Ada and Nina knew what they were up against. Both of Ada’s parents didn’t seem to believe that Miroir would have stolen from Nina—he was too big of a name to risk something like that. They were convinced that Nina had seen an earlier version of Miroir’s work, even though she didn’t remember it. Nina and Ada were going to have to build a solid case to convince her parents that Nina had come up with the artwork first. Of course, the last case they tried to solve had gone slightly off the rails. But now Ada had a secret weapon: Tycho. Websites had a way of tracking who visited them and where those visitors came from. Nina’s website would be no different, and Tycho would know how to retrieve that digital trail. So Ada and Nina went to see him.
Tycho opened a page with analytics on Nina’s website.
“Okay, this shows the IP addresses of your website’s visitors. An IP address is the way the Internet identifies computers. It’s a pretty good way to learn more about the people visiting your website,” he said.
“Can you tell who these visitors are?” Ada asked.
“Not who necessarily, but where. I just take those IP addresses and input them into this special website that will give you the latitude and longitude for the general location where they’re using their computer.
“Just copy and paste those coordinates into Google Maps and—voilà! It’ll show what city they’re using their computer in. It’s not always perfect, but it’s not going to be too far off,” said Tycho. “There’s a lot of action in the city of San Francisco in general, which we would expect. Also, a lot from Palm Beach.”
“That’s where my Nana Kay lives!” said Nina.
“Well, it looks like she’s telling all her friends about your portfolio. Now, this one’s interesting. A ton of traffic from Napa Valley. Does that make sense to you?”
“Hmm. Not really. . . . I don’t know anyone up there,” said Nina.
“Interesting. And look here,” he said, pointing to a series of numbers representing one IP address. That Napa Valley IP address appeared many, many times—more than any other string of numbers.
“Whoa,” Ada said, pointing to the screen. “This IP address accessed your website almost a hundred times.”
“And you’re sure you don’t know anyone in Napa Valley, Nina?” Tycho asked.
Ada gasped. “I do.” She turned to Nina. “Mr. Miroir didn’t think the hotels in San Francisco were good enough for him. So, guess where my mom put him up?”
“Napa Valley!” Nina said.
“Bingo.”
• • •
Ada’s mom was still frazzled. Ada had been trying all morning to get her attention, but Ms. Lace was busy talking to potential clients and setting up meetings for Guy Miroir. Nothing usually seemed to rattle her, but after spending so much time with the demanding artist, the wear was starting to show. She picked up a pen and dropped it, put down a piece of paper and then lost it, dialed part of a phone number and then put the phone down. Maybe what Ada and Nina had to tell her would be a relief. Maybe Ms. Lace could just tell everyone about Guy Miroir once and for all—today—and then she wouldn’t have to run around doing a bunch of chores for him.
Ada and Nina stood at the door to Ms. Lace’s home office and watched as she shuffled a bunch of papers and circled, scratched out, and underlined various things with her pen. Finally, she looked up.
“Okay, girls. I know you’ve been following me. Out with it. Is this about the piece you think Guy stole from you, Nina?”
“Oh! He’s Guy now,” said Ada. “I thought it was Mr. Miroir.”
“Just tell me what’s up, please.”
“It is about that piece,” said Nina.
“Listen, I know it seems weird,” said Ms. Lace. “But it happens all the time creatively. You are into the same things. You admire his work. . . .”
“But he made his piece after mine, Ms. Lace,” said Nina.
“You don’t know that for sure,” said Ms. Lace.
“But we know he was looking at Nina’s piece!” said Ada. “The IP address points to Napa Valley.”