini. "I'm the medium here."

"Oh, yes, of course," said Thumbs more quietly. "Can you tell us what he's saying?"

Madam Nini closed her eyes again. "Yes," she whispered. "It's coming through clearly now." She paused and put her hands over her head. "Yes, it's very clear now. Mr. Diggersby said that he painted the painting and that it's completely harmless."

"Aha!" shouted Thumbs. "Then if Diggersby painted the painting himself, it's probably worthless!"

"But she said the painting was harmless," Felicia whispered to Thumbs. "I thought..."

"Never mind about that now, Felicia," Thumbs whispered back. "I'm still not convinced it's harmless, but there are some other things I want to know about the painting."

"So if the painting is harmless," Thumbs said to Madam Nini, "then why is there that scary-looking hand stretching across the front of it?"

"Ah, for a deep question like that, I must consult my crystal ball," Madam Nini said, pulling out a small, baseball-sized ball of clear crystal from her purse and putting it on the table in front of her.

"That's a crystal ball?" Thumbs said, peering closely at the object. "It looks more like a paperweight."

"Oh, it's a real crystal ball all right," Madam Nini replied. "My aunt loaned it to me."

Thumbs leaned forward eagerly. "Will we be able to see what the spirits say too?"

"I'm afraid not," Madam Nini answered. "You see, you've got to know how to read the spiritual ether. I mean, this is a high definition crystal ball and all that, but you've still got to have special training to see anything in it."

"And you have special training?" Felicia blurted out.

Lizzie did her best to look insulted. "Of course I do. Madam Zambonini has trained me herself. She says that I'm her best pupil."

"How many pupils does she have?" Thumbs questioned.

"Er...I'm actually her only pupil. Since I've gotten so good at reading her crystal ball, she decided that she didn't need any other students."

"Wow! That's pretty impressive, Madam Nini," Emma said enthusiastically.

"Thank you," said Madam Nini demurely. "I do my best."

"Yes, yes, that's all very well and good," said Thumbs impatiently, "but you still haven't answered my question. Why is that scary-looking hand in the painting?"

Madam Nini peered deeply into her crystal ball.

"Oh, I see," she said cheerfully. "It's very simple, actually. The day Mr. Diggersby created the painting, he had lost his dog. The painting shows Mr. Diggersby pointing his servants to places where they should be looking for his dog."

"Looking for his lost dog?" Thumbs blustered. "I've never heard such nonsense in my life!"

"But Mr. Diggersby was quite fond of that dog," said Madam Nini.

"This is all absurd! If the painting shows him looking for his lost dog, why is it titled 'The Hand of Doom?'"

Madam Nini peered again into her crystal ball. "Oh, I see," she said brightly. "It turns out that 'Doom' was the name of Mr. Diggersby's lost dog. You see he was always wandering around the house shouting 'Doom, Doom, where are you, Doom?'"

"Are you trying to tell us that the dog was named Doom?" asked Felicia.

"Exactly," replied Madam Nini confidently. "And that's how the painting got its name."

"That's just crazy!" cried Felicia. "Madam Nini, I think that there are some things that you're not telling us."

Madam Nini's face turned absolutely blank. "I just don't know what you mean," she said.

"Listen, Madam Nini," Felicia continued. "I still think that painting is evil...really evil...and I think Jonathon is keeping it here just so it will scare Thumbs and me out of the house."

Struggling to keep a straight face, Jonathon responded. "Felicia! How could you say that?" You know I love sharing the house with you."

Felicia grunted and then turned her attention back to Madame Nini. "I'm asking Madam Nini—not you!"

Madam Nini looked confused. "Uh...I guess so...I mean...no! Of course not! Jonathon's a nice boy...he would never do that."

Mr. Thumbs stared menacingly at Madam Nini. "Wait just a minute," he said. "How do the spirits of the painting know anything at all about Jonathon? Just who are the spirits of the painting anyway?"

