She nodded, and we headed in opposite directions.

I wasn’t sure who to talk to first. Was one of these people about to whip out a mask and run around the museum? Or were they really all here just because they’d seen the post like we had?

I saw Brady again, and even though I’d already talked to him at school, he had confessed to knowing something. Maybe he’d be more likely to share if he thought I was in the know now. I joined him. “He should be here any minute,” I said.

“Yep,” Brady answered back. He was staring at the large canvas that leaned against the far wall, its movers gone. “I don’t believe he was worried about this,” Brady mumbled. “Misuse.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

Just when I was about to move on to talk to someone else, the lights went out. Then a single spotlight from someone’s phone lit up the large painting. Another phone shined on a guy dressed in a tux making his way through the crowd. I couldn’t see where Amelia had gone or if she had been anywhere near where this guy materialized. He walked until he stood in front of the large painting, back to us. So here he was, the guy who’d ruined my race.

“I think that’s Brad McCall,” I heard someone whisper behind me.

“Maybe but I heard Heath was Leo Morales.”

Both those names were on our list.

Up front, Heath Hall stared at the painting for a long time. Someone to my right gave a supportive holler and then several others joined in. Soon the room began to clap and cheer. At last, the guy in front of the painting turned around and bowed. He was wearing the mask.

His posture was slouched, his hands in the pockets of his tux. When he spoke, his voice was muffled, like he was distorting it on purpose. I had to strain to hear because it was also quiet.

“Thanks everyone for the support. Showing my work has been a fear of mine for a long time. And the reactions I’ve gotten from you all on my piece tonight mean a lot to me.” He lifted his hand in a wave and then stepped away from the painting.

“That’s it?” I asked no one in particular.

“Yep,” Brady answered. “That’s it. Until next time.”

I couldn’t wait that long. My eyes hadn’t left him since he stepped away from that painting. My vision had adjusted somewhat to the dark and I watched him head for a back exit. I slid off my shoes, gripping the straps in my hand and ran after him.