Ada convinced her dad to bring them into town with him while he and Elliott ran errands. He said they could have a hot chocolate in the café next to the gallery. That way Ada’s mom would be close by. Nina wanted to head over as soon as Ada’s dad left, but Ada convinced her to wait so they could talk things out before they talked to Ms. Lace and Miroir. She understood why Nina was angry, but she also knew if they went in hot, they were bound to get themselves in trouble.
“Okay,” said Ada. “Once more. If we walk in there and Guy Miroir is with my mom . . .”
“Then I say, ‘Hello, Mr. Miroir. I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to ask you about your piece Gleam amidst the Gloom.’ ”
“Good. And if he denies that he took the idea from you?”
“Then we . . . bring in reinforcements.”
“Right. I bet he’ll be nervous right away though. Don’t worry,” said Ada. “He’ll start getting defensive and give himself away. Then we’ve got him. Just stay cool, okay?”
“Okay.”
By the time they got to the gallery, the clients had gone, and there was no one but Miroir and Ms. Lace. Ada was relieved. She and Nina made their way to the back, where Ms. Lace’s office was. Ms. Lace was seated at her desk, looking very tired. Guy was pacing and talking. He held his glasses in one hand and pinched the bridge of his nose with the other. His eyes were closed.
“Now, as you know, the mayor has decided to feature my piece Gleam amidst the Gloom in her office. You’ll need to hurry up and pack that up for her—she’ll be here any moment to pick it up. You know how many influential people will see my work because of this? You seem like a clumsy person, so don’t screw it up for me.”
That was the last straw for Nina. Before Ada knew what was happening, Nina burst into the room.
“You stole my work! That painting was my creation!” she yelled. So much for staying cool. Ada continued to hide behind the door, while Nina stood before Miroir with her arms crossed. Ms. Lace’s face dropped into her hands.
Guy’s eyes popped open. He glared at Nina. Ada assumed he would start yelling, but instead Miroir laughed.
“Hahahaha. Steal. The very idea. Who is this charming little girl, Isabella?”
“Mr. Miroir, this is Nina Scarborough, my daughter’s friend. You met her at the welcome reception.”
“You may know me better as the person you stole that painting from! You know, the one that’s going to the mayor?” Nina said defiantly.
“Well, my dear, if I’m a thief, then we both are. In fact, we’re all thieves, we artists. At least the good ones. That’s what Picasso would say, anyway, that old hack.”
“How dare you!”
“Oh, I know, everyone loves Picasso. . . .”
“No! How dare you steal from me?!”
“Oh, you dear, sweet girl. You entertain me. Why is it you think I stole from you?”
Ada stepped into the office, armed with a portfolio of high resolution printouts.
“We can prove that you were looking at Nina’s work. We have analytics that show you looked at her painting more than a hundred times before you made your own copy. We can also prove that you have done the same thing with at least five other artists.
“These pieces,” said Ada, laying out the evidence, “were created by admirers of Miroir.
“And these are pieces that Miroir made after seeing them.” She presented the printouts of the Miroir copies. “Again, we have the digital trail that shows they were created after the originals.”
“You’ll notice that they are almost exact copies,” Nina said, “but Mr. Miroir changed one little thing. I guess so he could get away with being a fraud.”
Ms. Lace’s face went white. Her jaw dropped. She looked sideways at Miroir, but the artist didn’t seem fazed. He looked at each piece and smiled.
“Ah yes, I know these wonderful artists,” said Miroir. “As you say, each is an admirer of my work, and their admiration has been rewarded in turn.”
“WHAT?!” Nina was flabbergasted.
“You’re right. Each piece is a mirror image, Nina. Good eye. I’m reflecting their work to a higher level. Without me, their creative vision would have gone unnoticed. Don’t you see? Well, anyway, it’s not my job to explain the purpose of art to you.”
“And what about me, Mr. Miroir?” They turned to see the mayor standing in the doorway. Her arms were crossed. “Would you like to explain the purpose of art to me?”