Madam Nini smiled. "There's just one, actually—the spirit of Mr. Diggersby."

"But how would Diggersby know that Jonathon is a 'nice boy,'" said Thumbs. "He never knew him while he was alive."

"Uh...well no," Madam Nini admitted, "but Mr. Diggersby's spirit has just noticed what a nice kid he is while he's been observing in the living room."

Wait a minute," snarled Thumbs. "You're telling me that Diggersby's spirit has been observing Jonathon since he hung the painting in the living room"?

"Of course, you idiot!" exclaimed Madam Nini in Lizzie's normal voice.

"What did you call me?!" bellowed Thumbs.

Madame Nini quickly shifted back to her mysterious voice. "I mean...yes...it's true. The spirits observe all," she said.

"You know," said Thumbs firmly as he stood up from the table, "I'm not sure I believe any of this. I'm beginning to believe that there are no spirits residing in this painting and Madam Nini here doesn't know what she's talking about."

"That's right!" Felicia added quickly. "I'm thinking Madame Nini is a fraud."

"Well, well," said Emma, rising quickly from her chair and placing a hand on Madam Nini's shoulder. "It's been lovely having you here, Madam Nini, and we all appreciate the insights you've given us, but I think you mentioned earlier that you have another appointment that starts about now. Is that right?"

"Another appointment?" said Madam Nini, "No, I don't..."

Emma gave Madam Nini a slight kick under the table. "Oh, yes! I distinctly remember about your appointment. And we certainly don't want you to be late for it," Emma said as she quickly led Madam Nini toward the front door. "But on half of everyone present, I want to thank you for coming and sharing your wisdom with us."

Thumbs grumbled. "I don't think wisdom is the right word."

Emma opened the door quickly and urged Madame Nini onto the porch. "So thank you again for coming and I assure you we'll call you again...if we ever run into another difficult painting."

Seconds later Madame Nini had disappeared and Jonathon turned to Thumbs and Felicia. "Now that's what I call an exciting séance!" he said cheerfully.

# Chapter Eleven: Danger Ahead

The next day, Jonathon and Emma were sitting in her car talking. "I've got to tell you, Jonathon, I'm not quite sure why we're doing this," said Emma as she pulled her seatbelt tight and glanced in the rearview mirror. "I mean, I'm happy to drive you to this art restorer's shop with the 'Doom' painting, but I still don't know exactly what purpose it will serve. What's the point of restoring a painting that isn't that old and doesn't seem to have any damage issues?"

Jonathon smiled as he shoved his belt into its socket. "You've just to trust me on this one, Emma. If I'm right in my hunch, an art restorer is actually just the person I need. This woman we're taking the painting to may just be able to transform my painting from a fairly worthless canvas by a not-very- talented amateur to a masterpiece worth millions in a matter of minutes."

Emma shook her head slowly as she pulled into traffic. "Honestly, Jonathon, I don't have any idea what you're talking about."

"I know, Emma. I'm sorry about being so mysterious. I just don't want to get everybody's hopes up in case I'm wrong about all this. I really do appreciate the ride, though."

"Sure, Jonathon, it's no big deal. Your hunches have usually been right on the money. Oh, look....isn't that the art restorer's studio right over there?" said Emma as she pulled the car over in front of a small but carefully kept little shop.

"Yeah, this is it," said Jonathon' unhooking his belt. "Give me a minute or two to get the painting in there and then things will go pretty fast. I have an appointment with her so she expects me."

"Whatever you say, Jonathon. I'll just wait here in the car."

Minutes later Jonathon reappeared, smiling from ear to ear, clutching the painting, still covered by a sheet.

"Well?" said Emma expectantly. "Good news or bad news"?

"Absolutely excellent news!" said Jonathon, placing the painting carefully in the trunk of the car and slipping into his seat. "Things couldn't have gone better."

"So are you rich beyond your wildest dreams?" asked Emma cheerfully.

