CHAPTER 57

It was an article (written in stilted English) called “Happy Winter-Wonderland Activities for the Whole Happy Family to Enjoy Happily.”

Apparently, in February, when the weather got really cold, a team of “fourteen ice artists” would be building an ice palace in the center of Saint Petersburg. It would be modeled after the first one erected in the city in 1740 by Empress Anna Ivanovna to celebrate her tenth anniversary as ruler and Russia’s victory in the Turkish war. There were pictures and everything.

That’s when something our chatty tutor and tour guide, Larissa Bukova, had told us weeks ago came flooding back into my head.

Saint Petersburg had built one of these ice palaces before!

Ten years ago, to be exact.

And it turned out to be deadly for the teenage billionaire Viktor Zolin’s parents.

It was a freak accident, Larissa had told us. The ice palace had crushed Viktor Zolin’s parents when it melted during an unexpected February heat wave.

The palace that was, according to the magazine, also a “magnificent frozen work of art”!

“Of course!” I blurted out. “He hates art because art killed his mother and father!”

“Huh?” said Beck, who was flipping through a magazine that seemed to be all about shoes and purses. “Who hates art? I mean, besides Uncle Timothy?”

“Viktor Zolin!” I said. “I’ll bet anything he’s our guy. The art hater who stole those four paintings.”

That got Mom’s, Storm’s, and Tommy’s attention.

Fortunately, Uncle Timothy wasn’t in the room. He had gone to the corner store to buy a meat pie and a bottle of glass cleaner for his mirrored shades.

“But Zolin is a major contributor to the Hermitage,” said Mom.

“They even let him bring his wolfhounds into the gallery so they can poop on the floor,” said Tommy.

“Inspector Gorky told us Zolin is ‘one of our most eccentric and generous Russian billionaires,’” said Beck.

“Which,” I reminded them, “is exactly how the security-guard lady described the anonymous donor of the four hideous pictures.”

“If it was Zolin,” said Storm, “it would be easy for him to ‘generously’ and ‘anonymously’ donate those paintings and get them hung in such a prestigious gallery.”

“It’s like you said, Storm!” I went on. “There has to be a reason for a hater to hate. Viktor Zolin hates art because art made him an orphan!”

Mom jumped up and gave me a hug. “It’s the best lead we’ve got. Let’s see where it takes us!”