Technically, Henry was only a junior Silver Jaguar Society member, an honor bestowed on him after he and two other kids — Anna Revere-Hobbs and José McGilligan — had solved the mystery of the stolen Star-Spangled Banner in Washington, DC, last winter. Before that, Henry hadn’t known there even was a Silver Jaguar Society.
But now he knew that his mom had been part of the society until she died of cancer four years ago. Like all the other members, she’d taken an oath and promised to do everything in her power to protect the world’s artifacts.
He knew that Aunt Lucinda’s frequent trips were actually secret missions. And he’d learned about the society’s archnemesis — Vincent Goosen, the ringleader of an international art-theft gang called the Serpentine Princes, responsible for some of the biggest art heists in history.
Henry had encountered Goosen back in June when he and Anna and José were in Costa Rica while their parents investigated the disappearance of a society artifact called the Jaguar Cup. The kids had been staying at a rain forest lodge, supposedly out of danger, when they’d come face-to-face with Goosen and another former Serpentine Prince. Goosen’s mean black eyes and his greasy mustache still gave Henry nightmares sometimes — so now, with his mind full of late-night secrets and stolen art, sleep was even harder to come by.
In the morning, Henry woke to another ringing phone, but by the time he got to the kitchen, Aunt Lucinda was already hanging up.
“That was your dad,” she announced, tossing Henry a banana, “and you are officially a big brother! Kara Akita Thorn was born a little after three this morning.”
“Oh!” Henry felt the heaviness of his tossing, turning night start to lift. “Everything’s okay?”
Aunt Lucinda nodded. “The baby was early. She’s getting special care, but she’ll be fine.”
“That’s great.” Henry set the banana on the table. He wasn’t awake enough to eat. “When are they coming home?”
“Not for a while. The baby has to be watched closely for a few days, so your dad and Bethany will stay at the hospital for now, too. They can’t bear to leave her.”
“Oh. Okay.” They didn’t seem to have any trouble leaving Henry, but if he mentioned that, he’d probably get that lecture he’d already heard a thousand times. Babies need lots of attention. We’re counting on you to be more independent. Blah blah blah. Henry picked up the banana and gave it a squeeze. The peel split, and a glob of banana mush plopped onto the wood floor.
“Stop that,” Aunt Lucinda said, “and eat your breakfast so we can go. I have to make a stop before the meeting this morning.”
Aunt Lucinda’s stop turned out to be a seriously fancy-pants museum. “I can’t believe I’ve never brought you here,” she said as they walked up to the big wooden door. The museum was closed, but Aunt Lucinda flashed her identification, and two guards let them in. “The Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum is my favorite.” She sighed. “It’s sad you won’t get to see her.”
“Is she out of town or something?” Henry looked around at the chandeliers and sculptures.
“Oh, no. She’s been dead for nearly a hundred years,” Aunt Lucinda said, leading Henry upstairs and through a room full of paintings.
“I’m pretty sure I don’t need to see her, then.”
“I wasn’t talking about seeing her in person,” Aunt Lucinda said, turning a corner. “I was talking about this.” She pointed to a plain brown frame that seemed to be showing off the wallpaper behind it.
Aunt Lucinda was getting weirder by the minute, Henry decided. “Is that, like, her ghost?”
“It was her portrait, Henry. Until last night.” Aunt Lucinda rummaged through her purse, pulled out a museum brochure, and opened it to a painting of a tall lady in a black dress.
“She used to be in here?” Henry pointed to the empty frame.
Aunt Lucinda nodded and blinked her teary eyes. “I used to come stand in front of her when I felt like I needed wisdom or strength for a society mission.” She looked around quickly, then lowered her voice. “She was one of us, you know.”
“Oh!” Henry looked more closely at the lady in the brochure painting. Her eyes looked worried, as if she’d known all those years ago she might be stolen some day.
“There you are! I am so sorry to be late.” A skinny Asian man with wispy black hair hurried up to them and hugged Aunt Lucinda.
“The portrait was the only loss?” she asked him.
“It was.” He shook his head. “It happened so fast, almost as if they knew they’d only have time to get one piece.”
“And they chose her,” Aunt Lucinda said, biting her lip.
“It’s a stunning portrait,” the man said, looking through the frame at the wallpaper. “Though not the most valuable. Our Dutch masters weren’t touched this time.”
“Thank goodness,” Aunt Lucinda said.
Henry frowned. “What do you mean, ‘this time’?”
Aunt Lucinda pursed her lips. “Thieves dressed as Boston police officers made off with a number of priceless paintings back in 1990,” she said, “including two Rembrandts and a Vermeer.” She looked at the Asian man. “I fear Mrs. Stewart Gardner has gone to join them.”
He nodded sadly. “Perhaps this time, we’ll have more luck finding the stolen art.”
“Thank you, David,” Aunt Lucinda said, then turned to Henry. “We should get going.”
The whole cab ride, Aunt Lucinda bit her lip and stared out the window, while Henry wondered where they’d have the big Silver Jaguar Society meeting. Probably some fancy hotel or office building. Maybe they’d have those big soft leather seats that spun around.
Or not. The taxi stopped at Big Al’s North End Pizza.
Aunt Lucinda thanked the driver, paid, and got out. “Let’s go. We’re already late.”
Henry climbed out of the cab and stared. The place was a total dive. Even the neon sign outside looked greasy. “Silver Jaguar Society headquarters is a pizza place?”
“No, Henry,” Aunt Lucinda said, opening the door. “The society’s cover is a pizza place.” She waved to a kid tossing a circle of dough in the air behind the counter, then followed a narrow hallway past the restrooms to a door marked STORAGE. She turned the jiggly doorknob and pulled it open to reveal a set of old stone steps. “Our Boston headquarters is downstairs.”