"My dreams are pretty wild, Emma, but yes. So let's get this thing home and locked up safely before something happens."

"Relax, Jonathon," said Emma, pulling out into traffic and starting down the street. "What could possibly happen in a fifteen-minute drive back to our house?"

Just then, a small dog ran out from the sidewalk into traffic. Emma immediately slammed on the brakes to avoid the dog. But the car refused to stop—the brakes failed to lock and Emma was forced to veer sharply to the right to miss the animal. Two seconds later the car slammed to a halt with the front end lodged firmly against a fire hydrant that was sending a stream of water fifteen feet into the air.

# Chapter Twelve: Unraveling the Mystery

Two hours later, Emma sighed as she sank into the couch in their living room.

"Now that was a close one," she said, gazing across the coffee table at Jonathon and Lizzie.

"Yeah," agreed Jonathon, his leg draped over the side of his favorite overstuffed chair. "It was a shock. Was the car badly damaged?"

"It'll be in the shop for a few days," said Emma. "But it could have been worse. The brakes were weak, but they didn't fail completely. We didn't hit that hydrant at full force."

"So it was just bad brakes?" asked Jonathon.

Emma nodded. "Which surprised me, because I just had the car checked out last week and everything seemed good then."

"I can tell you what happened," Lizzie said angrily. "That car was sabotaged and you-know-who did the sabotaging."

"Lizzie, what are you talking about?" asked Emma.

"I'm talking about Thumbs...or Felicia, or both of them. They've been messing with the car. Don't you see? They're trying to kill you, Jonathon. Or maybe...maybe...the painting really is cursed. You remember the horrible things that happened to the previous owners?"

Jonathon shrugged. "That painting isn't what you think it is, Lizzie."

Just then, Mr. Thumbs charged into the room, Felicia following behind.

"How convenient!" he sneered. "All three of you in one place, just when I have an important announcement of great significance to us all."

"Mr. Thumbs," said Emma, rising quickly from the sofa. "Have you heard about the accident?"

Thumbs paused. "No. What accident? What are you talking about?"

"I think you know exactly what we're talking about!" Lizzie exploded. "Emma's car! You sabotaged it! You tried to kill Jonathon and Emma!"

Thumbs shook his head. "Don't talk nonsense, child."

Lizzie turned to face Felicia. "If it wasn't Thumbs, it was you! You did something to their car so it would crash."

Felicia recoiled. "The girl is hallucinating! Somebody get her a doctor!"

"Alright...alright," said Emma calmly. "That's enough accusations for now. We're not going to get to the bottom of this by insulting each other."

"Quite true," Thumbs said. "As I've always said, let cooler heads prevail."

"That's just..." began Lizzie.

"Enough...for now," Emma interjected. "Let it go. We'll get it sorted out later."

"Indeed, indeed," Thumbs said calmly. "We have more important matters at hand, as I've been trying to explain."

Thumbs then cleared his throat slowly as he pulled out a sheaf of papers from his briefcase.

"Jonathon, I've called you here, along with Elizabeth and Emma, for a reason. It's time for me—as your financial advisor representing the interests of your departed Uncle Wart— to officially evaluate your most recent business venture which, as you know, was the purchase of 'the Hand of Doom.' As you know, Jonathon, I have your best interests at heart and it gives me no pleasure to report that you have failed in this venture. In fact, your purchase of that painting must be recognized as a complete waste of the five hundred dollars that I advanced to you out of Uncle Wart's fortune."

"Now Mr. Thumbs," said Jonathon calmly, "don't you think it's a little too early to say that?"

"I fear that it is the only reasonable conclusion that can be drawn at this point," replied Thumbs. "And, as you know, Jonathon, there will be consequences to this failure. It is clearly expressed in Uncle Wart's will that you retain control of his fortune only insofar as you continue to engage in risky but successful investments of his funds. While your investment in this instance was fairly small, the fact is that you acquired nothing of value in return for your money. That being the case, I regret to inform you that I must officially transfer the responsibility of controlling Uncle Wart's fortune from you to his daughter, Felicia, as dictated by his will."

