I watched her face shift from embarrassment to anger.

“Read it to the crowd,” Mona Pearl urged. “Maybe one of them wrote it.”

“I don’t want to,” said Diana, crumpling the paper into a ball.

Mona Pearl grabbed the microphone. “It says, ‘Fake Art.’ ” Her collar rattled like a rain stick. I could hear the laughter in her weird, muffled voice.

“Are you trying to make a joke? It’s not funny.” Diana’s high-pitched voice rose even higher with indignation.

“I’m not,” protested Mona Pearl. She jumped down from the stage and started dancing through the crowd, chanting, “Fake art, fake art, fake art,” adding a sort of squat-and-spin movement as she checked under people’s feet for signs of the missing statue. I could understand why Diana was upset. It didn’t seem like Mona Pearl was taking the situation seriously.

“Without Diana, we’re not a collective anymore,” Mona Pearl was saying. “We’re not goddesses, either. Nope! We’re just a couple of humans! Sorry to dis-appoint you all!”

“Maybe you never wanted a collaborator!” Diana shouted, getting red in the face. “Is that what you’re saying? Maybe this whole performance was just a bad idea. Maybe I’m better off alone!”

“Listen, Diana, I—” Mona Pearl pleaded.

“The Goddess Collective? Ha! I can’t believe I fell for that name. You just made the performance all about you! All that work, all that planning, and for what? Just so you could humiliate me in front of everyone?”

“No, Diana! That’s not true! We are a collective! I value your opinion more than anyone else’s! I—”

Mona Pearl started to say something else, but her words were muffled by the collar. Diana dissolved into tears and ran from the stage, pushing her way through the crowd to the exit.

Beside me, Sven snickered quietly to himself. I saw Angelica Velvet roll her eyes and turn her back to the stage.

Mona Pearl stood frozen, alone on the stage, for a long moment. Then she took hold of the microphone.

“Why doesn’t she take off the mask?” I wondered.

“Maybe she feels more comfortable that way?” said Bess. “It is weird, though.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, if you’d be so kind as to enjoy a brief intermission … I will go track down my collaborator. And my statue, too. I’m sure Slay Gallery will assist me in the search.”

Angelica Velvet whirled around, unfurling one gold-taloned finger. “There will be no intermission! And no assistance,” she bellowed. “That statue was Strickland family property, under Mona Pearl’s exclusive guardianship. Slay Gallery cannot be held liable for its disappearance. Until the artists learn to execute their performance in a professional manner, Slay Gallery is closed.”

Angelica turned to the assistant with the Bluetooth, who was hovering anxiously at her elbow. “Tawny, call the police. They can take it from here.”

The masked dancer left the stage without fanfare. An unseen hand started turning off lights, driving the audience out into the sunset. I heard the wail of sirens pulling into the parking lot.