CHAPTER 40

“We need to find that painting!” I exclaimed.

Yes. I get stoked whenever someone mentions a new treasure in need of hunting.

“Wait a second,” said Beck. “How much is the Vermeer worth?”

“Two hundred million,” replied Storm.

“Wait a second,” said Beck. “Two hundred million? And the Enlightened Ones only want to give us twenty million for finding it?”

“I’m sure we could negotiate the price point,” said Ms. Johnston. “After we find the painting.”

“That Vermeer has been missing for nearly thirty years,” said Storm. “What makes you think we can find it?”

“Because we’re the Kidds, Storm!” I declared. “Finding stuff that nobody else can find is what we do!”

“When others say stop,” added Beck, “we say go.”

“Unless we’re at a dangerous intersection,” I noted.

“True,” said Beck. “But, otherwise, we are flat-out treasure-hunting maniacs!

“Chya!” said Tommy. “It’s in, like, our DNA.”

“And with your amazing brain power,” I said, buttering Storm up, “we’ll probably find it by this time next week.”

Storm nodded. “True. My brain is awesome. Okay. Let’s do this thing.”

“Bully!” said Uncle Richie, suddenly reinvigorated. “Pamela? Might we impose upon you to fly us up to Boston first thing in the morning?”

“You don’t want to fly up there tonight?” she asked.

“We all need our rest,” said Uncle Richie. “A night off might restore our bodily vigor for the quest ahead!”

“A night off sounds like a great idea,” said Tommy, wiggling his eyebrows at Ms. Johnston. “How about you, me, and a pizza?”

“Tommy?”

“Yeah?”

“Not gonna happen.”

Bright and early the next morning, we jetted from Virginia to Boston. When we disembarked from the plane, Uncle Richie had a surprise announcement for Ms. Johnston.

“This is where we bid you adieu, Pamela,” he said.

“Pardon me?” She sounded stunned.

“It means ‘so long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, good-bye,’” said Storm.

Ms. Johnston started stammering. “B-b-but…”

“Do not fret,” said Uncle Richie. “We will honor our previous financial agreement and provide you with one third of the gross proceeds at the end of this meandering and somewhat convoluted treasure hunt. However, you have not been dealing honestly with us, Pamela. And as Theodore Roosevelt once said, ‘Honesty first; then courage; then brains!’”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Poppie.”

“Well, I feel worse,” said Tommy, who had the sad puppy dog look he usually gets when the loves of his life say “buh-bye.”

As for me? I was glad to see Ms. Johnston go. She was a little too cozy with the Enlightened Ones and would probably sell us out to anybody if it meant a bigger slice of the pie for her. And, on this particular treasure hunt, the pie had twenty million bananas in it.

“Let me give you a number to call,” said Ms. Johnston.

“Awesome!” said Tommy, perking up.

“It’s not mine.”

Tommy’s face flipped back to sad puppy dog.

“If and when you find the Vermeer, make contact with the Enlightened Ones immediately.” She pulled a business card out of her flight suit. “Text this number. They will organize the pick-up of the painting and the delivery of our twenty million dollars.”

“You mean your six million, six-hundred-sixty-six-thousand, six-hundred-and-sixty-six dollars, and sixty-six cents,” said Storm. “Which, if you behave, we could round up to sixty-seven cents.”

Ms. Johnston smiled. It wasn’t a very nice one. Reminded me of those snarling beagles we met down in Virginia.

“I’ll take that,” said Uncle Richie, plucking the business card out of Ms. Johnston’s fingertips. “I’m sorry we must part this way, Pamela, but you leave me no choice. We cannot have a paid snoop reporting our every move to the highest bidder. I wish you good luck in all your future endeavors. Good day.”

“But, Poppie—”

“I said, ‘Good day’!”

Ms. Johnston reluctantly returned to her plane.

“Now then,” said Uncle Richie, “I suppose we should go into the terminal and arrange a car rental.”

“I’ll try,” said Tommy. “But I don’t know how far I can walk with a broken heart.”

“Tut, tut, Thomas,” said Uncle Richie. “You’ll find another fair maiden, one far worthier of your attentions. Remember: there are plenty of fish in the sea.”

“Yeah,” I said. “And not all of them are sharks!”