"You know, Mr. Thumbs," said Jonathon, "I suspected you might want to do something like that, so I invited a guest here this evening who might have a few things to say about the value of my 'Hand of Doom' painting."

"This is highly irregular," blustered Thumbs. "I just don't know..."

Just then the doorbell rang and Emma went quickly to answer it.

"And I'm pretty sure that's my guest now," said Jonathon.

"What are you trying to pull?" demanded Felicia, her hands springing to her hips.

"I'm not trying to pull anything, Felicia," replied Jonathon. "I just thought it might be nice to being in an expert to evaluate my painting. The gentleman's name is Charles Wilford. You may have heard of him. He's the head curator at the Art Institute."

"But...but," Thumbs stuttered. "I just don't see the point to this. I..."

"And I thought you might like to have the painting you bought—'The Acorn Rising'—evaluated as well," said Jonathon. "As you can see, I've set up both paintings on easels here in the living room so that Mr. Wilford can take a closer look at them. You do want him to assess the value of your painting as well, don't you?"

"Well, perhaps...I hadn't..." began Thumbs.

"Great!" Jonathon said." Emma, please escort Mr. Wilford into the living room. I've already told him a few things about the paintings he's going to be looking at."

As Mr. Wilford introduced himself to Mr. Thumbs, Felicia glanced over at the two paintings. "Say, Jonathon. What gives with your 'Doom' painting? Why is it covered with a sheet?"

Jonathon smiled. "Oh, I thought I'd surprise everyone with a little modification I had done to the painting by a local art restorer. I think Mr. Wilford will be particularly interested in it. But first, before he looks at my painting, he's agreed to first look at the painting that Mr. Thumbs purchased."

Mr. Wilford walked slowly over to 'The Acorn Rising" and examined it for a few seconds. He then turned to Thumbs.

"This is one of those paintings by the deceased millionaire Diggersby, isn't it?" he asked.

"Why yes, it is," Thumbs replied proudly. "I got it for a real steal—ten thousand dollars!"

Mr. Wilford shook his head. "You paid ten thousand for this thing?"

"Yes!" Thumbs said enthusiastically. "How much do you think I can get for it?"

Mr. Wilford shook his head. "Maybe about twenty bucks for the frame."

"That's impossible!" roared Thumbs.

"I'm afraid it's true. Diggersby was an untalented amateur and this is a horrible painting. I'm afraid your painting is worthless."

Shaking with rage, Thumbs shook his finger at Jonathon. "If my painting is worthless, then yours is worthless too! And you'll lose control of Uncle Wart's fortune because of it."

Jonathon smiled again. "Let's see what Mr. Wilford has to say about it."

Jonathon moved quickly over to 'The Hand of Doom' and removed the sheet that covered it. Mr. Wilford walked slowly up to the painting. Then his jaw dropped.

"This...this is incredible!" he gasped.

"What? What is incredible?" Felicia demanded.

"This painting!" replied Mr. Wilford. "It's a timeless masterpiece by the nineteenth-century English artist John Constable!"

"The artist you were looking at in the Art Institute!" interjected Lizzie gleefully.

"But that's impossible" bellowed Thumbs. "It's another one of Diggersby's paintings! It's worthless...it's cursed....it's..."

"Wait!" interrupted Felicia as she walked closer to the painting. "It looks different now!"

"Yes, it is different now," said Jonathon calmly. "What you never noticed, Mr. Thumbs, is that the only part of the painting actually done by Mr. Diggersby was that scary-looking hand—the so-called 'Hand of Doom.' But the original canvas on which he painted that weird-looking hand is actually a masterpiece by Constable. Diggersby must have painted his stupid little 'Hand of Doom' over it some night when he had run out of unused canvases to work on. Since he was a billionaire, he probably didn't even care that he was painting over a priceless masterpiece."

"Jonathon!" gasped Emma. "I can't believe it."

Jonathon continued calmly. "You'll remember that there was one painting by Constable that was supposedly part of Diggersby's collection but which never made it to the auction. That's because the auctioneers didn't realize that the painting they were calling 'The Hand of Doom' was really the missing Constable."

"Amazing!" said Emma.

"Yes, it was," said Jonathon. "And after I was pretty confident about what I actually had, I simply took the painting to an art restorer and had her remove the silly looking hand that Diggersby had painted over the original. So now it's back to being the sort of pastoral scene that Constable was so famous for. And as far as the curse goes, that was always just a fairytale that the media was pushing to sell newspapers."

Thumbs was speechless. Felicia sputtered several times before finally shouting "I can't believe it! I can't believe it! Don't tell me it's worth a lot of money!"

Mr. Wilford replied. "Oh, yes! It's worth millions! And Jonathon purchased it for only five hundred dollars? It's the best investment I've ever heard of in my twenty-five years as a curator."

# Chapter Thirteen: On to the Next Adventure

"You know, I almost feel sorry for Mr. Thumbs and Felicia," said Emma as they sat around the dining room table the next evening. "I mean, when Felicia fainted like that...she really could have hurt herself."

"Yeah," agreed Lizzie, "and I thought Thumbs was going to hurt his hand when he walked over and punched a hole right in the middle of his 'Acorn' painting."

"Yes, that was a little impulsive, wasn't it?" said Jonathon, between his sips of hot chocolate.

"But how about the accident in the car?" Lizzie asked. "We can't forget about that. You two could have been killed."

"Obviously the brake line had been partially severed," replied Jonathon. "I noticed the brake fluid dripping from under the car."

"But who could have done that?" Emma asked, her eyes widening.

Jonathon shrugged. "It could have been Felicia, like Lizzie said. Although I doubt that she has the technical know-how to cut the brake line herself, she might have bribed her chauffeur into doing it."

"Are you sure it wasn't Thumbs himself?" Lizzie asked.

Jonathon shook his head. "I don't think that would really be his style, although he probably hates us enough to do something like that."

"But why" Emma asked. "And why that day? Did either of them even know where we were going with the painting?"

"No, but that wouldn't have mattered to Felicia," said Jonathon. "She had a chance to do us some harm and it could always be blamed on the curse of the 'Doom' painting."

"You mean the nonexistent curse of the 'Doom' painting," said Emma.

"Yeah, I know," Jonathon said. "I looked the painting up in the auction sale books. 'The Hand of Doom' had never left Diggersby's possession. That was just a sensationalist myth about the painting doing harm to all those other people."

"I guess you can't believe everything you read in the newspaper," said Emma. "Or on the TV or internet."

"No," Lizzie said. "But I think Felicia believed the story completely. I think she really thought you had brought the painting home just to terrify her. Remember all of the things that she said went missing?"

Jonathon chuckled. "Things get lost sometimes. Files disappear. It just happens. There was nothing about that painting that was really spooky. And once we had that strange pointing hand taken off, it was really quite pleasant. And it certainly was worth a lot of money."

"That it was, Jonathon," said Emma. "It was another masterstroke on your part."

Lizzie nodded in agreement. "Yeah, Jonathon, you did great. But you know, we're going to have to watch Felicia and Thumbs even more carefully than before. I mean, if they're willing to try to actually harm us..."

"Sure," said Jonathon. "We'll be careful. But Thumbs and Felicia aren't going to stop us—not any of us. And besides, I've got a lot of big plans for using Uncle Warts' fortune."

Emma put her arm around Lizzie and Jonathon and smiled. "And we'll all be with you Jonathon...every step of the way."

###

If you've enjoyed "Jonathon Wart and The Hand of Doom," you might want to check out the first book in the series, "Jonathon Wart and the Risk Factor," available from all major eBook sellers.
